This article is the fruit of my reflections on the developments taking place within ISKCON. The first generation of devotees – direct disciples of Śrīla Prabhupāda – are departing from this world and need to pass on his mission to the next generation. At the same time, ISKCON is becoming more socially integrated. Our society, which has become widespread in many countries, especially in India, is gaining recognition at various levels.

Here is how Wikipedia describes secularization in Christianity:

If we change a few words in this paragraph, it will paint a fairly recognizable picture of what is currently happening in ISKCON. It is clear that Śrīla Prabhupāda did not want such a fate to befall his creation. Fortunately, this reorientation has not gone far, and it is not too late to stop it and reverse its course.

In this article I analyze the current situation in ISKCON from two perspectives: seeing it as one of the religions of this world and as a scientifically based approach to search for the Absolute Truth. At the end, I propose several suggestions to address the shifts taking place.

In analyzing the problem of secularization of ISKCON, I do not claim that my analysis is complete or even that I am impartial. I deliberately exaggerate some points for the purpose of drawing attention to the problem. This article is written for every member of our society because the choices made by each member of ISKCON effect our society’s future. Who knows, perhaps in the picture painted here, we may recognize ourselves and thus be prompted to change something in our behavior and our attitude toward our spiritual practice. After all, if many do so, it will help us preserve the purity of and fidelity to Śrīla Prabhupāda’s original vision.

Another important audience to whom this message is addressed is the leadership of ISKCON – from GBC members and spiritual masters to local nāma-haṭṭa leaders. In their attempts to establish the Kṛṣṇa consciousness movement in this world and make it as accessible as possible to the widest audience, leaders* sometimes have to make compromises or somewhat temper the teaching. However, they may not always fully consider the potential consequences of these compromises. Nevertheless, the future of ISKCON lies in their hands, and the responsibility placed upon them is immense.

In describing the trends present in our society, I don’t wish to criticize anyone. I am aware of the hard work behind every ISKCON achievement, every temple opened, every charitable program launched, and even every successful new nāma-haṭṭa. This article is neither a rebuke nor an accusation but an invitation to reflect on emerging challenges. If my reflections help even one leader see the situation more clearly and find solutions, I will consider my work worthwhile. For those who may become unsettled or upset by it, I apologize in advance.

This article is divided into four parts:

• In part one, I explain that Kṛṣṇa consciousness, or bhakti-yoga, is characterized by universality and rationality, and thus, by its very nature, is closer to science than to religion.
• In part two, I describe why religions in general are problematic and how a vibrant spiritual movement can transform into a religious institution that stifles the free spirit of its members in their search for the truth.
• In part three, I provide concrete examples of how the scientific approach to Kṛṣṇa consciousness differs from approaching it as a religion.
• In the final part, I briefly discuss steps that could be taken to prevent the Kṛṣṇa consciousness movement from becoming a mundane religious organization.

One of the main components of Śrīla Prabhupāda’s success was his profound faith in the scientific and universal nature of the principles of Kṛṣṇa consciousness. Rūpa Gosvāmī’s and Jīva Gosvāmī’s teachings brilliantly separate mere religious sentiments from factual spiritual quest for the Absolute Truth based on śāstric logic and reason. It is this understanding of Kṛṣṇa consciousness that enabled Śrīla Prabhupāda to spread the science of bhakti throughout the world, and allowed his followers to embrace these practices, despite their unusual external forms which are significantly different from the prevailing concepts of how to practice spirituality in the West.

Repeatedly Śrīla Prabhupāda emphasized that Kṛṣṇa consciousness is not just another religion among the many in this world. It is not a traditional creed based on unprovable postulates, nor does it promote unconditional faith which acts alone as the ticket to the kingdom of God. Neither is Kṛṣṇa consciousness some exotic cult intended for rebels and those who defy accepted norms. Śrīla Prabhupāda insisted that Kṛṣṇa consciousness, or bhakti-yoga, is, above all, the universal science of the relationship between the soul and God:

Many similar statements can be cited, but perhaps Śrīla Prabhupāda was most explicit in his commentary on the First Canto of Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, where he described this literature as “a technical science of spiritual values.”*

Many preachers of Hinduism, and especially Buddhism, also insist on the scientific and nonsectarian nature of their religions, contrasting them with Judeo-Christian religions, which, in their view, are marked by intolerance and exclusivity. They argue that tolerant, inclusive Hinduism or even more so, atheistic Buddhism, are more compatible with science than religions, which emphasize faith and formal affiliation with a church. However, when Śrīla Prabhupāda spoke of the scientific nature of Kṛṣṇa consciousness, he meant something entirely different. He referred to the science of the soul and its relationship with the Absolute Truth. For this reason, he did not single out Hinduism or Buddhism as “scientific”, nor did he contrast them with Judeo-Christian religions. From his perspective, any religion that overemphasizes faith at the cost of logic and rigorous philosophical analysis, will have a variety of problems.

“…those who are gosvāmīs, they place everything with nyāya, or logic. Their instructions are not blind, dogmatic. Naya-kovidāḥ. Everything what is said by Kṛṣṇa or His representative, they are not dogmas. Those who are not representative of Kṛṣṇa, they will say simply dogmas. Just like in every religion there is a dogma. But in bhāgavata religion, bhāgavata-dharma, there is no dogma”.*

How fundamental is the position Śrīla Prabhupāda is expressing here? Could it merely be a preaching strategy employed by Śrīla Prabhupāda? After all, influential religions have compromised themselves throughout their long history. And in modern New Age movements, it is common to distinguish between religion and spirituality, condemning the former and glorifying the latter. Could it be that Śrīla Prabhupāda –whose early followers belonged to the counterculture – simply wanted to distance himself from any religion, as well as from other compromised official institutions? I would emphatically say no! Śrīla Prabhupāda never used the vague rhetoric of the counterculture, nor did he adapt his fundamental teachings to these audiences. On the contrary, he placed foundational importance on the following aspect of his preaching as seen in his wording of the first purpose of ISKCON:

The language, and moreover the purport of this statement, leaves no doubt that Śrīla Prabhupāda saw the power of the scientifically grounded practice of Kṛṣṇa consciousness in its ability to transform people’s lives, regardless of their ideological orientation or religious affiliation. The fate he wanted least for ISKCON was for it to become yet another dogmatic religion, itself sowing discord in this world.

What, after all, is wrong with religion? Throughout human history, religion has attempted to restrain people from wrongdoing and provide hope for a better future. Has it not?

Śrīla Prabhupāda, however pointed out three flaws that typically characterize religion in this world:

Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī Ṭhākura spoke even more harshly about organized religion as a social institution:

At their inception, all genuine religions bring humanity the good news from the eternal spiritual world. The founders of such religions desire to give as many people as possible the opportunity to come into contact with the life-giving spiritual truths. This is a noble motive. However, over time, as they take on organized forms, spiritual movements adapt to the values of this world and transform into bastions of ritual and mundane sentimentality disguised as spirituality.

According to Sarasvatī Ṭhākura, even the very idea of giving a living spiritual movement an organized form is destructive:

In other words, a living spiritual movement cannot be stopped, just as the flow of the Ganges to the ocean cannot be hindered. It can, however, be transformed, misrepresented, and eventually destroyed. It ends up substituting the natural impulse of the soul to offer service to God with mechanical rituals. It exchanges the natural inclination to sacrifice personal material comfort in God’s service with dogmatic rules supposedly ensuring salvation. It replaces the desire to realize the truth contained in the scriptures by deep study with by rote memorization and formal examinations. In this way, the spirit of a spiritual movement can be stifled.

In the same essay, Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī explains the reason and mechanism behind the transformation that occurs within religions when they adopt organized forms and become widespread:

In other words, the reason for this erosion, which, according to Sarasvatī Ṭhākura, no mass religion has been able to avoid, lies in the subconscious motive of the people. What are those motives and what is the mechanism of substitution?

Religions (including ideologies like communism, socialism, and other utopian theories*) have always played a significant role in people’s lives because they address a basic human need – the need for salvation. People understand that the world we live in is full of strife and suffering, but deep within, they believe there must be another life – free of suffering, untainted by poverty, injustice, scarcity, squalor, disease, old age, and even death. This faith, absurd from a material point of view, is rooted in the very nature of the soul and always accompanies a person. Religion shows the weary soul the path “from darkness to light, from ignorance to knowledge, from suffering to eternal bliss.”*

Every true religion, at the time of its origin, represents a bubbling, living source of spiritual energy. It always arises in opposition to the prevailing culture, rebelling against the norms and orders of this world, disturbing the peace of the authorities and commoners alike. Those who join it risk becoming outcasts or objects of ridicule in the eyes of ordinary people. However, sincere seekers of truth are drawn to it, sensing its purity, authenticity, and strength, for anyone who encounters this source of spiritual energy receives a genuine spiritual experience.

The natural desire to share the experience of spiritual happiness with as many people as possible leads the followers of the charismatic founder of a spiritual movement to endeavor to make his teachings and revelations accessible to common people of this world. In this way the divine revelation, which is not of this world, is now being turned into sets of rules and restrictions, rituals and traditions, and theological systems that provide often unsatisfactory simplified answers to complex philosophical and social questions. This process, according to the famous sociologist and scholar of religion, Max Weber, is called the “routinization of charisma.”

Sarasvatī Ṭhākura writes about this:

As a spiritual teaching begins to reach large masses of people, it starts to play an increasingly significant role in society. Generally, as this process progresses further, the message becomes more simplified and primitive. The original message is now adjusted to accommodate the masses of believers. Rituals and superstitions increase, while philosophical depth diminishes. To maintain a large following, the standards for members of the religion are lowered, making them less burdensome. This is the price religions pay for weight and influence in society. Additionally, as any denomination grows, it faces numerous tasks to manage new properties, productions, temples, and monasteries. Thus, organized religion develops a demand for business-minded people and efficient managers. Not all such individuals who naturally find their place in the church hierarchy possess spiritual maturity. For some, a spiritual organization becomes a place for career promotion, not spiritual growth. Because they play an important role in the organization, such individuals subtly shift the focus of the message, influencing the overall culture, and redirecting believers toward external goals.

It is no coincidence that Śrīla Prabhupāda, observing similar processes, spoke as early as 1972 about the need to “boil the milk”:

Leaders of such spiritual organizations often accept the growth in membership and its influence on the greater society as the predominant measure of success. They turn a blind eye to the price paid for that “success” ignoring the fact that exponential growth most often leads to the degeneration and secularization of that religion. This is a natural process, and most participants are at least initially driven by good intentions. But as a result, the pure spiritual ideals on which the movement was founded are gradually eroded, and the ritual oaths of loyalty to the founding teacher who brought this knowledge to the people become meaningless formalities. Obedience to his instructions and vision ceases to be the principle by which his followers build their lives. This is why Sarasvatī Ṭhākura writes: “The great ecclesiastical establishments . . . indeed, indicate a desire on the part of the masses to exploit a spiritual movement for their own purpose. They also unmistakably indicate the end of the absolute and unconventional guidance of the bona-fide spiritual teacher.”

• Our movement is growing. Numerous preachers are sowing the seeds of faith in people’s hearts, and there are many newcomers joining with their own motives, goals, and values. Among them, many – let’s be honest – come seeking guaranteed salvation or a chance to improve their material well-being. Therefore, now is the time to reflect and ask the question:
• What needs to be done to prevent Kṛṣṇa consciousness from turning into another worldly religion?
• How can we preserve the pure revolutionary spirit embedded in the very idea of ISKCON as intended by Śrīla Prabhupāda and the previous ācāryas?
• How can we avoid simplification, dogmatism, and the burden of meaningless rituals?
• How can we, ultimately, remain true to our goal without substituting pure love for God with mere salvation?

Before we proceed, it is necessary to clarify something. Undoubtedly, there are many people in our movement (as in any spiritual organization) sincerely seeking the truth, unsatisfied with vague promises of otherworldly bliss. There are many preachers and mentors who teach their followers not to rely exclusively on the power of rituals but to practice consciously. However, this does not negate the presence of opposing tendencies and recurring attempts to turn Kṛṣṇa consciousness into a worldly religion or a mystical ritualistic cult. The clearer we understand how these mutations manifest, the easier it will be to counteract their influence. It will therefore be less likely for us to succumb to the temptation of replacing the often-laborious search for truth with cheap “salvation” – thereby becoming members of the sampradāya of cheaters and the cheated (vañcita-vañcaka-sampradāya).*

In order to uncover the essence of the problem described above, it is necessary to clarify the distinct differences between the two approaches to seeking God. Let us call the first “religious” for convenience’s sake, and the other “scientific” or “spiritual.”* The most significant distinction between these two approaches lies in the practitioner’s primary motivation.

The desire for liberation is the desire to have or acquire something we currently lack. The desire to understand the Absolute Truth, on the other hand, is the desire to realize one’s spiritual potential and become wiser, purer, better, and closer to the Truth. These two motivations are fundamentally different yet easy to confuse, primarily due to the strong mechanisms of self-deception we have developed during our lives in the material world.

People dissatisfied with their current state often succumb to the temptation to solve their problems by acquisitions. Acquiring “stuff” is easier than changing oneself. This is exploited by all kinds of merchants and producers who offer substitute goods. Knowing that in this world everyone seeks happiness, love, health, and knowledge of the truth, entrepreneurs offer happiness in the form of a new house, a new car, or at the very least, a new washing machine. To those desiring love, they offer various forms of sex; to those seeking health, chemical medicines or dietary supplements; and to those seeking the truth, cheap recipes for guaranteed salvation. This brisk trade sustains the economy of the world of cheaters and those who wish to be cheated but never brings people true happiness, love, health, or genuine spiritual experience.*

The majority of people in this world, according to Śrīla Prabhupāda, belong to the category of either cheaters or cheated.* Due to the tendency toward self-deception, it is often difficult for people to discern their own motives let alone those of others. Therefore, there must be clear criteria to reveal what should truly drive a person who joins a spiritual organization and especially what motives guide those at the helm – preachers, teachers, spiritual guides, mentors, etc. Here are some external manifestations of the two approaches which can help us to distinguish them.

The first characteristic of the “religious” approach to salvation is the belief that it can be exchanged for the fulfillment of certain conditions, the main one being offered membership in a church or a circle of chosen people who “saw the light and truth”.

In this case, spiritual practice turns into a mechanical process. You want eternal life? Fine, here is a set of rules and rituals. Follow them strictly and salvation is guaranteed. How will this practically happen? It doesn’t matter. God Himself or His representative has promised it. When will it happen? After death. What about my doubts? Have no doubt because since you’ve joined our religion you are already saved. This slogan is an essential part of religious messaging. Every time a preacher insists (directly or indirectly), “Join us and you will surely be saved (read: return back to Godhead) otherwise, you will surely go to hell,”* they are inviting you not to spiritual exploration but to a mystical religious metamorphosis where salvation is guaranteed by its founder, who was granted the exclusive rights to distribute this “product.”

Some may object: “Doesn’t Lord Caitanya promise the same?” Yes, Lord Caitanya came to this world to liberate conditioned souls. However, He didn’t distribute salvation but love, and He did so by revealing a scientifically grounded path leading to God. Lord Caitanya’s gifts are the offenseless chanting of the holy name and rāgānuga-sādhana, spontaneous devotional service. He does not offer a magical pill that grants liberation to all who believe in Him.* If we consider the spiritual path as a conscious search for truth rather than an automatic conveyor of salvation or a magical ritual, we will find that on this path no one can guarantee us automatic success.

Sometimes another version of such guarantees can be heard in our temples: Śrīla Prabhupāda promised that all members of the movement he founded would return to God in one lifetime. Yes, Śrīla Prabhupāda definitely talked about it to encourage us and to ignite our desire to achieve this lofty goal which seem to be unachievable. In letters Śrīla Prabhupāda made such promises. For example: “In this way be engaged in Krishna’s business 24 hours and you will be happy and, in the end, you will go back home, back to Godhead.”* Of course, attention should be given to the point that the engagement needs to be twenty-four hours a day. However, in the majority of letters and books, he adds several other important conditions. For example: “One simply has to become as serious and sincere as Dhruva Mahārāja; then it is quite possible to attain Vaikuṇṭhaloka and go back home, back to Godhead, in one life.”* Yet, there are also other statements in Śrīla Prabhupāda’s books, often forgotten: “It is not possible to go back to Godhead in one life, but in the human form one should at least understand the goal of life and begin Kṛṣṇa consciousness.”*

In reality, the primary guarantee we have in the movement founded by Śrīla Prabhupāda is that we will be assisted in seeking the truth. Whether we find that truth or not, largely depends on us, i.e., on the purity of our desire, sincerity, our willingness to change, and how well we understand the mechanism of transformation that must occur within us. It also depends on God’s mercy, which cannot be secured by mechanically following rules or by formal membership in a religious organization.

Another significant difference between the “religious” and the “spiritual” approaches lies in the level of responsibility placed on the individual and the subsequent degree of freedom he or she perceives.

Those who come to ISKCON thinking of it as a religious organization that offers salvation often think that making the right choice once is sufficient. Once they make a choice or two that they think is fundamental (like joining ISKCON, getting initiated, etc.) then they no longer need to do anything because everything else should come automatically. Preachers and teachers often reinforce this view, overemphasizing submissiveness and obedience. In some cases, surrender is equated with turning off one’s intelligence and blindly following authorities. Such assurances encourage one to shed the burdensome responsibility for one’s internal change and shift it onto the shoulders of a mentor, a leader, or a spiritual master. Such a follower understands that he will lose a significant portion of his freedom, but many people willingly exchange the burdensome freedom of the constant need to make choices for firm “guarantees” of returning to God. They prefer to live in the comfort of blissful irresponsibility.

For such a person, spiritual life boils down to fulfilling obligatory duties: rising early, mandatory prayers, chanting japa, reading scriptures, and regular offerings in the form of donations (tithes, membership fees, etc.). By activating this mechanical program, the person turns into a robot. He may rejoice at the thought that with each completed ritual, he is getting closer to God, but the heart cannot be deceived – it will yearn and suffer behind the bars of obligatory rules and routine duties. In some case unfortunately we see that even this is not being done. Tedious spiritual practice is just replaced by getting a “spiritual name” and other external signs of allegiance.

If, however, we present spiritual life as a continuous search for truth, we will explain to people that the responsibility for their spiritual life lies with them – it cannot be shifted onto anyone else. We will emphasize that the soul always remains free in all circumstances, capable of making conscious choices, and not just once when one “surrenders,” but many times a day. We will also explain that surrender does not imply switching off one’s intelligence. Intelligence (buddhi) is the tool through which we surrender (as is derived from the very definition of surrender, śaraṇāgati*). People who understand this will not passively await “divine blessings” while begrudgingly performing spiritual obligations. On the contrary, they will strive to do as much as possible in their spiritual practice. Instead of limiting themselves to the “magical” sixteen rounds, they will dedicate as much time and resources as possible to spiritual endeavors like japa and kīrtana, doing so freely and joyfully.

Both cases outwardly appear as surrender, but these two types of surrender differ as much as blind submission differs from conscious obedience. The entire Bhagavad-gītā lies between two statements by Arjuna: “Instruct me, I am Your disciple and a soul surrendered unto You.” (Bg 2.7) and “All my doubts are now dispelled, and I am ready to act according to Your instructions.” (Bg 18.73) These two statements, so apparently similar in meaning, differ like day and night in their internal essence.

In both cases, people are bringing their resources – strength, intelligence, talents, money, etc. – to the organization. However, in the first case, the labor and resources offered will simply be appropriated “for the sake of God.” The benefit such “surrendered souls” receive will be measured either by proximity to the “representative of God on earth” or by certificates, memorial plaques, and other trinkets that flatter them. In contrast, in the second case, the labor and resources offered as a sacrifice will transform into genuine spiritual experience. This helps such people become humble, pure, and engaged in forming a new, spiritual identity as servants of God.

I wish to believe that no one in ISKCON deceives trusting individuals or exploits their initial enthusiasm for personal gain. Surely, this happens in other organizations. Somewhere else they exploit newcomer’s resources; somewhere else neophytes are exploited to perform menial labor for food and shelter under the pretext of “service.” Elsewhere recommendations for initiation are used as leverage; or “exclusive” consultations come with a price tag. But surely, such things cannot happen in ISKCON! Unfortunately, common sense and experience suggest that they can. This reality makes it crucial to repeatedly and openly speak about this, and in this way guarding potential cheaters from temptation, keeping honest people honest. It also protects the potentially cheated from bitter disappointment.

A religious organization that “guarantees” liberation inevitably leads to one of two scenarios. It turns into a cult where leaders fiercely protect their privileged positions and jealously guard against potential competition from among their followers. Or it becomes an overblown bureaucratic apparatus that channels the “surrender” of its members into material assets for the organization. In both cases the sincere and pure missionary spirit is hampered and ultimately destroyed.

Leaders of organizations or groups within ISKCON that cultivate unquestioning compliance often complain about the passivity of their members, not realizing that this passivity is a direct result of their very demand for compliance. In such organizations, paternalistic relationship models – those of the “all-powerful parent and immature child” – generally dominate. In these cases, the leaders are often not interested in the spiritual growth of their followers or their development into independent spiritual personalities. Instead, their goal is to keep subordinates perpetually dependent. These models are sometimes disguised as “devotee care.” However, this so-called care, or rather stifling overprotection, strips individuals of personal initiative and turns them into passive consumers of “spiritual benefits.” Persons who fall under such “care” remain infantile, spiritually immature, and unable to think independently and form their own opinions about what happens to them and around them.

In contrast, the mood of spiritual search, which one can catch from a genuine preacher, awakens initiative in followers. Leaders encourage this initiative and direct it into the proper channels. The systems of spiritual care they create ensure the development of their followers into mature individuals. And the followers of such leaders do not wait for someone to care for them and do not lament the lack of attention; instead, they gratefully accept what has already been given to them, striving to apply it in their lives. They also take responsibility for caring for those who are juniors. For them, the spiritual path is not one of passive consumption, but it is a joyful, creative process of self-realization. They initiate relationships with the guru and other seniors without bothersome demands for more personal attention but as a humble request: “Please tell me how I can serve you.”*

In paternalistically oriented religious organizations, creativity is, at best, not encouraged and, at worst, suppressed outright. On the other hand, a genuine spiritual organization shapes its members into individuals who are “independently thoughtful and competent in all types of departments of knowledge and action.”*

In this context, it becomes clear why “religious” preaching focuses primarily on outcomes, while “spiritual/ scientific” preaching places greater importance on the process.

The prospect of eternal bliss in Vaikuṇṭha (the Vaiṣṇava version of heaven) and the fear of hellish suffering are the main driving forces for the religious person. In this perspective, heavenly pleasures and hellish punishments are external circumstances achieved by the righteous and the sinful respectively. Spiritual practices, unimportant in themselves, are merely temporary means to achieve the desired goal of heavenly pleasures or avoiding hell. Once the goal is achieved, these practices are no longer needed. Whenever a preacher places an undue emphasizes on “the blissful final destination” without giving proper attention to the path leading to it, he pushes the karmic buttons in our minds, triggering the reflex for salvation. The subconscious message of such preaching is: “Yes, spiritual practice may be tedious and boring, but endure it a little longer – just make it up to death – and it will reward you with eternal bliss or, at the very least, a good birth in the next life.”

In contrast, spiritual science explains that the expected outcome of spiritual practice has nothing to do with external circumstance. It is the internal evolution of the soul – the realization of its blissful nature – which is to be achieved by spiritual practice, not simply better external conditions. Progressing toward this state brings satisfaction at every step and grows more profound with each stage of advancement: prati-padam pūrṇāmṛtāsvādanam (“at every step, a taste of complete nectar”).* Bhakti is not the means to achieve something else. It is not that we need something else, such as material prosperity or liberation, and that is why we practice bhakti. Bhakti is the goal.* Spiritual life is a continuous ascent on the ladder leading to God, and each step of this ladder is significant, both as a step itself and because it allows us to reach the next step.

When a person realizes this in practice, he ceases to aspire for liberation and instead prays for the opportunity to engage in devotional service birth after birth. As Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu states in his Śikṣāṣṭaka: kāmaye mama janmani janmanīśvare bhavatād bhaktir ahaitukī tvayi – “I have no desire for wealth, followers, a beautiful spouse; let me only have causeless devotion to You, birth after birth.”*

Unlike religious preaching, which relies on a miraculous transformation at the moment of death, spiritual preaching focuses the practitioner on the path itself, helping him consciously navigate it, overcome obstacles, and find joy in the journey. Both on the spiritual path and in religious practice, one may encounter doubt or despair, but these emotions differ as much as the lamentations of a prisoner differ from the tears of a lover separated from the beloved.

Both religious and spiritual people seek the association of saints. However, for the former, such association is a means to receive blessings and thus be effortlessly relieved from suffering, while for the latter it is an opportunity to receive valuable instructions to help them advance on the spiritual path.

Since we are speaking of saints, it is worth noting how they are perceived differently by customers of a religion and by spiritual seekers. Both groups need saints, as they confirm the validity of their chosen path and embody spiritual perfection. However, religious people feel much more comfortable with canonized saints of the past. Contemporary individuals who claim sainthood often do not fit into their cozy framework. Their uncompromising integrity unnerves religious people breaking their stereotypes and disturbing self-complacency of “the saved.”

Canonized saints of the past, in the eyes of such individuals, are always flawless in every way – nitya-siddhas (eternally liberated souls). The notion of their eternal perfection is crucial because it spares their followers from the need to strive to become like them – a goal considered inherently unattainable. Zealous followers turn saints of the past into sugary icons and animated mūrtis and the descriptions of their lives are reduced to hagiographic accounts of miracles they performed or hints at their innate sanctity, manifested very early in their lives. This in turn leads to an inability of such religiously minded people to recognize and appreciate the genuine devotion in their contemporaries. As a result, we see continuous attempts to end our sampradāya by declaring Śrīla Prabhupāda the last guru.

This is one extreme which manifests in deprecation of contemporary devotees. There is another one, which is even worse. That is when immature followers with blind faith idealize their contemporary spiritual masters, preachers, or mentors. Psychologically dependent people feel a need to have an impeccable saint or mystic nearby, serving as the guarantor of promised salvation. It is painful for such followers to perceive any imperfections or even just human traits in their spiritual master.* This need drives them to idealize their superiors – attributing every conceivable virtue to them while turning a blind eye to any shortcomings.* In doing so, they disconnect from reality, and the imagined ideal person becomes an idol or icon to which they offer blind worship.

Very often, in order to prove to themselves and to everyone else the greatness of their guru or mentor, they begin to insult other Vaiṣṇavas. It is difficult for them to tolerate when Godbrothers of their guru are glorified or offered similar worship. Claims for saintliness of others outrage them because they shake their faith in the uniqueness of their guru and undermine their concept of being the chosen ones.

Such people often have no real relationship with their spiritual master; they prefer to keep their distance so that the master’s words or actions do not inadvertently shatter their faith in him. For this reason, their idol usually exists as a smiling photo on their altar. In real life, the spiritual master is allowed to act only as a professional miracle maker.

A spiritual master or preacher who directly or indirectly encourages followers to idealize him as a flawless uttama-adhikārī also typically has no real relationship with disciples. Such a teacher often believes he is caring for his disciples’ spiritual progress by “meeting” their expectations. Fearing to expose his human nature, he isolates himself in “an ivory tower” and dooms himself to loneliness. Enormous energy is spent maintaining the carefully constructed image of a great saint. Simultaneously, he feels alienated from his authentic self, losing touch with who he truly is. This is a steep price to pay for the artificial status of a “pure devotee.”

Sooner or later, idealizations come to an end. Illusions crumble and the flaws or weaknesses of the idol (once ignored by followers) become evident and prompt the followers to label the idol a fraud. Those who once zealously worshipped their idol now just as zealously trample him into the dirt. Those who were idealized, now are demonized. All these phenomena are signs of a lack of understanding of the scientific principles underlying Kṛṣṇa consciousness.

For spiritual people, saints serve primarily as sources of inspiration and role models. Seekers of God look for and find manifestations of saintliness in their contemporaries. Virtues such as devotion, determination, kindness, humility, and modesty are sufficient evidence of saintliness for them. The human traits of a guru or preacher do not overshadow his genuine virtues. At the same time, sincere seekers of truth feel no psychological need to overlook their guru’s human traits or insult other teachers by viewing them as rivals to their own guru. Neither do they require validation of their faith in the form of miracles.

For such seekers, a saint is not merely a picture on the altar but someone they learn from – how to live, how to serve. A saint’s example stands before them, guiding their behavior in all life’s situations. As for saints of the past, it does not matter whether those saints were nitya-siddhas -- those who manifested their saintliness very early in their lives or could read minds. On the contrary, for them stories of saints battling temptations, overcoming obstacles, and learning lessons are far more valuable than tales of their mystical perfections.*

By learning to see the inner motivation of a sādhu rather than the external manifestations of his conditioned nature, seekers of truth gain the ability to recognize exalted qualities in others and learn from them, regardless of their formal position. In contrast, religious people or neophyte devotees, with their black-and-white vision, attribute all spiritual qualities exclusively to saints while seeing mainly flaws in those around them.

Religious people often view scriptures as collections of stories about miracle-workers and their miraculous deeds are meant to bolster their shaky faith in their chosen path. Everything else in the scriptures – philosophical discussions, cosmological models, descriptions of subtle natural laws, prayers, and so on – bore them. They are usually content with a superficial acquaintance with the scriptures. They have little personal convictions, know the śāstra only second-hand, and are easily confused. They find it tedious to delve into philosophy and often struggle to see its relevance to their lives. They say things like “Studying scriptures is not for everyone; only brāhmaṇas should do that.”; “That is all jñāna and we are practicing bhakti-yoga. We don’t need to know all these complexities.”; “The śāstras dry up the heart.”

Is this what Śrīla Prabhupāda wanted? At the dawn of the movement, he wrote:

He wanted his disciples to thoroughly know the scriptures so that their faith and understanding could be transmitted to everyone they spoke to and so that all could inherit the “family” title of Bhaktivedanta: “I want that all my spiritual sons and daughters will inherit this title of Bhaktivedanta, so that the family transcendental diploma will continue through the generations.”

Unfortunately, sometimes in our temples, the explanation of the profound philosophy underlying the scriptures is replaced by entertaining stories, tales of imaginary miracles, or – worse yet – the promotion of current political agendas. Instead of thought-provoking statements from the ācāryas, we often hear mechanically repeated clichés and template slogans. Under the pretext of loyalty to Śrīla Prabhupāda the books of previous ācāryas are sometimes practically banned and anyone quoting them is reflexively viewed with suspicion. Śrīla Prabhupāda’s own opinion in this regard is thus overlooked.

Another problem is that confounding questions that preachers cannot answer are perceived by them as attempts to undermine their authority. Therefore, those who ask such questions are sometimes publicly ridiculed to deter others. This turns lectures into platforms for public humiliation rather than places for sincere inquiry and stimulating discussions.

Preachers who misuse their preaching as a device to control the minds of their listeners appeal not so much to a person’s intelligence but rather to his or her basic emotions like fear and guilt. Suitable quotes from the śāstras will be specifically chosen for this purpose. People who are incapable of independent thinking and afraid to deviate even slightly from the letter of the scripture become a convenient flock. With such followers, one can achieve greater external success. Thus, preaching turns into a conveyor belt, producing robot-like converts.

The distinction between the religious and spiritual or scientific approaches to devotional practice can be observed in many aspects of life. Let us examine a few of the most apparent ones to better understand the motivation behind them and identify the seeds of faith they are planting in the hearts of their listeners.

On the one hand, religious people often display fanaticism in following rules, cluttering their lives with meaningless regulations, assigning divine will to every trivial detail, and then attempting to circumvent these restrictions by inventing all sorts of justifications and loopholes.*

One example is the observance of Pāṇḍava (Nirjala) Ekādaśī. Śrīla Prabhupāda never singled out this specific day; for him, all Ekādaśīs were equally important. Yet, at some point, devotees read how Vyāsadeva permitted the insatiable Bhīma to observe fasting only on this Ekādaśī and decided the same applied to them. Thus, the cult of Pāṇḍava Ekādaśī arose in our society, while on other Ekādaśī days, “Ekādaśī feasts” prevail, where almost everything that can be excluded from the list of “prohibited” foods is served.

Those serious about spiritual practice first seek to understand the purpose of the rules, distinguishing principles from details.* Either on their own or with the help of seniors, they soberly assess their capabilities and adopt a manageable standard, constantly striving to raise it.

To a religiously minded person, equals are competitors who hinder their approach to the one on whom their salvation depends – be it a guru, a great preacher, or at the very least the close associates of their guru. Their strategy for dealing with peers is simple: elbow everyone aside, strive to gain favor, and secure a position closer to the source of grace.

On the contrary, people with a spiritual attitude view equals as friends and companions, whose perseverance inspires and supports them in moving forward.* Differences of opinion do not frighten them or deter them from cooperation. They see such differences not as obstacles but as sources of creative energy and opportunities to improve their shared mission.

Religiously minded people often fear science, as it threatens to dismantle their hastily assembled worldview based on religious dogmas. Paradoxically, this fear coexists with attempts to prove their faith’s correctness using “the latest scientific discoveries.” For example, they rejoice at headlines like “A Mathematician Proves the Existence of God”* or videos showing how the sound of “Om” creates the shape of the Śrī Yantra on a sand plate.*

Śrīla Prabhupāda, however, was never afraid to engage in discussions with scientists and never relied on dubious scientific arguments to prove his points. He emphasized that we must learn to speak to scientists in their language.* But at the same time, without currying favor with them, he wanted us to present the philosophy of Kṛṣṇa consciousness on its own. This is one of the purposes of the Bhaktivedanta Institute he founded.

In most religions, salvation is declared a privilege accessible only to their members – the chosen and initiated. Everyone else, who failed to choose the right path, is doomed to hell or rebirth in the material realm. Unfortunately, Vaiṣṇava preachers sometimes also attempt to prove the superiority of Kṛṣṇa consciousness by denouncing other religions. This form of apologetics, or defending a religious dogma, may inspire religiously minded individuals, but it often repels spiritual seekers of the truth. Those focused on the principles and laws of spiritual science, easily discern how these universal laws manifest in the teachings of other religions and distinguish them from recently introduced historical compromises.

Bhaktivinoda Ṭhākura expressed this idea most beautifully:

Religious people, especially leaders, often display harsh negativity toward those who dare leave the “only true path to God.” This attitude reveals their inner insecurity. Leaders believe they must denounce defectors to protect their own fragile faith as well as that of their followers in order to maintain the follower’s loyalty to the exclusivity and infallibility of their chosen path. Detailed public blamestorming of the “traitors” is often held as warnings to those who stay.

In contrast, sincere seekers of truth approach those who have left with compassion. They strive to understand the problem and find ways to help them return to spiritual practice or at least maintain a favorable attitude toward God, which might one day inspire them to continue their spiritual journey.*

Those who join a religious organization or a spiritual movement begin to form a new identity, but this process unfolds differently. Religious organizations emphasize external markers of belonging – clothing, new names, diplomas, awards, privileges, titles, and ranks. These items are imbued with special symbolic significance and people strive to attain them, viewing them as indicators of spiritual progress. Consequently, in ISKCON, dīkṣā (first and second initiation) is often considered an almost magical act performed by a powerful guru who is likened to a magician. Unfortunately, people often forget that without śikṣā, dīkṣā is lifeless. Dīkṣā in strict terms is just recognition of the candidate’s eligibility for śikṣā. The pursuit of external recognition often obscures the need for inner transformation, which only occurs through a living relationship with the spiritual master based on following his instructions.

Śrīla Prabhupāda was initiated eleven years after meeting his spiritual master. Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī, a devotee from birth, was initiated at the age of thirty-seven, and in ISKCON a bhakta who is not initiated within three years after meeting the Vaiṣṇavas is considered “backward.” The rush for dīkṣā is often motivated by the need of formal recognition of our “chosen-ness.” Besides “the spiritual teacher at the moment of initiation takes upon himself all the sins of the disciple,” so we need to be in a hurry. Obsession with the magic of dīkṣā, and virtual deification of the dīkṣā-guru leads to adownplaying of the role of śikṣā and creates a host of problemsthat remain unresolved.

The disparity between the religious and scientific perspectives creates two parallel value systems within a spiritual organization: the declared and the actual. In the declared system, virtues and genuine spiritual experiences – manifested through detachment from matter and genuine compassion – are held in the highest regard. In the actual system, status and wealth take precedence. In the declared system, the level of spiritual development is measured by the intensity of practice and the depth of scriptural knowledge. In the actual system, it is gauged by one’s rank in the organizational hierarchy and proximity to “spiritual leaders.” Frequently, while humility is extolled from high pulpits, those who bring more money to the organization or excel in management are rewarded, glorified, and encouraged. Countless examples can be cited. Thus, “organized religion” breeds hypocrisy.

Let us stop here. Enough has been said to paint the picture and understand how easily, driven by noble motives, or desires for liberation, or success disguised as bhakti, ISKCON could become just another traditional religion.

Now, let us go further and examine the practical consequences of the “religious” worldview.

Perhaps the most significant consequence of the religious approach is its almost inevitable result: burnout. A person joins our society and accepts the prescribed “rules of the game.” Sooner or later, he attains a position within the community of devotees, chants his rounds, follows the principles, serves, and so on. His neck is adorned with a brāhmaṇa thread and three strands of tulasī beads, while his heart harbors hope for the promised miracle: all negative qualities will “automatically” vanish, and spiritual practice will naturally become easy and pleasant.

Years pass, all possible initiations have been received, all courses completed, all diplomas obtained, all stories heard – but the taste for the holy name has not come. Unfortunately, someone with a religious mindset does not try to understand the reasons for this. Instead, he convinces himself, “I just need to endure a little longer and the miracle will happen.” Sometimes this stance is supported by quoting Śrīla Prabhupāda’s words, “Just go on!” Go on what? Mechanically performing rituals? Reading books for the mandatory twenty minutes a day while suppressing yawns? Chanting japa on the way to work? Spending half of the Sunday program in the temple café or chatting with friends? What else should I do? I’m doing everything necessary – chanting sixteen rounds, reading the books, visiting the temple. Yet, the “result” stubbornly refuses to come.

Meanwhile, negative emotions accumulate in such devotees’ heart. The Vaiṣṇavas, who seemed saintly to them in the early days of their spiritual journey, now appear as a gathering of hypocrites and misfits. Increasingly, such practitioners commit offenses, shifting responsibility for their lack of spiritual taste onto others – the community, ISKCON, or their spiritual master. Eventually, the tension that has been building for years releases in a burst of accumulated dissatisfaction, anger, and complaints.

The pretexts for such an outburst are plentiful: inappropriate behavior of some senior devotees, quarrels among Vaiṣṇavas, doubts about the philosophy of Kṛṣṇa consciousness sown by disappointed devotees, insinuations from a multitude of social media addicts, anti-cult speculations, and more.

One rough statistical survey in Russia revealed that the average duration of devotional practice is approximately seven years. This timeframe is sufficient for the novelty and sense of wonder to fade, while accumulated disappointments and offenses rob a person of any taste for spiritual practice.

When initial enthusiasm fades, devotees often feel betrayed considering they were deceived. However, in truth, such a person deceived himself by turning off his intelligence and surrendering his freedom. Of course, part of the responsibility lies with the leaders – we cannot deny this. And that makes the pain even greater. It is likely the ISKCON’s leaders they trusted contributed to or did not prevent, their self-deception. By placing improper emphasis in their preaching, they failed to teach such people the scientific foundation of Kṛṣṇa consciousness.

Leaving ISKCON takes many forms. Sometimes having lost faith in the promises they received a person begins seeking other paths to easy salvation. They might turn to Rādhā-kuṇḍa, where they are promised “enjoyment of rasa and ecstatic service in siddha-svarūpa” in this very life. Or they might simply “stop being fanatical,” or “harmonize” their lives through “practical Vedic success technologies.” They could turn to Christianity, with its fewer demands and more guarantees, or start taking psychedelics, or adopt shamanic practices, etc. Others might get professional training as psychologists or make their living conducting Hellinger constellations or past-life regressions. Each of these paths offers “real miracles,” far more impressive than the “sour grapes” of Kṛṣṇa consciousness.

The most common and perhaps saddest scenario, however, occurs when Vaiṣṇavas, seeing no tangible results from their practice, quietly lose faith in the possibility of success altogether. Recognizing the importance of spirituality, they retain the least burdensome rituals, performing them mechanically, hoping for a miracle at the moment of death. At best, they faithfully attend Sunday programs or temple festivals, respond to “Hare Kṛṣṇa” with habitual ease, wistfully observe the enthusiasm of newcomers, and struggle to resist the temptation to dampen their fervor with a dose of cynicism.

When the number of such passive believers with lifeless gazes accumulates, the revolutionary, vibrant, and pure Kṛṣṇa consciousness movement transforms into yet another mundane religion. We claim exclusivity but effect little change in people’s real lives.* Thus, the grim observation of Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī Ṭhākura is confirmed: “The original purpose of the established churches of the world may not always be objectionable. But no stable religious arrangement for instructing the masses has yet been successful.”

One way to safeguard ISKCON from degeneration is to simultaneously minimize the unconscious dogma-creating factors that plague us, while consistently emphasizing the rational foundation of the practice of Kṛṣṇa consciousness. We thus affirm Kṛṣṇa consciousness as a spiritual science rooted in universal principles. At the same time, it is crucial to “not throw the baby out with the bathwater” by ensuring that Kṛṣṇa consciousness does not devolve into dry philosophical speculation. We need to leave room for the living miracle of encountering the transcendental reality.

We began this discussion by recalling Śrīla Prabhupāda’s mission to “systematically propagate spiritual knowledge to society at large and to educate all peoples in the techniques of spiritual life to check the imbalance of values in life and to achieve real unity and peace in the world.” He envisioned ISKCON as an institution that would “achieve for the first time in human society a real peace and unity among the contending forces in the world today.”*

Instead, despite its impressive accomplishments, ISKCON today finds itself battling multiple organizations claiming to represent the “true” ISKCON. Even within the official ISKCON, there are alarming points of contention threatening split, not to mention the traditional tensions with the Gauḍīya Maṭha and other branches of the Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇava sampradāya. Absorbed in these disputes, we have nearly forgotten that ISKCON’s primary task is to “achieve unity among the contending forces in the world today.”

Why did Śrīla Prabhupāda hope that ISKCON would not suffer the fate of other religions with their endless schisms, disputes, and struggles for dominance? One possible answer is that Śrīla Prabhupāda founded ISKCON on the universal principles of spiritual science. In doing so, he strictly followed Rūpa Gosvāmī, who articulated these principles in his Bhakti-rasāmṛta-sindhu. The flawless logical and philosophical analysis presented by Rūpa Gosvāmī transformed bhakti from abstract theological concepts into precise scientific terms. It enabled us to identify and differentiate various forms and manifestations of bhakti and point the way to achieving their purest and most exalted form – śuddha-bhakti, or uttama-bhakti.

Essentially, all deviations that risk turning ISKCON into a compromised religion can be categorized either as contamination by karma (worldly, self-serving religiosity), or by jñāna (religiosity driven by the desire for liberation).

Mass religions, through their long history in this world, have absorbed a multitude of ideas, beliefs, and prejudices. Catering to the needs of their members, they made compromises and concessions. Lacking a clear conceptual framework to distinguish pure bhakti from its hybrid forms, they canonized notions, practices, and customs that deviated from the ideal of pure devotion.

We, too, can follow this path and allow the “masses to exploit a spiritual movement for their own purpose,” thereby ending “the absolute and unconventional guidance of the bona fide spiritual teacher.” Or we can strive to positively affirm the need to keep the universal principles of spiritual science in ISKCON’s laws, traditions, culture, and organizational structures.

Universal principles, by definition, are valid everywhere at all times. They are not a subject of dispute or arbitrary interpretations. Rather they provide grounds for respectful discussion among those who know the śāstras and, most importantly, live according to them. Thus, if we set the goal of shaping our movement firmly on these principles, the first step would be to establish a culture of transparency for all leaders and a culture of respectful dialogue following strict rules of Vaiṣṇava etiquette, as was the case in Lord Caitanya’s time.

There are many other things that can and should be done if we want to establish bhakti as the science of God and ISKCON as an international educational institution dedicated to teaching this great science.

I am well aware that it is much easier to write about all this than to actually realize it in practice. Everything that seems so beautiful on paper looks different in reality. This does not negate the need to try to see the ideal picture and work toward its realisation.

I am aware that there are many sincere leaders who are working hard to improve ISKCON and make it the society that Śrīla Prabhupāda wanted it to be. I hope that my words will not be taken as an attempt to offend anyone or belittle anyone’s service.

Looking back, I understand that I myself was guilty of some of the mistakes described here – due to my inexperience or excess of enthusiasm to preach Kṛṣṇa consciousness far and wide.

In this article I shared my thoughts of what our society is currently going through. I am sure that many other Vaiṣṇavas more experienced than myself are also pondering this and doing everything within their power to avoid the sad scenario painted by Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī, and to carry out the will of Śrīla Prabhupāda by making ISKCON a movement that will “check the imbalance of values in life and achieve real unity and peace in the world.”