Bhakti - A Perspective on Devotion

Friends,

This paper aims to tackle a problem that is dear to me. Not one that I have solved, but something I have wrestled with deeply.

Bhakti. Devotion to life itself.

There will be two substantive sections to this paper. The first will answer “Why Bhakti? Why does this matter?”

The second will attempt to answer “How Bhakti? How can I be in love with my life?”

I do not write this from a position of authority. I am not claiming to be in endless bliss, rejoicing every moment. That would be deeply dishonest. I write this as someone who is trying to live well. Someone who has experienced the quiet grief of watching one’s life rather than living it. Someone who has investigated a way through.

In my last paper I developed a certain metaphysical framework and orientation – one which is adaptable and allows for evolution as a function of time. To contextualise some of the terminology I will use, I will first provide an abbreviated except of the model of living I proposed.

An Excerpt from “My Metaphysical Framework and Orientation”

Taking influence from Eastern yogic traditions, I propose to live a full-fledged life in any pursuit – there are four categories which need simultaneous optimisation (this is one model, by no means the only model).

1.     Jnana. Intellectual inquiry/enquiry into Truth. The realm of philosophising one’s way to living well (at least in their own estimation). Cutting through illusions with intellect.

• Important, but insufficient for a complete life. This is the sword of discernment one must always wield.

2.     Bhakti. Devotion. Love

• Without devotion to whatever is in front of you, be it work, exercise, writing, learning -> one will not move. Devotion is the idea of using your emotions to invest in what is in front of you.

  • The shadow is blind devotion, which is mitigated by Jnana. Discernment first, devotion second.

  • But without investing one’s heart, one can never truly live. The poets, the minstrels, the artists all dance with devotion.

3.     Karma. Action without commentary. Stillness in Motion

4.     Raja/Kriya. Some kind of formalised meditation or introspective practice.

Why Bhakti?

This paper will focus on Bhakti. Jnana (the sword of discernment) cuts through illusion. Allows one to see through the narratives they are holding onto. Forces one to stand alone, face to face with their inevitable death.

The memory of your memory will fade surely into dust. Your grandchildren’s grandchildren probably won’t remember your name (and certainly won’t care). Why should they? Do you remember your ancestors? In the face of eternity, is it not a fool’s game to scream your name into the cosmos – a vain attempt to preserve what must ultimately fade away? Even mountains collapse with time. Still, we grasp tightly, white-knuckled and shaking with perspiration at something which will surely end - our own lives. What are we so afraid of?

The further one zooms out the less rational it seems to weigh one’s own life so highly.

At least collective ambitions - the preservation of the species, the alleviation of suffering - are longstanding. At least there is perpetuity in future generations living better than us, even if our own names fade away. But instead, we conjure heaven, hell, eternity. Afterlife. An infinite soul. If only to maintain some kind of cosmic continuity. Some kind of equalising and stabilising force against the bleakness of impermanence.

Because then it all means something, right?

How pragmatic it seems, in the face of this, that the nihilists and existentialists emerged. The absurdity of Camus: “one must imagine Sisyphus happy.” Because if nothing means anything… then what? Do we fall into endless hedonism, killing ourselves when the consequences of our actions catch us? Do we dance with the devil? Do we turn away from Truth and start working for ourselves? To be “better” than our peers? How can we possibly do good? Must we cede our intellectual rigour into the warm caress of faith? Shouting “God has a plan for me! I don’t know, but God does! Everything happens for a reason!”

…

To this, dear friends, I say we mustn’t begin in the third person. Speaking of people, things, places as objective. The subjective rules the kingdom of action. Of feeling. We must speak from lived experience. Remove the concept of “should” for a moment. From rules written in stone and morality imposed as authority. Turn inwards. Let us examine not what we should do, but how to optimise – truly - our own experience from the first person.

Because life is lived in feeling. We must stop relating to existence as an object to evaluate from afar. If you are truly a rationalist, try rationalising and optimising your feelings. Seriously. Not as an intellectual game. Reflect on when you felt truly the best, consistently, as a function of time. What state were you in? What were you doing?

Whether we are immortal souls or an improbable biological accident, we are here now. Experience is undeniably happening. The question then becomes not merely what is true, but how to live. This is the transition point between Jnana yoga (the realm of philosophy and intellectual inquiry) into Bhakti yoga. Devotion. Devotion to life itself.

The need for devotion becomes increasingly self-evident. If nothing means anything then the difference between heaven and hell is a change in perspective. It is despairing at everything you are not versus relishing all that you are. The fact remains that you exist. There is a certain ‘IS-ness” to you. And experience is certainly happening. Whether or not free will exists, one must act as if they have free-will. This is hard to argue against. It takes a certain will (illusory or not) to make toast in the morning and get groceries.

When you are devoted to what is in front of you, the question of meaning dissolves. It comes, usually, from a place of pain. When you are having a good day, in moments you have a smile that can’t seem to leave your face. When you are laughing and mean it. You don’t ask then, “Why? Why live? Why do anything? What does it all mean?”

The question itself arises from a lack of “this moment is enough.” We are looking for a moment that isn’t this. When we are single, we look for companionship. When we have a partner, we resent the loss of freedom. When we work, we wish we could rest. When we rest, we feel like we need to work. In endless pursuit of some future moment, we find ourselves in a perpetual cycle of suffering. Occasionally achieving some goal and breathing in, for a moment, the crisp air of “nothing is missing.”

So how does one make this moment enough?

The first, basic pre-requisite is to stop trying to escape it. Because you are here, now, whether you like it or not. You cannot resist the moment and enjoy the moment simultaneously. You can’t be looking for ways to leave a party and enjoy it simultaneously. Moment to moment. You can’t be waiting for the day to end and enjoy the day simultaneously. How many moments have we lived waiting for another one?

Does it end?

This is what it means to surrender to what is. You can’t act in the future nor in the past. You can only act here. Now.

Let me assume you have been thoroughly convinced by this argument. That if it is possible to devote yourself to the inescapable, ever-present moment, then one would. How? How can one cultivate this state of love without object?

How Bhakti?

There is a certain numbness that one encounters in the realm of endless intellectual pursuit. I don’t think numbness necessarily means failure. In fact, I suspect many compulsions exist precisely to conceal it. We procrastinate to avoid a feeling, replacing it with a slightly more pleasurable, short-term feeling. We spend our lives avoiding and anticipating pain, living fearful lives justified in retrospect as pragmatic.

I would like to pre-emptively address the fear of placation. “If I accept the moment, what will happen to my ambition? How will I act in the world? Isn’t this proposal akin to spiritual passivism?”

To this I would suggest that one’s drive doesn’t need to come from a place of pain. We can act in the world and fall in love with the journey simultaneously. Objective goals and subjective reality coexist as two parallel, complementary streams. We must work on both. You won’t become less effective in the world by staying in the present. From leaning into whatever is in front of you instead of escaping it. The romantic allure of the tortured artist skips the part where they are tortured. You do not need to be. Do not wear your suffering like a badge of honour. Why must you hurt yourself to move? If it really is about the journey and not the destination, let yourself fall in love with the journey.

Bhakti is not blind emotionality. Nor is it merely belief in God. It is the deliberate cultivation of loving participation in existence. Truth removes illusion. Bhakti reanimates life.

The first thing one must understand is that human beings do not move through intellect alone. We move through emotion, image, beauty, story, attachment and meaning. A purely rational understanding of life rarely animates action. One can understand exactly why they should exercise, write, study, love more honestly and still fail to move. The intellect can orient, but it cannot always energise. This is where Bhakti emerges. Bhakti is the force that allows one to continue living after illusion has dissolved.

One must consciously cultivate devotion.

Not necessarily devotion to a deity in the simplistic sense, though for some that path is deeply alive. As far as I can tell in the Eastern lore, “gods” are interfaced with as living archetypes with a metaphysical existence. An example I can give is Kali Ma as the archetype/stream of consciousness that is fierce compassion. It’s not about praying for things, it’s about cultivating the aspect of you that is endlessly compassionate and willing to tell the truth even when it stings. In this context, praying to Kali Ma is something like embodying the projected manifestation of infinite fierce compassion. It is a technology – an object of devotion. 

The psyche organizes itself through symbols, icons and emotional focal points. This is why human beings across all cultures generate mythology, ritual, art and sacred imagery. Not because humanity is irrational, but because emotion requires structure through which to move. A cross. Krishna’s flute. Shiva in stillness. The Buddha beneath the Bodhi tree. A nation’s flag. A revolutionary ideal. These become orienting forces.

The intellect alone says: “I should live well.” Bhakti says: “I love this enough to move.”

The danger, of course, is blind devotion. History is littered with it. Devotion severed from discernment becomes fanaticism. But discernment severed from devotion becomes sterility. One cuts endlessly and eventually finds themselves unable to feel. A balance must emerge. Jnana asks: “Is this true?” Bhakti asks: “Can I give my heart to this?” And Karma emerges naturally from the union of the two. In practical terms, Bhakti is cultivated through participation. Through conscious immersion in life rather than permanent abstraction from it.

Attention itself becomes an act of love. Cooking becomes devotion when fully entered. Exercise becomes devotion. Conversation becomes devotion. Writing becomes devotion. Even suffering can become devotion when consciously borne.

This does not mean permanent bliss. Nor does it mean emotional intoxication. In fact, true devotion often contains pain. Heartbreak hurts precisely because something meaningful was touched. Grief hurts because love was real. “Numbness” often contains pain hidden beneath absence. And when you love something, sometimes you must let it go. This is why I do not think the answer to numbness is immediate escape from it. Sometimes the compulsions we cling to are precisely what prevent us from encountering ourselves honestly. One must remain present long enough for life to begin moving again. Not forcing feeling. Not manufacturing ecstasy. But slowly removing resistance to participation itself.

Courage is not hardening yourself against the world. It is remaining open despite impermanence. To love knowing loss is inevitable. To let life touch you deeply without clinging to it.

The walls we build to protect ourselves eventually become cages.

You are at your best when you are loving, both in your own experience and to those who experience you. We must be brave. Risk feeling. Love without grasping. The moment we grasp, cling and twist - we distort the stream. This is the line we must walk.

Love risks grief and devotion risks heartbreak. Action risks failure. Yet closing the heart produces a worse form of suffering than impermanence itself. Refusing to participate slowly deadens the soul.

Bhakti is to let life touch you fully, even knowing it will pass.