Towards
Understanding Chakravartin Swami Satyananda
Upendra
Baxi (former Vice-Chancellor, University of Delhi)
Prefatory
“I am now
an Emperor,” proclaimed Sri Swami Satyananda, at an extraordinary event,
attended by a large gathering of thousands of disciples and followers from all
over the world1 at Rikhia2, on December 14, 2007, marking the completion of the
12th annual Rajasooya Yajna. With this, the swami also became a Chakravartin.
This
proclamation raises many questions, because beloved Sri Swamiji is also a
renunciate3. How may a renunciate become an emperor? And indeed, with what
scriptural authority may a renunciate perform the Rajasooya Yajna which
hitherto could only be performed by kings (since kings alone could become
emperors)? How may we understand a spiritual being as a conqueror? And more,
what kind of empire stands thus constructed? What may constitute its symbolic
significance and its future effective histories? How may this empire relate to
the sound and fury of contemporary politics in which many beings and entities
claim their right and power to construct new secular empires?
The
provocation thus posed is immense and worth pondering by the disciples of Sri
Swamiji worldwide and by those who, without actually pursuing the spiritual
path, still remain interested in and influenced by his teachings. Even those
who are not influenced by the life and teachings of Sri Swamiji and thus
autonomously proceed with the building of secular empires (of science and
technology, or global politics) may find some important resources here.
I present
these reflections with a hope that you will respond in agreement as well as
disagreement because as Sri Swamiji insists, “What makes us human is the
capacity to be different from one another, combined with the ability to
communicate with each other and to engage in dialogue, especially with those
with whom we disagree the most4.”
Swami
Satyananda’s idea of kingship
According
to the best available interpretation of the tradition, only a king may perform
the Rajasooya Yajna. Not every king may do so, but only the most righteous in
order to establish peace and justice in the realm, as did King Yudhishthira in
the epic Mahabharata. So one may read the performance of this yajna as the
pious obligation of a righteous ruler. Only this performance elevates the king
to the status of an emperor.
This
understanding should suffice here to attend to a preliminary question: How may
a renunciate perform such a yajna and claim the status of an emperor? I raised
this question with Sri Swamiji5 who conceded, with a beatific simplicity, that
his reading of the yajna accorded well with the scriptural authority or canon.
Yet, with a twinkle in his eye, he asked: “What does kingship signify?”
Answering his own question, Sri Swamiji proceeded to say that a king is a
figure of speech, a metaphor, of just governance. The righteous king collects
taxes in order to distribute the gains among the poorest of the poor subjects.
Royal authority or governance is justified in acting even coercively to collect
public revenues only when these are directed to the betterment of the
worst-off. If this is so, why should a spiritual being who receives daan
(tributary offerings) and dedicates this to the most needy not be regarded in
terms of kingship? If Swami Satyananda is thus already the figure of a
spiritual king, the next step is the transition from king to a chakravartin.
Three
messages
One needs
to consider Sri Swamiji’s message in at least three ways. To start with, his
notion of secular political authority (kingship/governance) defines legitimacy
as ethical, when entailing the tasks of redistribution. A sovereign forfeits
the authority to rule when his governance ceases to care for the neediest
people. Sri Swamiji would have agreed with St Augustine when he asked: “What is
state without justice, but a band of robbers?” Justice is no longer to be
defined merely in terms of providing collective peace and security or respect
for rights and liberties. Important as these remain, justice in Sri Swamiji’s
conception of it is practised best as a social virtue in terms of state and
social action that disproportionately benefits the ‘have-nots’ over the
‘haves’. The current descriptions in vogue such as ‘development’, ‘good
governance’ and ‘fair globalization’ correspond with the idea of justice
understood in this way.
Like the
great karma yogin, Mahatma Gandhi, Sri Swamiji too pursues the idea of satta
(power/authority) in terms of seva or service of the poorest of the poor in
whom God dwells, daridra-narayan. More specifically, Sri Swamiji uplifts the
impoverished by his special emphasis on education that empowers the girl-child.
What the Mahatma failed to achieve, Sri Swamiji fully attains, as no one who
participated in the yajnas would have failed to feel. The entire ceremony was
conducted by young girls and women in impeccable Sanskrit and English, with
great cadence and gusto of singing, dancing and chanting multicultural bhajans
and stutis. On the final day of the yajna, kumari poojan was conducted in which
Swami Niranjan (following his master) washed the feet of the kanya kumaris,
small girls selected from the locality, and offered food to them, in a singular
act of worshipping the divine Shakti embodied in their beings. The universal
message lies in the acts of subversion and uprooting of patriarchy and its
age-old cultures of perfidious domination.
The second
message celebrates the power of karuna, compassion, in the spirit of Gautama
Buddha. Karuna goes beyond acts of episodic charity towards the
suffering/vulnerable other. Lord Buddha recasts karuna as a pathway to nirvana
(emancipation). If moksha is self-emancipation from the eternal cycles of birth
and rebirth, karuna suggests, in contrast, striving towards collective
liberation from the sources of dukkha (human and social suffering). Karuna is
not anukampa (sympathy), but an action, productive action on behalf of others.
Karuna leads the Bodhisattwa to renounce nirvana and accept rebirth time and
again until all beings are released from suffering. Karuna is a principle of
action, of taking responsibility for, and saving, human and other beings in the
world.
One way to
understand the Rajasooya Yajna is that it blends the notions of rajadharma with
those of karuna. Its reiterated practice is always an act of redefining the
idea of empire and the chakravartin in terms of our inexhaustible
responsibility for the suffering and vulnerable other beings. The figuration of
Swami Satyananda as a chakravartin constantly renews the call for fashioning an
ethical spirituality based on ‘we-ness’, fully addressing our responsibility to
relate to the suffering of others. Sri Swamiji has dedicated his entire
spiritual life towards compassion, but as com-passion, a form of ‘we-ness’ in
which the face of the suffering and vulnerable provokes immense orders of
individual ethical responsibility, an advent of a common spiritual solidarity.
There is an
implicit relationship between karuna and death or dying. The Buddha at times
suggests that karuna has the moral intensity, the compassion of a dying person.
That intensity is also a cry for forgiveness from the other for not taking
their sufferings and death seriously. Sri Swamiji carries the message a little
further: because a part of us dies every moment (whether biologically, socially
or ethically), karuna is both the compassion of the dying and a quest for
forgiveness. He further suggests that something in each one of us dies when we
fail to respond to the face and call of this suffering other.
Third, Sri
Swamiji thus innovates a new tradition for the life of a renunciate. He
postulates a novel way of understanding the traditional spiritual order in
terms of shared social responsibility towards the suffering and vulnerable. If
the practices of itinerant spirituality of a parivrajaka constitute the first
step towards the spiritual development of a sadhu or sannyasin, the next best
transformative move indicates the itinerary of this figuration as a swami, a
Saraswati, immersed in the practices of meditative self-knowledge, always
placed at the service of suffering humanity. The next stage consists of the
conversion of the swami into a paramahamsa.
A
paramahamsa forsakes the tasks of initiation (diksha) and superintendence over
the spiritual progress of disciples. He withdraws from the daily acts and
transactions of spiritual administration into a wider communion with the
divine, considered not in any theological terms, but as a principle of energy,
independent of the forms of its material embodiments. Only a paramahamsa is
thus able to say (as Sri Swamiji remains able to say) that contrary to the
common understanding of yoga as a form of union between purusha and prakriti,
yoga in fact constitutes an order of separation of energy from matter, bearing
a remarkable familiarity to quantum physics.
In these
three ways the king paramahamsa sets the stage for a chakravartin paramahamsa.
This, to my mind, constitutes the quintessence of Sri Swamiji’s proclamation on
December 14th.
Dialoguing
with some conscientious objectors
The
enormity of this claim, the proclamation of chakravartin status, may well be
contested by orthodox custodians of the Hindu spiritual traditions and the
secularists. The custodians may contest this because such thoughts have
previously been unheard of. As far as I know, no spiritual figure in India has
indeed claimed the spiritual right and power to perform this yajna and the
status elevation entailed. However, the reasons offered by Sri Swamiji should
provide at least a threshold justification.
The secularist
is apt to dismiss this claim as an exercise in spiritualist delusion or even
delirium. Sri Swamiji, however, invites us to think beyond such spiritually
orphaned intolerance. I imagine, he would say (with Emmanuel Levinas, who
educated us all about our infinite responsibility towards the suffering and
vulnerable other) that all rational thought remains delirious6. Delirious
rationality of thought remains, after all, all that we have as humans.
Thus, the
idea under-girding capitalist economy is simply worship at the altar of
profit-making or wealth-maximization as a supreme common good, as much as the
rival notion of socializing all means of production. Likewise, contemporary
human rights activism and social movements remain insensible outside the
delirious desire that seeks to constrain forever the claims of absolute power,
domination and sovereignty. Since desire co-equally inflects all forms of
rational thought-formations, it may not furnish any adequate ground for
critiquing forms of desire for spiritual emancipation, whether conceived in
terms of moksha or nirvana. In any event, these languages remain pitted against
the ethical superiority of the order/disorder of desire, which postulates the
exploitation/immisseration of the suffering and vulnerable other as the
signature tune of human development and social progress.
At the very
least, a secular critic ought to engage this claim through dialogue, rather
than dismiss it in imperious gestures towards ‘irrationality’. At stake
remains, as Sri Swamiji fully suggested in his marathon pravachan, not so much
the contrast between the desire of Reason and the desire of the Desire, but
rather the notion that all forms of desiring thought remain just thus: they
pursue (as per the psychoanalyst New Freud, Jacques Lacan) ‘desire’ as an
infinite lack, a form in which non-fulfilment of desire itself marks the
possibility of desire (the kasturi mrig-trishna, as the Indian saints and seers
once described this!) Put another way, at stake always remains the tension, or
even the contradiction, between what utopian desires aspire to achieve in the
face of the ‘Real’. In this regard, I invite further dialogue among the global
communities of the International Yoga Fellowship.
The idea of
empire
Sri
Swamiji’s notion of a chakravartin may not be divorced from the notion of
empire. A careful listening to his pravachan suggests that he partly developed
his notion of empire to provide standards by which one may proceed to critique
or judge the past and contemporary empires. This remains enormously important
for judging the positive moralities of human and social development, now
variously described as ‘good governance’, ‘sustainable development’ and
‘fair/ethical globalization’. Sri Swamiji, on the other hand, elaborates a
distinctive normative notion of empire. It is with his own notion of an empire
that I deal with first, leaving the former to the next section of this article.
Sri Swamiji
conceives of empire in terms of ethical spirituality. The ethics lie in owning
responsibility for the suffering and vulnerable other; spirituality is
understood as many diverse ways of realizing the divine. At the same time, the
notion of the divine is multi-religiously held as providing some necessary
universal elements, such as the order of distinctions between body, mind and
soul, the individual and the universal spirit, localized consciousness and
transcendent consciousness, energy and matter. In presenting yoga as a secular
technology, a pursuit that requires no particular subscription to a
faith-community, Sri Swamiji speaks to agnostics and atheists alike. Ethical
spirituality, for Sri Swamiji, provides a way of talking about the idea of an
empire in both sacred and secular terms and thus traverses both the notions of
this-world and other-world empires.
In order to
understand this complexity more fully, we need to see the constitutive elements
of the notion. The building of this-worldly political or ideological empires
entails the heavily blood-stained orders of conquest. Of great significance
here is the notion that there may not be such an empire without conquest, no
conquest without an ideology of unification, and no ideology without utopia
(some vision of a common future). These three elements, put together,
distinguish conquest from invasion, whose principal aim lies in loot and
plunder, nothing more. While the capacity to invade remains important for
conquest, it is not a defining condition of this-worldly empires. There exist
no ways of differentiating the idea of empire outside the disorders of
violently imposed imperialisms.
However, as
history shows, building ‘secular’ empires remains always tinged with the idea
of the sacred, for example, the Holy Roman Empire or the global Jihad and its
counterpart, the ‘war on terror’. Here stands inscribed the idea of just and
justified political violence. In these justifications, we encounter a more or
less constant interplay between the secular and the holy, a mix of the sacred
and the profane practices of empire-building, directed to serving the end of a
wider transformation, a higher, transcendent, even cosmological mission.
Chakravartin Swami Satyananda contests this way of constructing worldly
empires.
Further,
this account of the constitutive elements of an empire overlooks the notion of
non-violent empire-building. Thus, it remains a notable fact of world history
that the messages of classical Hinduism and Buddhism spread globally without
the force of arms. Chakravartin Satyananda had this history in mind when he
announced a new Empire of Yoga. Sri Swamiji constantly referred in his
pravachcan to the art and science of yoga as a secular (religion-neutral)
regime of technology of self, caring for others and as a new tradition of
ethical spirituality for caring for oneself, as a way to transform this world
into a different and better world. Sri Swamiji thus distanced himself totally
from the idea of violently constituted world empires, thriving exclusively by
occupation of territories, peoples and resources.
Further, in
thus presenting the idea of a chakravartin, Sri Swamiji also offers profiles of
a new empire of yoga, which as a secular technology transcends national
boundaries and ideological frontiers. The key thought here is that technology
transcends ideology. In that case, a further terrain opens up for re-imagining
empires counteracting such techno-scientific empires like the new forms of
Microsoft empires, or the emergent biotechnology and nanotechnology empires,
generally described as ‘colonization without colonizers’. However, yoga as a
secular techno-scientific empire in Sri Swamiji’s view is different from these
new techno-scientific empires, which remain driven and dominated by
hyper-profit and the power of new formations of the global capital.
To be sure,
the yogic techniques are now being subjected to the laws of intellectual
property, especially patents, as in the recent case of Bikram Yoga in the
United States. Sri Swamiji’s vision of a secular yogic empire, his vision of
yoga heralding a new and different kind of techno-scientific empire remains
vastly and preciously different. The important question, however, is: how will
this concept avoid appropriation by the global corporate world? Further, how
may this new empire of yoga appropriate modern digital technology without being
appropriated by it in turn?
Both forms
of empire (the ideological/political and the techno-scientific) thrive on the
notion of ‘mastery’ over nature, contemplated as a mastery over natural nature
and human nature. In both, though markedly differently, natural nature and
human nature are presented as infinitely malleable resources placed at the
service of some imperious ends. This, in turn, raises a profound question: In
constructing secular empires (including the yogic empire), how may we avoid the
task of mastering violence directed towards the self and others? Mastery of
one’s self also entails violence against one’s innate drives and desires. No
violence equals no empire. The difficult question is always: what may justify
the nature, degree, means, and instruments of violence directed towards self,
others and nature?
Sri Swamiji
quite candidly said that a true renunciate is one who sacrifices his/her
personal life to adopt the underprivileged as an extended family (vasudevya
kutumbakam). The secular empire of yoga, of course, does not exhort all its
followers to offer this extent of sacrifice, but encourages karma yogis to
pursue the practices of yoga and seva amid the otherwise corrupting life in the
world. At the same time, acts grounded in the renunciate violence against
his/her own purvashram or family life remain a necessary prerequisite for
spreading the message of yogic life to the multitudes.
The
transcendence of kinship ties by a renunciate is only possible to understand in
terms of making the distant others or the third persons an integral part of a
wider non-kin family based on the conscious, moral and spiritual choice of
abandoning the limiting identification with the immediate kin. At first, this
form of sacrifice by the renunciate seems ethically problematic, until we begin
to appreciate that such sacrificial offering also occurs in the everyday
secular, or non-spiritual, way of life. Each and every form of success in
worldly life pursuits also inflicts suffering on one’s immediate kin.
Successful
careers in modern competitive life, whether in business and industry, politics
or academia, remain in large measure constructed on the imposition of suffering
on the spouse, parents and children. However, the outcomes of successful,
secular careers are directed towards the eventual well-being and happiness of
the immediate family, whereas the renunciate renounces all kinship ties in
order to uplift the worldly family. The issue of just distribution of suffering
amongst kin and non-kin is ancient, as instanced by the renunciation of Prince
Siddhartha to become Gautam Buddha, or the crucifixion of Jesus Christ.
Swami
Satyananda’s idea of a new empire
After
listening to Sri Swamiji’s pravachan, no one could fail to imagine the
constituent elements of a new empire for the future. This is an ethical and
spiritual idea of empire, coinciding in part with the most creative elements in
the past three centuries of western enlightenment, interlaced with wisdom
emanating from far older traditions of enlightenment from civilizations outside
Europe. All this suggests an entirely new incarnation of the chakravartin in
which conquest stands transformed beyond worldly domination. This remains a
profoundly complex and contradictory idea, which will be developed through
distinct, but related, trajectories summarily presented below.
1. The
violent conquest of territories, peoples, and resources is no longer justified
or justifiable. Sri Swamiji referred to this rather elaborately with reference
to the prohibition of the use of force and of war under the United Nations
Charter.
2. The
empires of the future, if at all necessary and desirable, have to be
established, as Sri Swamiji insisted, through peaceful and just means,
respecting the dignity of difference among humans and across cultures.
3. This
specifically suggests that the notions of purity have themselves to be first
fully purified. Genocidal and ethnic cleansing type politics of mass atrocity
and cruelty are no longer ethically justifiable. Thus, Sri Swamiji constantly
reminds us through abundant invocations of the two Mahatmas, Gautama Buddha and
Mohandas Gandhi, along with references to Kabir, Surdas, Tagore, and the Sufis,
that the idea of a new empire cannot be grasped fully without the traditions of
non-European thought.
4. Sri
Swamiji fully articulated the notion of purifying the pure in terms of a
secular technology of yoga. Suffice it to say that he did not draw the same
distinction which Michel Foucault illuminatingly draws our attention to in terms
of the European ways of constructing histories of enlightenment, thriving upon
regimes of governance over souls through governance over bodies7.
Sri Swamiji
thus transforms the notion of the world-conqueror into a world-renouncer for
whom the world still exists; however, at the same time, it stands already fully
transformed. Put another way, the new empire transmutes the existent world into
the worlds beyond. Far from a mere play on words, Sri Swamiji here suggests the
way of being in this world, yet not fully of it. Out of such a distinction the
imagination of a new empire is born.
One may
only renounce that which one thinks of as already possessing. However, the
possessing self remains conceivable only in terms of precisely what one may
choose to abandon or give up. One may only give up what one thinks one
possesses. Renunciation makes the best sense only when what is being given up
constitutes a loss. In this sense, Sri Swamiji echoes the motto of the
Ishavasya Upanishad: “Ten tyakten bhunjita . . .”– one may know enjoyment only
as a form of losing or loss. This means that tyaga (giving up) is a necessary
condition of bhoga (enjoyment.) No bhoga ever remains possible in the human
condition outside tyaga, whether individually or collectively. No notion of
civilization or empire (as mastery over oneself, others, and nature) makes any
sense outside this dialectic.
What
difference, if any, does all this make?
This
remains an important question, even if merely in the culinary terms of pulao,
khichdi, biryani, or goulash! No doubt, Sri Swamiji offered some answers to
this question. But perhaps the most summative observation in the pravachan was
this: jnana ka ananta roopa hota hai – ways of knowledge emerge in infinitely
diverse forms. We all partake of a multiplicity of jnanakathas, narratives of
knowing. The theory and practice of yoga, as expounded by Swami Satyananda,
does not thrive on a monoculture. It does not erect a hierarchy of knowledge,
but remains inherently multicultural and multi-religious. It has a place for a
variety of jnanakathas. Neither social development nor spiritual progress may
genuinely occur without maximum respect towards the manifold ways of knowing.
The astonishing pravachan illustrated this insight fully when Sri Swamiji freely
invoked references to science and technology, folklore and legend, literature
and religion. We heard his voice replicate the words of Surdas, Kabir, Tagore
and Mahatma Gandhi, along with words from the Bible, Guru Granth Sahib and the
Koran. A series of gasps could be heard from the audience. How did this
sannyasin come to possess such endless knowledge was the stunned question that
I frequently heard.
As if
sensing this question, Sri Swamiji responded by saying that when knowledge
becomes intensely specialized, it breeds the ways of prescribed ignorance and
unrighteous arrogance. He did not begrudge specialized knowledge; in fact, at
times he extolled this as necessary for ethical and spiritual development.
Still he appealed to the coequal need for respect for other kinds of knowledge.
Folklore, legends and epics embody millennial knowledge and ways of knowing.
One may choose to evaluate these, but such evaluation, he insisted, requires
self-immersion in these traditions of knowing. Criticizing them as unscientific
exemplifies rational folly or ‘foolish excellence’. Is not progress in
‘natural’ sciences, Sri Swamiji asked, marked by trial and error or, as Sir
Karl Popper once described this, by ‘conjectures and refutations’?
Popular
knowledge not based on university certifications or credentials does have a
right to exist, just as scientific enquiry has a right to bring these under the
microscope. Because knowledge and knowers are finite entities, arrogant
truth-claims everywhere undermine openness, understanding and tolerance which
always ought to animate the quest for knowing. In his pravachan, Sri Swamiji
insisted that what makes us all humans is the ‘clash of ideas’, outside which
humans become simply, even cruelly, ‘inhuman’. That something we call ‘human’
is already extinguished when we seek to reduce or negate the potential for
dialogue because it is this potency of chetana (vigilant self-awareness) that
in the very first place constitutes the idea of being and remaining human in
any meaningful sense of that term.
Lord Rama
and Swami Satyananda
In this
context we may strive to more sincerely grasp Sri Swamiji’s articulation of
expert-based knowledge systems. He specifically dealt with, and at some length
commented on, the Archaelogical Survey of India affidavit before the Supreme
Court in the Ramasetu case. Legendary memoirs would have us believe that the
oceanic way of Lord Rama’s passage to Lanka was paved to redeem Sita and avenge
the Shiva bhakta (worshipper) Ravana. The Government of India expediently
withdrew this affidavit, which consigned Rama’s existence to mythical, rather
than historical, memory.
The way in
which Sri Swamiji detoured this remains fascinating, if not compelling. At the
outset, he rightly distanced himself from the contingent forms of political
Hinduism or the Hindutva politics8. However, he made several crucial
rhetorical/ narrative moves. The first was the one which we have already
elaborated. He asked, how may specialist knowledge practitioners who are not
well-versed in the multiple Ramayana genres, arrogate to themselves a
competence of speaking about the distinction between the ‘mythic’ and
‘historical’ past of India? His second move was more complex in that he
elaborately spoke of reclamation practices in the scriptural Indian past,
commencing with Lord Parashurama. The third narrative move addressed the right
to cultural memory, and this needs some careful elaboration.
Sri Swamiji
regards cultural memory as providing constitutive elements of the profane and
spiritual human self. In a difficult moment, he sought to distinguish the
perishable from the imperishable forms of memory. He asked us all in regard to
the former, whether anyone in the audience could name some of their ancestors
beyond their grandparents! At the same moment, he also announced in a feat of
imperishable memory that Lord Rama is his purvaja (ancestor) to whom he owed
complete fidelity. Such fidelity stood owed, he further insisted, to an
actually existing historical rather than a mythical symbolic figuration.
Here, Sri
Swamiji seems to claim an order of fidelity to memory beyond history. I
especially asked him whether he was resurrecting some form of ancestor worship
pitted against the prevalent postmodernist rejection of ancestor worship. His
direct response was that ancestor worship was not just a historic necessity but
an ethical duty. The mahatmas, who are fonts of religion and spirituality,
canonize an order of sacrificial memory that remains worth preserving. This
form of sacrificial memory entails a double move. It remains sacrificial in the
sense of our duties to remember the avatars, the belief in whose existence
remains a necessary condition of our own cultural belonging and affiliation. A
second related move entails (as the poet Coleridge said, concerning the
experience of literature) a ‘willing suspension of disbelief’. Sri Swamiji
cherishes this willing suspension of disbelief, which provides a means to grasp
the classical and folklore traditions, pitted against the assorted forms of
scientifically rational, deliberative discourses that assiduously promote
aspirational loss.
The context
of these observations remains at once both pertinent and impertinent. It
remains pertinent because yogic and spiritual labours must still address the
politics of the contemporary moment. Yet, they must also address the current
situation in a transcendent other-worldly form. Much beyond the Indian
discursive systems, Sri Swamiji’s pravachan addresses our ways of understanding
the forms of yogic/spiritual life (as Jacques Ranciere insightfully, though
differently, described this) as going ‘beyond the shores of politics’9.
In
conclusion, may the beloved Sri Swamiji be long with us all, so that we may
further strive to recapture our essential being and self-sameness for the
benefit and upliftment of the suffering and vulnerable others. Like the Prince
of Denmark, Sri Swamiji offers something within us ‘that passeth show’. Unlike
Hamlet, the Paramahamsa invokes no melancholia of revengeful striving. It goes
without saying, and beyond saying, that Sri Swamiji offers the ecstasy of many
ways of knowing through which alone the life of the spirit may have a new
emergence.
The new
empire inaugurated at Rikhia summons each one of us to take seriously the
suffering of the immediate and distant, worst-off, forever humiliated and
silenced others. To fail to heed this call is also to forfeit any claim to the
ethical agency and dignity of remaining human. The best tribute we may offer to
the Paramahamsa Chakravartin lies in just this: each one of us ought to
reinvent Swami Satyananda in our everyday lives.