It traces the origin of
the ideas of bhagavan, bhakta and bhakti to the visible foundation of public,
national life. Such a life was preceded by the civilization and the subsequent
Vedic-Aryan civilization. In the transition from international life to empires
and civilizations emerged the first official leadership and positions in
society (Godelier, 1978). The transition from bhagavan as keeper-owner of
public property and bhakta as his co-ordinator, sharer and buyer, to bhagavan
as the divine being, as a god, and bhakta as his devoted petitioner, became a
corresponding change (Jaiswal, 1967). During this change, perhaps, came the
rise of not only the official monarchy, but also the group of operators of
symbolic communal sacrifices (prohit) and their protectors (kshatriyas). The
concept and power of the unity of the Vedic philosophy and the emerging social
norms did not diminish during this change. It recently broke down, and it
became the basis for the authorization of a oppressive social system. The center
of the yajna, perhaps, stands at the crossroads of the transition from a
secular, secular society to a civil society (Bedekar, 1977).
These and other similar
considerations regarding the origin of bhakti should not be construed as a
romantic exercise. The natural boundaries of the tribal society were so
overwhelming that the subsequent voyage of bloodshed and outrage among the
people because of the monarchy, wealth, and racial superiority, seemed
inevitable for the survival of that community. The paradox of human development
begins with this crucial aspect. Human society came from natural oppression
only by substituting social oppression. This in itself was a creative act.
Social pressure and positions, in the first instance, were necessary and therefore
legal. At the same time, the art, the productive work of man in this
transformed society should make certain forms of oppression unnecessarily
continuous. Those who would benefit from continued pressure wanted to make it
legal and needed to do so on behalf of that community. Once they are no longer
legitimate community leaders, they become their rulers.
I mention this paradox
in my Jnanesvar article as a possible and real conflict between society. To me,
the image of the development of Indian culture as a continuation of nature, in
succession, which includes the integration of all customs and beliefs, does not
make sense. Failed to answer some basic questions about the relationship
between theory and practice. I see culture growing in the tension between the
creative power of man in his emerging society and its necessary sometimes
sometimes stressful denials in the daily life of society. In that socially
productive social life and even under the illusion of a society, the power to
make such a society a reality is inevitably increased. This happens in public
service as a productive human activity to communicate with people about the
environment. As a function of that sense of the physical unity of human beings,
it is also a function of accountability. With it, man in society creates
products and definitions at the same time. In the work of diligent producers,
pressure is increasingly seen as a contradictory health experience. The level
of such thinking is the same principle on which the authorization of oppression
is based. The values of common sense, freedom and equality go hand in hand
with a possible social vision. They evolved randomly from the social and
natural environment of human species (Habermas, 1979).
How to capture cultural
dynamics reveals a complex unity of its symbolic structures. What seems to be a
confusing theoretical and practical, of the holy and the filth, of this world
and the other world, all contains an important paradox of power. Man's
intellectual curiosity about what is happening in the world — but he cannot be
— in some form of a specific (real) life pattern, manifests itself in his
symbolic order of the earth. His idea that he might be logical (rather than
Utopian) because he came from the consciousness, the awareness, of the departure
of his unique character from the human condition of the universe. The hospital
sees this in his article as a paradox between the limitations of human
imagination and human existence. This paradox sometimes meets — and sometimes
explodes — out of the same symbolic space. These are the hegemonic times and
the liberation of culture. Valuable symbols, myths, beliefs and practices of
the traditional bear in them, such as definitions, authenticity of everyday
experiences and the fictional or creative power of its evolution.
Symbols have two
meanings that allow for an understanding of individual experiences, as well as
your re-interpretation within the universe of living culture. This whole place,
on another level, is a paradox of freedom and hegemonic distribution, the
merits of social order and its authorization, times of necessary and
unnecessary oppression. In this understanding of culture, the fragmentation of
the fragmentary and dynamic, radical and systematic systems that support
sampradaya, as well as traditional and modern societies, raises doubts. Polar
ideas capture the essential paradox of a symbolic life only mathematically. In
fact, they are dialectical moments in the ongoing process of cultural
development. The widespread belief, based on the practical idea ofthe effect
that determines the source of action, is that bhakti was a silent movement,
supporting the system in all its manifestations.
I suggest that it would be a mistake to reject
or accept the modern bhakti on the basis of our quick idea of its symbols and
processes. Most of the time we see them in terms of how we benefited from the
colonies and neo-colonials. We often focus on the hegemonic moment, the
official function of tradition. We remain focused on our world only as we see
it in its importance. Of course, it is fair to blame these definitions, of
definitions that support and promote oppressive social order. At the same time,
we should seek out the times of liberation hidden behind ideas. If the result
is our only option, we will then be pressured to find any truly successful
flexibility. As Nemade points out, the Mahanubhav activist's criticism of
oppressive social practice, which was driven against the materialistic
foundations of productive social life, became an anti-cultural separatist
attempt. It was easily seated and crushed by those who controlled it. A
successful uprising is not really a revolution as it often appears to be an
assertion of the decline of state power by prominent classes. Ishwaran makes
this point indirectly when he ignores positions and inequalities within
Lingayat and focuses on the completeness of the Basavanna message. Zelliot and
GokhaleTurner, who explored the bhakti about providing role models, show how
the dalits rejected the bhakti as insignificant in their struggle because of
its inclusion entirely under the Brahmanic system. Indirectly, they reflect the
poverty of the colonial and post-colonial ideology, savarna and dalit, in
relation to the strong redistribution of public opinion and the criticism of
bhakti. Zelliot demonstrates how Eknath, a multidisciplinary Brahmin Warkari
poet, became, through his revolutionary and preaching style, a model of India's
post-colonial and post-colonial liberation movement.
His perceptive
analysis, from a liberal reformist perspective, shows well why and how Dalits
are alienated from the strong message of the Verkali saints. The connecting
explanations of the bhakti driven by free intellectuals appear prominently in
his story with such things as the historical commentary on M thesis. G. Ranade
of bhakti and films about the lives of poets-saints. The distinction is
provided by young dalit commentators whose vivid poems, based on a liberal
Brahmanic interpretation of bhakti, discard both liberal-reformist ideology and
the silent practice of modern Warkaris. It is not surprising, as Gokhale-Turner
points out, that Indian culture has lost much of its appeal to anti-reform
efforts. Favorite examples are those of the world's changing Marxism and the
post-reformist Buddhism. The Dalit sages in Maharashtra, unlike their savarna
counterparts, it seems to me, use two skills at the same time but in isolation.
They are fairly suspicious and criticize the bhakti.
They saw Chokhamela and
his modern-day followers riding on hegemonic sections, and perhaps they should.
But they also fail to explore the power source of the Warkari message and the
familiarity of many non-Mahar dalits. In this, they act with a haughty elitism
that makes them different from savarna philosophers who deny their heroism.
While they show a willingness to question the legitimacy of the Warkari sign —
because it has done nothing but guarantee legal oppression — they also
demonstrate a willingness to obey without blaming Marxism or Buddhism. Marxism
and Buddhism are often portrayed as examples of rational demystification and
ideology-critique, i.e. willingness to blame (Ricoeur, 1970). Gokhale points
out in his writings that in Buddhism such a view is biased. He explores the
origin of bhakti in Buddhism and claims that it is related to the class of
ordinary men and ordinary women who, in my opinion, were the real core of it.
While the monastic order describes its rational metaphysics, upasaks, direct
supportive producers, provide ascetics with their essentials. Eventually the
upasaks turned Buddhism into a system of personal devotion. In Buddha and in
his sangha, they saw public opinion made. Their daily lives were your only
denial. The general distinction between popular worship and higher philosophy
is insufficient; we should examine the strong relationship between the two of
you. Buddhism has been a creative response to oppressive social practice and
its traditional authority in Vedic Hinduism. The combination of its logical and
analytical critique and the emerging practice that emphasized sensible
self-consciousness was the unity of interdependence between spiritual and
physical life. Buddhism, only in its monastic perfection and upasaks, is a complete
critique.
It was a way to
practice the art of suspicion and obedience at the same time. Gokhale describes
bucket as a devotion to the supreme being. The exaltation of the Buddha was
like kanath, pursuttama, saranatham or sattavaha. He has been portrayed as an
unruly but leading man. His most prominent qualities were panna and karuna.
There was a strong sense of community leadership in this nomination. This idea
of purushottama takes us back to speculation about the origins of the
pre-Vedic tribes of bhakti in the emerging official leadership of the tribal
societies. The exaltation of the Buddha was as the best of all chariot drivers,
as the leader of the procession, and as the noapurush similar or even better
than God. Above all he was human and thus able to symbolize the collection of
man, human society. The Buddha, like Narayana in the Sathatha-Brahmana, was a
bhagavan in his bait community.
Or we can make
assumptions about the origin of the bucket nation, as Gokhale points out, in
Buddhism we find the necessary evidence of interest, and the promotion of
legitimate community leadership. It seems to go back to the imperfect society
of the old council. The unity of theory and practice, which was emotionally
divided into monks and upasaks and under the changed conditions of social
oppression, tended, from the beginning, to its own contradictions through the
hegemonic distribution. At first, they both provided spiritual and material
support. At that time, a community of active producers, upasaks, converted to
Buddhism to make sense of their oppressive normal life. They make this divisive
doctrine and self-sacrifice come alive and well. Thus arose a bhakti in
Buddhism. Saddha was in both faith and power. In it they raise a potential
society and consistently produce a critique of oppression, of a real society of
everyday life. With the growing support of the state and the strong monastic
divisions, the edge of this real criticism was gradually diminished. Sangha,
the leading striker of the potential community, and the Buddha, its official
leader, gradually made the point.
The focus shifted from
the panna and karuna of the Buddha to his skills as a miracle worker. From a
single Buddhist, religion produced several avatars in order to justify the
growing distinction between the splendor and the celebration of Buddhist
institutions and the frustration of the daily life of the upasaks (Kosambi,
1969). The teaching of Buddhism became, again, the knowledge of the elect,
while the common believers and women remained with the traditional worship of
the deity Buddha. Theoretical coherence and practice were ideologically
destroyed. Thus, the original bhakti of Buddhism was transformed into the
opposite: the absurd worship of the Buddha. The place of the believers in Buddhism
and Jainism has not been explored apart from the general propaganda of mental
philosophy and popular religion. I have tried to show that the two are always
organically connected. In establishing the possible diversity, which is
psychologically guided between the two, professional thinkers play an important
role. In justifying the distribution of the productive remnant by the rulers,
they came up with explanations to make that distribution meaningful. These
definitions are produced in images where the productive and dependent work
emerges. Contradictory life experience is interpreted by symbols. The
intellectuals, in interpreting these symbols and their local meanings, make
themselves visible to the rest of the world, elevating themselves to a higher
level of inaccessibility and thus enhancing their ability to share.
At the same time,
however, in the name of social cohesion and their use as ideas, symbols are
removed from their true meaning in a particular context. The function of the
essential brain — unlike that of an expert brain — is, therefore, to fully
grasp the dilemma, this tension. From this need comes my artistic
representation of suspicion and obedience to symbols at the same time. Zelliot
and Gokhale-Turner did this indirectly when they examined the current
relationship of bhakti to dalits. Gokhale and Ishwaran made it very clear by
respecting Buddhism and Lingayatism. In view of my concern for spoken
languagesfor cultural development, I suggest that they do not go far enough.
Hawley’s article speaks for itself in the conflict between the universe of the
main meaning and the details of the meanings in everyday life through the
darsan poems of Sur Das. Through a detailed analysis of the structure, he
demonstrates what Ricoeur called a willingness to listen to symbols (1970).
He examines the mark of
the thief of butter through the perplexities, misunderstandings and conflicts
that are inexplicably encountered in everyday life. In Sur Das, working men and
women, represented by the Gopi and the poet, conquer divisive distances and
reconcile differences. They see hostility and crime being dispersed in a
child-god game that is a thief and not a thief at the same time. The result of
seeing this child play for those who have lost their lives is the naiveté of
this game due to stress and turmoil is heartbreak and a transformation beyond
the presence of distraction and stress. This may not only silence them, but it
is something that can change the social situation, as such a change is rooted
in an image that may suddenly appear silent.
For those who can see a
fascinating view of a child's cunning without evil or suspicion of hearing that
is also expressions of deep love, for those who can find the escape of black
and white unity, Radha and Krishna, or Balaram and Krishna, for those who can
understand Yashoda's actions as selfish and self-sacrificing, full of
hypocrisy, false pride, willful deception and social opposition, and
exploitation. It is a celebration, without a doubt, of everyday life, of the details
of this world — its ordinary gifts, and even its personal descendants— (but) by
looking at them closely. Their elimination is the eradication of an
ego-focality that opposes truth, truth and justice (Habermas, 1979). Hawley
captures this aspect as he points to the important transformation of Indian
culture as it values beauty in the way it forms the truth. It is no accident
that the word darsan means deep gazing, or the experience of seeing something
with supernatural qualities, as well as philosophical exploration or discovery
of truth. Hawley points to the melting point with Krishna as the sea. This sea
is not the work of a miracle worker or a healer by faith, nor is it a symbolic
sea. It represents purity, compassion, love and, above all, happiness. Making
mute in such an organization to achieve complete understanding (Gadamer, 1975,
pp. 158-159). The subdivision of a divided human life is passed on to a society
with other subjects. It is a community of shared meanings, of complete
understanding. Gopis and Krishna, heaven and earth, day and night, black and
white, lotus and moon, unite in the unity of beauty, truth and truth of pure
happiness. In everyday life such experiences are temporary.
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