Is My Worldview Enriching My Experience—or Merely Confirming My Conceptions?

During my recent visit to Thunder Bay, Canada, I went for a walk to Kakabeka Falls, sometimes called the “Niagara of the North.” Standing before the massive cascade, where the river plunges some 130 feet into the gorge, I was struck by both the raw energy and the serenity of the surroundings. Although I was looking down from dozens of feet above, fine droplets of water carried by the rising mist drifted upward to touch my face and head. The water itself carried a distinct, deep amber color. My attention moved increasingly toward the details. The vegetation itself was remarkably variegated. Some plants were mere shrubs clinging to the gorge; other trees rose to imposing heights along the rim. The water too seemed to have its own varieties of movement. Over the steeper sheer drops, it surged downward in heavy torrents. Elsewhere, where rocks broke its descent or the slope was gentler, it found its way in narrower, slower trickles. The more I looked, the more the specificity of nature fascinated me. Why should there be so much variety? Why should water, trees, rocks, slopes, and vegetation combine in so many particular ways to produce something so captivating? My thoughts went to the tenth chapter of the Bhagavad Gita. Arjuna asks Krishna how he can know Him and remember Him while living and acting in this world (10.17–18). His duty on the battlefield did not afford him the luxury of shutting out the world or retreating into isolation to meditate on the Divine. Krishna responds not with an abstract dismissal of the world, but with a remarkably specific, though non-exhaustive, list of manifestations that can bring Him to mind. Then Krishna gives the underlying principle: “Whatever is attractive, glorious, or powerful in this world manifests but a spark of My splendor” (10.41). Looking at the waterfall with that teaching in mind, I felt that noticing the specifics of nature—lingering over them, wondering about them, marveling at them—could naturally and organically point my mind toward the Lord. Then the devotee accompanying me pointed toward one of the enormous trees. “If a soul gets trapped in a tree like that,” he said, “it could remain there for decades, perhaps even centuries. Imagine how terrible that must be. How much the soul must suffer.” A momentary deflation of wonder swept over me, followed by a slight flicker of irritation at the disruption. To calm myself, I paused and then responded, “Krishna is not a diabolical God who deliberately creates beautiful prisons in which souls suffer for centuries while other souls stand outside admiring those prisons. A soul embodied as a tree certainly has extremely constricted consciousness. From the spiritual perspective, any condition in which the soul remains disconnected from Krishna is undesirable. But that does not mean that a tree experiences decades or centuries of continuous physical torment. Trees do not have a nervous system or a pain-processing apparatus comparable to that of animals.” We talked a little further and continued our walk. Yet his comment stayed with me. When I Saw Nature Differently Nearly two decades earlier, during a brahmachari retreat at a scenic location, I had voiced thoughts very similar to his. At that time, such reflections had seemed to me an essential expression of Krishna consciousness. Seeing an imposing tree meant remembering the soul trapped within it. Seeing the beauty of the material world meant reminding myself that the material world was ultimately a place of entanglement and suffering. That mindset had shaped my approach to other landscapes as well. I remembered my first visit to Canada in 2016, when I went to see Niagara Falls. At the time, a part of me had wondered whether going there was a waste of time. What spiritual purpose was served simply by looking at a waterfall? To ensure that something spiritual came out of the visit, I had insisted on making a video recording of myself with Niagara Falls in the background, talking about how we could remember Krishna through the falls. There was certainly nothing wrong with trying to connect Niagara Falls with Krishna. The limitation was subtler: I seemed to need to justify experiencing the waterfall by first turning it into an explicitly spiritual lesson. Yet at Kakabeka Falls, a decade after Niagara, I found that same way of looking at nature distracting me from something I was actually experiencing—both the beauty of nature and, through that beauty, Krishna. That contrast made me reflect on how my understanding of Krishna consciousness has evolved over the decades, moving toward a more holistic perspective. I might describe my earlier approach as primarily inside-out: I would hear truths about Krishna and the world from scripture and then look outward at the world through the lens of those truths. There is something deeply important about this approach. The tradition speaks of shastra-chakshu—seeing through the eyes of scripture. Bhagavad Gita 15.10–11 similarly speaks of perceiving spiritual reality through the eyes of knowledge. Yet I have gradually realized that what is inside our minds can sometimes prevent us from experiencing fully what is right outside us. Scripture offers us a comprehensive worldview, but each of us understands, assimilates, and applies that worldview in our own individual way. So even when my worldview is rooted in scripture, the particular way I have assimilated it may sometimes restrict rather than enrich the fullness with which I experience the world—and, through the world, Krishna. Our worldview inevitably shapes how we experience the world. But that experience need not be limited to confirming what we already know. There is nothing wrong with experience confirming our conceptions; the problem comes when that is all we allow experience to do. We can also remain receptive to dimensions of reality that we had not sufficiently noticed before and then seek to understand what we discover in the light of scripture. Perhaps, then, Krishna consciousness can move not only inside-out, but also outside-in. Nature and Scripture as Two Teachers Srila Prabhupada frequently demonstrated the inside-out movement during his morning walks. He would observe something in the world around him and use it to illustrate a spiritual truth he already knew from scripture. Nature became almost like a blackboard on which scriptural truths could be demonstrated. But scripture itself also describes another movement. In the eleventh canto of the Srimad Bhagavatam, the Avadhuta Brahmana describes twenty-four teachers from whom he learned by thoughtfully observing the world around him. The earth taught him; the wind taught him; the sky taught him; water taught him; animals taught him. Nature was not merely illustrating conclusions he had already reached. His observation of nature itself became a stimulus for spiritual insight. This outside-in movement does not mean approaching the world without a worldview. Our worldview will inevitably shape how we view—and experience—the world. But our viewing need not be restricted to confirming what we already know. Let scripture make our encounter with the world larger, not smaller. So scripture and nature need not compete for the role of teacher. Inside-out, scripture can help me recognize spiritual truths—and ultimately the Supreme Spiritual Truth—in the world around me. Outside-in, my encounters with the world can point me toward the Divine and prompt me to turn to scripture to know that Divine more deeply. Both movements require receptivity: receptivity to Krishna through scripture and receptivity to Krishna through nature. Perhaps one test of my worldview, then, is whether it is enriching my experience of the world or merely confirming my existing conceptions about it. If I approach nature only with conclusions already fixed in my mind, I may see only what I already know. I may look at a gigantic tree and see merely an embodied soul undergoing a long material sentence. I may look at Niagara Falls and wonder whether seeing it is worth my time. But if I look with greater receptivity, nature itself can awaken wonder, and that wonder can point beyond nature. A waterfall can point me toward Krishna’s presence, but it cannot tell me about Krishna’s personality. For that, I need revelation. Scripture gives me a glimpse into His personality, His qualities, His activities, His loving reciprocations, and how I can enter into loving reciprocation with Him. The beauty can point me toward the Beautiful. The magnificence can point me toward the Magnificent. The astonishing variety can point me toward the infinitely variegated source from whom it all comes. Standing before that waterfall, I felt grateful that Krishna consciousness had not merely given me another set of concepts to put between myself and the world. Over the years, it had gradually taught me not only to recognize Krishna through scripture while looking at the world, but also to let my experience of the world deepen my appreciation of Krishna and my receptivity to scripture. Arriving at this realization, I prayed: “My dear Lord, You blessed me with a sweet and deep remembrance of You at Kakabeka Falls. May the beauty and variety of nature increase my appreciation and attraction for You. And may I remain receptive to Your glory however You choose to reveal it to me—through scripture, through nature, or through both.” *** 10.18 O Janārdana, again please describe in detail the mystic power of Your opulences. I am never satiated in hearing about You, for the more I hear the more I want to taste the nectar of Your words. The post Is My Worldview Enriching My Experience—or Merely Confirming My Conceptions? first appeared on Chaitanya Charan Das, Bhagavad Gita ISKCON .