The Cavalier daily :: Tuesday, April 16, 1968 :: University of Virginia Library

Maharishi Mashesh Yogi is a
practical man. That is the only
defense he offers for his particular
meditative technique. "Maybe,
it works," he shrugs at the end
of a lecture, leaving his audience
to ponder their needs and alternatives.
And in organizing his
Spiritual Regeneration Movement,
he has shown the same sense of
transcendent pragmatism. While
his eventual plans call for universal
participation, he extends an immediate
invitation to the "fortunate
possessors of resources." He
wants to train one teacher for every
population of 100,000. This network
of sub gurus would be composed
almost entirely of people
who are powerful, important, or
rich.

The Maharishi makes no attempt
to disguise his elitism. He considers
wealth and achievement important
signs of spiritual advancement.
Success, he reasons, is the logical
result of inner peace, and failure
cannot occur except through inner
strife. Thus, he who is wealthy is
usually healthy and potentially
wise.

Beatles And Starlets

Whenever he has gone, the Maharishi
has taken his movement
to the taste-makers. In London,
he found the Beatles; in San
Francisco, the Grateful Dead; in
Hollywood, a bevy of searching
starlets. When he brought his technique
to Germany, der guru approached
factory bosses; after they
approached factory bosses; after they
discovered that transcendental
meditation could increase production,
they embraced the movement
as a national asset.

In New York, the Maharishi
wanted to meet the media. A
large theatrical agency, which also
handles public relations for the
Ringling Brothers, Barnum and
Bailey Circus, arranged his press
conference, circulated in the
audience with flowers in their stiff
lapels, and surrounded their client
like steel-gray columns.

"Jesus didn't have any public
relations men around him," noted
one reporter. "That is why he took
so many hundreds of years to be
known," the Maharishi replied in
a small, tinkling voice. He cradled
a hyacinth bud in one hand and
gestured with the other. His eyes
shone under the klieg lights like
sunny water.

"Your Holiness, do you ever
suffer?"

"I don't remember the last time
I was depressed."

"Your Holiness, nine years ago
you left your hermit's cave in the
Himalayas. Why did you leave?"

"To come out."

Father Was Wise

"Your Majesty, how old are
you?"

"As you look at me."

"What do your beads symbolize
...what did you do for the Beatles
....Was your father a wise man?"

"What did he do?"

"Work...as all men."

"Ahh, he's not gonna tell you."

The Maharishi does not enjoy
talking about himself. When a
personal question arises, his smile
dims to a perplexed frown. He
usually circumvents his own history,
but he is reported to be about
56 years old, the son of a government
revenue collector named
Mahesh (Maharishi means great
sage, and a yogi is a teacher).
He is a university graduate who
worked in a factory before he
became a holy man. In recent
days, his cave has been replaced by
a palatial ashram with soundproof
walls and indirect lighting.

Desires and Fulfillment

Such luxuriance has caused
widespread resentment against
the Maharishi among India's holy
men. But his place under the pleasure
dome is still uncertain. He
does seem to approve of any action
which brings fulfillment ("if we are
given the ability to have desires,"
he says, "why should we not also
have the right to realize them?").
He rebukes religious leaders for
their attempts to control and dogmatize
experience ("Control has
been found damaging to life. It
is opposed to evolution and
change"). And a hefty chunk of
his lecture is always devoted to
reconciling spiritual with material
gain ("How is it possible for a
man not to be material; the whole
body is material").

Converts Acid heads

But this unstructured approach
does not extend to the Maharishi's
personal system of meditation,
which is a ritualized, if abstract
procedure. His most publicized accomplishment
has been the conversion
of acid heads (something
neither Billy Graham nor Harry
Anslinger could achieve). Although
he has never suggested that
drugs
are evil (only unnecessary)
his followers seem to relish the
"evolutionary" aspects of turning
straight. Audiences at his talks
are urged not to smoke. If that
does not sound like bidding of
an epicurean, neither does vegetarianism,
and yet the Maharishi
cats no meal.

Finally, though he ministers to
the elect, he vehemently denies an
interest in amassing personal
wealth.