Podcast transcription:
On and For the Record
Having spent my adolescent years in Wisconsin, I had plenty of experience with snow. It is a very cold and snowy State in the winter months, and I had plenty of experience to pick up snowfall patterns. One of these was a counter-intuitive tendency demonstrated by incoming storms: The really large snowstorms, the ones that eventually dropped many feet of snow, almost always started off very light for the first hour or two.
However, when heavy, wet snow fell at the beginning of an incoming storm, it almost always petered out, only dropping a few inches of the wet stuff on the ground. Analogously, ISKCON history records shocking revelations exposing the illegitimacy and pretensions of the eleven great pretenders (the zonal äcärya era) to have entered the collective consciousness of the rank-and-file Hare Kåñëa devotees as only drips and drabs in the beginning years. These eventually coalesced and snowballed into an avalanche, but it took years. Time changes things, but sometimes it changes things very slowly . . . and then it doesn’t.
In our ongoing review of Eleven Naked Emperors (henceforward, ENE) by Henry Doktorski, we now reach Chapter Ten. It is a bit of a tough read. It is a bridge chapter. There is no falsity in its recollection of what went down in the incipient years (1980 and 1981) in which the deviations and egregious actions of the “new gurus” were initially exposed.
Yet at the same time, the account in this chapter does not read smoothly. The story jumps at a number of points. It takes on a number of threads and tries to effectively mesh them, but that proved to be a tough task. It does its best to accomplish the meld, but comes up short.
Chapter Ten is helpful. I am not going to delve into all of the threads brought forth, but I shall share my knowledge, realization, and intelligence with you relative to what I consider its essentials. I am mentioned (not criticized) often in the chapter. One of the ways I am discussed is very obvious, but that vantage point will not be explored here.
My contribution to exposing the zonal äcärya pretension during those incipient years (of my whistle-blowing) in the early Eighties was in a certain way, namely, I worked from behind the scenes. There is no need for the listeners and readers of this podcast to be brought into any kind of granular account of my personal life during that subset of the “ISKCON” saga, although Chapter Ten does touch upon it to some extent. You either get my drift or you do not. Either way, that should have no effect on the transcendental benefit you can herein derive.
The only potential blemish in this bridge chapter is its reproduction of an exchange in West Bengal, a long diatribe from Swämi B. R. Çrédhar relative to the early difficulties in “ISKCON.” This was precipitated by one of its new gurus, Rämeçvara, who approached him having lost faith in the grandiose worship demanded of all eleven of the great pretenders, himself included. He wanted to stop pretending, and he tried to do so.
Although I am going to criticize him in this review, he deserves positive acknowledgment for having made an effort to stop taking that ridiculous maha-bhagavat worship. He did this before any of the others then followed his lead. He also was the only one of the eleven that did not concoct an elevated title for himself. He deserves credit for that, also.
Rämeçvara is a central figure throughout Chapter Ten. He approached Swämi B. R. Çrédhar for advice and relief. He went from the fire pan into the fire by doing so. Once again, catchy tropes from the Navadvipa mahant disguise the irrefutable fact that his advice in 1978 to the G.B.C. was integral to the äcärya hoax which was implemented that year.
I choose not to reproduce any of the exchange. If you have the correct perspective of how much damage that Bengali Goudiya Mutt leader did to Prabhupäda’s branch of Lord Caitanya’s movement, you will not be negatively impacted by reading the exchange, but I shall not facilitate it here. The contradictions and hypocrisy of all of his flowery advice in the exchange is reprehensible . . . but can be intoxicating, also.
The First Transformation could never have gotten liftoff without his input, and now, in the early Eighties, the chickens were coming home to roost. The nihilistic seeds of its own destruction already were in “ISKCON” in the late Seventies. In no small measure, they were planted by Swämi B. R. Çrédhar. Yet, Western Guru (as he is called sometimes in the chapter) ironically goes to the man who did that to us for more advice.
The gerund of his words being intoxicating is applicable to the extent that a reader of Chapter Ten—particularly, one with a poor fund of knowledge–could become bamboozled by imbibing what only appears to be sage advice. If you know what is what, then ENE relating this exchange (with all of its syrupy slogans) is not foreboding but instead is a recording a historical exchange that few even know about to this day.
Doktorski, as we have pointed out repeatedly, is a first-class investigator. He has discovered an account of this meeting in Bengal and chose to bring it to our attention. Western Guru was clearly bewildered, and he became further bewildered after soaking up more nescience from Navadvipa. He did not get what he was seeking . . . at least, not in the long run.
We find the following excerpt from a Prabhupäda purport in Chapter Ten:
“Unfortunately, when the äcärya disappears, rogues and non-devotees take advantage and immediately begin to introduce unauthorized principles. . . . The äcärya, the authorized representative of the Supreme Lord, establishes these principles, but when he disappears, things once again become disordered.” 1
This well-known excerpt is reproduced by ENE in this chapter, and rightfully so. Although the BBT editors decided otherwise, I would have chosen to capitalize Äcärya, because the excerpt only refers to an uttama-adhikäré Successor in the line. Only he can establish the real principles of spiritual life in human society. Things became very disordered after His Divine Grace departed, and almost every devotee can see that now. However, in the early Eighties, hardly anyone saw it, although your author was an exception to that rule of cult blindness.
The unauthorized principles established by The First Transformation were mind-boggling, but few knew that Prabhupäda had nothing to do with it. You cannot pin it on him. This has been established as an irrefutable fact by now, although those who fell away do not recognize it. They blame him. Prabhupäda did not appoint a Successor nor did he appoint gurus. He spoke on the principle of regular guru (which means a madhyam who has received the order to be an initiating spiritual master), but he did not recognize any of his men as guru.
Chapter Ten discusses some early fallout after knowledge of inevitable personal anomalies, anachronisms, and fall downs began to very slowly (but what proved to be irreversibly) filter into the collective consciousness of the devotees. However, in the early Eighties, it was not a stone cold metaphysical lock that this momentum of exposure was irreversible, although it is certainly irreversible today.
ENE introduces pointed excerpts in this chapter, so let us reproduce two of those and discuss them. Remember, they are valid because they apply to the situation of “ISKCON” in the early Eighties:
“Self-made guru cannot be guru. He must be authorized by the bona fide guru. Then, he’s guru. This is the fact. Nobody can be self-made anything. A medical practitioner, he cannot become self-made, that ‘I have studied all the medical books in my home.’ No.
Have you ever gone to the medical college and taken instruction from the bona fide teachers? Then, if you have got the certificate, then you are medical practitioner. Similarly, bona fide guru means he must be authorized by the superior guru.” 2
The right interpretation is this: The ultimate bona fide guru is non-different from the superior guru referenced in this excerpt, and he is non-different from Prabhupäda in the context of his statement. Did any of the eleven rittviks receive any kind of certification from Prabhupäda as to their alleged guru status? They did not.
There was no appointment of gurus . . . what to speak of eleven Successors! There was no such recognition. The eleven were only appointed as rittviks, which was no big thing, because there had been rittviks serving in that formal and ceremonial capacity since 1970.
Prabhupäda never recognized any of them as regular gurus, what to speak of uttama-adhikärés. If he recognized any of them as initiating spiritual masters, he would not have appointed them as merely rittviks. The eleven parlayed their appointment as rittviks into a covert appointment of initiating spiritual masters, and this was bogus. It was a false pre-supposition that was finally being revealed in the early Eighties. Chapter Ten is all about that incipient exposure, which was the beginning of the end of the zonal äcärya scam, although few saw it as such.
The author of ENE later received a Facebook message from Robert Grant concerning his (Rämeçvara’s) vacillating change of heart in connection to the “ISKCON” gurus during the early Eighties. He had been read the riot act by one of the prominent and powerful female devotees at his Los Angeles headquarters after she listened to the “appointment tape” and discovered that there was no guru appointment on it.
This shook him up. He removed his opulent seat from the temple room (a good first step, obviously) and then busted himself down from uttama-adhikäré to madhyam-adhikäré. However, he was not a madhyam-adhikäré since he was still heavily entangled in institutional anartha. That is proven in his Facebook message to Doktorski, which is loaded with contradictions. We shall be detailing those here.
Rämeçvara had significant local influence, but the other powers that be in “ISKCON” at that time—namely, most of the other so-called mahä-bhägavats (three others were also being disciplined)–decried his new realization. They convened an emergency meeting in Dallas to confront and threaten him. Here is that Facebook message to Doktorski:
“The G.B.C. convened an emergency meeting in Dallas, where they voted to excommunicate me for heresy against the gurus. I tried my best to convince the others to step back, or at least let me step back from the concept that simply by Çréla Prabhupäda’s order for us to give dékñä, that automatically elevated us to a level that none of us were on. Unfortunately I was not able to convince them. I debated them for a day, but the outcome had already been fixed: they had already voted and written the excommunication letter before I even arrived.
They said withdrawing my papers wouldn’t be enough—they insisted that I write a new paper retracting everything I had previously said. So I went back to my writing team and asked that we find the most extreme elevated statements about the exalted pure devotees who appear from the spiritual world as bonafide gurus, thinking that maybe when they read about the guru seeing Krishna in Vrindaban it would embarrass them into finally stepping back. Instead, they praised the new paper, saying it was the greatest thing I had ever written!
That’s when I started to fall away, having lost faith in the ISKCON gurus and the G.B.C. that endorsed them. They ordered me to live as a hypocrite. That loss of faith gradually affected my sadhana and I became an easy victim to the illusory energy. It took many years to shake that off and eventually I began crawling back to ISKCON. That was only possible because I never doubted Çréla Prabhupäda and his books.” 3
Decades after the zonal debacle, it is almost mind-numbing to see how deluded this man still is. Granted, for a brief time, he came to his senses and stopped taking uttama worship; that somewhat radical step deserves positive acknowledgment. We have already given him that.
Despite these positive steps, none of his position papers and actions actually produced anything tangible. Why they did not is practically self-evident in his Facebook message to Doktorski here decades after the zonal äcärya hoax cratered. He starts it with a historical inaccuracy, viz., that he was excommunicated. Due to the fact that he capitulated to the G.B.C. at the Dallas conclave, he was only threatened with excommunication.
He claims that he tried his best. His best? No. There are many steps that he could have taken which would have been far better than his capitulation to the pressure they put on him. For starters, he could have accepted excommunication. That would have been the obvious right move, but he was not courageous enough to take it. Had he done so, he could have made strong propaganda against the hoax, having accrued street cred in doing so, because he accepted ostracism.
You may counter this by imagining that they would have assassinated him. Is that so? Would they actually have been so immersed in their so-called allegedly untouchable status as to have ordered the murder of one of their own? And without drastic repercussions? If he was excommunicated and making propaganda against them–combined with çästric evidence and a clear ethical stance–law enforcement and the press would have jumped all over any such assassination attempt.
At any rate, it would probably have only amounted to, at most, an unsuccessful effort. He had dedicated disciples, and some of them were enforcers and hatchetmen. He would have been well-protected, and he would not have been hurting for income from his many disciples in order to maintain himself and his preaching. The path was wide open for him to have exposed the whole thing at an early stage. If he had done so, the rest of the movement would have been spared much grief. Remember: The zonal imposition dragged on for many years after this Dallas incident recounted in Grant’s Facebook message.
He mixes in again the major misconception that Prabhupäda ordered the eleven great pretenders to be initiating spiritual masters. He most certainly did not. None of them received that order. If any of them had individually received that order from him, that disciple would have let it be known just how and when and under what circumstances he had received it. None of them did that, because none of them received it.
Yet, in this much later message to Doktorski, Rämeçvara is stating that they were ordered to give dékñä as an initiating spiritual master. The eleven were only appointed as rittviks, nothing more. Fortunately, this fact is starting to become common knowledge now, and people are catching on. The accurate interpretation of the reality in the late Seventies will continue to expand until almost everyone finally realizes it.
When this transpires, it will contribute to critical mass, which has not yet been attained. Then, the current “ISKCON” make-show will be rejected and railed against in a way which will accelerate until it no longer has any influence in the world. That is sorely wanted.
Rämeçvara’s current mentality (as demonstrated in this Facebook message reproduced in ENE and herein being analyzed) will not help us much. He is still bewitched. He claims that it was wrong for the eleven to take uttama worship. However, in the same sentence, he makes the false statement that Prabhupäda appointed them as initiating spiritual masters. When you multiply a positive number by a negative number, guess what: You get a greater negative result! He’s part of the Old Guard, not part of the solution. It is doubtful that he will ever become part of the solution.
He then says that, at the Dallas conclave, they ordered him to retract his previous position paper, which had urged the rest of them to follow his lead and act as madhyam-adhikärés or regular gurus. Well, he wasn’t one, so that paper had no potency or spiritual sequence. He was no longer a sahajiyä, but now he moved up to a miçra-bhakta . . . and very mixed within his own compromised intelligence. Returning to those early Eighties at the Dallas conclave, so what does he do? By his own admission, he accepts their order and authorizes a new position paper taking an opposite tack glorifying the guru as uttama.
It spews out all kinds of adulation about the inviolable status of every guru, because they are on the highest platform of realization and purity. He expected this to work? Incomprehensible! They all praised his new position paper, and he was astounded by that? Of course that would be their reaction! All of those men were absorbed in self-apotheosis. They were constantly surrounded by sycophants and yes men. They were glorified by pranam mantras and worshiped by adoring fools in front of open Deities while sitting upon high, lavish seats.
And they were, in effect, forcing him to once again do the same thing under threat of cult ostracism. It would have been a badge of honor for him to have accepted excommunication from “ISKCON,” seeing it as a gift offered by Paramätmä. The mere fact that he thought going so extreme in his paper would, somehow or other, be effective demonstrates that this man did not understand cause and effect.
TATTVAMASI
We then proceed to the end of his message. He writes: “That’s when I started to fall away, having lost faith in the ISKCON gurus and the G.B.C. that endorsed them.” This term “fall away,” in his mind, is nothing more than a synonym for falling down; that is proven by the context of his final paragraph in the Facebook message.
He still mixes up his capitulation with justifiable doubts that he could not eradicate. Doubt can be either a product of sinful actions or it can be a facet of intelligence. In this case, back in the early Eighties, when applied to “ISKCON” gurus, it was the latter. The colossal hoax of the zonal äcärya era was ati-päpam, and all those entangled in it individually suffered sinful reactions. Everyone should have doubted what the vitiated G.B.C. was doing at that time. Rämeçvara doubted but could not act upon that intelligence, so he capitulated.
As his compromised Facebook message closes, he writes: “It took many years to shake that off and eventually I began crawling back to ISKCON. That was only possible because I never doubted Çréla Prabhupäda and his books.” Crawling back to what? ISKCON no longer existed when he came crawling back. It had been converted into a doppelganger, taken over and killed by “ISKCON.” Although somewhat subtle and only communicated between the lines, he is covertly (or subconsciously) urging all those who left the death cult to return to it now that it has repudiated the zonal äcärya hoax, which he helped implement in the early Eighties.
This Facebook message from Rämeçvara to Henry Doktorski was transmitted on June 22, 2022. The lack of self-awareness and even basic intelligence in it is staggering. The man had over forty years to ponder what went down and why—and how he was entangled in it—but he had practically learned nothing. Did he actually make any contribution to the zonal debacle eventually cratering?
You can’t light a fire by pouring water on it. He simply produced smoke during that incipient stage of its exposure, but no real light. His initial steps to rectify the situation bore no fruit, because he was still to compromised. Fire serves, but smoke disturbs. He was not at all at the forefront of combating The First Transformation.
ENE goes on to explore how others in the early Eighties began to doubt the hoax of the uttama-adhikäré worship program:
“Satsvarüpa, like Rämeçvara, also had doubts about his own purity and requested the G.B.C. in 1982 to allow him to reduce his worship. He was also voted down. Bahudaka dasa . . . remembered, ‘In Mayapur, 1982, Satsvarupa Maharaja requested to reduce his worship. The G.B.C. refused him. We were very angry about it. It was the first breakthrough that one of the eleven gurus wanted to come down to a reasonable level and the other acharyas said no.’
Three zonal acharyas—Tamal Krishna, Rämeçvara and Satsvarupa —realized that they had been cheating the Society by pretending to be uttama-adhikärés, and they expressed doubts about their legitimacy. But all three, under mounting pressure from the other zonals, recanted and once again mounted their thrones and began enjoying the extravagant worship unbefitting their status as show-bottle pure devotees. Why were they forced back into pretending to be acharyas?
Some say that the eleven had lied and cheated to gain their counterfeit positions as so-called uttama-adhikäré dékñä gurus, therefore they could not allow even one member to follow his conscience, protest the charade, and abandon the make-show.” 4
Some of the rank-and-file were beginning to doubt at that time, but it was a very slow process in the early Eighties. The First Transformation was still believed in by the majority of “ISKCON” devotees, especially the new people. Nothing like the INTERNET had yet emerged. Word spread but not quickly. Hansadutta could be added to this three-man list of zonals who expressed doubt about their opulent worship, which culminated in his de facto excommunication in May of 1983. His previous suspension as initiating guru had been earlier reversed by the vitiated G.B.C., but his personal shenanigans had continued unabated.
Ocean’s Eleven began to segue into damage control in the early Eighties. This was quite ironic considering their previous triumphalist attitude after crushing the malcontents at Raman Reti in early February of 1979. The best defense is a good offense, as the saying goes. As such, the pillar of the zonal scam was the assumed mandate of its great men, the eleven former rittviks, to be worshiped as säkñäddhari. That had to be kept in place! This idea (that the guru must be an uttama-adhikäré) required the worship program to continue, although all of them were light years away from such eligibility. Yet, according to their scheme implemented in the late Spring of 1978, they had to be seen as such by their devotees.
There was not enough resistance in the early Eighties in order for the majority of the zonals to consider changing their worship protocol. Obviously, they also got off on it, big-time! Those four who doubted were not united, but the rest were still united against them in order to keep it in place. They were able to beat back this incipient attack against the pillar of their pretension. ENE points all of this out.
Of course, they had lied and cheated in order to gain false statuses as uttama-adhikäré gurus, a monopoly which they still held in the very early Eighties. However, as we shall explore next month, they were soon forced to expand their number. Also, the backing of their uttama scheme by Swämi B. R. Çrédhar–despite the fact that he was essential to formulating and forming it in 1978–was now on shaky ground.
In particular, he was criticizing actions that the G.B.C. had taken against Jayatértha, culminating in its schism with him in the Spring of 1982. To say that this split negatively impacted the zonal scheme in a profound way is a bridge too far. It remained strong, because the majority of the movement had fully invested in it for years.
And there was another factor: Those who had not bought into it were no longer part of “ISKCON.” They were outside the walls of the cult, and their influence was non-existent within it. Such was the case with Swämi B. R. Çrédhar by that time, also. The schism was the right political move within the institution’s paradigm. It did not harm the pretension, which was still considered to be Prabhupäda’s will.
However, doubts expressed by four of their great men–and especially the falldowns of some stalwarts–required a new explanation in order to continue legitimizing the zonal scheme. Other first and second echelon sannyäsés and commissioners wanted a slice of the initiating pie; they were chomping at the bit. The remaining zonals no longer could rely upon the so-called appointment tape. Word that this recording did not actually establish the eleven as appointed spiritual masters by Prabhupäda was spreading. Such an unsound source of legitimacy would not be able to hold up much longer, because Prabhupäda did not appoint them.
ENE delves into this conundrum as follows:
“Bhaktivedanta Swämi Prabhupäda had not appointed eleven acharyas to succeed him in his absence, and the G.B.C. eventually admitted it. So they changed their story: they said the eleven acharyas were appointed by the G.B.C., and the G.B.C. was ‘the same’ as Prabhupäda. Bhaktivedanta Swämi Prabhupäda had allegedly said, ‘ISKCON is my body,’ and he wrote in his will, ‘The Governing Body Commission (G.B.C.) will be the ultimate managing authority of the entire International Society for Krishna Consciousness.’ Therefore, the eleven acharyas claimed, becoming guru by a vote of confidence from the G.B.C. was the same as if Prabhupäda had personally ordered a disciple, ‘You become guru.’
The G.B.C. resolved, ‘The G.B.C. is the supreme authority in the management of The International Society For Krishna Consciousness and the direct manifestation of His Divine Grace Çréla Prabhupäda.’ Puranjana recollected, ‘Sometimes gurus will actually admit that the alleged appointment tape of May 28th is weak evidence that they had been appointed. Hridayananda Swämi later . . . began to contradict the original G.B.C. statement . . . that the evidence was in the May 28th, 1977, tape. He began to argue that Çréla Prabhupäda’s WILL had named the G.B.C. as ‘the ultimate managers of ISKCON . . . ’” 5
Actually, it was Kértanänanda who initially came up with this rationalization. It did not establish a new transformation, obviously, but it continued to buy time. Exposing the fact that Prabhupäda did not directly appoint them got manipulated into another misinterpretation, viz., that his Governing Body Commission, allegedly non-different from him, appointed them. It did so, obviously. However, they made more out of it then originally designed, and this was the basis of the new transitive theory.
The “ISKCON” transitive theory is that Prabhupäda equals ISKCON, and the will of ISKCON is non-different from the G.B.C.. This simplistic formula satisfied the chelas if and when they finally began to hear about the so-called appointment tape being no such thing. Of course, at that time, no one had access to the letters.
Earlier in Chapter Ten, the following well-known excerpt (well-known now) from the one of the letters was reproduced:
From a letter to Commissioner Hansadutta, dated 4-11-72: “What will happen when I am not here, shall everything be spoiled by G.B.C.?” 6
This letter was sent to Hansadutta just days after Prabhupäda suspended the Governing Body Commission, busted it down, and transferred all the power back to the temple presidents where it originally resided before the creation of the G.B.C.. You host speaker has discussed this incident in detail in a number of articles, videos, and via other media formats. It had been buried, but it was resurrected, mostly by myself.
That centralization scheme of 1972 was the seed of deviation that eventually sprouted into a full-blown mutiny and takeover by the Äcärya Board of the G.B.C. in 1978. It proves, beyond doubt, that the G.B.C. was never non-different from His Divine Grace Çréla Prabhupäda. It is a myth that it ever was. It is also a myth that it ever had or has a so-called automatic corrective mechanism intrinsic to or inherent in it.
Prabhupäda never officially ordered any of his disciples to become an initiating spiritual master. Show me where he did this. No one can show any such thing, because such a statement of appointment or recognition by him does not exist. He only appointed rittviks in July of 1977.
He never appointed a Successor, and he did not appoint any regular gurus, either. He briefly mentioned the principle of regular guru on the so-called appointment tape, but no names were attached to that principle. To link the May 28th discussion of the regular guru to the appointment of rittviks well over a month later is to create an illusion only.
This illusion was the basis on the zonal äcärya imposition, and people are catching on. They will continue to realize this fact. That illusion, that cheating, that massive institutional mendacity, was then parlayed into the uttama worship of eleven sahajiyäs movement-wide, beginning in April of 1978, when it was implemented by force almost everywhere.
In the early Eighties, things were beginning to break down. Doubts were in the ascendant, but this was still only applicable to few devotees worldwide. It was the minority report. To staunch the developing situation, some kind of nifty explanation had to mined from the ocean of nescience. That came in the form of the above-mentioned rationalization, courtesy of Kértanänanda, one of the taproots of the uttama scheme.
It allowed “ISKCON” to kick the can down the road and bought the major players, those integral to the massive deviation, more time. Chapter Ten discusses an incipient counter-momentum—which was not at all strong in 1981-82—slowly seeping its way into the collective consciousness of Prabhupäda’s sincere and serious disciples. As mentioned, Chapter Ten is a bridge chapter. It is a recollection of the facts surrounding the beginning of the breakdown of the zonal äcärya imposition.
The colossal hoax known as the fabricated, so-called “ISKCON” confederation is a pseudo-spiritual scam. The First Transformation of this make show was the zonal äcärya imposition. It took time for it to crater, and the die was not cast with certainty until the early Eighties. Rome did not fall in a day, and during the heyday of its decadence, virtually none of its citizens could envision that a small and persecuted cult would eventually replace emperor worship.
Rome was actually destroyed from within, and “ISKCON” was also in the incipient stage of being destroyed from within during the early Eighties. The tune of its fan was unplugged, but that fan was still spinning. The tune of its enchantment was still being heard, but the music was slowing.
SAD EVA SAUMYA
ENDNOTE
1. Doktorski, Henry. Eleven Naked Emperors: The Crisis of Charismatic Succession in the Hare Krishna Movement (1977-1987), p. 215). Kindle Edition. From a Çrémad-Bhägavatam purport to 4.28.48;
2 Doktorski, Henry. Eleven Naked Emperors: The Crisis of Charismatic Succession in the Hare Krishna Movement (1977-1987), p. 215). Kindle Edition. From a Nectar of Devotion audio transcript, Vrindaban, India recorded on October 31, 1972;
3 Ibid, p. 219;
4 Ibid, p. 221;
5 Ibid, pp. 222-223;
6 Ibid, p. 215.