Editorial scope: The supplied source contains a title and video thumbnail but no transcript or accompanying prose. This long-form study therefore uses the named Dallas presentation and Svayam Bhagavan Keshava Maharaja’s related published reflections as its point of departure. It offers a documented theological and practical analysis rather than reconstructed quotations or a purported verbatim account of the talk.

A realistic language of spiritual renewal

“Fallen but hopeful” is a remarkably compact description of spiritual life. It acknowledges that a sincere practitioner can become distracted, discouraged, ethically compromised, emotionally exhausted, or inconsistent without concluding that the entire journey has failed. The phrase joins two truths that are often separated: human beings must face their present condition honestly, yet the present condition does not have to become their permanent identity. In the devotional setting associated with the Dallas, Texas presentation, hope is neither sentimental reassurance nor confidence that consequences will disappear. It is the disciplined conviction that transformation remains possible through grace, truthful self-examination, spiritual practice, ethical repair, and supportive association.

Svayam Bhagavan Keshava Maharaja, who also publishes as S.B. Keshava Swami, is a monastic teacher and author working within the Gaudiya Vaishnava tradition. His official biography describes more than two decades of monastic life and sustained study of Sanskrit wisdom texts. That background matters because the expression “fallen” carries a technical devotional history. It is not merely a contemporary label for disappointment. In Vaishnava literature, it can express humility, awareness of material conditioning, dependence on divine grace, and an urgent desire to recover one’s orientation toward Kṛṣṇa.

The same formulation appears in Keshava Maharaja’s 2018 reflection “Challenged”, written in remembrance of Srila Prabhupada. That reflection organizes spiritual self-examination around four perceived deficiencies: weakness, selfishness, hard-heartedness, and shallowness. Each deficiency is placed beside a positive devotional quality—determination, selfless service, compassion, and spiritual depth. Its closing declaration, “Fallen but hopeful,” therefore does not function as self-pity. It marks a decision to remain engaged, learn from an exemplary life, and continue offering serious effort despite an uncomfortable awareness of the distance still to travel.

“Fallen” describes a condition, not an essential identity

Within Gaudiya Vaishnava theology, the living being, or jīva, is not reducible to a mistake, a psychological state, or a record of misconduct. In the tradition’s reading of Bhagavad-gītā 15.7, the living being is an eternal, dependent part of the Divine. Material conditioning affects awareness, desire, memory, and conduct, but it does not erase the jīva’s spiritual significance. Fallenness is therefore relational, epistemic, and behavioral: consciousness has become misdirected, reality is being perceived through layers of attachment, and action no longer expresses the soul’s proper orientation. It is not a doctrine of intrinsic worthlessness.

This distinction protects devotional humility from collapsing into destructive shame. Humility recognizes limitation without denying dignity. Shame makes a totalizing claim: a person has failed and therefore is a failure. Devotional responsibility makes a more precise claim: a particular action, habit, intention, or relationship requires correction. Precision creates room for repentance and repair. A vague identity of worthlessness, by contrast, can become strangely self-protective because it replaces the difficult work of changing specific conduct with the emotionally dramatic but practically inert statement that nothing can change.

The classical Gaudiya framework of sambandha, abhidheya, and prayojana clarifies the logic. Sambandha concerns the practitioner’s enduring relationship with Kṛṣṇa and the true structure of reality. Abhidheya concerns the practices by which that relationship is consciously recovered. Prayojana names the mature goal, commonly described as pure love of God, or prema. A lapse may disrupt practice and obscure awareness, but it does not rewrite the underlying relationship or abolish the goal. Recovery begins when identity, method, and purpose are brought back into alignment.

Devotional rhetoric sometimes uses strong language of lowliness, especially in prayers composed from the standpoint of dependence on grace. Such expressions should be interpreted within their relational and literary setting. They are not licenses for humiliation, coercive control, or the suppression of legitimate concerns. The humility praised in the Śikṣāṣṭaka—being unpretentious, tolerant, and willing to honor others—supports sustained remembrance of the Divine. It does not require a person to accept abuse, conceal wrongdoing, or surrender moral judgment to another human being.

Different falls require different responses

The word “fall” can refer to several very different experiences. It may describe a broken daily discipline, an episode of anger, a return to an addictive pattern, a loss of faith, devotional burnout, an interpersonal offense, or serious ethical harm. These conditions must not be treated as interchangeable. A missed period of meditation may call for a realistic schedule; deception may require confession and restitution; abuse requires immediate protection of those at risk and appropriate institutional or legal accountability. Spiritual vocabulary becomes dangerous when it blurs distinctions that ethical judgment must preserve.

A practitioner may also interpret ordinary grief, fatigue, illness, or doubt as spiritual failure. That conclusion is not always warranted. Human embodiment has limits, and devotional maturity includes learning to distinguish unwillingness from incapacity. A person caring for a newborn, recovering from illness, enduring bereavement, or managing severe psychological distress may need to adapt the form and intensity of practice. Fidelity is not measured only by volume. A smaller practice undertaken truthfully can be more spiritually coherent than an impressive routine maintained through fear, denial, or physical collapse.

Hope is active, structured, and accountable

Hope in bhakti is not the prediction that circumstances will soon become pleasant. It is confidence that sincere devotional movement retains meaning even when results are slow, feelings are unstable, and previous efforts have been inconsistent. The practitioner does not wait to feel spiritually strong before acting. Practice itself becomes a means of rebuilding strength. Hope thus combines trust in divine responsiveness with a willingness to take the next truthful step.

A useful comparison appears in C. R. Snyder’s psychological theory of hope, which describes hope through two interacting capacities: agency, the motivation to move toward a valued goal, and pathways, the ability to identify workable routes toward it. This model helps explain why vague optimism is often insufficient after failure. A person may believe that life will improve while possessing neither a concrete practice nor the motivation to use it. Devotional hope also needs direction and means: a meaningful goal, a feasible discipline, wise association, and the willingness to begin again.

The comparison has limits. Snyder’s model is a psychological account of goal-directed cognition, whereas Gaudiya bhakti is a theological account of relationship, grace, consciousness, and love of God. Kṛṣṇa is not simply a motivational symbol, and prema is not merely successful self-management. Still, the comparison illuminates an important practical truth: hope becomes durable when trust is joined to action and when a blocked route leads to intelligent adjustment rather than abandonment of the goal.

The scriptural case against spiritual fatalism

Bhagavad-gītā 2.40 states that sincere movement on the spiritual path is not wasted. The verse presents spiritual practice as cumulative rather than disposable: an incomplete effort still possesses value. This does not encourage complacency. It challenges the all-or-nothing reasoning that often follows a lapse. When a practitioner concludes that one broken vow has erased months of sincere effort, despair misreads both human learning and the scriptural logic of continuity.

Bhagavad-gītā 6.37–45 addresses the yoga-bhraṣṭa, one who begins a spiritual discipline but does not reach perfection. Arjuna’s question is psychologically acute: does such a person lose both material and spiritual prospects, like a cloud dispersed without shelter? Kṛṣṇa rejects that fear. Spiritual endeavor is not annihilated, and the practitioner receives further opportunity to continue. The passage places temporary incompletion within a longer horizon of development. It opposes the belief that imperfect progress is equivalent to no progress.

Bhagavad-gītā 9.30–31 is even more frequently invoked in discussions of moral and devotional failure. Its assurance that a resolute devotee is not lost must be read together with its movement toward righteous conduct and lasting peace. The expression samyag vyavasitaḥ indicates proper resolve or decisive orientation. The passage is not permission to plan misconduct while claiming devotional immunity. Nor should it be used to silence victims or shield respected figures from consequences. Its hope belongs to the person who turns decisively toward transformation.

The theological relationship between grace and effort is therefore neither passive nor transactional. Practice does not purchase divine love, and grace does not make responsible action unnecessary. Human effort prepares attention, expresses willingness, and places the practitioner in a receptive posture. Grace exceeds calculation, yet the practitioner remains responsible for choices, habits, promises, and repair. Bhakti holds dependence and agency together without reducing one to the other.

Enthusiasm, confidence, and patience

Rūpa Gosvāmī’s Upadeśāmṛta 3 presents six conditions for progress in bhakti. The first three—utsāha, niścaya, and dhairya—may be rendered as enthusiasm, confidence, and patience. Together they form a sophisticated grammar of hope. Enthusiasm initiates action; confidence protects the goal from cynicism; patience prevents delayed results from being misread as proof of failure. The remaining principles add concrete discipline, ethically coherent conduct, and careful association. Hope is thus embedded within a complete ecology of practice rather than treated as an isolated emotion.

These qualities also correct one another. Enthusiasm without patience becomes unsustainable intensity. Patience without enthusiasm becomes delay. Confidence without disciplined conduct becomes presumption. Disciplined conduct without confidence becomes anxious performance. Mature spiritual growth requires a dynamic balance in which conviction produces steady work, work remains open to grace, and temporary difficulty does not provoke either panic or denial.

Why purification is described as a process

The developmental sequence associated with Bhakti-rasāmṛta-sindhu 1.4.15–16 begins with śraddhā, or initial trust, and proceeds through sādhu-saṅga, bhajana-kriyā, anartha-nivṛtti, niṣṭhā, ruci, āsakti, bhāva, and finally prema. In broad terms, these stages describe trustworthy association, undertaken practice, the reduction of unwanted tendencies, steadiness, taste, attachment, spiritual emotion, and mature divine love. The sequence assumes development. It does not assume instant perfection at the beginning.

Anartha-nivṛtti, the gradual reduction of unwanted habits and misconceptions, is especially relevant. An anartha is not identical to the person who carries it. It is an obstructive tendency that can be observed, weakened, and displaced through better orientation and practice. Because old patterns may retain momentum, their reappearance does not automatically prove that no transformation has occurred. The proper questions concern frequency, intensity, duration, consequences, honesty, and the speed with which corrective action begins.

The classical sequence is a theological map rather than a modern clinical scale. Practitioners should not use it to rank one another or manufacture public claims of advancement. Its more constructive use is diagnostic: it normalizes the fact that trust, association, disciplined practice, purification, steadiness, and taste are related but distinct developments. Someone may possess genuine faith while still struggling with unstable habits. That tension calls for integrity and guidance, not theatrical despair.

Practice must survive changes in mood

Bhagavad-gītā 6.35 identifies abhyāsa, repeated practice, and vairāgya, disciplined non-attachment, as means of working with the restless mind. This formulation is practical because it does not require the mind to become cooperative before spiritual life can resume. Abhyāsa builds a return pathway; vairāgya reduces reinforcement of the distractions that repeatedly capture attention. Together they replace the fantasy of effortless consistency with a trainable pattern of returning.

In Krishna consciousness, chanting the holy names—privately as japa and collectively as saṅkīrtana—occupies a central place. The mahā-mantra, Hare Kṛṣṇa, Hare Kṛṣṇa, Kṛṣṇa Kṛṣṇa, Hare Hare / Hare Rāma, Hare Rāma, Rāma Rāma, Hare Hare, engages speech, hearing, memory, and intention around the Divine. Its efficacy should not be reduced to a relaxation technique, although rhythmic recitation may also steady attention. The theological claim is relational: the divine name is approached as sacred presence and an avenue of service.

After a lapse, a modest but fixed practice is often more sustainable than an emotionally charged promise of immediate heroism. A practitioner might restore one protected period of attentive chanting, one daily passage of scripture, and one dependable act of service before expanding the routine. This is not an argument for permanent minimalism. It is an argument for truthful rebuilding. A practice that reliably occurs can become a platform for growth; an extravagant plan that repeatedly collapses may reinforce shame and avoidance.

Attention also has an environment. Sleep deprivation, unrestricted digital consumption, isolation, unresolved conflict, intoxicants, and chaotic scheduling can weaken the conditions needed for stable practice. Spiritual analysis should therefore include the material architecture surrounding behavior. Removing a trigger or changing a schedule is not less spiritual than making a strong resolution. It can be the practical form that resolution takes.

Sādhu-saṅga and the social structure of hope

Sādhu-saṅga, association with spiritually serious people, is not merely companionship. At its best, it provides interpretation, example, correction, encouragement, and opportunities for service. Isolation allows distorted conclusions to become self-confirming: a lapse feels unique, forgiveness seems impossible, and return appears embarrassing. Healthy association interrupts that closed loop. It reminds the practitioner that struggle can be discussed without being romanticized and that standards can be upheld without withdrawing humane regard.

Not every religious environment qualifies as healthy sādhu-saṅga. Genuine spiritual association should increase truthfulness, compassion, responsibility, and remembrance of the Divine. A group that rewards concealment, suppresses questions, protects status at the expense of vulnerable people, or treats leadership as immunity from accountability undermines the qualities it claims to cultivate. Belonging should not require the surrender of conscience.

The guru–śiṣya relationship can offer orientation when the practitioner’s self-assessment becomes either indulgent or merciless. Authentic guidance connects the disciple to Kṛṣṇa, śāstra, ethical conduct, and mature community; it does not make the teacher the proprietor of another person’s agency. Advice should be evaluated with attention to competence and scope. A spiritual mentor may illuminate devotional practice, while medical, psychological, safeguarding, or legal problems can require appropriately trained professionals.

Seva, or service, is another major pathway out of self-absorption. Failure often produces obsessive inward attention: the person repeatedly reviews personal inadequacy without becoming more useful to anyone. Service redirects energy toward a real need while testing whether claimed transformation is becoming visible in conduct. Yet service must not become avoidance. Busyness cannot substitute for apology, rest, treatment, or direct repair when those are required.

Four challenges within the phrase

Weakness and determination: Keshava Maharaja’s related reflection contrasts personal weakness with Srila Prabhupada’s determination under criticism and adversity. Determination in this context is not inflexibility or refusal to learn. It is continuity of purpose under changing conditions. The determined practitioner can revise a method, admit an error, accept help, and still remain loyal to the spiritual goal. Rigidity protects an image; determination protects a purpose.

Selfishness and dedication: The reflection presents selfless dedication as an antidote to the contracted world of private advantage. Spiritual hope becomes stronger when life is connected to a purpose larger than comfort or reputation. This does not require every person to adopt monastic life. A parent, professional, student, artist, or caregiver can orient ordinary responsibilities toward service, integrity, and the welfare of others. The decisive shift is from possession to contribution.

Hard-heartedness and compassion: Devotional depth is tested by the treatment of embodied beings, especially those who are vulnerable or inconvenient. Ritual precision without compassion risks becoming a defense against relationship. The Bhāgavata tradition repeatedly joins devotion to freedom from envy, kindness, and concern for others. Compassion does not eliminate boundaries or consequences; it refuses to make another person’s suffering emotionally irrelevant.

Shallowness and absorption: Spiritual shallowness is not simply a lack of information. A person may possess extensive scriptural vocabulary while remaining reactive, proud, or inattentive. Keshava Maharaja elsewhere describes wisdom as something that must move from information into consciousness and character. Depth appears when study changes perception, prayer changes priorities, and remembrance continues beyond the public setting in which spiritual identity is displayed.

These four contrasts show why hope cannot remain an abstraction. Hopeful determination appears as renewed practice. Hopeful selflessness appears as useful service. Hopeful compassion appears as attentive care and ethical restraint. Hopeful depth appears as sustained remembrance and transformed character. The phrase “fallen but hopeful” becomes credible when the second term begins to alter the conditions named by the first.

Accountability is an expression of hope

When a fall has harmed another person, restoration requires more than private devotional emotion. A responsible process normally includes stopping the harmful conduct, stating what occurred without evasive language, listening to those affected where appropriate and safe, accepting proportionate consequences, making restitution when possible, and changing the conditions that enabled recurrence. These steps are practical ethical applications rather than a single standardized scriptural ritual. Their purpose is to make repentance observable.

An apology is weakened by demands for immediate forgiveness, explanations that transfer blame, or references to divine grace used to cancel human consequences. Forgiveness, reconciliation, restored trust, and restored position are distinct matters. A person may forgive without resuming a dangerous relationship. A community may recognize repentance while still restricting authority. Hope means that moral growth remains possible; it does not mean that every former role must be returned.

Relapse should be studied rather than mystified. The practitioner can examine what preceded the lapse, which early warning signs were ignored, what reward maintained the behavior, who was absent from the support system, and which intervention could occur earlier next time. This analysis does not remove moral agency. It makes agency more effective by replacing a vague promise—“never again”—with specific changes in environment, access, routine, disclosure, and accountability.

Progress is often better assessed over meaningful intervals than by the emotional intensity of a single day. Useful indicators include greater honesty, shorter periods of avoidance, reduced frequency or severity of harmful behavior, quicker requests for help, more stable practice, improved treatment of others, and increased capacity to tolerate correction. These measures do not quantify spiritual realization, but they can reveal whether claimed renewal is producing ethical and behavioral fruit.

Doubt, dryness, and exhaustion are not identical to disbelief

Intellectual doubt can become part of serious religious inquiry. Suppressing every question may preserve conformity while weakening understanding. The Gaudiya tradition contains extensive philosophical argument concerning the self, causality, divine personality, knowledge, and liberation. A hopeful response to doubt therefore includes study, dialogue, and patience. The goal is neither to celebrate doubt as an end in itself nor to treat every unresolved question as disloyalty.

Devotional dryness—the absence of felt inspiration—also requires careful interpretation. Emotion naturally fluctuates, whereas commitment can remain stable. Continuing a reasonable practice without immediate emotional reward may deepen sincerity by exposing the difference between seeking Kṛṣṇa and seeking a particular internal sensation. At the same time, persistent numbness, insomnia, despair, panic, or inability to function may indicate a health concern rather than a purely devotional problem.

Spiritual counsel should complement rather than replace qualified care. Addiction, trauma, major depression, suicidal thinking, psychosis, domestic violence, and other serious conditions require competent professional or emergency support. Prayer, chanting, community, and scripture may remain meaningful sources of strength, but presenting them as substitutes for necessary treatment can increase harm. A responsible theology of hope values every ethical avenue through which life and dignity can be protected.

A hopeful community carries obligations

A community that tells struggling members to remain hopeful must provide conditions in which return is realistically possible. Those conditions include confidential but accountable pastoral care, transparent safeguarding procedures, leaders who can receive criticism, meaningful roles for people who are rebuilding, and clear distinctions between ordinary weakness and conduct that threatens others. Mercy without structure can become negligence; structure without mercy can become exclusion. Mature community holds both.

Communities should also avoid turning a person’s disclosed struggle into gossip or spiritual entertainment. Confidentiality, however, is not secrecy when safety is at stake. Information may need to be shared with appropriate authorities or safeguarding personnel. The governing principle is not protection of reputation but protection of persons, truth, and the integrity of the tradition.

The treatment of someone who has stumbled reveals a community’s theology as clearly as its formal teachings do. Immediate rejection can communicate that belonging depended on flawless performance. Uncritical reassurance can communicate that conduct does not matter. A better response combines proportionate boundaries with a credible route toward ethical and spiritual rehabilitation. It neither freezes a person in the worst moment nor denies the seriousness of that moment.

Shared dharmic insights without erasing differences

The theme of falling and returning can support respectful conversation among Hindu, Buddhist, Jain, and Sikh traditions. These traditions do not teach identical metaphysics, accounts of the self, understandings of God, or final goals. Unity therefore should not be manufactured by flattening doctrinal differences. A more durable unity arises through accurate understanding, shared ethical concerns, and recognition that disciplined practice, compassion, truthfulness, humility, and community remain central across many dharmic paths.

Across Hindu traditions, the language of abhyāsa, vairāgya, karma, dharma, grace, self-knowledge, and devotion provides multiple accounts of recovery. Advaita Vedānta, Yoga, Śaiva, Śākta, and diverse Vaishnava schools interpret ultimate reality and liberation differently, yet each contains methods for correcting misidentification and undisciplined desire. Gaudiya Vaishnavism contributes its distinctive emphasis on personal relationship with Rādhā-Kṛṣṇa, the transformative power of divine names, and grace mediated through bhakti.

Buddhist traditions frequently emphasize mindful recognition of unwholesome states, renewed effort, compassion, and the importance of spiritual friendship, or kalyāṇa-mittatā. These ideas can illuminate the practice of noticing a lapse without constructing a permanent identity around it. Nevertheless, Buddhist teachings on non-self should not be equated with the Gaudiya doctrine of the eternal jīva. Practical resonance does not eliminate philosophical difference.

Jain traditions offer rigorous reflection on nonviolence, restraint, karmic consequence, confession, and practices such as pratikramaṇa, through which faults are reviewed and corrective intention is renewed. This disciplined moral inventory resonates with the need for accountable self-examination. Jain understandings of the soul, karma, liberation, and divine agency remain distinct from Gaudiya theology, but the shared refusal to trivialize harm creates meaningful ethical common ground.

Sikh tradition brings together nām simran, seva, saṅgat, humility, truthful living, and divine grace. These principles likewise show that renewal is not achieved through private feeling alone; remembrance, service, community, and conduct reinforce one another. Sikh theology should not be absorbed into a Krishna-centered framework, yet its integration of devotion and social responsibility offers a powerful partner in dharmic reflection.

The common lesson is methodological rather than doctrinally homogenizing: a person returns through honest awareness, ethical restraint, disciplined remembrance, compassionate community, and action consistent with the highest professed values. Traditions may explain the source and ultimate purpose of these practices differently while still cooperating to protect dignity, encourage responsibility, and resist sectarian contempt.

Why the Dallas setting matters

A discourse in Dallas places an old devotional problem within a modern, mobile, and religiously plural environment. Practitioners in a large North American city may negotiate demanding careers, family obligations, digital distraction, cultural translation, and distance from inherited sacred geographies. Bhakti must therefore become portable without becoming diluted. A stable home practice, local spiritual friendship, ethical work, service, and intelligent use of technology can create continuity when pilgrimage, temple attendance, or extended retreat is not always available.

Diasporic life can also intensify perfectionism. Religious identity may feel responsible for representing an entire tradition before coworkers, neighbors, or children. Under that pressure, struggle is easily hidden. “Fallen but hopeful” offers a more sustainable public and private posture: tradition can be honored without pretending that its practitioners are beyond ordinary human vulnerability. Integrity grows when ideals remain high and truthful accounts of the path remain possible.

A six-part architecture for returning

First, the condition is named accurately. The practitioner distinguishes fatigue from negligence, doubt from indifference, temptation from action, and private inconsistency from harm inflicted on another person. Accurate naming reduces both exaggeration and minimization. It establishes what kind of response is actually required.

Second, ongoing harm is stopped and safety is established. Where another person is at risk, protection takes priority over reputation, ritual, or institutional convenience. Appropriate elders, safeguarding personnel, clinicians, or authorities are involved according to the nature of the problem. Hope begins with reality, not image management.

Third, responsibility becomes concrete. The practitioner acknowledges choices, accepts consequences, apologizes without demanding emotional relief, and makes feasible restitution. Environmental and relational conditions that enabled the fall are changed. A private vow is supported by observable safeguards.

Fourth, a sustainable core of sādhana is restored. Chanting, scriptural hearing, prayer, worship, and service are resumed at a level that is serious but repeatable. The routine is anchored to time and place rather than fluctuating mood. It is expanded only after stability begins to return.

Fifth, trustworthy association is renewed. The practitioner identifies people who combine compassion with moral clarity. Isolation is reduced, difficult questions are disclosed to those competent to help, and service reconnects personal recovery with the welfare of others. Support does not eliminate responsibility; it helps responsibility endure.

Sixth, progress is reviewed patiently. Setbacks are examined for information, not used as proof of permanent defeat. Signs of growth are sought in truthfulness, steadiness, reduced harm, deeper remembrance, receptivity to correction, and compassionate behavior. The relevant timescale is long enough to reveal character rather than momentary enthusiasm.

The decisive test of hope

Hope is authentic when it makes a practitioner more truthful, not less; more accountable, not evasive; more compassionate, not self-absorbed; and more steady, not merely intense. It should deepen respect for other dharmic paths without dissolving the integrity of one’s own. It should protect the vulnerable, strengthen service, and transform devotional language into ethical conduct. Any supposed hope that requires denial of facts or exemption from responsibility is better described as presumption.

The enduring force of “fallen but hopeful” lies in its refusal of two extremes. It rejects perfectionist despair, which says that one failure has destroyed the path, and complacent reassurance, which says that failure need not change anything. Bhakti offers a more demanding mercy. The practitioner is not abandoned, but neither is transformation optional. Grace opens the future; practice, accountability, association, and service become the way that future is entered.

A useful personal examination can therefore ask: What has actually fallen—routine, confidence, conduct, relationship, or belief? Who has been affected? What must stop immediately? What repair is possible? Which small practice can resume today? Which trustworthy person should know? What would genuine improvement look like after one month and after one year? Such questions convert spiritual hope from a comforting idea into a disciplined course of renewal.

Selected textual and research anchors: Bhagavad-gītā 2.40, 6.35, 6.37–45, 9.30–31, and 15.7; Rūpa Gosvāmī’s Bhakti-rasāmṛta-sindhu 1.4.15–16; Upadeśāmṛta 3; Caitanya-caritāmṛta, Madhya-līlā 22.128–129; Śikṣāṣṭaka 3; and C. R. Snyder, “Hope Theory: Rainbows in the Mind,” Psychological Inquiry 13, no. 4 (2002): 249–275.

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