Cosmogony, Suffering and Ignorance in the Yoga Sūtras: A Therapeutic Philosophy

The Yoga Sūtras (YS) of Patañjali, as well as many other texts from Eastern traditions, give us not only a theory of reality, but a therapeutics of the spirit.  In diagnosing the symptoms of the ‘disease’ they also detect the root of the cause, the cosmic reason for its existence, and provide methods for its complete elimination.  Such therapeutic nature is easily visible in the four noble truths of Buddhism and also in the structure of the second Book of the YS.  Both Buddha and Patañjali not only detect that the main disease is suffering but also that we all have it (YS II.15), even in moments of great pleasure and happiness.  Why? Because even though the symptoms may recede and we may feel well, the cause of the disease remains.  For Buddhism, attachment, the root of the disease, can be present even while we are feeling good, and for Patañjali, ignorance is always present during suffering regardless our mental state.  Both think that the disease can be cured (II.16) although the healing process may require an arduous and long treatment.  Curiously enough, for both Buddhism and the Yoga Sūtras of Patañjali, the path for the cessation of suffering is eightfold.

            Now let us go a little bit slower.  Why does Patañjali say that the cause of suffering is ignorance?  Ignorance of what?  Sutra 17 says, under Iyengar’s translation, that “The cause of pain is the association or identification of the seer (ātma) with the seen (prakṛti) and the remedy lies in their dissociation”.  The word pain is translating duḥkha, which is more commonly rendered as suffering.  I think this is more accurate, since the word ‘pain’ conveys the meaning of a sensation that is ephemeral and ceases with its opposite, i.e. pleasure.  But suffering is more of an existential state that does not really have an opposite.  The only way to get rid of suffering is to stop its existence altogether, to eradicate the root that causes it. 

            Sutra 17 tells us that the cause of suffering is a certain ‘association’ (saṁyoga) between the seer and the seen.  But Iyengar adds, perhaps to make it clearer, that the remedy lies in their dissociation.  This could be a little bit confusing, especially when we get into the next sutras which talk about the Cosmogony of Yoga.  Who is the ‘seer’, what is the ‘seen’, and why should they be dissociated? 

            Patañjali describes ‘the seen’ (dṛśyam) as that which is constituted with the three qualities of: bright appearance, action, and steadiness (YS II.18).  Basically, the ‘seen’ is that which is constituted by the three guṇas, that is, the three basic universal forces that are characterized by bringing lightness, clarity, intelligence, brilliance, in the case of sattva;  movement, activity, restlessness, in the case of rajas; and heaviness, firmness, obscurity, in the case of tamas. Everything in Nature (prakṛti) is a combination of guṇas, and it is due to their different levels of sattva, tamas and rajas, that each object presents its particular characteristics (YS II.19).

            In the cosmovision presented by the YS, the manifestation of everything visible presupposes the activity of different levels of reality that have been evolving since the very first moment of existence of the Universe.  In other words, all the objects that we see, like plants, trees, rocks, rivers, animals, our own bodies, houses, cars, as well as everything that can be not only seen, but touched, smelled, tasted and heard, is already the manifestation of more subtle particles and natural forces that we cannot see, nor touch, nor smell, etc.  Those subtle elements or forces come from even subtler sources of manifestation in the Universe, in such a way that the more subtle a level of reality is, the more universal it becomes.  For example, in the realm of the objects that we normally “see”, we have them of different and varied colors.  If we attend to the source of the color, we realize that it comes from particles of light which are refracted in different ways.  But the light, being a subtler principle, is one and the same for all the colors.  Now, according to the YS, the particles of light would be a manifestation of something even more subtle, for just as there are particles of light, there are also electromagnetic waves.  So as long as there is a variety of species there will be a subtler principle from which that variety comes. 

            If we go far deeper into the levels of reality, we will find that the origin of all variety of physical forms, energies, frequencies and forces is that level in which things are not differentiable any more (alinga).  In that level, everything is merged into a mass of pure matter, if it can be described like that.  When that happens, the guṇas stabilize in full equilibrium, like a triad of forces that do not allow the other two to manifest.  Everything, from this pure potentiality of manifestation to the myriad forms, visible and invisible, that exist around us is what Patañjali calls “the seen”, and the seen has its origin in praṛkti, the ‘mass´ of pure procreative matter. 

            Prakṛti is called “the seen” because the Universe would not be manifest if there were not another to whom it can manifest, that is, the Universe is only the Universe because there is a consciousness that is constantly ‘seeing’ it.  That consciousness is usually described in the Indian classical tradition as a “witness”, as that which ‘perceives’ and is ‘conscious’ of all the objects in the universe without being one of them and without being affected by them (YS II.20).   The “seer” is that which gives this whole existence meaning, for if there were not “a seer”, “the seen” would not have any purpose.  There would not be anyone to whom the Universe could give “enjoyment or emancipation”.  Literally, for the YS, the purpose of this whole existence is so that “the seer”, the universal consciousness, can have the experience of enjoyment (bhoga) and liberation (apavarga) (YS II.18 and 21).  We could also put it in this way:  that it is “the seen” which gives purpose to the “seer”, for without anything to see or experience, the “seer” would not have to be liberated from anything, and therefore, would not be able to experience itself.  For liberation is just that, the moment in which Consciousness experiences itself as it is, pure, eternal, immaculate.  “The conjunction (saṁyoga) of the seer with the seen is for the seer to discover his own true nature (YS II.23)”.

            So now we can ask again, why, if the conjunction of the seer and the seen give purpose to each other, do they have to be separated, dissociated, as Iyengar’s (and many others’) translation says?  It is my interpretation of the Yoga Sūtras that the seer and the seen can never be dissociated, for their very same definition depends on each other.  It is, however, their confusion which needs to be avoided.  The seer and the seen are not the same, and yet, the whole predicament of our existence and suffering, as the YS have been repeating over and over again, is that we are constantly taking them to be the same.  But to take what is conscious to be unconscious is precisely what constitutes our ignorance (YS II.5), for it is when we take ourselves to be this body, and these belongings, and this personality, beliefs, ideas, labels, names, etc., that we ignore our real self.   This sounds like a repetitive Yoga Sutras slogan, but just consider: if we knew and fully acted with the consciousness that we are beyond any limited label that is attributed upon ourselves, then our happiness, freedom and possibility of action would not depend upon others’ acceptance, or others’ judgement, not even life disasters, or death…  This is, I think, the “dissociation” that Patañjali is referring to: the dissociation of what is the real conscious element in ourselves and in the universe from all those limited unconscious associations that do not allow us to express ourselves as conscious beings.  It is, thus, an existential dissociation rather than a metaphysical one.  It is a dissociation that happens in our understanding of ourselves and of the world, rather than a dissociation or separation like that which happens between water and sand. 

            In this way, the ignorance (avidya) that makes us ill with suffering is that cognition that makes an incorrect link between the seer and the seen, rather than the cognition that links the seer to the seen.  I again depart from Iyengar’s translation in II.25 where he renders the sutra as saying that “breaking the link binding the seer to the seen” is emancipation.  The seer and the seen are cosmically linked, we cannot disconnect or dissociate them.  That would just generate— and has certainly generated— more suffering.  Emancipation is precisely to recognize their link and discern correctly between them so that we stop making incorrect connections, like that of thinking that our self reduces to our ego or selfish personality. 

            Thus, the medicine against suffering is discernment, viveka (YS II.26), that knowledge that expands our wisdom into deeper and deeper layers of understanding (prajña) and that, according to the Yoga Sutras, is achieved by the eightfold practice of yoga (YS II.28).

(By the way, check on the sidebar to the right the video (posted previously) where I try to illustrate the different layers of reality according to the Yoga Sutras.)

Summary March 3rd, 2012

The Second Book of the Yoga Sūtras opens with the definition of Kriya yoga: tapas, svādhyāya and īśvarapraṇidhāna. As you may remember, we encountered these three elements as part of the 5 niyamas, but here they are considered as separate and an essential part of what has been called “the path of action”.  Perhaps a better way to put it is the one suggested by Nishala Devi.  She renders it as “yoga in action”.  I think this gets straight to the point, since the whole aim of this Second Book is the practice of yoga as a way of life.

The first element of kriya yoga, i.e., tapas, is not easy to translate.  As it is usually the case with Sanskrit terms, they are loaded with meaning and history.  In the context of the Yoga Sūtras, tapas is usually understood as self-discipline, a rigorous effort, or, in its most ascetic sense, as a practice of submitting the body to austerities.  There is a chant in the Vedas, called Nasadiyasukta, which is a beautiful poem about the origin of the universe, about how it all came to be.  And there is a line where it describes how, from the depth of darkness, the breathing One emerged out of its own Ardor.  This refulgence or shining desire has been traditionally associated with tapas, as a divine inner will or power to emerge, act, or be.  This is why tapas is also considered the main component in karma yoga, the path of selfless action, where all our deeds are dedicated to others and the divine in order to overcome the ego.  It is thought in Yoga philosophy that when we detach from our own interests, ego or expectation, only then we can connect with a deeper force inside us, that divine will out of which everything comes to be.

Together with this, the word tapas came to be associated with the yogis, seers and sages who, renouncing to worldly life, would dedicate their lives to find Absolute consciousness within themselves (See the new video link that I posted at the right top corner of this blog).  It was believed that, given their discipline, practice and bodily hardships, they attained special powers, usually given to them straight from divinities, who, pleased by their tapas, would concede certain favors and siddhis (attainments) to them. 

In our yoga practice, though, we can relate tapas with self-discipline; the effort that we put (ideally selflessly) not only into our poses and meditations, but also and most essentially, into detaching from the small or big things that distract our mind from remembering that we are beyond our own limitations and dualities.  Tapas is also that inner heat felt in the body after or while doing a pose, a pranayama or a meditation. 

            Svādhyāya is “self study”, but it is traditionally related to the reading and understanding of the sacred or philosophical texts that have as their aim liberation.  It makes a lot of sense to relate self-understanding with understanding of sacred texts, for it is through them that we can reflect upon how the teachings relate to our lives.  It is not just for the sake of knowing what they say, but for getting to know things of ourselves that otherwise would be harder to grasp.  This aspect of kriya yoga is usually associated with the one called jñāna yoga, the path of discernment.  The whole idea of “knowing ourselves” is to discern between what we really are, and what we are not.  This is a constant idea throughout Yoga, Sāmkhya, Vedānta and other hindu philosophical schools.  And we will keep trying to figure out what that really means (of course I do not mean only through these summaries but throughout all our lives)!

            The third element, īśvarapraṇidhana or surrender to the Divine, refers to the already mentioned aspect of devotion, the bhakti. We talked about this in the First Book when it was mentioned as one of the options to focus our mind and bring it to a state of nirodha.  Here, however, it is not put as an option but as an essential part of the practice.  Does this mean that yoga is religion after all?  As you may remember when we talked about this topic, I prefer to translate īśvara as the Divine and not as God, because this word is so culturally charged with a meaning that may not be appropriate within this text.  The idea of bhakti or devotion in its simplest terms is just to humbly recognize that there is a greater force in the universe that surpasses us, that plays with us, that loves us.  Bhakti refers to the loving relation we establish with life and the universe.  Some people may want to call it God, and certainly, in its historical expression, the ones who follow the path of yoga emphasizing the bhakti aspect tend to give a name and a personification to such divine force, such as the well known Krishna devotees.

Now, the next few sutras of this Second Book talk about the purpose (arthah) of this practice.  “For the experience of samādhi and the attenuation of afflictions” (YS II.2).  Notice that the Yoga Sūtras say that practice reduces, rather than eliminates, afflictions.  Why?  Was it not supposed to take us towards liberation and liberation is that state beyond afflictions and non-afflictions?  It is as if the Yoga Sūtras were pointing out to a deeper level of  practice or stage beyond kriya yoga that would actually eradicate them.  But we may only be able to understand whether afflictions are reduced or eliminated after we talk about the theory of karma.

           The afflictions (kleśas) are five (YS II.3): ignorance (avidya), ego (asmitā), attachment to desire (rāga), obsession to avoid unpleasant experiences (dveśa), and fear of death (abhiniveśa).  Avidya is considered to be the origin of them all.  It is because we forget or mistake our true nature (as pure conscious beings) that we identify with a limited form, description, label.  We think we are our personality (our likes, dislikes, believes, desires, etc.), and thus, every experience that threatens it makes us suffer.  From the ego, emotions born out of pursuing desire or avoiding pain come just as naturally.  And it is because of our deep immersion into this way of living, that we fear death.  Abhiniveśa is also translated as “clinging to life”.  Etymologically comes from abhi-ni-veśa, “to enter into completely”.  So strongly do we settle in our emotions, ideas, mindset, or experience, that we do not want to let them go.

Such afflictive causes are of a very subtle nature (YS II.10), and most of the time they pass unperceived by us.  Because they are so subtle, the only way to eradicate them is by bringing the mind back to its original state.  But how do we do that?  Remember First Book gave us many different ways of focus our mind?  The  Second Book says it again, the way to bring our mind back to their natural state is through meditation (II.11)  There is so much to unpack here!  We have come to the core of the Psychology of Yoga:

                                   

           Every perception we receive from the world gets registered as a vṛtti in our mind (citta).  Some vṛttis come and go, but repeated vṛttis stay, not only as memories that we can retrieve, but also as emotional experiences that sometimes we do not remember anymore and go deep in our subconscious mind.  They gather together and leave an “imprint” in the mind, a saṁskāra.  Those impressions start configuring and shaping the way our mind thinks and perceives the world.  Certain beliefs make us do certain things.  Experiences, emotions, convictions, etc. make us see the world in a certain way.  Our patterns of perception and action create a habit, and such shaping of the mind is called vāsāna.  In a sense, we always perceive the world through “lenses”, the lenses of our vāsāna.  When we look at the world through lenses we do not see the glasses.  We need to do a special effort to look at them, to notice their shape or how clean they are.  We usually just take the glasses off and clean them with a cloth, but we cannot take our minds off!  Instead, what we can do is try to silence our thoughts, or better said, to find the silence between thoughts.  This is what meditation does for us.  It brings a different impression to our mind so that it can focus in one thought, in one wave, so that the rest of the mind starts aligning with that focus of attention.  Remember that the whole point of bringing the mind to a state of focus is to become aware of our own thoughts and to eventually let them go, in the deepest sense of the word. 

As long as we do not let go of those deep impressions, they keep conditioning our experience of the world.  They keep determining the way we act, or think, repeating the same patterns that make us suffer or get attached.  Sutras II.12, 13 and 14 refer precisely to this cycle of perceptions-impressions-patterns-actions-suffering-perception… This whole cycle, called samsara is geared by ignorance, because the only thing that triggers it is our identification with those states of mind.  And for better or for worse, this process does not end with this physical body.  The nature of mental impression is not to be stored somewhere in the brain, much more, they are patterns of existence that need to come to fruition.  So even though this physical body dies, those mental patterns that were not reduced to the original mind, will still be determining existence whether in this life or in another, whether in this body or another one.  That mental pattern will find a place to realize itself, as a type of birth, a span of life, and quality of experience (YS II.13).  This is the famous theory of reincarnation and karma.  Whatever is in the mind, manifests in life.  So if we do not want something to manifest, we need to burn the seed of its cause, the root of those determined and blind actions, that is, the stock of karma or (karmaśaya).  

There was a very interesting question-commentary regarding this process.  “This is all very deterministic.  It seems as if all yoga was about had to do with detaching from this conditioning process of cause and effect.  There is no much creativity on this.”  In a sense this is true, for it is the distracted mind which is unconsciously determined by its own conditionings.  But the way to get out of this is definitely a transformative and creative process.  As it was mentioned in class, the best metaphor for this is the one used in the Bhagavad Gita, which puts it in terms of the fighting for the recuperation of the kingdom.  The king is ourselves, the kingdom is freedom, and the field of battle is the mind.  It is a very creative process because the transformation of our minds brings transformation in our experience and in the world.

              As Patañjali will say in the next sutras, the mind in itself is just an infinite realm of possibilities.  To take our mind to that state where we realize such infinity is the purpose of meditation.   My philosophy teacher at UH, Arindam Chakrabarti, says that the state of ultimate liberation only comes when we, our bodies and minds are dissolved back into the origin, consciousness and matter.  In other words, afflictions are ultimately eradicated from our minds when there is no more mind (ultimate death?). This may sound very radical, but perhaps it is a very deep truth that we cannot fully understand.  Perhaps the only way to manifest in a finite form such as this body and this experience is through ignorance and ego.  Otherwise, there would be no desire to experience anything, for we would know that our true self just is.

This takes us into the topic of the Cosmogony of Yoga, that is, the narration of how it all came to be.  But it will have to wait until next post.  In the meantime, enjoy your vṛttis.

Summary February 4th, 2012

We resumed our Yoga Sutras Reading group sessions with a brief recapitulation of Book I and an overview about the topics that we will encounter in our reading of Book II.  Remember that the very first thing we found in Book I, called Samādhi Pāda, was a definition of yoga as nirodha.  We talked about the different ways of translating such a term.  We saw how the definition of yoga is intimately related to the workings of the mind and a full session was dedicated to go over how Patañjali classifies the mental contents.  The distinction between a distracted and a focused mind is made in the first Book and many different techniques are enumerated in order to bring the mind into a detached and deep, contemplative state.  What was the reason for all this?  We talked about the way yoga philosophy understands the essence of ourselves and that the main predicament of our lives is that we tend to forget our own essence, our real self.  So the practice of yoga and detachment is meant to help our mind  realize its own nature and with that, acknowledge the infinite source of consciousness and wisdom that supports it, in spite of all the obstacles that may obstruct that vision.

Book II, called Sādhana Pāda, goes deeper into the description of the way our mind works and also gives more details about the practice of yoga.  The famous eight parts of yoga are defined after the description of the subconscious mechanisms of the mind, the theory of karma and the metaphysics (i.e. the theory of what there is) of yoga philosophy. 

We decided to start this book by reading the sutras that refer to what many have called, the “ashtanga yoga” (astau- eight, anga- limb, member).  Sutra II.28 tells us that the purpose of yoga practice is to purify our mind and bring forth our shining, clear, radiant, wise and conscious nature.  The eight elements are, as many of you already know by heart: yama, niyama, āsana, prānāyāma, pratyāhāra, dhāranā, dhyāna, and samādhi.

            We focused on the yamas and niyamas.  Sutra II.31 refers to the yamas as māhavratam, i.e. as the great vows:  ahimsā - non-violence, satya –truthfullness, asteya –non-stealing, brahmacarya- continence and aparigraha –fulfillment.  These are considered to be universal and unconditioned by time, place or circumstance.  If we think a little bit about what it means for them to be universal, we may think it is because they have to be followed unconditionally by everyone.  But if this is the case, then we find that there are many circumstances of our normal life where we do not follow them, and even more, where our culture and society thinks they do not have to be followed.  Just think about the position that soldiers are in.  If the yamas were taken as universal, then the whole military system would have to be vanished.  Another example is commerce and marketing.  If society were to really follow the yamas, then marketing a product by exalting virtues that it does not really have would need to be considered as an unacceptable practice for its lack of truthfullness. There are many more examples in our society where the yamas are not only not followed, but accepted as non-applicable.  So again, what does Patañjali mean by their unversality?  

           If the yamas were to be taken seriously, they would entail a huge change in many of our social well accepted institutions and costumes.  But not in vain sutra II.31 calls them the great vows.  To make a vow is to make a promise.  A promise is a statement that makes us responsible for its execution.  Without the promise, there is no expectation to act.  What I think we can read here is that the yogic discipline (just as any other spiritual path) involves making a big promise, to ourselves and to others.  And such a promise needs to be performed under any circumstances, regardless the social and cultural values around us, if we are to be called “yogis” or followers of such a path.  Of course, not everybody makes such a promise.  But once we have done it, we are committed to it.  Here then appears other sorts of considerations.  There are times when we have to decide between one value and another.  For example, if you see a child running in front of you trying to hide, and next you see the robber trying to asault him; if the robber asks you whether you have seen the child, would you tell the truth?  If you did not tell the truth you would be breaking the vow of truthfullness.  Really?  The yogic tradition says that whenever one niyama is compromised, we need to take the first one in the list as the most important.  This means that for the yoga tradition, avoiding violence is more important than saying the truth, for the truth that causes harm is useless. 

            Now, the next question is, what is to be non-violent?  As Gandhi’s grandson says, we usually are not conscious of how violent we are because we think that violence involves killing, beating, fighting and making wars, things that average people don’t do.  But there are many subtle ways of being violent in our behavior towards others and towards ourselves.  We can be violent not only in the way we act but also in how we communicate with others and in our own thoughts.  Sutra II.35 says that when we have established ourselves in complete non-violence, then all hostility and animosity is gone.  This statement has a very deep meaning that is not easily graspable without experiencing it, but I think Gandhi’s teachings are very inspiring and exemplifying. To be established in ahimsa does not necessarily mean that everything around us will be completely in peace.  Although Iyengar and other commentaries mention that the presence of a complete non-violent yogi will make people, animals and all hostility around him or her cease.  Nevertheless, historically reality has also given us opposite examples.  For there are occasions where in order for non-violence to triumph, it needs to be confronted with violence, and thus, many monks, and peace workers have found themselves subjected to violence, to the point of even killed.  Ahimsa is not always measured by the external outcome around us, but by our own capacity of remaining in complete non-violence (love and compassion) towards the violent (or the “enemy”).

            Just as ahimsa and satya, asteya or non-stealing refers not only to our acts, but also to our thoughts and words.  Asteya can positively be translated as “abiding in generosity and honesty” (Nishala Joy Devi, p.189).  And just as when we are established in truthfulness, our words become so powerful as to create the reality of their meaning, prosperity manifests when we express generosity.  This is one of the key ideas of this Second Book: there is reciprocity between our acts, their effect in the world and the response that we get back from the universe.

            Brahmacarya or continence is usually related with sexual abstinence, especially among the more ascetic yogic paths.  But we talked in class how this niyama is better understood as the containment of our creative energy and its pleasures in a way that we can direct it towards wisdom, knowledge, vitality and consciousness.  In other words, we talked about how sexual energy has been considered by yogic schools with tantric influence as a threshold for liberation and enlightenment.

            Finally, Sutra II.39 says that being established in aparigraha or non-greed gives us knowledge of past and future lives.  But what does this really mean?  Nishala Devi translates this sutra as saying that aparigraha is recognizing the abundance, the blessings in everything, and that this brings insight into the purpose of our lifes.  Iyengar also tells us that this yama makes us realize the true meaning of our lives, perhaps because by loving what we are and what we have in the present, we can acknowledge where we have come from, how our history has shaped us into who we are and where we are going on from there.

            While the yamas refer to our relation with others, the niyamas involve practices that relate to how we take care of ourselves. Sauca or cleanliness, refers not only to keep our physical bodies clean, but also our thoughts.  It is related with the idea of purity and, traditionally, it has been expressed in the form of yogic practices such as nasal, stomach, and bowels deep cleansing.  We talked about how the body has been some times considered as something dirty and how, thorugh constant purification the mind detaches from it and can focus in our inner self to experience  a higher joy. But we also mentioned that the body is considered as the temple of the Divine, and that as such, it needs to be valued, honored and taken care of.

            Santosa  is translated as contentment, which brings supreme joy.  Usually, and especially in the ascetic tradition, supreme joy is understood as the freedom from desires.  We talked about howit is possible to feel contentment while having desires as long as we do not attach to the outcome of our effort to obtain them.  Contentment as acceptance of the present situation does not exclude desires and emotions; it excludes the attachment to them and the identification to one way of being.  Things are always flowing and changing, so we cannot hold unto that. 

           Tapas is the self-discipline and effort that we put in the practice of yoga.  Traditionally it is understood as austerity.  In an ascetic sense, austerity is when we subject our bodies to extreme situations in order to overcome them, like holding the body in a fixed position for a certain amount of time, or fasting, or being in silence for some time.  The purpose of such practices is to purify our minds and reveal our inner power. 

Svādhyāya is self-study.  It usually refers to the study of sacred texts in order to gain more insight about the Divine.  But self-study can also mean to be constantly aware of our actions, thoughts and words.  I call it a “self-monitoring” and a constant bringing our mind into a focused and balanced state.  Introspection would be a good word for it, “to go inside” ourselves in order to discover our real and authentic self.

            Isvarapranidhāna or surrender to the Divine is what, according to yoga, brings the mind to a state of perfect contemplation (Sutra II.45).  We had talked about how, in the First Book, devotion to God or the Supreme Consciousness was one of the techniques to focus our mind.  Here, in the second book, it is taken as an essential part of the practice.  If we regard it as the practice of surrendering our mind to a higher consciousness or intelligence or awareness, then it is clear that the discipline of yoga essentially requires it, since the aim of the practice is precisely to open our mind, heart and vision to the reality of an infinite consciousness. On the other hand, without surrendering the mind to something higher (wider, bigger, etc.) than itself, then the discipline turns into a mere product of a measurable effort.  But this can only enhance the ego, making us feel that it is all product of our own effort.  Instead, a practice that acknowledges something that goes beyond our individual and limited minds allows us to “open” our hearts and achieve a higher awareness.  The practice, the tapas, or the power of our discipline needs to be balanced with the surrendering of our minds, for only then grace can happen, and through grace our “heart” or real self, not our egos, can grow.

    Please feel free to disagree and comment what you think about this topic.  We will be talking a little bit more about tapas, svādhyāya and isvarapranidhāna next meeting.  In the meantime, let’s observe how we apply the yamas in our lives.  Have we made already the big promise?

Summary Yoga Sutras 40-51 (August-September, 2011)

The last ten sutras of the First Book talk about the state of mind that is achieved by the previous mentioned techniques of concentration.  The key word in sutra 1.40 is vaśīkāraḥ, which means subjugation, having mastery over, bringing under control.  This word appears also in sutra 1.15 where it refers to the subjugation and control that the mind has over its own desires, in other words, it refers to detachment.  But the sense in which it is used in this sutra is somewhat ambiguous, and it can be seen in the different translations.  Iyengar, for example, translates it as referring to the mastery and power that the mind acquires over the minutest and greatest particle of matter when it is steady and focused.  On the other hand, Hariharananda interprets it as the control and subjugation that is achieved over the mind itself.  We can see how both senses complement each other in the next sutra which talks about how, when ceasing its own thoughts and mental fluctuations (vṛttis), the mind gets into a state of deep absorption (samāpattiḥ) and, becoming clear crystal as a jewel, it gets “colored” by what is nearby, whether it be an object, another mind, or simply any mental act of cognition.  This means that once the mind has reached this state, it stops projecting into the things and into reality all its prejudices, emotions, preconceptions, old ideas, and misconceptions that only disturb what really is.  Under this purified state, the mind can see things as they really are.  In this sense, the mind and reality become one.  At the end, it is the same whether the mind controls the minutest or greatest particle or whether the mind controls itself since in this state both, the mind and what it reflects, are one.

            Next three sutras get deeper into the notion of samāpattiḥ, which is usually translated as a state of absorption, transformation, completion, assuming the original form, etc.  The mind can be in a state of deep absorption when there is a clear understanding of something.  For example, every time we have understood how to perform an asana, after the instructor has explained to us the steps, the proper alignment, the benefits of it, etc., and we feel that we can now do it, and confidently get into it with his or her guidance, our mind is in a state of “savitarkā samāpattiḥ” or discursive absorption.  This means that the idea, the object, the word and the mind are in unison, poured together or intermingled.  Sutra 1.43 talks about an even deeper level of absorption, where the mind goes beyond words and concepts and understands something just as it shines on it.  It is that state where, for example, as the asana is performed, we do not need any more the help of words or concepts to understand it, but instead the direct experience and the ever new and fresh practice of it. 

There are two levels that go beyond this.  Just as the mind can become absorbed in its understanding of physical objects such as the apprehension of a bodily posture, or the knowledge of physical bodies in general, it can also become absorbed in subtler objects such as concepts, ideas, emotions, and abstract principles.  When we try to understand, for example, the ideas of love, freedom, detachment, or any other abstract concept, the mind first gets its understanding by the use of words, explanations, examples, but then in a deeper level, its understanding becomes more experiential, there is a direct awareness or even “feeling” of those notions. 

The capacity of our minds to focus in ever more subtle objects is what allows it to achieve a state of arrestment, for it is in those subtle levels where it learns not only to detach from the gross reality and dense desires and temptations, but also, where it starts to experience its own vastness and inner workings.   

Now sutra 1.46 introduces the word samādhiḥ to refer to those levels of absorption.   Iyengar points out that the difference between samādhiḥ and samāpattiḥ is that this one refers to a specific state of mind whereas the former refers to the practice of achieving such state.  This is very accurate, for Patañjali calls in sutra 1.46 the practices that use an object (be it gross or subtle) to bring the mind into focus, “contemplation with seed” (sabījaḥ samādhiḥ), while the practice of contemplation without an object is called nirbījaḥ, without seed (1.51).

           As the mind gets steadier, calmer, and undisturbed by its own thoughts, it can get a clearer knowledge not only of the objects that are “outside” it, but also of its own nature (1.47).  It is this self-knowledge what is considered to bring wisdom beyond words, beyond what others have told us, even beyond our own reason (1.48-49).  The type of knowledge acquired is direct, “able to bear the truth” (ṛtaṁbharā).  The mind undergoes a deep transformation in such a way that old thoughts and patterns are overcome, new and more lucid experiences become usual.  But even this type of purest thoughts need to be relinquished if we want to experience what real wisdom and freedom are.  According to the Yoga Sutras of Patañjali, the highest, better said, the deepest state of mind is total silence of thoughts; a mind empty of thoughts but full of awareness. This is exactly how Patañjali had defined yoga in the famous verse 1.2.