Usually, however, it happens that the student "accidentally" hears that somewhere there is a great saint. His teacher confirms this rumor. The student gets restless; perhaps his lack of success
is the fault of the teacher. He wants to leave. His teacher has no objection, so he goes. The saint does not deign even to look at him. Impressed by the deep veneration shown to the master everywhere, he decides not to give up until the master accepts him as a student. Still the saint does not even look at the yearning one, says not a word. At most he waves him away once in a while. It is not pleasant to be so disliked and still remain. Thus days and weeks pass. He travels around with his haughty idol, or rather pursues him unremittingly for miles and miles. The only progress: the saint no longer waves him away. But still he does not look at him, nor does he speak to him. Until one day the miracle happens: the master looks at him and speaks one sentence; then he turns away, and the happy seeker no longer exists for him. That seeker can now quietly go home, for it is quite certain that he will not elicit another word from the guru.
What has happened here? Why does it seem so strange? First of all, let us discard the notion that the master did not heed the importunate student. Nothing during these weeks was to him more important than the student who did not notice the master's concern. Surely he tested the student; but more than this, he was master enough to know from his vibrations all the virtues and all the faults of that student And when he finally decided to speak, it was only after he had formed his opinion. The opinion of a Western psychotherapist after years of depth analysis could not approach this master's in its absolute and complete certainty.
And the sentence? It contains--mostly in the form of a categorical imperative---the decisive wisdom which is to be the student's absolute leitmotiv for a number of years. Out of this sentence evolves everything that he now needs to accomplish his high goal. If he lives, thinks, and acts strictly according to the injunction of that sentence and continues with his previous yoga practice, he will suddenly see everything with new eyes, and the success he has been yearning for will materialize.
When we look at some of these sentences we are likely to be a little shocked by their apparent meaningless" "simplicity and exclaim: "What? Such a great saint has nothing more profound to say?" But we should not forget that psychotherapeutic prescriptions are the aim, not spirited phrases. The effectiveness of a medicine does not depend on its color or taste. What is essential is that it contain that which cures the body. The effect is what counts. The Amar Swami, a South Indian, a Pacceke Buddha, to my guru: "Take your reason and look." The Yoga Swami, a South Indian siddha: "Whatever happens has its meaning." And to the same student seven years later: "Summa iru" which means both "be still" and "let go." Yogi Chellapa, also South Indian: "Make it new." These are just a few examples. One must not forget, however, that in the native language these sentences have a much deeper and more manifold meaning, and that through association their content is considerably enhanced. To submit such a sentence to psychological analysis would make sense only if we had a thorough acquaintance with the student involved.
In an easy and simple sentence we can test the effectiveness of such an approach. For one week ask yourself after everything you have done: "Was this necessary?" Was it necessary to be rude, to be angry? Was it necessary to let yourself go? Here is no hidden teaching, no yoga wisdom as one would like to have it presented. What it really means becomes evident only after one has carried the sentence around for a few weeks, having used it like a pair of spectacles through which to view everyday life. This is the answer to the riddle. The teaching of such a sentence does not necessarily make us "better." But we should become conscious of things we were previously hiding through fear, prudery, or negligence.
The guru knows intuitively what we most urgently need. But then he does not tell us directly. He lets us find out for ourselves, for only then are we really convinced. Open censure makes even
the most devoted student rebellious. No matter how profound may be the teachings of a Buddha, a Christ, a Lao-tzu, a Mohammed, only what we discover for ourselves can immutably persuade us. This is the reason why we need a guru for these teachings that are often presented to us so clearly that we understand them intellectually, and why the guru then does not give us the decisive information, but indicates the ways and means to real knowledge. No book can proceed in such a manner. But once we have found them we also know which of the yoga systems is the most beneficial for us.
My guru in kundalini yoga is also a man of great learning in the shastras. One day I asked him for the meaning of certain symbols which seemed to me of great importance. "I cannot tell you this because you are not yet initiated." So I had to be patient
When the time came, immediately after initiation I again asked the same question. "Meditate as I have told you before. Then you will experience." I was terribly disappointed, but had no choice but to obey. The result was that in a surprisingly short time I received the answer to my question, an answer that nobody could have given me in words. The symbolism in question was of such a deep nature that it could be grasped only by direct experience. The meditation that gave me the answer did not relay any intellectual association or hint; it only triggered off the process of understanding. This is the method of a real guru.
When the first guru has fulfilled his psychological aim and his "magic formula" has achieved its effect, the next guru, the yoga master (who is usually more accessible), begins to act, and we consult certain books, which undoubtedly can also help teach us. Key examples are the Upanishads, the Brahmanas, and the Tantras.
But here too it is not quite so simple. Not everything has equal value for everybody who hears. For example, a person wants to learn how to drive, so he buys a book that explains in detail how the motor works, and nobody tells him that this kind of knowledge alone will not make him a driver. When he has smashed up the car he realizes his lack of essential knowledge about driving. Actually, this is not a very good example, for the law puts the teacher before the license. But in yoga the law is still unwritten (though no less important), and that is why many a student has foundered.
As we will see from our text, what the West understands as yoga is simply a technique to keep the motor in good condition. This is eminently important, but is[?] is not an end in itself. Our text claims--and rightly so--to be a yoga system (hatha yoga) that leads from what seems to be sheerly physical culture to the highest goal, raja yoga. The practice of the system presents comparatively few dangers for the student who does not overdo. No doubt danger exists, but I am sure that no reader will take an interest in those practices that are potentially dangerous. Fortunately, these are not particularly enticing, while the other, more attractive exercises are sufficient and rich enough to more than fill a lifetime of troubled city life.
So let us begin to read Hatha Yoga Pradipika by Yoga Swami Svatmarama. Put aside all your Western knowledge and your prejudice, and do what yoga students have done from time immemorial: sit down, relax, and listen with joyful attention to these ancient teachings. There will be ample time later on to accept or reject them.
PART ONE
THE FUNDAMENTAL PRINCIPLES
CHAPTER I
THE PREREQUISITES
(1) Reverence to Siva the Lord of Yoga, who taught [his wife] Parvati hatha wisdom as the first step to the pinnacle of raja yoga.
It is a good practice to evoke a divine power before beginning serious work. We may call it Siva (the Benevolent) or God or Ganesa (gana == legions; isa = master), to whom in fact the yogi author has dedicated his work.
(2) Having thus solemnly saluted his master. Yogi Svatmarama now presents hatha vidya [vidya
= wisdom] solely and exclusively for the attainment of raja yoga.Now it can begin--and it begins with an admonition. The classical commentary, at times so tediously wordy, here has an important message: "solely for the attainment of raja yoga" indicates two delimitations. The lower level indicates that hatha yoga is not being taught for its own sake, for the achievement of physical fitness and worldly power, but is a method to prepare the student for the rigors of raja yoga.
The upper delimitation needs a little more elucidation. As we will soon and often hear, the real goal of a yogi is to become a siddha. A siddha, a person in possession of siddhis, has developed
powers that can readily be called supernatural. There are eight siddhis, the highest of which is nirvana, the great liberation.If in India, even with great masters, one so seldom has a chance to witness the miracles that these siddhas have the powers to perform, it is simply because a siddha who does not want to get the reputation of a black magician will keep his powers carefully concealed and refuse to use them for worldly purposes. If he does misuse a siddhi, the misused siddhi strikes back at him and causes him some kind of unpleasantness, usually of a physical
nature.One does not necessarily have to believe such things. You may put this down to the fabulous imagination of the East, and say so. The yogi does not resent your doubts, and they will not in any way impede the objective study of the wisdom of yoga. In fact, the text gives warning against striving primarily for powers: "solely for the attainment of raja yoga."
The deeper purpose of the siddhis is something else. Through the developing forces the student recognizes what stage of evolution he has reached. Certain phenomena will tell him that he should change his way of practice, and if after due practice these phenomena do not occur, he surely has made a mistake. The siddhis are signposts on his way to the final goal, liberation. To be a siddha means to be in possession of all the characteristics of the final yoga goal.
"Siddhis," my guru told me, "are not the aim of our work. We want to become siddhas in order to enjoy the realization and perfection of a siddha, not to gain worldly position or evade responsibilities." And since he himself is a siddha, this sentence clearly indicates what is defined as the upper delimitation. Yoga is not for braggarts or egocentrics, nor is it for those who merely want to add method to their physical training.
(3) For those who wander in the darkness of conflicting creeds [and philosophies], unable to reach to the heights of raja yoga [self-knowledge and cosmic consciousness] the merciful Yogi Svatmarama has lit the torch of hatha wisdom.
Raja yoga, the royal yoga1 is a goal that many strive to reach without even being aware of it, without having the slightest inkling of yoga. What else is Faust aspiring to but perfect self-knowledge and cosmic consciousness, to "know that force which holds the universe together, to see creative power and the seed"?
For the student of Indian wisdom this reference to Faust presents an especially interesting parallel. Goethe speaks here of creative power and of seed, in Sanskrit shakti and bindu, two of the most important terms in tantra yoga, as we will see later on. At the time of Goethe these teachings had not yet reached the West, and it speaks for his universal genius that he recognized their supreme importance.
(4-9) Gorafksha and Matsyendra were masters of hatha vidya, and by their grace Yogi Svatmarama learned it. Siva, Matsyendra, Shabara, Anandabhairava, Chaurangi, and many other great siddhas who have conquered time are still roaming through this world.
A daring statement: after the enumeration of 33 masters of hatha vidya who have illuminated the ages, to claim that they are still roaming through the world, for "they have conquered time."
We have already spoken of the siddhis, and here it is specifically stated that these masters were siddhas. They reached what so many covet, "eternal youth." Many are the tales of yogis who are said to be several hundred years old and look like youths, but it is useless to discuss this kind of doubtful rumor. A wandering
1. The translation of the term "raja yoga" as "royal yoga" is exoteric. Esoterically it is "the yoga of radiating light," for "raja" can also mean "to shine." Thus we have an allusion to the "inner light," which is dealt with in the fourth part of this work.
yogi has no birth certificate, and it seems strange that one can state that he is exactly 250 years old, while his younger colleagues do not know whether they are 10, 20,30, or 40 years old. Besides, a hundred years more or less is important only to us. To a yogi who lives alone in the woods time is of no concern. True, I did meet some yoga masters who looked younger than their grown sons, and this alone seems quite a desirable goal. And it is also true what is stated above: that these yoga roasters had conquered time. That is, they were no longer subject to the laws of time; they were roasters of this strange unfathomable mystery, "time."
For us time is inseparable from the clock, but no one has ever succeeded in really defining time. It is impossible--because time does not exist outside of our own minds. As our consciousness, so our time: long as eternity the hour of danger; short and fleeting the hour of happiness. So when we say that a yogi has conquered time it means that he has conquered his (relative) consciousness.
(10) [Therefore] hatha yoga is a refuge for all those who are scorched by the three fires. To those who practice yoga, hatha yoga is like the tortoise that supports the world.
These three fires are well known to us; they are the fire of self-created suffering; the fire of suffering through higher powers; and the fire of suffering that is caused by other beings.
Nobody can eliminate from this world the influences that create such sufferings. What we can and should do is to prepare the physical-mental-spiritual soil in such a way that the seed of impressions cannot sprout into suffering.
Sufferings are unfulfilled desires. The realization of these desires depends not only on ourselves, but is subject primarily to external influences. If I want something, I have to try to reach it.
For this I am dependent on my own power as against the opposing forces. And we always desire something, even if it is the desire for the happiness of a desireless state.
Now we are on the track of our idea: to be desirelessly happy means to want nothing, to have no needs, to be happy with oneself and the given conditions. But yoga does not mean to learn self-satisfaction. Rather, it means to strive for such a state of perfection that some day it will be our nature to be desirelessly happy--and to have good reason for it.
This is by no means a state of apathy, devoid of the dynamics of natural activities. On the contrary, our endeavors will no longer be whipped by passions toward a goal where, with open eyes, we uselessly invest our most precious forces in senseless intoxication. We will learn to evaluate our wishes, to know our own forces as well as the opposing powers. And if we have to renounce, we will then do so with clear understanding, not with a painful sensation of loss.
As to the symbolism of the tortoise, this is a meaningful legend which we will encounter later and which will accompany us throughout the whole book.
(11) A yogi who is desirous of developing siddhis should keep the hatha yoga strictly secret, for only then will he have success. All his efforts will be in vain if he reveals everything without discrimination.
Physical exercises are nothing shameful, and they are fun; but practiced on a highway they become insanity. "When you pray, go into a room by yourself." Or, more drastically: "Do not cast pearls before swine."
(12) The student of hatha yoga should practice in a solitary place, in a temple or a hermitage, an arrow shot away from rocks, water, and fire. The land should be fertile and well governed.
Here we have the first great problem, larger perhaps than that of the siddhis: to find a quiet spot, undisturbed and safe. Predatory animals, earthquakes, and floods: those were the problems at that time. Today's problems are professional, financial, political, which constantly drag the practitioner back into the stream of social life.
However, it is not entirely impossible to create a hermitage under modern conditions. Perhaps there is a quiet attic, away from the attractions of movies, radio, television, where we can meet our neglected and ignored own selves.
(13) The hermitage should have a small door and no windows. It should be level with the ground and have no holes in the wall. [It should be] neither too high nor too long, and clean and free from insects. It should be laid daily with cow dung. Outside there should be a raised platform with an elevated seat and a water tank. The whole should be surrounded by a wall. These are the characteristics of a yoga hermitage as described by the siddhas, the masters of hatha yoga.
Do not despair! I have seen many hemitages that conformed in only a few points to the ideal. Some had holes in the walls and most of them were lacking the cow dung. But all of them were clean. We should not be too dependent on external conditions, helpful though they may be. If I so will, my hermitage has neither doors or windows. And when I am distracted, my restless mind will penetrate the thickest walls. If the hermitage is not ideal, a little extra effort must be made. The goal of yoga is by no means dependent on cow dung.
(14) Seated in such a place, the yogi should free his mind from all distracting thoughts and practice yoga as instructed by his guru.
Our keenest weapon, and often our only salvation, is our thought power. If your thought is open, so is the chance of success; if it is slow and limited, you will be left behind in the great race for success. Not only is right thought essential, but also the capacity to think of several things simultaneously. Many Western men with executive ulcers could write reams about this.
Must men be like this? Evidently, if they wish to succeed. But what is success? Nothing against success--which, after all, is the foundation of a "happy life." Success is wealth, wealth is happiness; therefore, success is happiness. A logical conclusion, but somehow it leaves us uneasy. Is the man who has bought success with his health, with the sacrifice of his most precious attribute, really happy ?
There is a different way. One of the most remarkable men of our time, and by no means a pious man, swears by yoga. Every morning Pandit Nehru, the coolest thinker of his country and a maker of world history, stood on his head, and with him 63 members of Congress. Yehudi Menuhin, the great violinist, makes no secret about his yoga. And like him many of the most successful men of our day, including medical men who are world famous, find in yoga the purest source of human harmony.
Harmony: the key word, the all-important. There is no objection to the search for success as long as the harmony of life is not disturbed. No need to relinquish any of our plans and principles as long as there is harmony.
How does harmony come about? The very question proves that this fundamental law of life is becoming more and more a myth as we are turned more and more into machines. So let us try to find the yoga way to harmony.
(15) The yoga forces are dissipated by too much eating, heavy physical labor, too much talk, the observances of [ascetic] vows,
[promiscuous] company, and a growling stomach [too much fasting].Here we have the disharmonies of everyday life, and not even the great ones. Not distrust, not rudeness, not lack of consideration, not anger and despair. Just immoderation. And that is bad enough.
The yogi never quite fills his stomach; the executive always does. The yogi is healthy; the executive has ailments. Harmony versus disharmony.
(16) Success depends on a cheerful disposition, perseverance, courage, self-knowledge, unshakable faith in the word of the guru, and the avoidance of all [superfluous] company.
Again the magic word of our time: success. And with it even a formula. Nothing about overtime, or night work, and "you must . . ." Not even a word about thinking.
A cheerful disposition is incompatible with executive ulcers. Perseverance! That sounds promising. But the keynote is harmony, and the perseverance referred to here is not that of the executive's marathon conference.
But don't forget that yoga has not yet begun. We are slating here only the minimal prerequisites without which any attempt at practice would be senseless. These preliminary requirements can be fulfilled by anyone, and they will bestow more happiness upon you than you would expect--without exercise, without risk. (Once we really embark upon yoga, however, the evasion of a single requirement can turn nectar into poison.)
Yoga practice, regardless of the system we follow, has a psychological depth effect. One exercise goes in this direction, another in that. Often they have a perplexing similarity; here and there we find a minimal difference which seems inconsequential. The guru, however, watches not so much the exercises in general, but just those little details. The student does not know why and is liable to ridicule such pettiness; but the guru knows our needs better than we do. He knows that each physical action has its psychic-spiritual reflex, just as every psychic-spiritual attitude is manifest in the body.
Western science too is aware of the inseparable interrelation between body, soul, and mind. A bit of iodine, adrenaline, or cortisone will change our whole world view. Our whole life is chemically conditioned. Every thought activates one or the other nerve center which in turn influences some endocrine gland. The gland sends its hormones into the bloodstream, we react, new thoughts arise which in turn again influence a nerve center and create new reactions, combining with other nerve centers. There are many centers, many glands, and countless combinations. And this cycle is only one of the inner processes affected by yoga.
If a certain practice hits something unhealthy (an asana can touch on an organic illness, a deep meditation on some mental suffering), then the result is not as desired; it can even lead to disaster. Quite often nature helps itself. But in very deep meditation (which is hardly ever allowed without initiation) some very powerful phenomena can appear which will frighten the weak into refraining from further investigation. That is why the passage above calls for courage.
One thing is certain: these preliminary chapters are the most important part of the book. He who disregards them should certainly consider yoga dangerous.
(17a) Not to cause suffering to any living being; to speak the truth; not to take what belongs to others; to practice continence; to develop compassion and fortitude; to be merciful to all and honest; to be moderate in eating and pure in heart. These are the first prerequisites of yoga [the yamas]. Self-limitation
[tapas, austerities], cheerfulness, religious faith, charity, contemplation, listening to sacred scriptures, modesty, a clean mind, recitation of mantras [japa], and observance of rules, these are the second requirements of yoga [the niyamas].Thus equipped one can venture to take the first step into the wonderland of one's own self. You do not have to take all the rules literally, but you have to look at them seriously. Not the word "yoga," but the power behind it, is decisive. And this power? "Tat tvam asil--Thou art Thati"
CHAPTER 2
YOGA AND THE ART OF HEALING
in Japan there are physicians who kick the patient in the back, twist his neck, or simply give him a heavy slap on the shoulder, and the patient feels like a new man. In China there are physicians who practice acupuncture (the insertion of needles). They prick a place quite apart from the ailing organ and pain disappears--quite suddenly. In Ceylon there are doctors who touch the patient's skin with a red hot iron--and they aim with the precision of a fraction of a millimeter. A quick pain. The patient is cured.
These are not medicine men at work. Here we have full-fledged physicians who master an art--that nobody in the West can understand? These times have passed. The example of the Japanese doctors has proven itself a hundred times. In America chiropractice has become an academic discipline.
Thus too it is with acupuncture. We now have theses on the subject, as well as practicing Western physicians. The third example (Ceylon) too will no doubt some day be accepted, perhaps along with some practices of medicine men that we ridiculed some 50 years ago. Primitive people are really not as primitive as we in our arrogant prejudice are apt to imagine. Are not the methods of modern politicians more primitive than those of a medicine man in the jungle?
We want to study the following chapters on asanas and their psycho-physical background with this in mind.
"Why so many words?" some will ask. "Asanas are physical exercises." And in a sense he is right.
"Nonsense," another will say, "all these senseless contortions." And in a sense he too is right.
A third will consider asanas a practice that nobody can quite understand. Right too.
A fourth one stands thoughtfully in a corner. "I will learn to understand the inner connections. I have studied medicine and will soon find out what bodily functions are involved. I cannot imagine that the yogis have taken all this out of thin air. There must be a corresponding scientific terminology." Beware of this man.
Each of the first three critics acknowledged a certain positive aspect of the practice. The first speaks of gymnastics and expects no more than the success of gymnastics. Very good. One should approach these practices not with vague expectations but with clear purposefulness. After all, only the literature of the West presents these preliminary exercises with such great mystification, whereas in comparison with what follows after them they are really little more than gymnastics.
Nor should he who speaks of meaningless contortions be condemned. Perhaps he is right. For who is capable of explaining the internal relationships? Why give the contortions a meaning for which we have not the slightest proof--except for a few books whose value the average Western reader is unable to ascertain? This skeptic is not likely to start practice, but he is justified in his statement if by "sense" he understands that which can be clearly defined by our intellect. These are practices that "nobody can really understand" because they reach too deeply into our inner world, touch on areas that have not yet been named. From this angle no sense can be discovered, just as it cannot be convincingly denied. It is only the Westerner who seeks "sense" in everything. The Asiatic accepts mystery as a fact, and thus the "senseless," in an intellectual sense, becomes for him sense (in relation to his experience). He experiences the value of that which we cannot understand.
The fourth is the dangerous one, for he swears by his intellectual knowledge alone. He has studied, he is perfect, he cannot err. (And imagine him as a student of a medicine man.) Science has canonized our intellect, and acknowledges nothing as superior, or even equal to it. Fortunately, we have the really great like C. G. Jung, Erwin Roussdie, and others who have gone to the "primitive" to expand their knowledge.
Nobody will claim that our knowledge acquired through the centuries is wrong. No, it is completely right, but utterly incomplete because it is so one-sided. There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in academia, things that we know exist and that we cannot fathom with our scientifically trained intellect.
"Well," he will say if he is judicious, "I admit this, but we must have a certain frame of reference. It is quite clear that chakras are nerve centers and nadis represent nerve strands. Why should we deny this? Knowing this does make it easier." However convincing these words may sound, they contain the seed of the greatest error in yoga: foundering through thought. In other words, the dangerous supposition that the essential can be fathomed by thought, that it is "nothing but," that with a little effort of our conceptual intellect we can descend to the very depths of our soul, to the foundation of the universe. Certainly this trend of thought is logical, but what good is logic when yoga wisdom is beyond logic?
This phrase has discredited yoga with the intellectuals. But let us look at our lives. Is life always logical? Where is the logic of the scientist who analyzes natural laws six days a week and on the seventh goes to church to pray to a God who has no place in his logical system of science? Where is the logic of the drug addict who knows he is digging his grave and still does not desist ? Where is the logic of the greedy old man who, with one foot in the grave still craves millions, though he cannot take a penny with him? Is the cosmic mathematics of Einstein which created our atomic age limited to logic ? And how about the fate of the evil rich man and the virtuous poor? Is chance logical? No, the decisive factors of our existence have nothing to do with logic, and therefore we can readily postulate that the essential interrelations in yoga cannot be penetrated by logical deductions, which, however, does not mean that there is no law.
When we seem to detect an analogy between a certain concept in yoga and a Western scientific term we must at once deny ourselves all further investigations of an analogy. Why? When one mistakes the part for the whole, as often happens in Western science, one underestimates the whole because one applies to it the lesser value of the part. And how can we possibly judge anything if we know only one of its many facets, and not even the most essential one at that? Take the example of the chakras, the centers of power, which are often identified with chief nerve centers (ganglia), or with main glands, simply because there is a topographical similarity. With this we confuse cause and effect.
Although we know very little about the central nervous system and the glands, we do know enough to gauge their effects. But what we can learn about chakras in yoga is immense. If the system of chakras were identical with the central nervous system (CNS), then either all our academic knowledge would be wrong, or the yoga teachings would be empty fantasies. But neither is the case. Our knowledge about the CNS applies to the material aspect only, while chakra theory goes to the deepest sources of all dynamic processes in man, down to the deepest cosmic functions, to which we are undeniably bound. There are many effects resulting from the activity of the CNS and the glands which will forever remain a mystery if we ignore the much subtler aspects of these chakras.
It is characteristic that the tantric Buddhism of Tibet teaches that the yogi has to create the chakras at the relevant places in his body. They are so to speak "psychic centers" that cannot be practically recognized unless I will it. They are vibration centers which are developed in the course of yoga practice. This alone proves how elusive they are to the surgeon's knife.
But we have not yet come to these strange things. First now to the "gymnastics" of hatha yoga. Even here we should deny ourselves any profound speculations. Certainly one could--and even with a fair measure of success--draw psychosomatic conclusions from asana such-and-such. But again, logic deserts us after a certain point and what remains cannot be investigated by science, however fine its intentions. And this would mean: beyond the borderline of logic there "really" is nothing. But actually a great deal is there; not only is it there now, but it has been there since the very beginning. The logician does not have to Mother about all this, of course, since he has a wealth of concrete, factual material at his disposal.2
In any event, whether or not certain pranayamas (breathing exercises) regulate the oxygen content of our blood is none of our concern. What is important for us is that forces (currents) arebeing activated that no Western scientist is able fully to evaluate, but which are the very foundation of the whole yoga structure.
Therefore, Western science, despite its undisputed merits, will be neglected in the following chapters, in favor of that ancient science which is the foundation of yoga therapy. This, I think, is much more vital for the understanding of "Eastern exotics." We should try to think Indian while studying this book--Indian not
2. "At the borderline of logic science stops, but not nature, which blossoms there where no theory has as yet penetrated" (C. G. Jung, The Psychology of Transference).
only in relation to yoga, but also in relation to the presuppositions of yoga.
The art of healing, like all else truly Indian, is based on the Vedas, the oldest book of humanity. Everything that concerns medical theory in the Rig-Veda, the Sama-Veda, the Atharva-Veda, and the Yajur-Veda, was later systematized into Ayurvedic medicine.
Although it is not possible to summarize this gigantic work, which is still in practical use in India today, much less give a survey of the wealth of its principles, we can at least consider the three main concepts of human physiology upon which this system is based. This is important because prejudiced Westerners who cast a superficial eye upon the standard work of Ayurvedic medicine, the Charaka Samhita, have misinterpreted thoroughly these three concepts.
The teaching states that there are three dominant forces in man. and accordingly three main sources of illness: vata, pitta, and kapha. The usual translations as wind, gall, and phlegm are misleading, incomplete, senseless, and simply wrong--as wrong as the false analogies discussed earlier. All three terms are infinitely more complex and become meaningful only in their completeness. To understand the terms vata, pitta, and kapha we need the help of the classical definitions. Comprehension of these terms is all the more important because hatha yoga is closely bound to ayurvedic principles, as we soon shall see.
The three terms encompass all physiological functions of the human body, and their imbalance causes not only illness but also susceptibility to contagious diseases.
Vata
It is true that this word means "wind" literally. But more important is the root va, movement. To quote the Charaka Samhita: "Vata is the source of both structure and function [of the body]. It is that which is represented by the five forms [of the bodily currents]: prana, udana, samana, vyana, and apana. It is the initiator of the upward and downward flow [of all internal processes such as circulation, metabolism, etc.]; the controller and guiding force of consciousness; the stimulant of the senses; the companion of sensations; the organizer of the elements of the body; the principle of synthesis; the storage battery of speech; the cause of feelings and perception; the origin of excitement and stimulation; it fans the gastric fire, dries out harmful phlegm; expels excrements; is purifier of the coarse and the fine channels of the body; the creator of the fetal form; the principle of life preservation. All these are the normal functions of vata in our body" (Char. Sam. 1. 12:8). Disturbance of any one of these functions leads to illness and susceptibility to infection.
Some of the illnesses due to the influence of vata are: rheumatism, dislocations, lameness, cramps, stitfness of limbs, peristaltic irregularities, trembling, emotional and depressive states, everything related to tension, relaxation, expansion and contraction, circulation and metabolism, crookedness and distortion of limbs, abdominal diseases, menstrual irregularities, sterility, hallucinations, and convulsions.
Pitta
This can be translated as "gall," but here it implies rather that which is also expressed by the word gall: temperament. But this again only in a limited sense. The Charaka Samhita derives this word from the root tap, "to heat," and this brings us closer to the meaning. We quote: "It is only the fire which in pitta brings on good and bad results, according to the normal or abnormal condition [of the organs]. The results are digestion and indigestion, power of perception and its loss, normal and abnormal body temperatures, healthy and unhealthy look, temerity, fear [nerves], anger and joy [moods], confusion and clarity, and other such contrasting pairs" (Char. Sam. 1. 12:11). "The normal function of pitta causes: power of cognition, fire of digestion, fresh complexion, clarity of thought, body temperature, hunger and thirst, and nimbleness of mind" (Char. Sam. 1. 18:50). Diseases from this source are: inflammation, fever, pus, perspiration, softening of bodily substance, itching, metabolic irregularities, redness, bad odor and taste, as well as discoloration.
Kapha
This word is composed of two roots: ka== "water," and pha, which refers to the process of biological evolution. And since we know that the body is largely composed of liquid we could translate kapha as "life-fluid."
"Kapha is the nectar [soma]. It is the fertile water for the play of life; it is living fluid, the protoplasm that sustains all life processes; it is indeed the scaffold of life. It binds the limbs together and produces all the connecting, nourishing, developing, and fortifying functions. It promotes the well-being of the body by its lubricating action. Thus it supplies the water for the roots of life. In its physiological aspect [!] kapha is the power and perseverance of man, which, however, immediately becomes a disturbing impurity when his balance is disturbed" (Char. Sam. 1. 12:12). Kapha ailments are: pallidness, cold, edema, constipation, diabetes, secretions, cold sweat, languidness, and swellings (tumors).
"No pain without vata (the stream of life), no inflammation without pitta (the fire of life), no swellings without kapha (the fluid of life)" This dearly shows the coordination of the three forces, but it also demonstrates--and more clearly than Western medicine does--the interdependence of body and mind.
Naturally the ancient Indian art of healing is not exhausted by these three main terms. On the contrary, this is only the beginning. For us, however, this short survey will suffice. It will elucidate much that is to follow; in fact, much would be unintelligible without it.
We must not forget that these three "doshas" have a material-bodily, as well as an ethereal and an abstract-spiritual aspect. Thus when later on we deal extensively with the prana, the life stream that here is "vata," then with "soma," the nectar, the "fertile water for the play of life" that here