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The Value of the Yamas:
the First of Yoga's Eight Limbs
by Jinjer Stanton
For most of my association with yoga I found the eight limbs of the Eightfold Path from Patanjali's Yoga Sutra more confusing than useful. They seemed alien and sometimes downright weird. I don't know if I will ever be comfortable with the Sanskrit names.
However, I was recently reintroduced to them and I've discovered that I've begun to practice some of them without realizing it. It seems to me now that if we peel away some of the cultural overlays, the eightfold path has gifts to offer those of us who are practicing yoga (or simply living) in the West.
The eight limbs of yoga are 1) yama, ethical principles, 2) niyama, rules of conduct, 3) asana, postures or the physical exercises of yoga, 4) pranayama, the science of breath, 5) pratyahara, control of the senses, 6) dharana, concentration, 7) dhyana, meditation, and 8) samadhi, union with the divine.
The limbs that are recognized in most hatha yoga practice are asana and pranayama with a little "meditation" thrown in. It is as though we've surveyed a system meant to work as a whole and just yanked out what we understood, leaving valuable parts of the whole behind. This has led to travesties like "power yoga" (a little judgment creeping in).
The Yamas
The eight limbs are presented in the order above because each provides a foundation for the next. For instance, the ethical principles expressed in the yamas can be seen as a kind of Hindu ten commandments. They are behaviors to be avoided in order to prepare the yogi for what comes next. Without them there is no way we can begin to meaningfully practice the niyamas.
There are five yamas. The first and most familiar to westerners is the one associated with Mahatma Gandhi: non-violence, or ahimsa (You shall not kill, or non-harming). This arises from the recognition that all beings are one with the Supreme Being and as such are part of ourselves. This is why vegetarian eating is fundamental to Hinduism.
I too was a vegetarian for a long time. Not directly because of yoga, but because I loved animals and couldn't bear to harm them. Then I discovered that plants have feelings and spirits as well. My choices became: become a fruitarian (an extremely expensive way to get enough food to survive on), learn to live on air as certain yogic saints do, or resolve to eat both plants and animals with reverence. That means being gratefully aware of the sacrifices made by other beings for my survival, and making sure that food is prepared in ways that honor the ingredients.
To be alive is to inconvenience other life forms, but also to be of service to them through how we live and what we do with our bodies when we're no longer using them. Ahimsa requires us to take no more than we need and to do what we can for the well-being of our fellow travelers on the planet. Not only other species, but other members of our own species. Christians, Muslims, Hindus, Jews, Buddhists, and Animists have all created beautiful, meaningful ways to make sense of living. Republicans, communists and democrats; sultans, kings and presidents all struggle to make societies work. Sometimes the complexities that societies must accommodate frustrate folks to the point that war or extermination seems the only answer.
Judging others for their beliefs or behaviors does not help. Compassion does. So does holding the ideal of ahimsa in our hearts even when it seems impossible to make it a world-wide reality.
Satya (You shall not lie). Mahatma Gandhi said, "Truth is God and God is Truth." My experience with lies demonstrates that they take away bits and pieces of the self and leave you hollow and disconnected. They propel you into living a life of fantasy and take you away from the real beauty of authentic living.
I cannot speak for others, but when I told lies they arose from a fear that who I really am did not measure up to the unknown but all-powerful standard that I thought must exist "out there" somewhere. Through astrology I've come to understand some of the motivation behind the lies that others tell. This does not change or diminish the damage that lies do to the teller of them. I could feel my self disintegrating around the edges. It became harder to identify my self. Since I have stopped telling lies I've discovered strength and integrity in my being that I was unaware of before. This convinced me that satya is a very valuable yama that has nothing to do with others and everything to do with the healthy self.
Asteya (You shall not steal). Stealing is similar to lying in how it disintegrates the authentic self. We try to differentiate between petty and grand theft just as we believe there is a difference between white lies and the real humdingers. But stealing a dollar is as harmful to our souls as stealing the Mona Lisa would be.
Stealing is part of certain aspects of our culture. Most of us have, at one time or another, been guilty of employee pilferage (paper clips, pens, file folders). It's seen as no big deal. The company can afford it. And most of us have snatched a grape in the grocery store without causing damage to anyone. But it's not harm to others that is the issue here. It is the way these thefts (petty or grand) nibble away at our integrity. Asteya helps us own that which is most valuable to us: our selves.
There is a certain mind set that says whatever you can get away with is okay. That is only true if you don't value your self. If you don't value your self existence loses meaning.
Brahmacharya is difficult to translate into Western terms. It literally means a life of celibacy, religious study and self-restraint. The way it is practiced, it resembles expected behavior of monks and nuns in Christian monasteries. Yet in Indian society many people who practice brahmacharya are married with children, because without knowledge of human love one can't know divine love. One way to translate brahmacharya for western sensibilities may be to see it as cultivating control of all our perception so that we are not unbalanced by our own experience. This means that we take a step back from the situations we find ourselves in and look at them objectively.
I know from experience how easy it is to take events personally. If a boss yelled at me, I took it personally. If the homeless woman yelled at me because I only had a quarter to give her, I took it personally. If a friend neglected to call, I thought it was because of some fault of mine. The truth is, very few of other people's actions have anything at all to do with me or anything I may have done. That holds true for you as well. Brahmacharya can help us see that.
The other aspect of brahmacharya that intrigues me is the tradition of religious study. The unconscious practice of this aspect of brahmacharya has led me to study many metaphysical traditions and opened my eyes to the "many paths to the one true god." But my studies have taken me beyond pure philosophical pursuits. I find every new thing discovered about the natural world to be revealing of the magic inherent in existence. It enables me to see the inherent divinity in all creation (including other people).
According to B.K.S Iyengar, "Brahmacharya is the battery that sparks the torch of wisdom." It is the path to becoming one with God in Hindu tradition. Without it I doubt pratyahara (limb 5) would be possible.
Aparigraha (You shall not hoard). Hoarding (or collecting what one doesn't need) shows poverty of spirit and indicates one does not have faith in God. The net result of practicing aparigraha is a life of simplicity with only those things one needs immediately to hand, trusting that when one needs something it will be available. This can be a real challenge in our culture of consumerism.
A colleague of mine, Timothy Cope, illustrated an insidious consequence of hoarding in a recent Sunday service. He talked about a bottle of Worcestershire sauce that he bought to replace an empty one, and how he somehow kept putting off opening the new bottle even though it was his custom to put the sauce on his daily hamburger (can you tell he's a bachelor?). This went on for weeks until he looked at the bottle in the cupboard and asked himself why he was saving it. He owned the condiment, but by not opening it he lost the benefit of having it. I realized I was doing the same with a bottle of maple syrup. .
I am also tempted in this direction whenever I come across something old that has a flavor of a by-gone age Ñ even if it isn't to my taste. I feel an odd obligation to hold on to old pottery or the ancient tax returns of someone unrelated to me Ñ for their historical value.
The truth is that holding on to things (or condiments) of any kind puts a burden on spirit. Even stored neatly away things clutter life up and obscure its meaning and purpose. Getting rid of excess belongings (as suggested by both spiritual teachers and designers) is literally lightening your load in life. I hope this exploration of the yamas has helped you understand this aspect of yoga a little better. The spirit in me salutes the spirit in you. We're all in bodies together.