Current Letter | John's Letter Archives

Spring 2002

NAMASTE,

Last November, we held the discussion group for the fall session. The scheduled topic was the yamas and niyamas, the first two limbs of the classical eight-limbed path of ashtanga yoga as described by Patanjali in the Yoga Sutra. The yamas - ahimsa (non-harming), satya (truthfulness), asteya (non-stealing), bramacharya sexual continence, and aparigraha (non-acquisitiveness) - are oriented essentially toward the seeker's interactions with the external world. The niyamas - shaucha (purity), santosha (contentment), tapas (austerity), svadhyaya (self study), and Ishvara pranidhana (surrender to God) - pertain to the seeker's practices in relation to his/her inner world.

In November, the terrorist attacks of September 11 were still foremost in everyone's mind. Because that day had fallen between sessions, there had been no formal observances at Unity Woods of the tragedies. When classes had resumed, each of the teachers had addressed the issues and concerns as s/he had seen fit. Still, I thought the discussion group would be a good opportunity to consider September 11 from a yoga perspective, particularly since many aspects of the yamas and niyamas tie in with issues raised by the attacks. So I decided to add the events of that day and their aftermath to the scope of the discussion.

Not surprisingly,the first yama, ahimsa (non-harming), engendered the most conversation. The United States had experienced a violent and catastrophic assault resulting in massive loss of life and huge economic upheaval. We, in turn, had declased war - sort of - on terrorism as a whole, on Al Qaeda in particular, and on Osama bin Laden specifically, resulting in extensive US bombing raids in Afghanistan. The central question we talked about at the discussion was: In light of ahimsa, what should we, as yoga practitioners and as citizens of the United States, advocate and do?

This is not an easy or simple question. Part of the difficulty arises from how the word ahimsa is defined. The most common definition is non-violence. I find this definition problematic. What is violence? Is cuttings someone with a knife an act of violence? If you are at an ATM and someone stabs you while trying to steal your money, that is certainly a violent act. What about a surgeon opening someone's abdomen with a scalpel to remove an infected appendix? I don't think most of us would consider that an act of violence. Yet in both cases, someone is cutting someone else with a knife. it would seem, therefore, that it is not necessarily the act itself that determines whether or not violence has been committed.

Perhaps, then, intention is the determining factor. Undoubtedly, the surgeon intends to benefit the patient, while the thief intends no good for the victim. But let's take the case of the parent who repeatedly beats a child to deter that child from keeping company with bad people that the parent feels will only lead the child to unhappiness and ruin. The parent's intent is to benefit the child, but repeadetdly beating the child is clearly violent. Good intentions are important, but as the Bible says, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

Both the intention behind an act and the act itself, then, are insufficient determinants as to whether an act is violent.

A more useful differentiation can be made in the examples cited above, I think, by considering the outcome of the various acts - that is, are they harmful or not? The surgeon's cut will save the patient's life; the thief's cut does only harm. The parent's repeated blows may (or may not) deter the child, but the resulting physical and/or psychological injury and scarring are harmful to the child,

Return to top

As spiritual practitioners, we want to act in a way that inures to our benefit and the benefit of others. First and foremost, as in the Hippocratic oath a physician takes, we should do no harm. Defining ahimsa as non-harming rather than non-violence makes more sense, I think, and is more useful in applying its practice to my life.

When the question arose in the discussions as to what, considering the principle of ahimsa, the US should do in response to the terrorist attacks, I offered a hypothetical situation. Supose some guy charged through the door with an AK47 and began firing at the one hundred or so people in the room. Of course, I don't know what my response would really be under such a bizarre and extreme circumstance. I might just roll up in a ball. I would like to think, though, that I would make some effort to stop the attacker, even if it meant doing him bodily harm.

But as a yoga practitioner, how could I violently attack someone? Aren't we supposed to practice non-harming? Yes, but wouldn't allowing the slaughter to continue be even more harmful, more violent? And if harm is inevitable, shouldn't we do our utmost to minimize the extent of that harm?

It would be nice if things were always clear cut, simple, straightforward, but you know from your yoga practice as well as from the rest of your life that sometimes you have to make difficult distinctions between unclear and complicated situations. Sometimes the choice is between the least painful of several painful paths. In the Bhagavad Gita, Arjuna finds himself on the battlefield confronted with having to go to war against members of his own family, his teachers, people he had known all his life. He is desponsdent and confused by the prospect and asks his charioteer, Krishna, what to do. Krishna, an incarnation of God, tells him to fulfill his dharma - to do his duty and begin the battle.

Armed conflict, war, and violence are always the result of a failure to see and act clearly and wisely ahead of time. Their seeds lie in decisions made and actions taken in the past. Unfortunately - and to our discredit - after September 11, the time for talk had passed. When weeds invade your garden you pull them out. You don't curse the weeds or hate them. That is unnecessary and only creates havoc in your own heart. But you see that if you allow the weeds to run rampant, they will choke your seedlings and destroy your sustenance, so you pull them out. You do it carefully so as not to disturb the roots of the neighboring plants, and you do it as thoroughly as you can so that they don't grow back.

To continue with the horticultural metaphor, we must be conscious of the seeds we are sowing and bear in mind the fruit they will bear. And we must keep our eyes peering out into the distance to see what weather is building on the horizon - whether a storm is coming and we must protect our crop, or the skies are bright and clear, allowing us to begin a second planting. Patanjali's sage advice tells us: "Heyam Dukham anagatam" - "The misery which has not yet come can and should be avoided." (II 16).

When, in the days following the collapse of the twin towers, it was suggested in some quarters that the United States bore some responsibility for the events of September 11, a hue and cry arose that such utterances were not only wrong-headed, but were downright treasonous. If you understand the law of karma, though, you know that nothing happens in your life in which you have not in some way participated, however directly or indirectly. It seems to me that, while there can be absolutely no justification whatsoever for the horrible acts perpetrated against us on that terrible day, we need to take the opportunity presented by those acts to dig deeply into our hearts and minds to see what our part in this whole tragedy is and, from what we find, to act in a manner that paves the way for greater clarity, understanding and compassion in all that we think, say, and do. Perhaps in that way the misery which has not yet come will be avoided. then we can use our energy to plant seeds of kindness and community that will bring forth the fruit of spiritual awareness and solidarity.

Return to top

       

Return to top