The boy, by now deeply repentant, desired to be put on the path to right knowledge. Recognizing his sincerity, the king decided to initiate him by means of a test. He had a vessel brought to him filled to the brim with oil, and he ordered the lad to carry it around the city without spilling a drop—or else he would be executed on the spot. Glad of this chance to win his life, the boy was determined to succeed. Undaunted, he looked neither right nor left, thinking only of the vessel in his hands, and at last he returned to the king without having spilled a drop. Knowing that a festival was going on in the city, the king inquired whether the boy had seen the celebrants in the streets. The boy replied that he had neither heard nor seen anyone. The king seemed pleased and admonished him to pursue the supreme goal of liberation with the same single-mindedness and passion.
This practice of concentration is difficult. At the beginning of his book Waking Up, psychologist Charles Tart challenges his readers to pay continuous attention to the second hand of a watch while simultaneously remaining aware of their breathing.4 Exceedingly few people can do this without soon veering off in their thoughts. Presumably those who can maintain constant concentration for even such a relatively short span of time are skilled in meditation or a comparable practice.
But concentration is not only difficult, it is also attendant with perils, as is acknowledged in the Mahâbhârata:
It is possible to stand on the sharpened edge of a knife, but it is difficult for an unprepared person to stand in the concentrations of Yoga.
Miscarried concentrations, O friend, do not lead men to an auspicious goal, [but are] like a vessel at sea without a captain. (12.300.54-55)
The Yoga-Sûtra (1.30) enumerates nine obstacles that can arise in the attempt to pacify the inner world, including illness, doubt, and inattention. Yogic concentration is a high-energy state, and it is easy to see how the psychic energy mobilized in it can backfire on the unwary practitioner. As Shankara observed in his Viveka-Cûdâmani (“Crest Jewel of Discernment”):
When consciousness deviates even slightly from the goal and is directed outward, then it sinks, just as an accidentally dropped ball rolls down a flight of stairs. (325)
When consciousness “sinks,” it returns to ordinary preoccupations but with a higher psychic charge that can cause the undisciplined practitioner great trouble. Often it galvanizes latent obsessions, notably those related to sexuality and power. In this regard, the number of fallen yogins is legend. All esoteric traditions warn neophytes that once they take the first step on the path the only safe direction is forward.
Meditation
Prolonged and deepening concentration leads naturally to the state of meditative absorption, or dhyâna, in which the internalized object or locus fills the entire space of consciousness. Just as one-pointedness of attention is the mechanism of concentration, “one-flowingness” (ekatânatâ) is the underlying process of meditation. All arising ideas (pratyaya) gyrate around the object of concentration and are accompanied by a peaceful, calm emotional disposition. There is no loss of lucidity, but, on the contrary, the sense of wakefulness appears to be intensified, even though there is no or little awareness of the external environment.
In his original work A Map of Mental States, the British psychologist John H. Clark aptly characterized dhyâna thus:
Meditation is a method by which a person concentrates more and more upon less and less. The aim is to empty the mind while, paradoxically, remaining alert.
Normally, if we empty our minds, as we do when we settle down to sleep—for instance, “counting sheep” to narrow our thoughts— we become lethargic and eventually go to sleep. The paradox of meditation is that it both empties the mind and, at the same time, encourages alertness.5
The initial purpose of yogic meditation is to intercept the flux of ordinary mental activity (vritti), which comprises the following five categories:
pramâna—knowledge derived from perception, inference, or authoritative testimony (such as the sacred scriptures)
viparyaya—misconception, perceptual error
vikalpa—conceptual knowledge, imagination
nidrâ—sleep
smriti—memory
The first two kinds of mental activity are disposed of by the practice of sense-withdrawal. The tendency toward conceptualization gradually diminishes as meditation deepens. Sleep, which is due to a preponderance of the tamas constituent, is overcome by maintaining a state of wakeful attentiveness in the practice of concentration and meditation. Memory, the source of the mechanically arising thought fragments or imagery that are so troubling to the beginner, is the last to be blocked out. It is still active in the lower ecstatic states, where it generates presented ideas (pratyaya) of the nature of spontaneous insights, and is fully transcended only in the highest type of ecstatic realization, which is known as asamprajnâta-samâdhi. In this sublime condition of temporary identification with the Self, the subliminal activators (samskâra) responsible for the extemalization of consciousness are uprooted. Memory can be said to have two aspects, a gross one, which is effectively disabled through meditation, and a subtle one which is neutralized through the supraconscious ecstasy.
The process of restriction (nirodha) has three major levels:
Vritti-nirodha, which is the restriction of the five categories of gross mental activity in meditation mentioned above.
Pratyaya-nirodha, which is the restriction of the presented ideas (pratyaya) in the various types of conscious ecstasy (samprajnâta- samâdhi). Thus, yogins must go beyond the spontaneously arising insights or thoughts (vitarka) in the ecstatic state of savitarka- samâpatti described in the next section, just as they must go beyond the feeling of bliss (ânanda) in the ecstatic state of ânanda- samâpatti, also described below.
Samskâra-nirodha, which is the restriction of the subliminal activators in the supraconscious ecstasy (asamprajnâta-samâdhi). In this elevated state, yogins disable the depth memory itself, whose traits (vâsanâ) constantly generate new psychomental activity.
Ecstasy
In the same way in which concentration, when sufficiently acute, leads to meditative absorption, the ecstatic state (samâdhi) ensues when all the “whirls” or “fluctuations” (vritti) of the ordinary waking consciousness are fully restricted through the practice of meditation. Thus concentration, meditation, and ecstasy are phases of a continuous process of mental deconstruction or unification. When this process unfolds in relation to the same internalized object, it is called “constraint” (samyama) by Patanjali.
The ecstatic state, as the culmination of a long and difficult process of mental discipline, is as elusive as it is crucial to a proper appraisal of Yoga. It has often been interpreted as a self-hypnotic trance, a relapse into unconsciousness, or even an artificially induced schizophrenic state. But these labels are all inadequate. What is seldom understood is that, first, samâdhi comprises a great variety of states and, second, those who have actually experienced this unified condition in its various forms unanimously confirm that mental lucidity is one of its hallmarks. Yoga psychologists are well acquainted, however, with pseudo-ecstatic states that can rightly be understood as relapses into unconsciousness (jâdya).
Genuine samâdhi, though, is always accompanied by suprawakefulness—a point that C. G. Jung, for instance, failed to appreciate, and his erroneous views on this subject are still being echoed by others.6 Even if one were to consider it impractical or undesirable to cultivate the various samâdhi states, one must not deny that they are stations on a road leading not to a diminution of consciousness or of the human being but to a greater reality and good. The major significance of India’s psychotechnology for our age lies precisely in its having amassed evidence for the existence of a condition of being-namely the condition of Self-Identity or transcendental Being-Consciousness—which is barely recognized in our Western spiritual heritage and about which modern science is ignorant.
For this reason, we must be cautious about passing summary judgme
nt on yogic states, ideas, and practices unless we have tested them in the unbiased manner for which science prides itself. As Mircea Eliade, world- renowned authority on the history of religion, cautioned in his ground-breaking work on Yoga:
Denial of the reality of the yogic experience, or criticism of certain of its aspects, is inadmissible from a man who has no direct knowledge of its practice, for yogic states go beyond the condition that circumscribes us when we criticize them.7
Although it is possible to define samâdhi formally, no amount of description can fully convey the nature of this extraordinary condition for which there is no reference point in our everyday life. Its most momentous component is undoubtedly the experience of complete fusion between subject and object: The yogin’s consciousness assumes the nature of the contemplated object. This identification is accompanied by acute wakefulness, a mood of bliss, or the sense of pure existence, depending on the level of ecstatic unification.
In his Yoga-Sûtra, Patanjali has elaborated a phenomenology of samâdhi states that is distilled from millennia of yogic experience. He distinguishes between two major species of samâdhi, namely conscious ecstasy (samprajnâta-samâdhi) and supraconscious ecstasy (asamprajnâta-samâdhi). These correspond to the Vedânta distinction between formative ecstasy (savikalpa-samâdhi) and formless ecstasy (nirvikalpa- samâdhi) respectively.
Whereas the supraconscious ecstasy is of a single type, conscious ecstasy has a variety of forms. These forms also bear the technical designation of “coincidence” (samâpatti), because subject and object coincide. The simplest form is vitarka-samâpatti, which is ecstatic unification in regard to the coarse (sthûla) aspect of an object. For instance, if the object of contemplation is a particular deity-say, the blue form of four-armed Krishna— yogins entering samâdhi now become one with Krishna’s image. That image is vividly experienced as a living reality, so that yogins experience themselves as the blue-skinned Krishna. Their unified experience is interspersed with all kinds of spontaneous (non-discursive) thoughts, but, unlike during meditation, these do not disrupt their ecstatic enjoyment. Upon the cessation of all ideation (vitarka), yogins enter the supracogitative ecstasy (nirvitarka-samâdhi).
The next higher or deeper level of ecstatic unification occurs when yogins identify with the subtle (sûkshma) aspect of their object of contemplation. In our example, they would experience themselves as Krishna on progressively less differentiated planes of existence, until there is only the irresoluble matrix of Nature left. This condition, again, has two forms, depending on the presence or absence of spontaneous thoughts. The first is known as “reflective ecstasy” (savicâra-samâdhi), the second as “suprareflective ecstasy” (nirvicâra-samâdhi).
According to Vâcaspati Mishra’s interpretation of the Yoga-Sûtra, as found in his Tattva-Vaishâradî, there are four additional levels of subtle unitary experience: sa-ânanda-samâpatti (“coincidence with bliss,” written sânandasamâpatti), sa-asmitâ-samâpatti (“coincidence with I-am-ness,” written sâsmitâsamâpatti), nirânanda-samâpatti (“coincidence beyond bliss”), and nirasmitâ- samâpatti (“coincidence beyond I-am-ness”). The first type consists in the experience of pervasive bliss. The second type is simply the overwhelming sense of being present, in our case as the very essence of Krishna. There is a sense of “I,” or individuated existence, but no longer any role identity. The I is expanded infinitely. It is rather difficult to gain even an intuitive sense of the content of the third and the fourth types. We may question whether the scholar Vâcaspati Mishra actually experienced these additional types of ecstasy for himself or whether they were merely inferred by him. At any rate, Vijnâna Bhikshu, who was a Yoga adept, explicitly rejected the last two types of ecstatic experience.
All these types are forms of conscious ecstasy (samprajnâta-samâdhi). They are experiential states in which the ego-personality is partially transcended. From one perspective, they can even be regarded as means of obtaining knowledge about the universe through the capacity of the human consciousness for chameleon-like identification with the object of contemplation.
Radically distinct from these ecstatic states is the supraconscious ecstasy (asamprajnâta-samâdhi), which coincides with temporary Self-realization. Here, for the duration of the experience, yogins transcend the realms of Nature and identify with their authentic being, the Self (purusha). This presupposes a total turnabout, or parâvritti (Greek: metanoia), in their consciousness, a complete transformation of the body-mind. It cannot be accomplished through sheer exertion of will. Rather, yogins must empty and open themselves to the higher Reality beyond the ego-personality. Since this is not something they can initiate at will, the moment of radical opening is often described, as we have seen, in terms of the intervention of grace.
Asamprajnâta-samâdhi is the only avenue to recover conscious awareness of the transcendental Self-Identity and its eternal freedom. In this supraconscious ecstasy, there is neither an object of contemplation nor a contemplating subject. To the ordinary mind it appears as a state of frightening voidness. When maintained over a sufficiently long period of time, the fire of this ecstasy gradually transmutes the unconscious, obliterating all the subliminal activators (samskâra) that spawn renewed ego-conscious activity and the resultant karma.
III. LIBERATION
At the peak of this ecstatic unification, yogins reach the point of no-retum. They become liberated. According to the dualistic model of Classical Yoga, this implies the dropping of the finite body-mind. The liberated being abides in perfect “aloneness” (kaivalya), which is a transmental state of sheer Presence and pure Awareness. Some schools of Vedânta, which hold that the ultimate Reality is nondual, argue that liberation does not have to coincide with the death of the physical body. This is the ideal of “liberation in life” (jîvan-mukti). Patanjali, however, does not appear to have subscribed to this ideal.8 For him, the yogin’s greatest good lies in severing himself completely from the round of Nature (prakriti) and abiding merely as the attributeless Self, one among many and, as we must assume, intersecting with all other Selves in eternal infinity. This is also the ideal of Classical Sâmkhya.
It is difficult for the ordinary person to imagine what such untarnished Selfhood would be like, even when one has had glimpses of ego-transcendence during deep meditation. What is clear is that, by definition, it is not an experience, because there is neither a subject nor an object left to give rise to the knowledge connection. But neither is it a state of unconsciousness. All realizers agree that it is an utterly desirable condition, worthy of our absolute commitment.
The laborious path of Yoga leads thus beyond itself. Yogic psychotechnology is merely a ladder that the spiritual practitioner climbs, only to cast if off in the last moment. Patanjali’s formulations are useful only to the degree that they can guide us to that instant of recognizing our inherent freedom, which gives us the authority and power to see Reality in its nakedness and go beyond all formulations, creeds, dogmas, models, theories, or points of view.
“There is no other happiness here in this world
Than to be free of the thought
That I am different from you.
What other happiness is there?
How is it, then, that still this devotee of yours
Treads the wrong path?”
—Utpaladeva’s Shiva-Stotra-Avalî (4.17)1
I. OVERVIEW
Everything is only the Absolute (brahman). There is no other. I am That. Verily, I am That. I am only That. I am only That. I am only the everlasting Absolute.
I am only the Absolute, not the worldling (samsârin). I am only the Absolute. I have no mind. I am only the Absolute. I have no wisdom (buddhi). I am only the Absolute, and not the senses.
I am only the Absolute. I am not the body. I am only the Absolute, not the “cow-pasture” [i.e., the field of cosmic existence]. I am only the Absolute. I am not the psyche (jîva). I am only the Absolute, not differentiated existence.
I am only the Abso
lute. I am not unconscious. I am the Absolute. There is no death for me. I am only the Absolute, and not the life force (prâna). I am only the Absolute, higher than the highest. (6.31-34)
Everything is only the Absolute. The triple world is pure Consciousness, the pure Absolute. There is nothing but bliss, supreme bliss (parama-ânanda). (6.42)
The experience of ecstatic unity expressed in the above passage from the Tejo-Bindu-Upanishad is at the heart of the Upanishadic wisdom tradition. The sages of the early Upanishads were the first to speak of this grand realization explicitly and with unbridled enthusiasm. Their nondualist insights were echoed by the later sages of Vedânta in various ways. For them, as for their predecessors, metaphysics was an attempt to find a rational explanation for what was a living experience for them—the realization of the singular Being, called âtman or brahman.
This mystical realization of all-embracing unity (ekatva) is not characteristic of Patanjali’s Yoga, which distinguishes sharply between Spirit (purusha) and Nature (prakriti). It is possible, however, to accommodate certain levels of the unitary mystical realization even within the dualistic framework of Classical Yoga, for Patanjali accepts that Nature includes a transcendental dimension that is the source of all manifest forms. Merging with that transcendental aspect of Nature—a state known as prakritilaya—can be considered a form of mystical union. For Patanjali, though, such merging with the ground of the world is not equivalent to gaining liberation. As he sees it, there can be no ultimate salvation within the province of Nature. True liberation involves going beyond all of Nature’s dimensions, including its transcendental basis (pradhâna).
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