Light on Yoga Philosophy
Cross-posted at Ancient Futures
New Light on Yoga
The following article was written for Dipika, the magazine of Iyengar Yoga London. Its title comes from a Sanskrit word for “light” – as in the Haṭha Pradīpikā, a medieval compilation shining “light on physical yoga”.
However, as the article notes, the main technique for most of yoga’s history was sitting to meditate. To explore its philosophy, join me online for an in-depth guide to the Yoga Sūtra – a text that’s widely quoted, but less often understood.
For more about the course, visit truthofyoga.com.
For other new writing and interviews, visit my Substack site Ancient Futures – or see podcast platforms.
A Little Philosophy Goes a Long Way
By Daniel Simpson
When I’m asked what I do, I keep it simple: “I teach yoga philosophy.”
One common response is a look of confusion, as if people aren’t sure if that’s really a thing. “How interesting,” they might reply, before changing the subject.
If you stop a random stranger and ask what yoga means, they will almost certainly talk about postures. Classes based on sequences of āsanas are found in cities all over the world, from San Francisco to Shanghai. But they are a relatively recent phenomenon. The earliest recorded example dates from 1918. Before that, most Indian yogis were full-time renouncers, not busy suburbanites.
A lot of what I teach is history – exploring what is practised and why, and how things change. Yoga was originally a meditative state that involved sitting still. The ultimate goal was avoiding rebirth through ascetic detachment. New methods and objectives have evolved in the meantime, but modern forms of yoga can still be connected to older traditions – which is where the philosophy comes in.
There are often misconceptions about what it teaches. To sum a few up, people today might say: “Yoga means union, it comes from Patañjali, and it’s all about cakras.” This merges ideas from a wide range of sources that contradict each other.
Early definitions of yoga describe concentration – or as Patañjali puts it, stilling the mind to rest in consciousness. This requires a disengagement from the mind and the body, as well as the world. “The conjunction between the seer and that which is seen is the cause [of suffering],” says Yoga Sūtra 2.17 (translated by Edwin Bryant).
In other words, union is the problem, not the solution. Patañjali calls it saṃyoga – a condition of bondage in which people misidentify themselves with their bodies and the contents of their minds. “By the removal of ignorance, conjunction is removed,” says Yoga Sūtra 2.25. “This is the absolute freedom of the seer.” Patañjali’s system is therefore geared to perceiving the difference between thought and consciousness.
This is easily missed due to modern fixation on his eight-part framework, whose components are ethics (yama and niyama), degrees of concentration (dhāraṇā, dhyāna and samādhi) and helpful preliminaries – inward focus (pratyāhāra), control of the breath (prāṇāyāma) and a comfortable seat (āsana).
At the time when Patañjali was writing, roughly 1,600 years ago, the word āsana just meant “sitting”. The oldest commentary on the Yoga Sūtra lists a dozen ways to sit, and non-seated postures are first taught in texts 1,000 years ago. Until then, the only other options were ascetic austerities, such as standing on one leg for a very long time.
Patañjali’s eightfold scheme of aṣṭāṅga-yoga may have drawn inspiration from earlier examples in the Mahābhārata, as well as the Buddha’s noble truths and the Āyurvedic teachings of the Caraka Saṃhitā (a treatise on traditional Indian medicine). The word aṣṭāṅga was even used as a synonym for medical knowledge – as in the title of another therapeutic text, the Aṣṭāṅga Hṛdaya.
This focus on alleviating suffering is one of the threads that connects modern yoga to earlier versions despite changing contexts. Instead of escaping the cycle of births, the goal is now framed as holistic health. But apart from a few exceptions – the Bhagavad Gītā being the best-known – most yogic texts have less worldly concerns.
Even medieval teachings on physical practice say non-seated postures are basically warm-ups for subtler techniques. Once a yogi is able to sit, says the fifteenth-century Haṭha Pradīpikā (1.55–56, translated by Brian Akers), he should cleanse inner channels to raise vital energy and empty the mind. “Āsanas, various kumbhakas, practices called mudrās, then concentration on nāda [inner sounds] – this is haṭha’s order of practice.”
At the end of the text, the author warns: “I consider those practitioners who only do haṭha, without knowing rāja yoga, to be labouring fruitlessly” (Haṭha Pradīpikā 4.79). The word haṭha, which literally means “force”, refers to physical methods, while rāja (meaning “king”) is a term for samādhi, or meditative stillness.
Put simply, physical practice is a way to use the body to steady the mind. But it’s not a prerequisite – yogic texts describe other paths to stillness, from chanting mantras to visualising deities. Both of these are part of tantric rituals that use subtle elements, including the energy centres called cakras, to remake the body.
Without the influence of Tantra, which flourished after Patañjali, physical yoga might not have developed. Most early texts – the Yoga Sūtra included – saw the body as an obstacle that had to be transcended. The suggestion that it might be transformed by manipulating energy modified practices shaped by asceticism.
However, cakras aren’t always a feature of haṭha yoga, and tantric descriptions bear little resemblance to modern ideas. One big difference is the rainbow colours that are used to depict them (which come from Western traditions), along with the notion they need to be harmonised, balanced or cleansed. This would make them inherently physical, whereas Tantras say they have to be visualised into existence.
The Haṭha Pradīpikā (3.2–3) barely mentions cakras. It just says they are split open by “seals” (mudrā) and “locks” (bandha), which propel vital energy up the spine’s central channel, dissolving the mind in awakened consciousness. So haṭha yoga develops new ways to attain the timeless outcome of spiritual freedom.
But where does that leave us today? What does liberation mean in the 21st century? Does it happen automatically from practising postures? Or is it more about life “off the mat”? It’s really up to each of us to choose where to focus, and what to prioritise. There has never been a single tradition from which everything descends – just a mixture of pointers on what to do and why, as well as how to go about it.
There is no obligation to pick one text and attempt to embody its words to the letter. Even if we think that we do, we’re bound to adapt it to modern realities. It helps to be clear on our own objectives before we engage with traditional teachings. We can then be more mindful of what we’re reframing, instead of just pinning it all on Patañjali.