“Our yoga is not a retreading of old walks, but a spiritual adventure.”
– Sri Aurobindo (1872-1950), extract from letter to disciple (date unknown)
As an American who’s profoundly opposed to the about-to-be installed Trump Administration (Inauguration Day is tomorrow), I’ve been finding it difficult to sleep soundly since late October, when I felt the political winds shift sharply in his direction.
I’ve always been a light sleeper. But now, if something wakes me up at night, I often have a really hard time getting back to sleep. I’m flooded with deep feelings of unease. My mind flits from one anxiety to the next.
To get back to sleep, I often have to turn the light on and read something to help shift my psyche into a new gear. Lately, that’s been Peter Heehs’ Indian Religions: A Sourcebook of Spiritual Expression and Experience. That’s where I found the above quote from Aurobindo, reading his philosophy of Integral Yoga in the middle of the night.
Meanwhile, during the daytime hours, amongst my obsessive following of the political news I’ve noticed a small but steady stream of social media posts from some of my favorite yoga colleagues discussing just how deeply they’re questioning their relationship to the yoga tradition.
While coming to different conclusions, the common thread is that the terms “yoga” and “yoga tradition” have come to carry so much unwanted cultural baggage that they need to reflect seriously on whether they want to continue to use them or not.
Should I Stay or Should I Go?
Diane Bruni confesses that “in my heart, it’s all yoga.” Nonetheless, the “narrow meaning” of the “mainstream definition of yoga” has caused her to redefine herself as a “movement educator,” rather than a “yoga teacher.” Meanwhile, Matthew Remski suggests “that Yogaland stops using the word “tradition” altogether, or at least qualifies it by an order of separation”:
Have people been practicing the techniques of Iyengar, Jois, Desai, Krishnamacharya/Desikachar-in-Chennai for long enough to merit the status of “tradition”? Is forty years enough? I doubt it . . . So how do we get more accurate in our language? How do we make sure that the word “tradition” is not merely a way of bolstering a fragile sense of internal authority, or a marketplace validation device? Maybe use the word “version”? Iyengar’s version of yoga, Jois’ version of yoga, Desai’s version of yoga. Each with their antecedents that may or may not pass whatever test of “tradition” demands more than 40 years and a couple of photographs on the wall.
J. Brown reports that he knows a number of long-term yoga teachers who decided “to stop referring to what they teach as yoga,” and that he understands why (the commercialism, mass market demand for a stretchy workout, etc.). Nonetheless, that’s not where he himself lands:
I know what yoga means to me, based on my personal practice, study, and the discernment of my experience . . . I consider yoga to be a multigenerational and multicultural thread that reaches back into the dim mystical past and runs through humanity, from the earliest of ancient wisdom cultures to the civilizations of today. There is power and magic in this and I will continue to call it by the name imparted to me, yoga.
I don’t think that there’s a “right” or “wrong” side in this discussion. And, I suspect that all involved would agree. Each of these perspectives (and others besides) make sense to me. What’s important about them is that they challenge me to reflect on my own understandings, and sharpen them.
Reason vs. Experience
Upon reflection, I feel that my deeper psyche draws me towards the same place as J: that is, to the feeling that I practice yoga, and that in so doing, I’m part of the yoga tradition.
This feeling isn’t derived from weighing the evidence of what yoga today is or is not. Rather, it’s based on such basic facts of my life as being drawn to read Aurobindo in the middle of the night when I’m too anxious to get back to sleep.
It’s based on my felt necessity to return to my mat day after day in order to remain more or less OK and at ease in my body, mind, and spirit. It’s based on the pull of recognition I’ve felt when connecting with various aspects of the historic yoga tradition – reading the Gita, practicing Pranayama, reflecting on the profound import of “stilling the fluctuations of the mind.”
For me, the best way to answer the question of how I personally connect to yoga and the yoga tradition is to be honest about my own experience. And that means saying that yes, despite the many quite reasonable issues that could and in fact should be raised around the use of the term “yoga tradition,” I do feel connected to it.
A “Yoga Traditionalist”?
Given this realization, I found myself wondering whether I could possibly describe myself as a “yoga traditionalist.” Given that this is a term that I’ve never identified with at all (quite the contrary) this has felt like an odd, even absurd question to consider.
Still, at a time when some exceptionally thoughtful yoga teachers are choosing to distance themselves from yoga and the yoga tradition, and I find myself drawn in the other direction, it’s a question that I needed to ask.
With some reflection, I found that it wasn’t hard for me to answer. Given the valence of the term “yoga traditionalist,” I’m no more of one now than I ever was – which is to say, not at all.
One might ask: Isn’t this contradictory? How can I feel connected to the yoga tradition, yet not identify as a yoga traditionalist? Isn’t that illogical, even nonsensical?
I think not. This is because in my experience, the status of “yoga traditionalist” has been reserved for those who believe that they’re participating in a practice that hasn’t been significantly impacted (if not corrupted) by modernity. Although not always explicitly stated, I’ve only seen that term being used by those who convey a sense of being heir to a singular, unchanging essence of yoga that has clear, unambiguous boundaries.
This vision of a neatly bounded yoga tradition doesn’t resonate with me at all. Nor does it make any sense based on what I know about yoga history – or, for that matter, human history in general.
Yoga & Modernity
Personally, I believe that the practice that I’ve become so cathected to is profoundly modern. In fact, its essential modernity is key to why I feel so positive about it.
I believe that modern yoga developed as a tool to help us live better and more meaningful lives in the context of the modern world. To me, this is a positive and valuable thing. I don’t feel that I need to do the same yoga that select groups of men in medieval India did in order for it to be legitimate or worthwhile.
In my view, different sets of beliefs and practices inevitably emerge in different cultural and historical contexts. That’s not to say that certain enduring questions don’t speak to the human condition across time and space; I believe that they do.
I also believe that certain loosely defined sets of answers to those profound questions (e.g., why am I here? what happens when we die?) share a common valence. For example, different religious and spiritual traditions point to the power of divine love in different ways. They’re not the same. But they seem to have a shared impetus. And perhaps those vague similarities are more important than their many differences.
A “Modern Tradition”?
Still, I recognize that there’s something inchoate about my sense of being part of a “modern yoga tradition.” It seems incoherent to say that something can be experienced as both “modern” and “traditional” at the same time.
Can I really believe that modern yoga is a distinct set of ideas and practices that emerged during the past hundred years – and that it’s part of a historic yoga tradition that’s thousands of years old?
Any logical answer to this question must define the terms “yoga” and “tradition” carefully. Then, it must marshall evidence that demonstrates either the continuities between modern and pre-modern yoga, or the lack thereof.
But as noted earlier, how we answer such questions often doesn’t depend solely, or even primarily on logic.
The word “tradition” carries a special weight. However we might technically define it, emotionally it conveys a sense of deep meaning and import. It envisions a great river of time. It invokes our ancestors and forebearers. It says that while this legacy may be only human, it’s withstood the tests of time in ways that make it more than that. It’s a link to something enduring and important.
To feel part of the yoga tradition is to feel connected to something profoundly valuable that’s much bigger than myself. Such feelings aren’t based on rational analysis; they’re rooted in deeply felt personal experience.
The Razor’s Edge
We human beings are a complex and troubled lot. We need to feel connected to something much larger than ourselves in order to be the best people we can be, and live truly happy lives. Feeling part of “the yoga tradition” is one way in which this can happen. There are, of course, many others.
That’s the sunny side. But there are also endless examples to prove that this vital human feeling of being part of something bigger than ourselves has a deep shadow.
Rather than fostering expansive enlightenment, it can propel one-dimensional fanaticism. This, in turn, can encourage and justify the sort of blind submission to authority that invites abuses of power. Conversely, it can fuel the desire to wield such power oneself.
Early in the course of my yoga studies, a man told me that to be on the spiritual path is to walk the razor’s edge. At the time, I had little context to put this in, and wasn’t sure what he meant. But his words stuck with me. Now, many years later, I think I get it.
If you feel that yoga connects you to something larger, and that you’re part of an historic tradition, you may be lucky. You may have discovered something in this life that works to put you in touch with a sense of bigger meaning, and an experience of grace.
Conversely, you may be in trouble. You may have become swept up in something that could cause harm. You may have lost your bearings. You may need to reground yourself in order to find them. This may be very hard.
And the really tricky part is that this balance may shift at any time. As the by-now extensive history of good yoga teachers gone bad amply demonstrates, even the most adept masters aren’t immune to the seductive pull of the shadow.
Same as it Ever Was
“Our yoga is not a retreading of old walks, but a spiritual adventure.”
Sri Aurobindo was a revolutionary and a mystic. Writing in the early 20th century, he was unapologetic about developing a new form of yoga. He was also adamant about its essential connection to the past.
Reading his words in the middle of the night, anxious about what’s been unleashed in my country and our world, I feel connected to something bigger. I feel more grounded, calmer.
I tell myself that what happens politically, spiritual adventure exists nonetheless. Soon, I manage to get back to sleep.
For some weeks now, I’ve wanted to write something about yoga in our new post-election, Trump-dominated world. But that’s been hard to do because I’ve also wanted to share something that feels positive in a meaningful, rather than fakey cotton candy-like way. And guiding inspiration has not been shining through.
Most of the time, I feel weighted down by the constant barrage of what I experience as horrifying news. I feel tired, heavy, inundated, drained, dispirited, anxious, apprehensive. In a word: I feel bad.
In that state, yoga seems rather beside the point.
I’m obsessively following the news. New alarm bells keep ringing. It’s a cacophony. It makes it hard to hear myself think about anything else. It makes it hard to feel that I should be doing anything other than searching for a way – some way, any way, there must be a way – to stop what’s happening politically in the U.S. right now from happening.
But of course, that’s not possible.
Yes, it’s good to take whatever action we can, and I’m trying to do that (calling Congress, writing letters, posting articles, finding meet-ups, searching for the best way to leverage my available time and energies). At some fundamental level, though, the shift has happened. We are where we are.
I feel my own internal resistance to processing that simple fact. This isn’t intentional: Consciously, I’m reading the news, thinking, worrying . . . But there’s some sort of internal stoppage. That’s OK, I think. I feel it’s a protective mechanism. Because it’s hard to be in this political moment fully, and not feel psychically flattened.
Such psychic blockage isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s a way of titrating the shock that’s hit me, that’s collectively hit a lot of us. (Not everyone, of course. Some are reveling, celebratory, triumphant; others are not paying much attention, for a whole slew of reasons.) But if the process of working through the shock of the election and all the negative emotions that’s generated gets stuck, I know it’s going to be bad.
That sort of stuckness isn’t a protective blockage; it’s a standing psychic cesspool, a negative energy suck. And living with that inside me is going to cause sickness – if not physically, then certainly emotionally and spiritually.
Fear and hatred can be infectious. They can make us sick on a deep level. They can be easily transmitted to others. They can metastasize and grow into ravaging cancerous whirlwinds. They can cause us to feel attracted to pain and death.
Up to a point, experiencing pain and hate is OK. We all get sick sometimes. It can strengthen our immune systems. But to let such energies fester is dangerous. They can start to rot. This can cause you to lose touch with your own internal goodness. It can lead you to lose touch with life.
I’m still getting to my mat. I’m still taking time to simply sit and let my thoughts and energies settle. Often, what arises then is grief.
But it’s a relief to let some of that out in a safe, titrated way. It’s just a bit at a time. I can’t process the whole wave all at once. But I can tune in and find some deeper feeling than the numb spin-cycle of upset and anxiety. And that deeper emotion feels meaningful. It connects me to a sense of love for a world that feels lost. And in that connection is a sense of some seed of a new world to be born.
A lot has been lost. The world where I took it for granted that proudly racist white supremacist ideology was in the rear-view mirror of American history: Gone. The world where I assumed that our center of political gravity was an aspirational vision of democracy that embraced multiculturalism, gender equity, racial justice, environmental protection and reducing the gap between the 1% and the rest of us: Gone. The world where I was hopeful that when push came to shove, liberal democrats, democratic socialists, progressives, and Leftists would cooperate to defeat Trump: Gone. The world where I thought that a winning electoral coalition would not rally around a shameless demagogue who traffics in bullying, threats, insults, intimidation, and lies: Gone.
I could go on, but what’s the point? You get the idea.
This election was historic. There’s no going back. We’re not going to return to the pre-Trump normal. It’s over. His supporters, of course, celebrate that. But unless they’re one percenters who’ll benefit from the coming kleptocracy or radical right-wingers itching for even more of a fight, I don’t think there’s going to be much to celebrate – at least not for long.
Creating Space for Possibility
So . . . what about yoga?
Yoga is a practice that enables you to open up more space in your body and mind on a daily basis. For that opening to occur, there has to be some sort of holistic shift – some combination of physical, emotional, psychological and what could be called psychic (ineffable, spiritual) movement.
Stuff moves. If we learn to pay attention, we feel it. Sense it. Then, harnessing breath and intention, it’s possible to work with that movement to let some of the energies that keep us constricted, tense, bunkered down, shut in, isolated, and disconnected to process, and release.
Often, after a good practice I look at my mat and visualize a pile of dirty broken glass: Glittering shards, muddy rubble. A heap of stuff that’s broken free and been let go of. It’s not a pretty metaphor. But getting rid of shit that’s constricting and clogging your psyche doesn’t lend itself to beautiful imagery.
Yet it does feel so damn good. And the beauty does come. It comes in being able to connect with a sense of self that’s clearer, brighter, more peaceful and more knowing. Once the space has been cleared, it’s possible. It happens naturally. There’s more lightness. There’s more light.
There’s more room for possibility. There’s a new chance to see the world with fresh eyes. To see wonder and beauty again.
A Brighter Connection
President-Elect Trump created a powerful energetic matrix with those rallies, those chants, those hypnotic speeches. He has powerful charisma – it’s undeniable. He created a vortex. Shared meanings that many of us cherished were gleefully sucked in, and slated for total destruction.
It’s powerful. And more and more powerful men are coming on board. Who knows where we’re heading with them taking control of most of the machinery of political power in the U.S. – for now, the most powerful country in the world.
Those of us who are repelled by the vortex and want to resist it must work with ourselves on the inside. It’s crucial. Yoga is just one method. There are certainly other ways to engage the same process. But it does need to be done. Otherwise, our connection with ourselves and what we love gets sucked dry. And then, we have nothing positive to offer.
It’s equally critical to connect with others who share our desire to co-create an alternative politics and culture. If we clear space internally, and then connect with others, we bring a brighter self to a catalytic gathering. The more brigher selves that come together, the more the sparks fly. Fires get lit. And something new and beautiful will emerge.
We can’t predict what it will be. Like a good yoga practice, we must commit to engaging with the process. To breathe, ground, and center. To work hard and let go. To fall down and get up, again and again.
To balance long enough to ride the wave through. To fall into the water and trust that we know how to swim up to the surface. That we can hold our breath, and that we will breathe again. And that we can then reach out to others who could use a hand, and help them do the same.
Both yoga culture and the world at large have been changing at a dizzyingly rapid rate recently. More often than not, this has been generating an exhausting, demoralizing stream of bad news. I’ve often felt anxious, disillusioned, and/or overwhelmed by the incessant barrage of negative headlines. I know that I’m not alone in this.
Sometimes, I just want to disengage completely. On the political front: Forget the election, the shootings, the terrorism, the hate. On the yoga front: Forget the scandals, commercialism, controversies, and crusades. Sometimes I just feel so sick of it all. To rephrase the famous ‘60s tagline, I just want to tune out, turn inwards, and drop out of everything that feels difficult (at least as much as I reasonably can).
Despite such feelings, I don’t actually believe that sticking my head in the sand is the best way to deal with what’s happening, either in yoga culture or more generally. That’s not to say that I don’t believe that periods of retreat and renewal aren’t necessary – most definitely, I do. Staying engaged with a world that all-too-often feels endlessly frustrating, if not crazy and frightening, requires taking time out self-care and spiritual renewal – at least if you want to avoid cratering into damaging reactivity or burnout.
Which is where – for me, and I know for many others – yoga comes in. My practice is invaluable in that it helps me stay healthy, move tension out of my body, release negative emotions, quiet my mind, and connect to something bigger, deeper, and more meaningful than today’s headlines, anxieties, and stress. Rather ironically, however, I often need my practice to regenerate the energy necessary to stay positively engaged not only with this insane season of American politics, but the yoga world itself.
Toward a New Paradigm
It’s true: Between the shallow commercialism on the one hand, and the mean-spirited “yoga policing” on the other, sometimes the yoga world just doesn’t seem worth bothering with. While my own personal, at-home practice never disappoints, I find many aspects of the larger culture that’s grown up around yoga to be a huge turn-off.
And it doesn’t necessarily help that I’m far from the only person who feels this way. On the contrary, as the volume cynical negativity surrounding yoga has turned up (and up and up – particularly on social media), my desire to tune the whole thing out has only intensified.
Happily, however, I know that this negativity isn’t the whole story. Quietly, under the radar, there are countless yoga teachers, sudents, and studio owners working with the practice in ways that have enormous integrity, intelligence, and heart. But that doesn’t make headlines. And they aren’t crusaders. And their small-scale businesses don’t have a big marketing budget – if any. This has long been true, and hasn’t changed.
There are also a lot of promising new developments in yoga culture. Within the North American orbit I’m most familiar with, these include the:
- rethinking of practices found to cause injury,
- crafting of trauma-informed yoga,
- launching of the yoga and body image movement,
- expanding discussion of challenging issues facing yoga culture,
- enhanced sophistication of scientific research on yoga,
- increased access to yoga in diverse communities,
- encouragement of yoga-infused political activism,
- support of socially engaged leadership in the yoga world,
- proliferation of yoga service organizations,
- development of local yoga service networks, and
- growing strength of the yoga service movement as a whole.
Some of these developments have attracted more attention than others. All, however, have definitely gained a lot of traction in recent years.
When I look at this list of yoga-related work as an ensemble, I can imagine a new paradigm emerging. To be sure, this isn’t something that I foresee subsuming the popular forms of “workout yoga” that have also exploded recently. But I’m not concerned with that.
What interests me is the development of a small, yet powerful movement within yoga culture that will harness the power of the practice in ways that not only help us live better in the world as individuals (insane, scary politics and all) – but also support collective work dedicated to improving the quality of life on this planet as a whole.
I believe such a movement is beginning to take shape on a grassroots level, both in North America (the arena I’m most familiar with) and internationally. This isn’t something you’ll see in glitzy, high-powered advertising campaigns, or splashed across your social media feeds. That doesn’t mean, however, that it’s not there. It just means that it’s harder to identify – and, perhaps, to believe in.
But that can – and should – change.
Thanks to my work with the Yoga Service Council in particular, I’ve had the opportunity to connect with people all over the U.S. (and to a lesser but still significant extent, the world) who are doing incredible work to make the everyday teaching and practice of yoga more healing, therapeutic, effective, accessible, inclusive, trauma-informed, culturally sensitive, and socially just.
When I see where this part of the yoga world is and imagine where it might go, I feel hopeful and excited about the possibilities of yoga as a popular mind-body integration practice in the world today. And the more I focus on the positive things that are happening, and do what I can to help develop them further, the less I feel overwhelmed by all of the negativity, both in the yoga world and beyond.
That said, it’s not always easy to maintain a broadly positive vision. Nor should it be: To hold unwaveringly to an easy, sunny optimism in light of what’s happening in the U.S. and the world today requires either extreme naivety, or intense denial. Neither is healthy. Again, though – that’s where having a strong, committed personal yoga practice comes in. (At least, for those of us who are drawn to that. There are certainly other tools that can and do help people stay positive and live meaningful lives in a difficult world.)
I believe, however, that more and more people within the broadly defined “yoga community” (which is really too fragmented to be referred to as such) are deeply interested in exploring how the practice might support synergistic processes of positive individual and social change. Although still a nascent movement that has generated some new problems of its own, it’s not only in the process of growing quickly, but has tremendous, if still largely unimagined potential.
I find myself drawn to imagining what this potential might be and how best to realize it. At least for the moment, my conclusion is that it might be most helpful to focus on yoga’s capacity to support integrative process of: 1) building holistic wellness, 2) supporting positive social engagement, and 3) sparking a sense of spiritual revitalization that crosses culturally divisive lines of race, class, gender, politics, and religion.
Holistic Wellness I: Broken Promises
The claim that yoga is a “mind-body-spirit practice” that unfailingly makes you totally healthy has long since become a tired marketing cliché. As such, it’s not necessarily given much serious thought, most of the time. Instead, it’s often a taken-for-granted, but essentially meaningless catch-phrase that’s slapped onto anything capable of being construed as “yoga” – provided, of course, doing so might help sell yoga-related offerings to their targeted market niche. Such strategic over-promising naturally engenders cynicism or disregard.
This tarnish on yoga’s reputation as a genuinely healing practice has been corroded further by the steady stream of reports on yoga-induced injuries that’s come out in the past few years. Kicked off by William Broad’s infamous “How Yoga Can Wreck Your Body” article in 2012, this once-taboo subject has grown into an in-depth – and much-needed – examination of the injurious effects of many common yoga practices. The wisdom of teaching, or even practicing classically revered poses such as headstand, as well as long-established alignment instructions (e.g., tuck your tailbone), for example, has been challenged forcefully and discussed widely.
The most devastating reports of yoga-related injuries, however, aren’t physical. Rather, they’re emotional and psychological – even, in a loosely defined sense, spiritual. I’m not going to recount the long list of yoga abuses, scandals, and even actionable crimes here . . . they’re now part of the public record, and easily researched by anyone with Internet access. I will, however, provide just one example of this tragic and sordid history by sharing the most recent comment posted on a blog that I wrote 4 ½ years ago – simply because it’s something that happened to cross my own personal radar screen, while being an obvious indicator of events much bigger than me.
This post was written way back in 2012 as a reflection on the parallels between the then red-hot Anusana scandal, and the much older one at what was then the Kripalu ashram, but since reorganized itself into the Kripalu Center for Yoga and Health. Much to my surprise, the comments on that post turned into an ongoing message forum for former disciples of the founding Kripalu guru, yoga teacher Amrit Desai. This last one was posted just three months ago.
Thanks for this post. Helped me get some clarity. I was a resident and disciple and am still trying to figure out what happened to me. We treated Amrit like a God. How could we have been so foolish? I dropped out of graduate school to live in the ashram and have been poor ever since. If I had never heard of Kripalu I wonder if I would be in a better place now. No answer to that question. I learned a lot from this experience, but often wish I had never drunk the Kool-Aid. I’m still trying to get down from the illusion that someone from a different culture could give me something I didn’t already have.
Given that the scandal at issue occurred way back in 1994, I found this comment to be a poignant reminder of just how deep and long-lasting such yoga-related wounds can be.
Holistic Wellness II: Creative Ferment
Precisely because there has been so much injury, however, a small but growing cadre of yoga teachers and serious practitioners has emerged that’s fiercely dedicated to exploring yoga’s capacities as a holistic wellness practice in new ways. In many cases, their yoga-based work is cross-fertilized with work in other disciplines: e.g., psychology, somatic therapy, neuroscience, integrative medicine, social work, education, writing. The resulting process of creative fermentation is starting to change not only how yoga is understood and practiced, but also the willingness of other fields and social institutions to engage with it, as well.
To offer another personal example: I had the honor of being part of a yoga-driven, but also highly interdisciplinary collaborative process during the past year, when I served as editor of the Yoga Service Council’s forthcoming Best Practices for Yoga with Veterans book. Like the rest of the works in the YSC’s annual “Yoga Service Best Practices” series, this book grew out of a facilitated collaborative process that involved over 30 people. In this case, the collective expertise of the book’s contributors, contributing editors, and peer reviewers spanned the fields of not only of yoga, mindfulness, and meditation, but also veterans’ affairs, integrative medicine, clinical psychology, trauma therapy, social work, academic research, journalism, nonprofit management, and more.
As we worked together to winnow out a set of commonly agreed-upon “Best Practices for Yoga with Veterans,” it was evident to me how a shared commitment to yoga can enable many diverse fields to align. For example: The trauma experts suport the development of the new field of trauma-informed yoga. Yoga teachers develop trainings, more teachers learn about it. Some are civilians concerned with veterans, or veterans themselves, and seek to offer classes in the VA – a diverse network of hospitals, community health clinics, and other facilities that comprises by far the largest public health system in the U.S.
Supportive administrators in VAs across the country find ways to hire yoga teachers and launch classes, despite the fact that the federal government has no official job category of “yoga teacher,” which makes the logistics rather difficult. Doctors, nurses, and therapists who interface with that system see the potential of yoga to support a wide variety of public health specialties. Working with dedicated yoga teachers, new expertise develops for teaching yoga to veterans with traumatic brain injuries, amputated limbs, and other health issues. Some veterans whose lives have been positively transformed by yoga go on to become social workers, college professors, and nonprofit leaders. They incorporate yoga into their work, and new resources, protocols, and organizational initiatives are born.
Social Connection I: Synergizing Individual & Social Change
Parallel developments are happening in the fields of elementary and secondary education, higher education, criminal justice, addiction and recovery, disordered eating and body image, and more. In each case, the basic dynamics are the same: People involved in those fields find their lives improved by yoga, and want to integrate yoga into their field so that others within it can hopefully benefit as well. Integrating yoga into new social locations brings new issues, challenges, and opportunities, both to the organizations involved and the practice itself. This creates new incentives to adapt yoga practices to fit the environment, and to adapt the environment to accommodate the yoga itself.
To be continued . . . because there’s so much to say on each of my three core topics – holistic wellness, social engagement, and spiritual revitalization – I’m breaking up what would otherwise be an excessively long post into two parts. So, stay tuned if you want to hear more. Meanwhile, I’m interested in learning what others see as the most positive developments, as well as promising potential in yoga culture today. The intention here isn’t to negate critique, but rather to uplift work that deserves to be more widely visible, valued, and shared.
Several weeks ago, I found myself hanging out late one night after a meeting of Chicago’s Socially Engaged Yoga Network, sharing thoughts about yoga and life with a diverse group of people. Some were friends, some were strangers. They were Black, White, and Asian; 20-somethings to 50-somethings; gay and straight; married, divorced, single; high school dropouts and Ph.D.s; raised in setting ranging from upper-middle class suburbia to low-income inner city Chicago. But we all shared the same passion for yoga, and for working with the practice in ways that uplift our selves, our communities, and the city we call home.
Talk turned toward how we apprehend the heart of our practice. Someone spoke reverentially of the Yoga Sutras. Another talked about how yoga made the Christianity he’d been raised with meaningful in ways it had never been before. One woman shared how her practice enabled her to connect to an independent sense of self beyond the socially prescribed roles of daughter, wife, and mother. Another shared her passion for helping people unplug from the incessant busy-ness of their everyday lives, and tap into their innate resources for insight, connection, and healing.
To me, this was the essence of yoga. There was no conflict or tension between the teacher who’d found meaning in the Yoga Sutras, and the one who’d rediscovered it in the Bible. We felt, we knew, that we were all on the same page.
This wasn’t something that had to be analyzed or proven. There was a sense of heart-felt, soul-felt connection. In my old church, we would have said that when the Spirit moves, it moves. And it was moving, and that was beautiful.
Meanwhile, in Social Media Land . . .
Meanwhile, on the Internet, I’ve been tracking a seemingly endless stream of ever-escalating vitriol about how horrible yoga in the West truly is. I wonder why people who dislike it so much stick with it nonetheless. I also wonder why it seems to be so impossible for them to find the positive experiences that I find so easy to access.
Of course, I understand the problems with shallow commercialization, commodification of the body, and thoughtless disregard for the depth of the yoga tradition that plagues yoga in America. I’ve written extensively about such issues myself. But in so doing, I’ve never sought to simply trash the practice. The reason for the critique was to uplift the deeper dimensions of yoga, not to denounce it. And by this, I mean that deeper dimensions that I’ve seen manifest in the unglamorous world of everyday life — not some imagined realm of yogic purity that only the select few can enter.
Online, however, I see a lot of full-throttle negativity about yoga. A dismaying amount of it seems to be driven by the zealous, perverse joy that can be found from feeling oh-so-superior to those being denounced. And there are so many juicy targets! All those pretty, bendy white women: obviously, shallow airheads. All those yoga teachers who market themselves and their classes: clearly, neo-liberal automatons and soulless sellouts. All those apostates who don’t hew to the proper line of “yogic” spirituality: certainly, colonialist exploiters and cultural appropriators. So many enemies; such a select club of those with real virtue!
In many cases, I suspect there’s some heavy psychological dynamics going on behind the bombastic posturing. My guess is that many of the passionate denunciations of yoga I’ve read have been fueled by some deep hope that was dashed. And, then, an even greater fear of setting one’s heart on something similar again. In other cases, resentment seems to play a central role.
Whatever may be driving it in individual cases, however, it seems that bashing yoga online has become quite a popular trend.
Yet on the ground, in the world of old-fashioned interpersonal interaction, I find very different dynamics playing out. Here in Chicago, I don’t run across the self-righteous yoga crusaders that I see so frequently online. On the contrary, I can easily think of many, many people in my local yoga community who I like and respect very much. I don’t see them wasting their time and energy denouncing each other, or the practice. I see them working hard and doing their best, often in pretty challenging circumstances.
There are the owners of small studios who work endless hours for a pittance, striving with such heart to uplift their clients and support their communities. There are teachers who are pushing themselves to share the best of their practice with others, running themselves ragged going from gig to gig. There are volunteers who teach yoga in schools, jails, juvenile detention centers, community centers, and other non-standard spaces all over the city.
Yoga is Chicago is also pretty diverse. I definitely see it taking off in the African American community on the South Side, where I live. I also know native-born Americans who have lived for years in India, and Indian-Americans who are passionately committed to improving our city. One Indian-American yoga teacher I know organized International Yoga Day here, featuring the two African American teachers who I know are Christians, and one White woman who teaches Sanskrit and traditional Indian texts such as the Gita – often to Indian Americans who want learn more about their cultural heritage.
No one is calling each other out about how inappropriate it is for us to cross lines of race, religion, class, and education, and come together around our shared passion for yoga. The idea is absurd. We’ve got work to do. We believe that yoga and mindfulness can make an important contribution to our city. We know how high our murder rate is. We see yoga as our way to make a difference.
Not the only way; not the silver bullet. But valuable, nonetheless.
I’ve taught classes in Cook County Jail and offered trainings in upscale studios. Regardless of the setting, the quality and depth of human connection facilitated through a shared yoga practice has remained pretty much the same. True, I prefer the non-glitzy locations. In the fancier ones, I see more people whose interest in yoga seems to be driven more by their obsession with maintaining an illusion of control and pseudo-perfection than anything else. I find that dismaying. But I also see the desperation under the facade. And I certainly don’t condemn them.
Still, anyone who thinks that there aren’t people who have connected to something profoundly meaningful through yoga even in the most commercial of locations hasn’t been asking others about their experiences, and hasn’t been open to listening. I’ve asked. And listened, and learned from what I’ve heard.
What I’ve learned is that some people who can spout off the most arcane details about the Vedas or the Gita or the Tantras can be the most ego-driven and mean-spirited around. Conversely, there are some who can get more depth and meaning out of five minutes in Savasana in a run-of-the-mill class than others seem to acquire in years of ostentatious study and practice. Grace moves in mysterious ways.
No Time to Waste
The Internet can be a fantastic means of connecting with like-minded people, sharing valuable information, and encountering new ideas and perspectives. But, it can also suck us into an ersatz world that disconnects us from life on the ground. Anyone who learns about yoga exclusively from reading about it online could only conclude that it’s a pathetic business at best. If you want something better, however, it shouldn’t be all that hard to find — or, if necessary, create.
Of course, different places are different. I’m fortunate to live in a diverse and dynamic (if deeply troubled) city. Regardless, the fact is that I’m super-sick of all the negativity about yoga on the Web.
Five years ago, I remember feeling disgruntled that public discussion of yoga seemed locked into a gauzy pink bubble filled with hearts and rainbows and fake positivity. Well, that bubble has sure burst. And the proverbial pendulum has swung so far to the other side that it’s replicating the same imbalanced, ungrounded, inauthentic and unhelpful state, only this tine in determinedly negative, rather than stubbornly pseudo-positive, form.
That’s why I wasn’t all that surprised to read that the University of Ottowa had cancelled their free yoga class that served 60 students, including many with disabilities, due to a complaint that yoga in the West is a form of “cultural appropriation” that carries forward historic harms of “oppression, cultural genocide and diasporas due to colonialism and western supremacy” (except, of course, when properly vetted and controlled by the self-appointed guardians of “authentic” yoga). Such a move is the logical extension of the sorts of blanket denunciations of yoga (and self-righteous assertions of purity and ownership) that I’ve seen online in recent years.
This entire phenomena strikes me as yet another example of how we human beings are horribly good at trashing the many gifts that we’ve been given. And yoga – and by that I mean the much-vilified “modern yoga,” yoga as we know it today in all of its multifaceted, confusing dimensions – is one such gift.
Consider T.K.V. Desikachar’s words on how his father, Sri T. Krishnamacharya, taught:
The purpose of my father’s erudition was not to preserve the past, but to serve the present and the future. The astonishing range and variety of his studies all combined toward a single end. This was to place the promise of Yoga at the service of humanity, without regard to age, sex, race, nationality, culture, station in life, belief, or nonbelief . . . My father was a celebrated healer in his own lifetime. This ability, too, owed much to his willingness to adapt past practices to present needs . . . He further proved the value of Yoga in sustaining a lucid, balanced mind in our distracting, stressful, and difficult societies. Toward these ends, he experimented and explored ways to refine Yogic techniques to fit the busy routines of modern life. Even the healing and sustaining powers of Yoga, however, were only a part of his mission. The true purpose of Krishnamacharya’s teaching was to bring Man into contact with something beyond himself, and far greater.
The words and concepts that we use to frame that experience of connecting with something greater than ourselves don’t matter. What matters is the connection, the experience, the learning, the healing, the evolution and the growth.
The world is in crisis. This isn’t the time to be endlessly bashing pretty yoga babes for being too commercial, or policing the Internet to bully those who aren’t hewing to your “right view” of the-one-and-only “authentic yoga.” This is a time to work with the resources we’ve been gifted to foster connection, healing, and growth. This is a time to fiercely assert a commitment to meaningful democratic values. This is a time to drop the petty squabbling and ego-tripping, and get down to the meaningful work of regenerating our selves and uplifting our communities. This is a time to stop the bullshit drama and get down to something real again.
Quote from K.V. Desikachar with R. H. Cravens, Health, Healing, and Beyond: Yoga and the Living Tradition of Krishnamacharya (New York: Aperture, 1998).
Lately my social media feeds have been buzzing with controversy over issues of pain, and its real and proper relationship to yoga. Many types of pain have been brought up: physical pain caused by injury, physical pain caused by non-injurious but intense asana practice, emotional pain caused by hearing the careless words of others, the ambient cultural pain experienced by being a member of an oppressed group, the spiritual pain of recognizing the necessity of relaxing the grip of the egoic self in order to grow. The list goes on – and on, and on.
Some confess their hurts with equanimity; others with anger, or sadness, or both. Some accuse others of causing injury. This may be met with silence, or guilt, or derision, or sometimes even empathy. Some lash out emotionally; others spin off into a dense cloud of words, full of righteousness and devoid of feeling.
It can be hard to sort out one’s own personal reactions and projections from the bigger emotional waves washing through cyberspace. There’s no doubt, however, that there’s a lot of feeling out there to surf if you care to take the time and put in the energy.
All this has caused me to reflect on my own experience of pain in yoga. I don’t offer this short reflection as representative of anyone else’s experience, or evidence of a bigger trend. I’ve found, however that my experiences are never as wholly unique as I may imagine – or fear. Some of us share resonant experiences. Others do not, and that’s OK, too. Sharing personal stories can be interesting, and potentially valuable, either way.
Without question, I feel that the ability to better recognize, confront, and move toward psychic pain has been one of the greatest gifts of my yoga practice.
What do I mean by psychic pain? It’s not easy to describe. It’s not simple physical pain, obviously. Yet it can often be located in the field of the body/mind. It may feel like it’s emanating from a particular place – under a shoulder blade, buried deep in a hip. Or, it may feel like it’s rolling in from beyond my physical boundaries, a disembodied storm roiling through.
Sometimes this invisible force field feels engulfing. Other times, it’s more like moving through a partially cloudy, partially stormy, and all-too-rarely sunny day.
Psychic pain is not simply emotion. Anthropologists have mapped the range of human emotions that seem to manifest across cultures: happiness, sadness, grief, anger, shame, etc. Such emotions are similar in some ways to psychic pain, but also fundamentally different. Most likely, there are elements of many negative emotions mixed into an experience of psychic pain. But what I’m trying to describe is harder to pin down and neatly identify than that.
There’s no question, however, that it’s pain. And that for me, at least, it’s something that I’ve been better able to identify, confront, and move through because of the much greater sense of interiority and embodiment I’ve developed through years of practicing yoga. I understand and experience this as an invaluable gift of the practice.
Prior to have a well-developed yoga practice, I experienced these waves of psychic pain more like an inundating depression. Overwhelming. A sense of being swallowed up in darkness. With no center that felt stable, and light. Lost.
The yoga and holistic health worlds talk a lot about healing. Generally, the focus is on physical healing. This is hugely important. To know how to work with your body in ways that reduce pain and build strength is profoundly empowering. The current concern over the incidence of physical injury in yoga is a good thing. Without doubt, there’s a ton of sloppy instruction out there, and far too many unnecessary injuries. Shining a spotlight on this problem and working to address is critical.
But the pendulum swings too far in the other direction if we seek to have everyone stay super-safe by backing away from physically challenging practices, no matter what. Of course, for some people, this is the right thing to do. But for others – including myself – physical challenge, combined with mental focus and regulated breathing, can do much more than build strength and flexibility. It can be a way of opening up the field of the body/mind, while simultaneously developing a strong physic center of gravity. This process – repeated over and over and over again through countless sessions on the mat – is transformative.
It’s transformative because it leverages shifts throughout the body/mind that continue through our off-the-mat time – which is, of course, the vast majority of our lives. So, when I wake up in the middle of the night and feel a tidal wave of fear coming in through the wall of my home to engulf me, I’m much better able to simply feel still, and quiet; watching, waiting. Witnessing without panicking.
I can let it wash over and through me without drowning. I can connect to that sense of what it feels like to breathe, to hold steady, to remain calm through incredible intensity.
Some may think it wrong-headed to say that this capacity can be developed in part by practicing physically challenging asana. But in my case, I absolutely believe that it was.
Does this mean that everyone should have a physically intense asana practice? Absolutely not. It doesn’t even mean that this is what always works best for me – I’ve had to learn, over time, that sometimes going very easy, or simply laying still and letting go is much more challenging that holding a pose until my body shakes.
It does mean, however, that avoiding physical intensity in the name of safety may cheat some of us who are well suited for that form of practice of something that can be vital to our inner growth and development as human beings.
The ever-difficult trick is knowing what brings our ever-shifting body/mind complex into greater synergy, and balance. What works for me may be harmful for you. What worked for me yesterday may be the wrong thing for me today.
This isn’t to suggest that it’s all relative; that we can’t make useful and important generalizations. We can, and should. Yoga teachers need to learn how to sequence poses safely, offer modifications, be sensitive with languaging, understand the physiology of trauma. The list goes on and on. Teaching yoga is not an easy job to do well, at all.
One generalization that I believe we can and should make is that there is, in fact, a place for certain kinds of pain in yoga. Because pain is a part of life. In fact, it is a huge part of life.
The fear of encountering yet more pain has most of us running scared, even if we don’t know it, or won’t admit it. We may be aggressive, or defensive, or passive-aggressive; we may inflict pain on others to try and keep from feeling it ourselves. But we can’t escape it fully. Nor should we want to. Because pain is build into some of the most precious experiences in life.
Sooner or later, every deep experience is bittersweet. We experience joy through love. But everyone and everything we love will eventually die, or change, or disappear. Including, of course, our selves. This is why Savasana is ultimately the most important pose in asana practice – and not just for us as individuals, but for our relationship with others and contribution to our society, and the world.
Erik Erikson wrote that “healthy children will not fear life if their elders have integrity enough not to fear death.” To mature into the state of being he points toward in this passage is not easy. For most of us, it’s at best a continual work in progress. And in my view, it’s one that requires learning to encounter and process physic pain.
For many of us, yoga offers a road map for navigating these very tricky processes of experimentation, learning, and growth. There are many other guides out there as well, of course. And even more false prophets and endlessly hyped dead ends. If you can find something that works for us, you’re blessed. If it’s yoga, let’s keep working to keep it real.
In the closing pages of Mindful Work: How Meditation is Changing Business From the Inside Out, author David Gelles shares a final vignette that (like the rest of the book) is more revealing for what it omits than what it describes. Interviewing Chade-Meng Tan, founder of Google’s wildly successful “Search Inside Yourself” mindful business training program, Gelles asks him why mindfulness is so popular in Silicon Valley today. Meng replies, “The corporate spirit here is to radically change things for the better, to take radical steps for improving the world . . . It’s a very altruistic and idealistic culture.”
Gelles shares Meng’s self-congratulatory explanation without additional context or commentary. Yet it’s well known that the Silicon Valley tech boom has created unprecedented socio-economic inequality in the Bay area, with record numbers of homeless and a hemorrhaging middle and working class. Such facts, however, which raise important questions about Meng’s vision of “radical altruism,” are invisible to the world of Mindful Work. The larger social context in which Silicon Valley’s “radical steps for improving the world” are supposedly occurring is never mentioned, let alone analyzed and discussed.
This isn’t to suggest that the tech industry hasn’t, in fact, made positive contributions to the world in many ways. But Mindful Work provides no criteria by which to measure either the positive or negative social impacts of the business world’s “mindful revolution.” Instead, it zig-zags between presenting bombastic claims without critical commentary (Meng, for example, claims that SIY training “leads to Level 5 leadership. And happiness. And world peace”) and assuring readers that if mindfulness might make bosses just a little bit nicer, and workers just a little bit more able to manage their stress, then it’s all good.
I believe that we can and should set the bar higher, both analytically and pragmatically. The value of mindfulness in the workplace needs to be evaluated in concrete terms that include both individual, interpersonal, organizational, and social dimensions. Personally, I found it to be a poignant, if not depressing sign of the times that Gelles, a New York Times journalist, evidences significantly less social and political awareness than the progressive-minded CEOs of luxury clothing brands Patagonia, PrAna, and Eileen Fisher, who he interviewed for the book. Whatever happened to the Fourth Estate?
Not all that long ago, elite journalists were expected to cultivate a broad social vision, and analyze current events through a lens informed by a commitment to (small-“d”) democratic values. Gelles’ authorial voice is certainly likeable: he comes across as a genuinely nice person who’s enthused about mindfulness because it enables him to be more present with his family at mealtimes despite the relentless demands of his job. His writing, however, evidences not the slightest hint of old-school journalistic, let alone politically progressive values.
Instead, Mindful Work conveys the taken-for-granted neoliberalism of someone who’s been thoroughly socialized into the politics of the post-Reagan and Thatcher eras, in which “there is no such thing as society.” Everything of consequence is assumed to happen at the individual level; consequently, there’s no need to think into the social and organizational contexts in which businesses operate and work actually takes place. “But for all this talk of stress, we rarely examine its root causes,” Gelles writes. “Stress isn’t something imposed on us. It’s something we impose on ourselves.”
Given this framework, the claim that mindfulness is important because it gives us the tools to manage our stress makes perfect sense. As does the silence surrounding the work context in which said mindfulness is being employed. This mindset implicitly endorses the view that the way to reduce stress in any work situation is simply to add mindfulness, rather than assess whether it’s possible to improve working conditions in more concrete and systemic ways.
For example, Gelles happily reports how “at Green Mountain Coffee, based in Waterbury, Vermont, mindfulness has become part of the fabric of the company”:
At Green Mountain, mindfulness training started with the top executives and soon spread to midlevel employees. But Fried and her colleagues realized that much of the workforce was still not being served. The frontline workers who put in 12-hour shifts roasting coffee beans, packing boxes, and shipping them off . . . also need a bit of on-the-job stress relief . . . in a bid to reduce injuries, and perhaps increase mental well-being as well, she made it mandatory that all frontline workers do a series of mindful stretching exercises before beginning their shifts.
While Gelles quotes two workers saying they came to like the “Mindful Stretching” program because they found themselves in less pain at the end of the work day, one has to wonder how they’d feel about being offered 8-hour shifts at a higher wage rate instead. Mindful Work, however, doesn’t bother with questions such as what their pay scale might be, and why they are working 12-hour shifts.
Gelles does, however, report that “while it may be hard to draw a direct line form the mindfulness program to the bottom line, Green Mountain is thriving”:
Though meditation is no guarantee of a rising stock price, Green Mountain’s market capitalization increased fifteen-fold in the five years after it introduced mindfulness . . . And managers like Laura Fried view the company in a new light. ‘Look at this as a whole spectrum of offerings,’ she said. ‘Basic services that we provide to people who are dealing with their morning commute, and people like me who are facing existential issues . . . We are providing them with opportunities to enhance their own experiences at work and at home.’
Two hundred pages later, Gelles reports that Green Mountain’s founder and former CEO, Bob Stiller, who “was once featured on the cover of Forbes as he meditated,” squandered his fortune on “trophy real estate,” such as a $17.5 million apartment in Manhattan, after retiring in 2007 as a billionaire who’d reached “the highest realms of American capitalism.” While Gelles uses Stiller’s story to illustrate the fact that “practicing mindfulness is no antidote to materialism,” he (rather oddly) presents this seemingly frank admission of the limitations of the corporate mindfulness movement as a means of rebutting David Loy and Ron Purser’s widely read “Beyond McMindfulness” article.
Gelles quotes Loy and Purser’s critique that “corporations have jumped on the mindfulness bandwagon because it conveniently shifts the burden onto the individual employees: stress is framed as a personal problem, and mindfulness is offered as just the right medicine to help employees work more efficiently and calmly within toxic environments” verbatim. Yet, rather than seeing the parallels with some of the stories he’s presenting and claims he’s making, Gelles scoffs at this “seductively nefarious vision” of “corporations brainwashing their minions with meditation, turning them into more efficient, profitable drones.”
Rather than acknowledging that he already endorsed the view that stress is a personal problem and trying to defend it as correct, Gelles simply sidesteps the heart of the McMindfulness critique by assuring readers that “rarely, if ever, does exposure to meditation make someone a worse person.”
Mindful Work is so deeply immersed in the neoliberal mindset that despite devoting an entire chapter to rebutting “McMindfulness” as Lefty claptrap, Gelles appears oblivious to the ways in which his book exemplifies many of the issues that Loy and Purser identified. Gelles, for example, approvingly cites research stating that “mindfulness can be a source of employer value proposition and may in the long run provide organizations with a valuable tool to manage high burnout levels of employees within the workplace.” He doesn’t, however, ask why employee burnout levels are so high – let alone investigate what, if anything, might be done to address this other than offering mindfulness programs based on the premise that it’s up to each individual to cope with the stress that they presumably manufacture of their own accord.
Happily, Mindful Work also reports on several companies in which mindfulness is integrated into a broader commitment to developing and implementing socially responsible business practices. The founder and Board chair of Patagonia, Yvon Chouinard, has struggled “to bring his personal mindfulness into the operations of his business,” which, he recognizes, only goes so far given that the company’s bottom line is selling high-end outdoor clothing. Still, the company has worked hard within the parameters they have to lighten their environmental impact, pioneering the technique of using recycled bottles to make fleece jackets, and facilitating “a robust aftermarket for used Patagonia products.” The company is also fiercely committed to its employees: Patagonia hasn’t fired anyone since 1991, and bucked powerful business trends by refusing to lay anyone off during the Great Recession.
Similarly, PrAna, another high-end active wear company, does more than simply take a company-wide “meditation break” at 3 pm daily. It also works to realize its commitment to socially responsible business practices by taking concrete steps such as increasing its use of organic cotton and other environmentally sound fabrics, and having senior managers openly discuss how best to handle any necessary trade-offs between the company’s financial goals and ethical commitments.
Similarly, Eileen Fisher, a high-end women’s clothing company, combines mindful work breaks and inclusive “Circle Way” company discussions with concrete policies such as distributing at least 10% of annual after-tax profits to staff, sourcing environmentally sustainable fabrics, and increasing salaries and reducing hours for the Chinese workers who produce their fabrics.
Mindful Work apparently went to press before Aetna CEO Mark Bertolini made headlines by raising the wages of the company’s lowest-paid workers to $16 an hour. Gelles does, however, recount the story of how a near-fatal skiing accident eventually caused Bertolini to explore yoga and meditation as a way of getting off pain killers and rebuilding his health. After returning to work and being promoted to CEO, Bertolini instituted yoga and mindfulness programs in the workplace.
Unsurprisingly, Mindful Work highlights the fact that an evaluation of these programs showed participating employees lowering their stress levels in ways that positively impacted the bottom line, dropping their “overall health care costs to the tune of $2,000 per employee per year.” Happily, however, Bertolini — unlike Gelles — was also interested in thinking into the company’s working conditions more broadly.
As NPR reported in April, Bertolini and his team took the time to investigate the “challenges their low-wage workers face”:
(T)hey discovered that to make ends meet many were on public assistance, such as food stamps, or Medicaid for their children. Bertolini says he was taken aback, shocked “that we as a thriving organization, as a successful company, a Fortune 100 company, should have people that were living like that among the ranks of our employees.”
Bertolini was committed to changing that, but he discovered the cost of boosting compensation for his low-paid workers would be significant — about $27 million a year. But he also found that research shows there are costs associated with paying low wages. Low-paid workers quit more often, and the turnover is expensive. There’s also evidence higher-paid employees provide better customer service. Bertolini thought the potential benefits could offset the $27 million cost and improve his company’s profits in the long run.
Skeptics contested this sunny view that it’s possible to raise wages and improve profits at the same time. Bertolini, however, was undeterred, contending that “even if it doesn’t boost profits — and maybe even if it costs the company something — raising wages is still the right thing to do”:
“There definitely is a moral component and, you know, I had plenty of arguments that the spreadsheet wouldn’t pencil out,” he says. “And my view was, in the end analysis, this is just not fair . . . We need to invest in our employees. We need to help restore the middle class, and that should be good for the economy as a whole. And so for us it is as much — probably, for me personally, more — a moral argument than it is a financial one.”
According to NPR, “Bertolini has become an evangelist on this subject, handing out a how-to packet to other CEOs to encourage them to look closely at boosting their low-income workers’ compensation. He says he’s getting positive feedback from many.”
The Real Bottom Line
These are strange days, indeed. When it comes to wages and working conditions, the CEO of Aetna is many times more radical than a New York Times journalist writing a book about mindfulness. Similarly, the top execs of high-end clothing manufacturers Patagonia, PrAna, and Eileen Fisher link their mindfulness programs to ethical commitments and company policies far more demanding than America’s leading mindfulness teachers generally advocate.
If Mark Bertolini can become “an evangelist” on the subject of how to increase wages for low-income workers, then why can’t the “conscious communities” that practice yoga, meditation, and mindfulness do the same? And why can’t elite journalists advocate for more than a little more niceness and tools for individual stress-reduction in today’s radically unequal labor market?
Today’s mindfulness movement has much to offer. Gelles is right to champion the virtues of learning to manage one’s own stress more effectively, as well as fostering a kinder and more considerate workplace. The problem, of course, is that in a time of relentless work speed-ups, ever-increasing inequality, unprecedented environmental devastation, and unraveling democratic values, this simply isn’t enough.
Gelles dismisses such concerns as beside the point, concluding Mindful Work with the hand-waving truism that mindfulness “won’t transform out entire economic system on its own . . . Perfection is more than should be expected from a simple meditative technique.” Of course, that’s true. What’s also true, however, is that over-hyping the “quiet revolution” of corporate mindfulness may end up doing do more harm than good. This is particularly true when it’s praised both for its potential to “reduce stress, making drab days in cubicles more bearable” for office workers, while serving as “a source of employer value proposition” by providing “valuable tools to manage high burnout levels of employees.”
Critics of the contemporary mindfulness movement rightfully contend that teaching tools for quieting the mind and focusing non-judgmentally on the present moment without any accompanying ethical framework is problematic. Even with an ethical framework, however, it’s impossible to harness the power of mindfulness to promote positive changes in business without considering the organizational and social context in which it’s operating. While Mindful Work presents some important examples of how mindfulness, social ethics, and business practices can be combined, it does so in a way that obscures, rather than highlights the essential point that this combination is, in fact, the real bottom line.
What, if anything, do the “yoga and body image” and “yoga service” movements have in common? If you believe that the former is simply about upping the number of yoga cover models who aren’t skinny, white, and conventionally pretty, and the latter exclusively dedicated to things like teaching yoga in prisons, then you’d probably assume they have nothing in common at all.
If, however, you’d had the opportunity to attend the Yoga Service Council conference earlier this month, you’d have been able to experience these movements in ways that highlight their connections, and demonstrate the powerful synergies between them. Since I was fortunate enough to have been able do so, I’m writing to share my reflections with those who are interested in the work of the Yoga Service Council (YSC) and Yoga and Body Image Coalition (YBIC), but weren’t able to make it to the conference.
Supported by the deep green spaciousness of the Omega Institute campus, those of us at the conference devoted a lot of time, thought, and feeling to the nested practices of deepening relationships: with ourselves, each other, different communities, and our larger environment. In my view, it’s ultimately this work, which YSC founding members Traci Childress and Jennifer Cohen Harper memorably characterized as “conscious relationship,” that powers both movements. More broadly, it’s also what enables us to experience yoga in ways that break free of the hyper-individualistic, commodified, and/or fundamentalist boxes that otherwise keep us unhealthily confined within psychically narrow, claustrophobic spaces.
Social Awareness in Yoga Service
During the past several years, the YSC has become committed to incorporating a strong a social justice framework into our work. While there’re many reasons for this, perhaps the biggest is the realization that without sufficient social awareness, our core commitment to making yoga truly accessible to all can play out in problematic, and even harmful ways.
This is particularly true given that the work we’re supporting commonly involves negotiating some of our society’s most entrenched social divisions. For example, having relatively affluent, white yoga teachers offer classes in places like prisons, which are disproportionately full of low-income Blacks and Latinos, raises important issues of race, class, power, privilege, and identity.
In such settings, yoga teachers who sail in full of good intentions but without social awareness can all-too-easily wind up replicating harmful interpersonal dynamics. For example, we may unintentionally re-inscribe hierarchical “us-versus-them” divisions in which “we,” the love- and light-bestowing yoga teachers, are oh-so-generously helping “them,” the unfortunate, and presumably unenlightened masses.
Despite positive intent, such actions can cause harm by perpetuating a sense of separation and hierarchy. This process can fuel a misguided sense of self-aggrandizement on the part of teachers, and alienation and/or disempowerment among students.
Social Awareness in Yoga Culture
When we shift such social awareness to the “mainstream” yoga studio setting, we may see parallel dynamics in play. As Jacoby Ballard and Lisa Garrett discussed in their “Teaching for Diversity” session, it’s quite common for yoga teachers to give cues that unintentionally alienate, and perhaps even harm their students. For example, gendered blanket statements such as “men usually have tight hips, so may want to use blocks in this pose” may sound belittling, or be taken as an insulting erasure of an alternative gender identity.
Even when social categories such as race or gender aren’t involved, yoga teachers can still unknowingly perpetuate a harmful sense of hierarchy between them and their students. Many, if not most sincere students tend to place their teachers up on pedestals, particularly when they’re first starting to discover just how powerful the practice can be. Teachers who aren’t sufficiently grounded and aware of such social/psychological dynamics are often swept into their own problems of narcissistic ego-inflation as a result.
Similar problems of unintentional harm being generated by a lack of social awareness surround today’s popular “yoga body” imagery, which inundates us through advertising, magazines, and social media. As Yoga and Body Image Coalition co-founder Melanie Klein explains in very personal terms in her 21st Century Yoga and Yoga and Body Image essays, many women in particular have been conditioned since birth to believe that if we could just manage to grab that elusive gold ring of thinness and prettiness, then our inherent worth as human beings would be affirmed – and we’d finally feel happy and fulfilled, forever.
Commercialized “yoga body” imagery plays on this false promise, cruelly. Rather than affirming our authentic aspirations and experiences as multi-dimensional human beings, it channels them back into the pernicious fantasy that our physical appearance dictates our inner experience and inherent worth. As Teo Drake and I discussed with Chelsea Roff and about seven others in a small group roundtable at the YSC conference, the fact that yoga today is simultaneously being sold as means of honing the “yoga body” that supposedly achieves happiness, and experienced as a practice that deepens our awareness holistically is creating a lot of confusion, and sometimes causing harm.
As Mircea Eliade explains in his classic, Yoga: Immortality and Freedom, practices of cultural “deconditioning” were traditionally understood to be an intrinsic part of yoga. This experience of deconditioning is way of reverse-engineering the intrinsic nature we have as human beings to be profoundly conditioned by our culture. It’s natural for us to believe certain things so deeply that we taken them for granted as indisputable facts, rather than recognizing them as provisional human beliefs. Yogic practices enable us to progressively unwind these layers of cultural conditioning. This process, in turn, strengthens our connection to that deeper source of awareness that undergirds all beliefs, whether we hold them consciously, as ideational commitments, or unconsciously, as reflexive taken-for-granteds.
While it may seem presumptuous to see the unraveling of cultural biases regarding body image in light of this traditional idea of cultural deconditioning, I believe there’s an important connection here. For example, as I’ve engaged with the “yoga and body image” movement more deeply, I’ve found that I’ve had to work through resistances to it that I hadn’t previously realized I’d had. Because there’s definitely a reactive part of me that feels bored, impatient, and dismissive when I see yet another round of impassioned discussion over the pros and cons of this or that yoga cover girl. From an emotional distance, it seems so dismayingly trivial. I feel sick and tired of the whole thing.
Yet when I connect with people enough to feel the deeply personal issues that fuel such debates, everything shifts. Rather than belittling their concerns as shallow, I’m able to connect them to parallels in my own experience. And this process doesn’t really feel that different from what I’ve experience in yoga service. Teaching yoga in a jail and homeless shelter, for example, has similarly caused me to confront biases and assumptions that I wouldn’t necessarily have encountered in the same way otherwise. At the same time, the practice of yoga has given me the personal resources needed to confront, process, and transform them in ways that feel educational, empowering, and good.
One of the many memorable encounters I had at the YSC conference came when I was representing the “Yoga and Body Image Coalition” with Teo Drake, selling t-shirts off a folding table and chatting up anyone interested about our work. (I serve on the YBIC Advisory Board; Teo was a contributor to the book.)
As we were talking to interested conference goers, a pretty young woman with strikingly light blue eyes came up to our table. She simply stood there, quietly listening. But, she was doing so with such complete presence and undivided attention that my focus was soon drawn toward her. Quickly, we became absorbed into talking with each other in that way where it feels like the rest of the world has just temporarily dropped away.
She told me that she was a fashion model, in on a visit from Japan. She had never heard of the Yoga Service Council or the Yoga and Body Image Coalition. She was simply at the Omega Institute for the weekend, and had happened to wander into our exhibit. But she did practice yoga. And, she made it clear that she did suffer from body image issues, as well.
This revelation caused me to do a quick double-take. I looked at her and thought: She’s so perfectly pretty – blonde hair, blue eyes, flawless skin, beautiful face. But the feeling I’m getting from her is one of quiet distress and confusion. “I want to do work that helps other people,” she told me. “But I’m not together enough yet. I need to work on myself first.”
Confessing this, she looked entirely sincere, very young, and a little ashamed. I had a momentary flash of imagining what it might feel like to be a beautiful 20-year old model, inexperienced, uncertain, and, perhaps, surrounded by vultures who treat you as a thing to enjoy and exploit, not a person. I don’t know if this picture I intuited was true to life, or not. But it came to me very strongly.
I assured her that simply being aware of the fact that she needed to take care of herself on a deeper level was fantastic, and important. That to see that clearly was to be way ahead of the game. She looked at me like I’d said something that mattered. I felt something shift.
As has happened many times in parallel instances in the past, I suddenly realized how deeply I’ve been conditioned to assume that someone who looks like her could not possibly suffer from body image issues. And that talking to her in a way that felt truly connected, rather than looking at her and making unconscious assumptions, had broken through my formerly taken-for-granted paradigm, and revealed it as a false lens that had initially given me a distorted picture of the person standing right in front of me. And that having this shift happened enlarged my world in ways that were liberating, and good.
The moment passed. We both moved on to the next thing. But that brief exchange was one of the most memorable of a day that was full of beautiful encounters, and yoga-sparked magic. Self-study. Conscious relationship. Social awareness. This, for me, is yoga in practice – taken off the mat, and into everyday life. This is how we connect more deeply with our selves and each other to uplift and transform our world.
You can learn more about the Yoga Service Council, and join as an individual or organizational member, here. If you’re interested, please also mark your calendar for next year’s conference now: May 13-15, 2016, at the Omega Institute, NY.
You can learn more about the Yoga and Body Image Coalition and sign up for our free email newsletter, purchase “Yoga and Body Image,” and download a free book discussion guide here. If you’d like to support the work of the YBIC by purchasing a “This is What a Yogi Looks Like” t-shirt, tank, or hoodie, you can do so here.
As anyone who pays any attention to yoga on social media well knows, yoga selfies on Instagram have been dominating the cyberspace scene for some time now. As someone with less than zero interest in photographing myself doing a backbend (or whatever) and posting it online, I can’t speak to what it’s like to participate in this incredibly popular phenomenon. (True, I made a lame stab at establishing an Instagram account, but it didn’t get very far. My photos were boring and didn’t even sustain my interest, let alone attract legions of followers.)
I have been watching the whole thing unfold from the sidelines, however. I read the relevant blogs and articles that pop up in my newsfeed, and occasionally check out popular and/or interesting hashtags like #yogaeverydamnday and #curvyyoga. In the process, I find myself wondering: Why is this so popular? What does it mean for yoga? And what, if anything, does it mean to me?
As a writer with Lefty leanings, I’ve always had some vague sense that I should be constitutionally opposed to yoga selfies. But that’s really not my reaction. Instead, I find myself zigzagging between sociological curiosity (like any popular trend, it’s interesting for me to think into what it’s all about and why); personal disinterest (sure, it’s kind of intriguing, but I’d really rather just practice yoga and read about it, not look at photos); and – surprisingly – mixed, but largely positive feelings about it.
This is curious because again, I have this sense that someone like me should be denouncing the selfie craze as shallow, ego-driven, overly obsessed with the body, reinforcing thin/white/pretty/bendy stereotypes of yoga, etc. But, based on the limited knowledge I have about the whole “Instayoga” (to coin a term) scene, that’s not how I feel. Instead, I see some interesting and positive possibilities in it, some of which have already materialized, others which I can only imagine.
Without doubt, there are aspects of the yoga selfie that I find horribly depressing and alienating, as well. The problems I see, such as objectifying the body and promoting overly narrow ideas of beauty, however, already exist in spades elsewhere. Selfies didn’t create them; they’re simply manifesting them in a new form.
And, on balance, my best guess is that they’re probably doing more to counter those issues than reinforce them. Of course, it’s impossible to say. But there’s good reason, I think, not to simply dismiss the whole yoga selfie craze as shallow, retrograde, egotistical, and so on. To some readers, this may seem obvious. To others, it may sound Pollyanna-ish and shallow. Either way, I hope the following thoughts on why the yoga selfie fad may amount to more than simply showing off sleek bodies in gymnastic-like poses prove interesting, and even useful.
Democratizing yoga imagery
Extremely few yoga practitioners are ever going to have their photos featured in Yoga Journal or anything remotely equivalent. To score such publicity, you’d have to have not only a marketable body (thin, pretty, bendy, etc.), but some level of fame to boot. That leaves the vast majority of us out. On Instagram, in contrast, we’re pretty much all in, if we want to be. True, there are some economic barriers: you need access to the internet, and it certainly helps to have a smart phone. But, at least in North America, these block relatively few people in comparison.
Why does this matter? The seemingly high-minded response might be that it doesn’t, that true yogis could care less about public photos of themselves doing asana – or images of anyone else, for that matter. But such a perspective is, I think, unrealistic.
The fact is that most people do care about whose images are represented publicly – a lot. By and large, we can’t help it. As humans who have not yet attained enlightenment and are highly unlikely to do so in this lifetime, we are necessarily social beings. And, we happen to live in a very image conscious, visually driven society. So, as yoga practitioners, we are naturally highly attuned to the symbolic messages that yoga photos transmit. If we see nothing but air-brushed pictures of young, thin, pretty white women doing hyper-athletic poses, it has an impact on most of us, like it or not.
And at this point in the evolution of modern yoga – now that it’s a widely popular and culturally mainstream practice – the impact of these stock images is largely negative. Men, people of color, big bodied women, and many others often feel unrecognized, excluded, and implicitly devalued by them. At the same time, women who can imagine fitting themselves into this “yoga body” imaginary frequently suffer in other ways. Rather than being a tool for authenticity and empowerment, yoga becomes all-too-easily harnessed to the dead end project of seeking to create a false self that conforms to this unrealistic, mass market standard of commercially fantasized femininity.
The yoga selfie craze, however, has radically diversified the amount and type of “yoga body” images available. With the hashtag system, it’s super-easy to connect to others who identify with alternatives such as #BlackYogis, #YogaDudes, #fatyoga, etc. I believe that this is an important, and empowering development – not only for countless individuals, but for yoga and the culture at large.
Personally, I’ve noticed this increased diversity of images having a positive impact on me. Even though I’m a white, cisgendered woman who has always been the thin side, I’ve always experienced the standard “yoga body” model as alienating and undermining. For me, it serves as a powerful reminder of the fact that no matter how much yoga has been as a source of empowerment for me, yoga culture as a whole values the same standards of mass market femininity that have always made me feel alienated, and alternately resentful and inadequate.
Of course, the most popular yoga people on Instagram fit neatly into the thin, white, young, pretty, bendy mold themselves. But, rather than being utilized by a corporation as a means to sell product, they’re independent operators. As such, they have more leeway in their self-presentation, and often utilize it to make themselves more easily seen as the multi-dimensional human beings they truly are.
Even when this isn’t the case, it’s still true that zillions of alternative images are only a click away. And while they many not be as wildly popular, there are nonetheless many well-established, powerful alternatives, both in terms of individual yogis and hashtag-based communities of identity and interest.
Forming online communities
To be sure, the word “community” is highly over-used today. Unfortunately, however, it frequently seems impossible to find a better replacement. So, on the one hand, a grouping of photos under a hashtag isn’t really a “community.” On the other hand, social media can and does facilitate meaningful connections among like-minded people.
Personally, I’ve experienced this through yoga blogging, which used to be almost as popular as yoga selfies are now. (Back in the day . . . although it’s only five years ago. The peak of yoga blogging hit around 2010, but feels very long ago and far away.) And while I’m not involved enough in the Instagam world to know if similar relationships are being formed, based on my blogging experience, I’m assuming it’s possible, and even likely.
Presumably, the more that selfies share ideas or information beyond simply posting a picture of a yoga pose, the more such interpersonal connections and communities of interest will grow. Perhaps this is happening to a large extent already; I don’t know. When I see such newly minted Instagram stars as Jessamyn Stanley combining selfies with personal statements such as the one below, however, it makes me hopeful that this sort of quick but powerful means of communication will catch on, and have a positive impact both on countless individuals and yoga culture as a whole.
This may seem overly mundane. But in our unhealthy, sedentary society, simply encouraging more people to practice yoga – even if only as exercise – deserves to be recognized as a good thing. The wildfire-like spread of yoga selfies since Instagram became available a few years ago makes it evident that lots of people find this form of self-expression enjoyable and engaging. And to participate, they’ve got to exercise. We know that exercise is important for physical and mental health, and that most people today don’t get enough of it. So, if yoga selfies can get more people to experience exercise as fun, that’s of benefit to them and society at large.
For sure, there are lots of legitimate concerns that can be raised regarding how the selfie craze can feed into problems of injuries, narcissism, shallowness, and so on. And I think that those criticisms should be voiced, and repeatedly. But again, I don’t feel that those issues were created by yoga selfies – they are evident throughout yoga culture at large. So, I don’t feel that this particular medium should be singled out for condemnation. The problems cross-cut the entire “industry.” Yet, yoga on Instragram offers some positive benefits, such as the diversification of yoga imagery, that I don’t see elsewhere.
Supporting home practice
This is potentially a big one. I don’t know to what extent it’s true that yoga selfies and the new “challenges” that have grown up around them are giving people more motivation to practice yoga at home. But when I scroll through my Instagram feed and see photos of people striking poses in their kitchens, living rooms, gardens, hallways, etc., I conclude that it probably does.
This, I think, is super-important. In the many years that I’ve been practicing yoga, I’ve been repeatedly struck by how hard most people find it to establish a home practice. Based on my experience, this is a huge problem for those who want to experience yoga on a deeper and more multidimensional level. While I feel that going to class with a good teacher will always be important, I don’t believe that even the best classes are sufficient on their own (once, of course, you’ve learned the basics).
Without home practice, you are always dependent on being guided by someone else’s experience of yoga. You don’t come up against your own internal resistances, barriers, and fears in the same way that you do on your own at home. And without this, I personally feel that practice is limited in how far it can progress.
Of course, I recognize that fiddling with the timer on your phone so that you can take a good selfie is hardly a scenario conducive to deep internal exploration. So perhaps I’m being wildly over-optimistic on this one. But, my hope is that if yoga selfies help a lot of people set up a home practice, some not insignificant number will eventually move beyond needing to manufacture images to feel motivated to do so – and that their practice will naturally take root, deepen, and grow into something richer and more meaningful over time.
Occasionally creating art
Many of the images I see on Instagam are interesting, and some are really striking. (I, like literally a million others, am a sucker for @laurasykora’s crazy cute photos of herself and her young daughter doing yoga together in matching outfits. While I know that it strikes the wrong chord in some people and can see why, I can’t help it. It’s just so. Damn. Cute!) Once in awhile, though, I stumble across something that really knocks my socks off. And I think that these exceptions are notable because again, they would never get the same level of airplay were it not for the popularity of yoga on Instagram.
While not a selfie per se, the photo that really hit me hard this week was the one of Richard Widmark, which went viral both in the blogosphere (thanks to YogaDork) and on Instagram this past week. I’m calling it art not because it was beautifully shot or staged – in fact, the fact that it wasn’t is part of what makes it so raw and forceful. I think of it as art because for me, at least, it’s a viscerally powerful, paradigm shifting, and thought-provoking image. And for me, that is what art does.
Some self-disclosure: my father passed away in 1989 of a heart attack, which was likely caused by fact that he had been severely overweight for many years – really, as long as I could remember. The excess weight he carried caused many other health problems, which had a very negative effect on me and my family, including adult onset diabetes, intensified arthritic pain, and highly limited mobility. It also tied into a lot of unaddressed issues that manifested in chronic stress, and unpredictably explosive irritability. So when I see a photo like this one, it brings up a lot of negative personal feelings of fear, sadness, grief, etc.
Yet I feel such a strong sense of buoyancy and spark in this photo that it flips those feelings into something poignantly bittersweet and inspiring. To me, it’s very moving. I find myself wondering what could have been different if my father had been able to engage with something like yoga. In this photo, I sense a spirit opening to new life possibilities. It’s a powerful way of depicting yoga – one that I can’t help but find discomforting, as well as inspiring.
I feel this photo working a change in me, the viewer. While I know that it will evoke very different responses in different people, I believe that as human beings, we have the innate ability to resonate with and be changed by such images. They’re important. For this reason, I hope that the positive possibilities that are inherent in this new photo-sharing culture continue to be explored, and grow. As someone who prefers to work with words, I won’t be one of those trying to do this work. But I’m hopeful that others will.
While I don’t plan to check #yogaeverydamnday, I will stay tuned and am curious to see what happens. I’m also interested to hear your views on the yoga selfie/Instagram phenom. In particular, I’m interested to hear from people who feel they’ve been positively or negatively impacted by it. So, please share your thoughts in the comments below if you’re so moved. And thanks for reading such a long post in the age of Instagram! 🙂
Note: I pulled the photos used in this post more or less randomly off of Instagram and didn’t bother to contact each person depicted individually as I figure that the photos were intended to be in the public domain. If, however, your photo was used and you’d prefer that it be taken down, I’m happy to do so. Just message me using the “Contact” page on this blog. Thanks in advance for your understanding.
Yesterday, I stumbled across an interesting sounding post – “How I Went Broke Trying to Teach Yoga” – on Credit.com, a platform I’d never heard of that has nothing to do with yoga. (“Expert Advice. Better Financial Decisions” is its tagline.) A humorous yet harrowing account of the downward financial spiral set into motion when the author went from being a well-paid corporate lawyer to a bankrupt yoga teacher, I initially wondered whether it was satirical. This was particularly true given that I’d read her bio, which noted that she has a JD from Harvard Law School. Surely someone with such credentials would know not to trust her woo-woo yoga teacher’s assurances that “the Universe” would provide if she just “set the proper intention” and was “mindful” enough?
Apparently not. And when I saw her post going viral on Facebook and the flood of sympathetic comments pouring in, I knew that I needed to reconsider my initial reaction. “This wasn’t over the top at all. I feel it accurately reflects what it’s like to be a full-time yoga teacher in the current climate. The studios are churning out 100s of newly ‘certified’ teachers every year and the market can’t support it. Pay has gone way down. I’m a well-established teacher and I really struggle,” wrote one woman. True enough: I knew about these issues. Yet there was still that Harvard Law degree. Because I also know what sorts of doors that opens for you. How to explain the jump from elite lawyering to teaching yoga in such a difficult market, seemingly with eyes tight shut?
Meaninglessness and Depression
Of course, we don’t know the personal details at play in that particular case. But, as it so happened, I got a lot of general insight into my question last night when I decided to brave the brutal Chicago weather and venture out to attend a book talk by William Deresiewicz, author of the recently published Excellent Sheep: The Miseducation of the American Elite and the Way to a Meaningful Life. I’d read Deresiewicz’s viral article, “Don’t Send Your Kid to the Ivy League,” and as a former professor who’s currently in the process of starting to think about colleges for my oldest son, I was intrigued.
Deresiewicz taught at Yale for 10 years, so when he characterizes elite Ivy League students as follows, he’s speaking from his own experience:
Look beneath the façade of seamless well-adjustment, and what you often find are toxic levels of fear, anxiety, and depression, of emptiness and aimlessness and isolation. A large-scale survey of college freshmen recently found that self-reports of emotional well-being have fallen to their lowest level in the study’s 25-year history.
In his talk, he recounted that he’s received countless letters and emails from kids who resonate with what he’s saying. He said that when he goes to speak at elite campuses like Brown and Stanford, students fill up the auditorium and spill out into the hallway. They are grateful that someone’s finally broadcasting their dirty little secret: although society crowns them as the cream of the crop, a stunning percentage feel lost and depressed.
Deresiewicz shared that when he spoke with parents at an elite high school in Palo Alto recently – in the heart of Silicon Valley’s enormous wealth and privilege – he learned that their community was in the process of recovering from a rash of teenage suicides. Five kids from the same school had serially thrown themselves on the tracks in front of oncoming trains during the past year.
Yoga and Life Force
Now I know that some of you more hard-hearted types may be saying, what’s wrong with these privileged little shits? If I had that kind of opportunity, you *know* I’d appreciate it and do better. And that may be true – in your case. But when a society experiences such strange new epidemics of mental health problems, it cannot and should not be reduced to the weakness of particular individuals. There’s something happening in the culture that’s sick, that’s literally sucking the life force out of youth who supposedly have everything to live for.
And that’s where the yoga comes in. I remembered the Credit.com writer with the Harvard Law degree and how much she wanted to find something more meaningful to do with her life than work as a corporate lawyer. Again, I certainly can’t speak for her, and don’t know what her deeper experiences and motivations really were. But the juxtaposition of her story with Deresiewicz’s made me think about just how many people are unhappy with the choices that school and work seem to offer today. Because if it’s that bad at the top, it’s even worse elsewhere – not everywhere, of course, but many are suffering much more, and without the same attention, concern, resources, or opportunities.
At its best, yoga provides a critical space to energize our life force so that we can begin to explore what it is to be human in a meaningful way. A good class, whether at a gym, studio, or jail, creates a safe container in which we can relax into being ourselves without competition or artifice. Where we can tap into something powerful, elemental, and mysterious, without anyone dictating how we should understand that and what we must do about it. Where we can work and play. Build strength and relax deeply. Open up to what we’re really feeling, let that energy move through us, and alchemize it into something newly liberating and empowering.
Navigating the Rat Race
Seen from this perspective, there’s actually really good reasons that a Harvard Law school grad might be driven to suspend disbelief and hope to be able to make a living in what’s become a highly competitive yoga market. But sadly, she ended up jumping out of one rat race and into another. And when teaching yoga becomes another rat race, it undercuts the integrity of the practice. It’s no wonder that more and more yoga teachers have been running themselves ragged and/or coming up with questionable marketing gimmicks. Somehow this downward spiral needs to stop.
The yoga community needs to find better ways of helping people connect the deeper experiences they discover through practice with the rest of their lives. Yoga teacher training is often an incredible experience, and well worth the investment even if you can’t subsequently make a living as a teacher. But everyone who does want to try to do so should understand the real world risks they’re taking on. Telling struggling teachers that “the Universe” will provide if they only “set their intention” mindfully enough is dishonest. It also undercuts studios and teachers who are managing to offer meaningful yoga classes and still make it financially by flooding the market with more and more competition. Plus, it reinforces that horribly insidious sense that if you don’t become a yoga superstar, it’s because there’s something deeply wrong with you as an individual. In the overwhelming majority of cases, this simply isn’t true. The reality of the labor market is what it is, whether we like it or not. And it’s a tough one.
I wish I had easy answers to offer on these issues, but I don’t. I do know that I don’t want to see talented college students dragged down by meaninglessness and depression. I also don’t want to see yoga’s ability to offer a meaningful space of refuge and regeneration to them and everyone else be undercut by market dynamics. But changing the educational system or the “yoga industry” isn’t easy. Perhaps the first step is to see what’s happening more clearly (Vidya) so that we can be more discerning about how to navigate these difficult realities (Viveka) and more compassionate to ourselves and others in the process (Karuna).
Although Pandit Rajmani Tigunait’s The Secret of the Yoga Sutra and David Gordon White’s The Yoga Sutra of Patanjali: A Biography could not be more different in terms of core message and approach, both share the same underlying problem. Essentially, this is that each in its own way replicates the dominant paradigm that divides our studies of the Yoga Sutra (YS) between 1) practitioner-oriented studies that are reverentially devoted to explicating it as a timeless truth, and 2) narrowly empiricist academic studies that are utterly dismissive of the concerns and experiences of practitioners. This split between lived practice and scholarly inquiry is unfortunate in that it narrows the scope of ideas and information in ways that impoverish both.
To be sure, both books make notable contributions to their respective fields. Tigunait, the Spiritual Director of the Himalayan Institute, writes as a lineage holder in the Sri Vidya tradition. The Secret of the Yoga Sutra offers a user-friendly entry into the complexities what I found to be an essentially religious approach to the text. White, a chaired Professor of Religious Studies at the UCSB, writes as a “just the facts, ma’am” scholar who’s openly skeptical of contemporary yoga culture. The Yoga Sutra of Patanjali: A Biography evidences a prodigious amount of archival research, which attempts to trace the most important references to the work made during the past 1,600+ years.
Due to the singular lens each book uses to look at the YS, however, I found them more interesting considered in tandem, rather than independently. It’s ironic that although the Secret and Biography approach their shared subject matter from polar opposite perspectives, they actually inform each other reasonably well. For example, Tigunait explains that he’s part of a tradition that interprets the YS using a combination of yogic, Tantric, and Vedantic philosophies. This would have struck me as strangely arbitrary, except that I knew from reading White that this sort of syncretism has, in fact, represented a well-established tradition in India since at least the 16th century.
That said, there’s no question that White’s Biography is designed to debunk precisely the sort of claims to timeless interpretative authority that Tigunait’s Secret explicitly makes. Consequently, despite the fact that they complement each other in some ways, one might ultimately feel that it’s necessary to choose one approach and reject the other, given that it’s logically impossible to embrace both perspectives at the same time. However, I don’t believe this to be true. Other alternatives can be created. Personally, I’d like to see some sort of new synthesis between them, one which takes the experiences of practitioners seriously, but that also contextualizes them in the broader perspective that a cultural history of the YS provides.
Before going into a more detailed discussion of each book, I’d like to provide a bit of background regarding where I’m coming from in reading them. On the whole, it’s always been true that discussions of the Yoga Sutra in contemporary yoga culture generate a certain sense of inner conflict for me. On the one hand, I’m very much drawn to the project of engaging with this ancient, cryptic, compelling, and mysterious text. On the other hand, I’m really turned off by the all-too-common tendency to want to put it into some neat-and-simple conceptual box.
This reaction is rooted in my dual background as a yoga practitioner and social scientist. Like many practitioners, I’m enthralled by the fact that some parts of the YS feel highly resonant with my personal experience of yoga. Unlike most, however, I’m equally fascinated by the fact that other parts of the text feel utterly foreign, and don’t resonate at all.
I believe that any work that has spoken to so many so deeply across the centuries must have something unusually compelling about it. As a social scientist, hwoever, I also assume that any claim to know its true meaning as universally understood by adepts across the centuries is necessarily wrong. Whether it’s the Yoga Sutra, Bhagavad Gita, Pali Canon, Bible, or even the U.S. Constitution, there are always multiple interpretations of the essential meaning of iconic texts. And, although certain interpretations will emerge as more compelling than others at any given time, such meanings will also always change over the course of history.
Given this perspective, I’m interested in the interplay between the enduring resonance of the YS and the constellation of culturally specific interpretations that have surrounded it historically. I’m looking for insight into what has made it so enduring, as well as how it’s been understood in radically different ways in different places and times.
Yet, our tendency today is to reject such complexity in favor of readings that claim to explain the entire work as a split package deal: either as an unchanging guide to spiritual practice, or as a transient cultural artifact. Hence my frustration with both the Secret and Biography: like most contemporary discussions of the YS, the core questions I have about it are never asked, let alone investigated.
The Biography: 1
Be that as it may, I do appreciate the prodigious research effort that obviously went into White’s “biography.” At 236 pages (not including notes and index), The Yoga Sutra of Patanjali: A Biography is a sprawling, ambitious work, providing detailed discussions of the various ways in which the YS has been interpreted 1) in ancient, medieval, colonial, and post-colonial India; 2) among influential Western individuals and movements the British Orientialists, German Romantics, and Theosophists; and 3) by key commentators in the Muslim world. On top of this, While provides detailed discussions of the significance of Swami Vivekananda and Sri T. Krishnamacharya in the modern “revival” of the YS, as well as extensive discussions of many other significant Eastern and Western writers, philosophers, and spiritual teachers.
Unfortunately, the high level of detail devoted to sketching out this sweeping history is not tightly organized around a set of simpler thematic points or embedded into a clear narrative structure. This makes it something of a challenge to pick out precisely what the central points of White’s “biographical” story are. By my reading, however, the main point is to prove that the understanding of the YS as a timeless guide to yoga philosophy and practice that’s widely taken-for-granted among practitioners today is factually wrong. The most important reasons for this include:
- Philosophical inconsistency. White emphasizes that Patanjali’s original understanding of yogic philosophy was eclipsed by very different, Vedanta-based interpretations by at least the 16th century. “In a complete reversal of Patanjali’s and Vyasa’s original position,” he explains, “the Ishvara of the Yoga Sutra had come to be equated with the Krishna of the Bhagavad Gita” (49-50).
- Historical discontinuity. Although the YS “enjoyed the status of a classic” in India during the 7th-12th centuries, it subsequently fell into obscurity (235). Ironically, this only changed when it was “rediscovered” by British Orientalists in the early 1800s. Subsequently, the YS was widely popularized by Vivekananda – who, in turn, further “severed it from its original cultural and historical context” – beginning in the late 19th century (16, 124).
Weaving various iterations of these claims through many, much more particular historical discussions, the Biography appears dedicated to debunking the “ongoing fetishization of the Yoga Sutra by the current yoga subculture,” which is more than happy to have it be “venerated without being understood” (215).
I believe that White is right that such “fetishization” exists, and to some extent share his impatience with it. That said, I had major problems with the way that he attempted to address this issue in his book. First, White never makes any serious attempt to analyze contemporary yoga culture. As a result, it’s easy for him to set up a straw man argument about it: that is, that there’s widespread belief that the YS has provided an unchanging guide to yoga theory and practice from the 5th-21st centuries that needs to be debunked.
However, it’s questionable to what extent contemporary practitioners are really invested in this as a serious historical narrative. In my experience, most wouldn’t care if it were pointed out that, in fact, the YS has been interpreted in different ways at different times. Because really, what they care about is simply that it’s a meaningful text for them now. Plus, to the extent that they believe in the tradition of Parampara, the “problem” of historical discontinuity is solved by investing interpretative authority in a series of designated lineage holders (which is, again, precisely the position that Tigunait’s Secret takes).
Conversely, from a social science perspective, no cultural historian would ever take the claim that the meaning of some iconic text has held constant across the centuries seriously. It’s simply too self-evidently wrong to be worth debunking. As a result, there’s a profound mismatch between White’s central argument, which is organized around a non-academic debunking project, and his research method, which is basically an enormous amount of fine-grained archival research. The result is that we have neither a nuanced discussion of how the YS figures into yoga culture today, nor a compelling analysis of what to make of all of the historical data White has so assiduously assembled.
The Biography: 2
To make matters worse, the vast array of historical data White presents doesn’t consistently fit his key claims of philosophical inconsistency and historical discontinuity. For example, as noted above, White claims that the Vedantic reading of the YS “completely reversed” Patanjali’s original understanding of Ishvara (50). Later, however, White writes that if “Patanjali was a practitioner of Yoga and a devotee of a personal god like Krishna, he may well have been thinking of ‘devotional to God’ when he employed the term ishvara-pranidhana” (180). Finally, he concludes that “it is unlikely that there will ever be a final word on what Patanjali meant by ishvara-pranidhana” (181).
Needless to say, this is a major problem given that much of the earlier part of the book were devoted to demonstrating that “virtually every modern-day yoga guru beginning with Swami Vivekananda” has “fundamentally misconstrued…the heart of Patanjali’s system.” Again, how did they “fundamentally misconstrue” it? By interpreting Ishvara as “the universal Self of Vedanta,” as opposed “an object of meditation” in service of “the ultimate goal of the isolation of the individual person from universal Matter” in line with the original philosophies of Yoga and Samkhya (47-48). White’s argument undercuts itself: It’s a logical contradiction to state that we can’t know whether Patanjali was “a devotee of a personal God” and that “virtually every modern-day yoga guru…fundamentally misconstrued” his understanding of Ishvara. Both statements can’t be true at the same time. Yet, they are presented as such without qualification or commentary.
There are similar problems with White’s claim of historical discontinuity. As noted above, White reports that the YS only “enjoyed the status of a classic” during the 7th-12th centuries (235). Earlier, however, he states that its “glory days” lasted up through the 16th century (44). Sixty pages after that, he qualifies this statement by adding that “yoga philosophy had been effectively dropped from the traditional north Indian brahmanic curriculum by no later than the 16th century” (100, emphasis added). Ten pages later, he notes that “there was a Yoga revival” in northwest India during the 17th-18th centuries (111). Yet, the second to last page of the book emphasizes that the YS “improbably, miraculously” recovered “the status of a classic” after “a hiatus of nearly a millennium”! (235). Again, while this claim doesn’t logically correspond to White’s own data, it’s nonetheless stated boldly, without additional clarification.
Pandit Rajmani Tigunait’s The Secret of the Yoga Sutra is the first volume in a planned series of commentaries in the YS. It focuses on the first chapter of the YS, the Samadi Pada. Written by a self-described lineage holder in the Sri Vidya tradition, it offers an exceptionally thorough exposition of how to read the YS from this particular, essentially religious perspective. Although not a position that I personally find compelling, Tigunait does an excellent job at systematically building what gradually emerges as a complex doctrinal system with steadily ascending levels of detail and complexity. His clear exposition of a wide array of complex concepts enabled me to apprehend the internal logic of his position reasonably well – a notable feat, given the difficulty of many of the ideas discussed.
The Secret’s method of devoting multiple pages of commentary to each Sutra allows Tigunait to dig deeper into the substratum of beliefs that support his interpretation of text. For example, Sutra 1:26, which is translated as “He is the one who has been the preceptor of all previous teachers for He is not limited by time,” is followed by four pages of commentary (which represents about the average length for each verse). Here, he explains many points that seemingly go far beyond the statement at hand. These include:
- the human tendency to put spiritual authorities on pedestals rather than “to turn to the One who is eternal and immortal – Ishvara”;
- what happens after death (“buried in the deep tomb of non-being, we are virtually non-existent”); and
- the process through which we are “born again” (“The light of the Omniscient Being guides us to the right place and the right time to begin our life”).
And this is only a highly simplified snippet of the full discussion, which also includes explanations of the interplay of Prakriti and Purusha, the multiple dimensions of Ishvara, and the nature of the gradual process of becoming “free from our karmic bonds and the ignorance that sustains them” (128-132).
The deeper I got into the Secret, the more it struck me as an essentially (if non-traditionally) religious work. It should be noted, however, that this interpretation in no way comports with Tigunait’s intent. On the contrary, he emphasizes that “God and liberation as described by Patanjali are quite different from God and liberation as described by most institutional religions”:
Patanjali’s God takes away all our fears, for it is an exalted state of consciousness – pure, pristine, all-pervading, and eternal. God is our inner guide, the source of inspiration. Even the prospect of experiencing this divine presence fills our mind with indescribable peace. The God of religion, on the other hand, evokes fear, and the religious concept of heaven kindles greed. Fear and greed fuel inner unrest; they agitate the mind and can never be the ground for peace . . . The purpose of Yoga sadhana is to cultivate this inwardly flowing, peaceful mind (67).
Uncharitably, one might say that such statements amount to the same “my religion is true and yours isn’t” perspective that anyone who’s been exposed to any sort of exclusivist religious tradition will be familiar with. More generously, one could say that it invokes the difference between spiritual experience that’s rooted in a yogic process of progressively quieting the mind and deepening awareness, as opposed to internalizing slews of pre-determined religious doctrine. However, the Secret itself is brimming with detailed answers to key questions that religions traditionally address: the nature of God, what happens after we die, etc. As such, it is difficult to read it as anything other than an essentially religious work.
While this may (ironically) sound blasphemous to some, I personally don’t have a problem with it. I believe in respecting different religious traditions, provided they are being interpreted and practiced in ways that generate more positivity than negativity in the world. Given that many of the most dedicated, skilled, and service-oriented yoga teachers I know have some affiliation with the Himalayan Institute, it seems that to the extent that the faith that informs the Secret has impacted their practice, it’s been in exceptionally positive ways. Consequently, although characterizing the interpretation of the YS provided by the Secret as “religious” rejects its own self-understanding, it doesn’t carry the same negative connotations that Tigunait’s own use of the term would imply.
Ostensibly, White’s Biography aims to debunk precisely the sort of “timeless” interpretation of the YS that Tigunait’s Secret claims to offer. On closer reading, however, it actually provides evidence that to the extent that there has been a tradition of YS interpretation, it has been one of reading the text through whatever mix of philosophical, religious, and cultural influences conjoin to form a compelling narrative at the time. Of course, to a cultural historian, this isn’t the least surprising: one wouldn’t expect the popular understanding of any such iconic text to stand without change across time and space.
By the same token, however, the Biography illustrates how seemingly arbitrary and erratic this ongoing process of reinterpretation can be. It shows both how much such “timeless” meanings are changed, and how closely these changes track with the dominant patterns of power, culture, and belief of their time. If unsurprising from an historical perspective, having so much such evidence of this collected in one work offers an important corrective to contemporary yoga practitioners accustomed to taking authoritative pronouncements on the “timeless” meaning of the YS at face value.
Ideally, knowing more about the constellation of meanings that has historically surrounded the YS can enable us to see more clearly how our own cultural biases may be informing how we read and interpret it today. For practitioners, having such heightened cultural self-awareness may be helpful in the process of cultural deconditioning that is part of the historic yoga tradition. More immediately, it may also enable us to orient ourselves better in the often confused and confusing context of contemporary yoga culture.
Conversely, yoga scholarship would benefit from taking the experiences of practitioners more seriously. Whether investigated using the framework of neuroscience, mind-body integration, or comparative mysticism, it’s evident that Patanjali’s exploration of yoga as “the stilling of the changing states of the mind” is profoundly important. It’s possible to recognize both that the Yoga Sutra has been interpreted in radically different ways in different times and places, and that it’s an exceptionally compelling and important work. Although the core of what makes it so can’t be definitively answered by scholarship (or, for that matter, by anything else), investigating the question nonetheless remains a powerful means of deepening human knowledge.