Great Vows of Yoga: Yamas & Niyamas Explained (Part 1)
Yoga can mean many things. There are many types of yoga in the world. What most associate with the word yoga, however, is the yoga described by Patanjali in his Yoga Sutras, specifically Ashtanga Yoga. Ashtanga Yoga can be directly translated as the yoga of eight limbs. The 8 limbs are as follows:
Yamas (Restraints)
Niyamas (Observances)
Asana (Steady Postures)
Pranayama (Restraint of Life Force Energy/Breathwork)
Pratyahara (Sense Withdrawal)
Dharana (Cultivation of Meditative One-Pointed Concentration)
Dhyana (Meditation, or Uninterrupted One-Pointed Concentration)
Samadhi (Indescribable Sublime Experience at the Pinnacle of Meditation)
This is a multi-faceted approach to yoga that speaks to yoga’s deep spiritual roots and to yoga’s all-encompassing approach to living life. There is a reason why for many the path of yoga becomes a lifestyle, a way of being and moving in the world. The core of this systematic approach sits upon the first two limbs of Ashtanga Yoga, the Yamas (Restraints) and the Niyamas (Observances).
Importance of Ethics: Why Life Isn’t About What You Do but How You Do It
Before we start diving deep into these limbs, their particularities and practical applications as well as their more esoteric meanings, there is the question of how these limbs are to be practiced and what space they hold in the context of the larger system of Ashtanga Yoga. There are several different interpretations of the use of the word limbs here; some take the system to mean more of a staircase (where limbs should be practiced one at a time and building upon each other) whereas others believe that you should practice all concurrently.
In my own personal experience, I have found the first interpretation to be most useful; that while all limbs should be practiced simultaneously, they should be practiced in order of appearance in the Yoga Sutras. That is, one should understand and practice their ethics before attempting to sit down to still the body through breath/postures or control the mind through meditation. Because of this experience I have found the Yamas and the Niyamas, which are the ethical backbone of the Ashtanga yoga system, to be the foundation upon which all other Ashtanga yogic practices (such as pranayama, the restraint of life force energy/breathwork or asana, the holding of steady postures) rest.
Later texts like the Hatha Yoga Pradipika do away with the ethics because what works for me might not work for you. What you approach first in the Ashtanga system depends on the question of whether you would like to tackle the mind directly (as through ethics) or indirectly through the body (as through the control of breath or practice of postures). I have found the approach of tackling the mind directly to be more useful to me, at least in the sense of at least conceptualizing and questioning and attempting to follow ethics prior and concurrently to the other limbs. To disregard ethics completely makes my mind restless and with a restless mind I have little ability to sit still, even with orderly prescriptions for physical actions.
That being said, I have found that the more I practice the later limbs, the deeper I understand the ethics, and the more readily do I apply those ethics to how I live my life. I am far from having mastered the yogic ethics, if such a thing is even possible. Personally, I feel the point of the practice of yogic ethics is less about mastery and more about the practice itself. Therefore I recommend for all of us to dwell on the yogic ethics, even if only as a thought experiment and not as practical approach to life. The prescription for living that the ethics of the first two limbs of Ashtanga Yoga put forth are relevant regardless of whether or not we choose to follow them precisely because they bring up the question of how we should live our life and why.
Art of Ahimsa/Non-Violence — When Inner Peace Reflects Outer Peace
While the foundation of most yogic practices may rest upon ethics (it is, after all, hard to meditate or sit still when the mind is unruly due to a guilty conscience), yogic ethics in turn rest upon the foundation of Ahimsa or non-violence. When I dove deep into the Yamas with one of my Advanced Yoga Teacher Training instructors, Pravana Chaitanya-ji, he taught us that there were three manifestations of each principle, from gross to subtle:
Physical — Are your actions non-violent?
Verbal — Are your words non-violent?
Mental — Are your thoughts non-violent?
Non-violence is a big theme in every spiritual tradition. In the yogic tradition, it is said that if you master ahimsa, you automatically master all other ethics. For this reason, ahimsa is not easy to master. It is a lifelong practice, like all other aspects of the yogic lifestyle. The great benefit of this practice rests not in the potential for mastery but rather in the questions the practice brings up:
What is violence?
What is non-violence?
Why should we practice non-violence?
The definition of violence/non-violence can be very personal. For many yogis, it starts with the most outward expression, a building of awareness around conscious consumption. Often this manifests as vegetarianism or veganism. However you will find many articles discussing non-violence from the point-of-view of yogis who do eat fish and/or meat. Ultimately I find that in regards to non-violence, it is not so much what you do but how you do it. If you consume meat and/or fish, it should be done with awareness of the sacredness of life and a heart full of gratitude. As a vegetarian myself, I always like to point out that in many ways, consuming plants is just the same as consuming the flesh of animals; just because we can’t hear plants scream, doesn’t mean they don’t do so as we’re ripping them out of the ground. For this reason one could explore fruitarianism, the eating of fruits and/or seeds, items which are the byproducts of plants and do not require killing the plants during harvest. Still one could argue that if one is consuming fruits that have been sprayed with pesticides, even natural pesticides, one is contributing to violence. Even further one could argue that if there was a single day when a human overworked or felt pain while planting, overseeing, or harvesting the fruits, one is contributing to violence.
The larger point here is that to some extent, violence or exertion of force, and pain, are a vital part of the fabric of life. In the pair of opposites, pain and pleasure are equal. I have gained as much wisdom from observations of times when I have acted in a violent manner as when I have acted in a non-violent manner. Abiding by the law of ahimsa is not so much about reaching a perfected state where one does not harm others ever—as this may be entirely impossible—but where one does their best to do no harm and instead focuses on cultivating a pure intention, a heart full of love towards all beings, including themselves.
For this reason it is important to ask the three questions above, and to constantly revisit our own definitions of violence and non-violence, as well as why we are practicing non-violence to begin with. I have come to realize that at the heart of this practice rests the understanding that by hurting others, I am hurting myself, and that by hurting myself, I am hurting others.
Non-Violence in the Dramatic Universe
Respecting the vow of ahimsa means respecting unity in diversity. What may seem violent to you may not seem violent to others. It’s important to meet yourself, and others, where they’re at—versus where you (or they) would like to be. Real progress towards embodiment of the ideal begins with honesty, honesty about who you are now and the nature of change and opinion. That’s why the question to ask isn’t how can I make others less violent but how can I be the change I want to see in the world? The realization that the micro reflects the macro and vice-versa soon follows. It is important to remember that judgment is a subtle form of Himsa, or violence; there is a difference between living in your integrity and forcing it upon others. Judgment is the lower frequency vibration of integrity, so don’t disregard your judgments—learn from them.
Dive Deep: Questions to Ask to Discover Your Values
Defining violence is no easy feat, especially once you realize how much of your definition rests on what others surrounding you think. To get to the root of your own definition of violence and non-violence, you must get in touch with your inner compass. This starts through the cultivation of awareness, which leads in time to the natural falling away of anything that is false and does not benefit you.
Here are some questions that are a good place to start in aligning yourself with that deeper knowing within:
How does a decision make you feel?
The quality of violence speaks to something more primal. Instead of intellectualizing it with moral laws from religion, get in touch with yourself by examining your reactions to decisions and actions that you make throughout the day. How do you feel after yelling at someone? If the action doesn’t sit well or ‘right’ with you, it was most likely done from a place of violence.
How do others’ actions affect you?
In understanding how we would like to behave, sometimes it is best to start with how we would NOT like to behave. Examining how others’ actions make us feel can be a great help in making us realize where our behavior aligns with our inner values. If you don’t like when someone withholds information from you, you can ask yourself why and proceed from there. In your analysis, if you realize that you yourself are prone to withholding information, don’t be surprised; the things we dislike most in others are often reflections of the things we wish to change most in ourselves.
What are you resisting and why?
Resistance can be a form of subtle violence. In the great ocean of life, we should not be swimming against the current but alongside the wave. The wave will carry us to shore if we let it.
Embodying Dharma: The Relationship Between Truth and Non-Violence
Satya or truthfulness is the second yama. This is a tricky one to grasp because it is always subservient to ahimsa. You must use your inner compass to decide when telling the truth is necessary. To a certain degree, telling the truth can cause harm and causing harm does not necessarily equate to being violent. The deeper reasoning behind this yama comes from that age-old adage that happiness comes from having your thoughts, words, and deeds align.
From the gross to the subtle, this Yama asks us to answer:
What does being honest look like physically?
What does it mean to be honest verbally?
What does it mean to be honest in thought?
Being dishonest, to oneself and to others, and on a grander scale, living a lie, are all great acts of violence. Why? Because by being dishonest with ourselves or others, we are communicating that we do not believe in the sanctity of truth, that we do not trust life itself. We do not feel ourselves or others worthy of truth. This may be different for you, but in examining why someone lying to me makes me upset, I have realized that I’m upset not so much by the lie but by the lack of trust, the withholding of the truth.
On a deeper, subtle-most level, this Yama asks us the important questions of:
What are our values?
What does it mean to live in our Truth?
If you’re finding this one difficult to answer, work backwards by asking yourself How do I know when I’m not living in my Truth? What does being in misalignment look like?
How do we define truth?
It might be hard to put into words, but we all know intrinsically what it means to be living a lie. To live a lie doesn’t feel good, it feels violent on the most fundamental and basic level — because when we are living a lie, we are going against our dharma.
The topic of dharma is the key to understanding the second yama. Dharma refers to the inherent nature of reality, the cosmic law underlying right behavior and social order. To understand dharma is to forego judgment. It is to let yourself be you and let others be different.
To explain this I can only offer a recent example. I am the human companion to a kitten named Sachi. It is his truth, his dharma, to hunt and bring me dragon flies, birds, lizards as well as leaves, sticks, and other things he deems worthy of being gifts. It is my truth, my dharma, to have a distaste for killing for sport. But how do our two vastly different worlds meet and merge, instead of colliding in a scenario of crash and burn? By an understanding of the law of dharma and a respect for the vows of ahimsa and satya. Instead of getting upset at him for living in his dharma, I let him do what he will and then I do what I must—I bury or place the animals he brings me by trees and say a couple prayers before moving on with my day.