Two Curious Letters in Yoga Sutra 1.23

Patañjali’s Yoga Sutras are a beautiful exposition of the path of self-discovery. They offer a framework for exploring the inner dimensions of self, and explain in detail what becomes possible through the focused application of conscious awareness to the mind/body system and the world that we inhabit. They challenge our limited beliefs that fragment matter, mind, and spirit and articulate a worldview that is exciting and full of possibility.

In the midst of this amazing text, there are two letters that I find particularly fascinating. They come at the end of sutra 1.23. The word ‘vā’ appends the word cluster īśvara-pranidhānāt. Pranidhāna essentially means devotion, prayer, a vow, an offering. And this offering is made to īśvara, which has the sense of lord or master, and is used extensively throughout ancient Sanskrit texts to connote the Lord of the Universe, or God. And so īśvara-pranidhānāt conveys devotion or offering to God.

The two letters, ‘vā’, that appear at the end mean ‘or’. And in order to understand why they intrigue me so much, you have to understand the context in which this particular sutra appears. Patañjali begins the sutras by defining yoga as ‘citta-vritti-nirodhah’, or the stilling/settling, of the whirling of thought waves in the conscious awareness. The following sutras go on to distinguish vritti-nirodah, settling of the whirling thought waves, from vritti sārūpyam, identification with them.

This is probably a good time to remind you that every translation that you ever read of anything anywhere has an element of subjectivity to it. This is particularly true of Sanskrit to English translations because the structure of the languages is so different. Sanskrit is packed, dense, with no prepositions, and sutras as a textual format extend that by often leaving out verbs as well. To translate directly into English would render the text terse, dry, and flat. Beyond that, there are often many possible word to word translation from Sanskrit to English, so choosing the right word in the right context adds a whole additional layer of challenge. Every translator makes choices about how much to emphasize poetics, whether to align with a particular philosophy, how to treat different grammatical elements, and how to capture the author’s voice and intent. Every translation is a product of those choices.  This is just as true for me as it is for anyone else.

The best way to engage with a text like the Yoga Sutras is to read many different translations, especially ones that provide a breakdown of the Sanskrit words and grammar, and then feel for yourself what seems to convey truth. Part of this feeling comes through the words themselves – more than any modern language, the sounds of Sanskrit words sonically convey their meaning. By saying them aloud, listening to them, chanting them, and exploring them, an embodied sense of the words tends to arise without needing to ‘figure it out’ with the mind. This way of engaging directly with the sutras and the words that form them offers us a path through the dense thicket of divergent and contradictory interpretations and commentaries that have been offered by countless pandits throughout the ages.

Back to the context for sutra 1.23. First Patañjali lays the framework for the whole text by defining yoga and explaining that we are either in a state of identification with our vrittis, or resting in our true nature as the primal seer, apart and free from entanglement with that which is seen. Then the five types of vrittis are explained in detail, and the method of attaining their nirodha is revealed. On the one hand we have abhyasāh, or practice, and on the other we have vairāgya, or non-craving. Specifically abhyāsah is tatra-sthitau yatnah, the effort of staying there, or the work of keeping our attention focused in one place. We are told that this practice should be done for a long time, without interruption, with an eager sincerity. And vairāgya is vitrishna, nonthirsting, for anything that can be seen, heard about, or touched.

Patañjali goes on to say that we can achieve samprajñātah, or direct perception of the truth behind any particular thing, by following our superficial, logical thoughts about that thing to more subtle, reflective thoughts, and then by proceeding further to the joy that underlies all thought. Beyond this joy is an identification with the object of our contemplation, which unveils its true nature. But by practicing, in the way described above, virāma-pratyaya, or releasing our connection to thoughts as they arise in our awareness, we can achieve anya, or another state beyond samprajñātah.

There are a few factors beyond practising virāma-pratyaya that contribute to our likelihood of success in achieving this anya, or other state. Often, śhrahhā, faith, leads to vīrya, vitality, which leads to smriti, sustained recollection, and then samādhi, absorption, which opens the door to prajña, deep insight. When our practice has tīvra-samvegānām, intense momentum, our success is more likely. And also whether our practice is mild, medium, or extraordinary makes a difference.

And here we arrive at sutra 1.23 – īśvarapranidhānādvā. As I mentioned before, this word cluster is made up of three individual words – īśvara, pranidhānād, and vā. The ‘ād’ at the end of pranidhānād infers the dative case, giving the sense of ‘from devotion to the Lord’. And vā means ‘or’. So, after presenting us with the object of yoga, vritti-nirodha, and the means of achieving it, abhyāsa and vairāgya, and after laying out the primary means and conditions that support our quest, Patañjali says “or, from devotion to God”. It’s not “and, from devotion to God”. It’s “or”.  Why?

The word ‘and’ would infer that all of the previously mentioned conditions apply, and in addition to those conditions, we should also devote ourselves to God. This would be īśvarapranidhānācca. Simple enough – a difference of only a few letters. But it would change the whole meaning of the sutra, and perhaps more than that. Instead of īśvarapranidhānācca, we have īśvarapranidhānādvā. Instead of ca, we have vā. Instead of and, we have or.

By using the word ‘or’ here, is Patananji meaning to say that we can choose to take the path of effort that is defined by abhyāsa and vairāgya, OR the path of surrender that is defined by īśvarapranidhāna? The 19^th century Indian sage Ramakrishna Paramahamsa frequently used a parable to describe two types of spiritual aspirants. The following is taken from a translation of the Sri Sri Ramakrishna Kathamrita, a text originally composed in Bengali by Mahendranath Gupta, one of Ramakrishna’s closest disciples:

There are two classes of devotees. One class has the nature of the kitten. The kitten depends completely on its mother. It accepts whatever its mother does for it. The kitten only cried “Meow! Meow!” It doesn’t know what to do or where to go. Sometimes the mother puts the kitten hear the hearth, sometimes on the bed…There is another class of devotees. They have the nature of the young monkey. The young monkey clings to its mother with might and main. The devotees who behave like the young monkey the slight idea of being the doer. They feel “We must go to the sacred places; we must practice japa and austerity; we must perform worship…as proscribed by the shastras. Only then shall we be able to realize God.” Such is their attitude…My nature is that of a kitten.

• Translation found in A Restatement of Religion: Swami Vivekananda and the Making of Hindu Nationalism by Jyotirmaya Sharma

Ramakrishna spoke about the baby monkey, who clings to its mother’s belly as she swings through the trees. The baby monkey is dependent upon its own clasp, its own strength and will to survive. As long as its strength holds, the baby monkey is safe. But if it loses its grasp while its mother is high in the canopy, the results are catastrophic. It does not get another chance. But the baby kitten does not rely on its own will, its own strength. The baby kitten is carried about by its mother, lovingly and tenderly. It relies on her love to protect it and bring it where it needs to go. The kitten meows when it’s hungry, letting the mother know what it needs, and she does the rest. Its surrender is total.

Is Patañjali making the same distinction in sutra 1.23? Is the implication that we can choose either the path of the doer or the path of surrender? If so, it adds a dimension to the Yoga Sutras, and to classical yoga in general, that is not often mentioned, especially by modern commentators. Of course īśvarapranidhāna is mentioned throughout the sutras, as a primary aspect of kriya yoga (2.1), and as the final niyama, which leads to samādhi-siddhi (2.45). But in these instances, it is integrated into the broader frame of abhyāsa and vairāgya. It is part of an ‘and’. In sutra 1.23, the ‘or’ seems to posit īśvarapranidhāna as an alternative to the path that involves me as the doer of abhyāsa and vairāgya. It seems to offer the choice to become like a kitten in the mouth of its mother, surrendered to her grace and grateful for her guidance and love. It seems to say that perhaps, that could be enough to bring us to the goal of yoga, the great release from identification with the whirling vrittis that leaves us rooted in an experience of our true nature.