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How the ‘what’ of yoga can trump the ‘why’ August 8, 2011

Posted by Simon Maxwell Apter in Essays.
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I worry, from time to time, that I approach yoga with improper motives.

When I was nine, I first encountered “The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar,” a novella by Roald Dahl. In the story, Henry, a wealthy English playboy, discovers a so-called yogic technique that, if mastered, will allow him to identify playing cards by “seeing through” their backs. Immediately grasping the financial implications of such an aptitude, Henry dedicates himself to perfecting the practice, assuming that it will one day allow him to earn millions at casinos. And so he practices, honing his concentration and harnessing his consciousness for years, until he finally deems himself ready to take down the world’s blackjack tables.

But yoga, of course, is not a get-rich-quick practice! Quite the opposite, rather, and when hatha yoga is practiced with dedication and vigor, it renders such material motivations irrelevant and vulgar. As Swami Muktibodhananda writes in her commentaries on the Hatha Yoga Pradipika, “Hatha yoga is not being taught for its own sake, for therapeutic purposes, or for gaining worldly or psychic powers, and this is something the hatha yoga practitioner should always keep in mind.” And in his explication of the siddhis in Book III of the Yoga Sutras, Patanjali says, “These powers are uplifting and encouraging when the mind is turned outward, but they are obstacles to samadhi.” (III.38).

Henry Sugar is a selfish and worldly man, though, and it is the decidedly worldly inspiration of personal enrichment that leads him to yoga. But at the casino, on Henry’s path to the bank, something funny happens:

Well-fed women stood around the roulette wheel like plump hens around a feeding hopper. Jewels and gold were dripping over their bosoms and from their wrists. Many of them had blue hair. The men were in dinner jackets and there wasn’t a tall one among them. Why, Henry wondered, did this particular kind of rich man always have short legs? Their legs all seemed to stop at the knees with no thighs above. Most of them had bellies coming out a long way, and crimson faces and cigars between their lips. Their eyes glittered with greed. All this Henry noticed. It was the first time in his life that he had looked with distaste upon this type of wealthy gambling-casino person. Up until now, he had always regarded them as companions, as members of the same group and class as himself. Tonight they seemed vulgar. Could it be, he wondered, that the yoga powers he had acquired over the last three years had altered him just a little bit?

Henry manages to set his distaste aside for an hour or two, and he neatly pockets £6,600 before leaving. Yet upon waking the next morning, he finds the wad of bills revolting. Climbing onto his Mayfair balcony, he showers the streets and people below with twenty-pound notes, delightfully giving away the riches he’d won the night before. And after a stern rebuke from a policeman (The money drop had caused a riot of sorts), Henry decides that he must find a more meaningful way of sharing his wealth. He embarks upon a twenty-year mission of winning millions at casinos and then using that money to build and finance orphanages all over the world. And when it’s over, after he dies, we’re told, “He never kept a penny of the money he won, except what he needed to travel and eat.”

Though it’s flawed and somewhat skewed in its representation of yoga, the story of Henry Sugar nevertheless underlines the potency of the practice; that is, it illustrates the importance of sadhana as well as samadhi. Swami Muktibodhananda writes, “[H]atha yoga is to be practised for the sole purpose of preparing oneself for the highest state of raja yoga, i.e., samadhi.” Most of us, though, come to yoga for other reasons–“to improve or restore health, to reduce stress, to prevent the body from ageing, to build up the body or to beautify it,” suggests Swami Muktibodhananda. But even if we begin our spiritual journeys with these different–perhaps less-pure–motives, through conscientious and enthusiastic practice we ultimately find our motivation elevated to the ideal whether we want it to be or not. We may begin our practice with a fitter body (or pile of money) in mind, but honest diligence will replace that material goal with a spiritual one.

The practice does indeed prepare one for the sublime, but perhaps more importantly, it also prepares one for the mundane. And perhaps even more importantly, for the rotten. Whether or not a yogi actually achieves nirvikalpa samadhi in his lifetime, he will still find his relationship to the temporal world permanently shifted by his practice. Like Henry Sugar, an initiated yogi will eventually find himself unwilling and unable to savor material pettiness and worldly desires, even if they are what brought him to the practice in the first place.

If one has a wholesome desire to make yoga his life’s work, then the practice will see to it that one’s life’s work becomes yoga.

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Comments»

1. James - August 10, 2011

Simon,
I really loved this article. Thanks for sharing your insight. The story of Henry Sugar was one of my all time favourites and in a way has a parallel to my own journey with yoga.
When I started out all I want to do was get fitter. It was never my intention to become a vegetarian, become less interested in worldly pursuits or attempt to attain enlightenment. All these things arose in my life over the years and when I realised how I had changed and looked back, the catalyst was undoubtedly yoga.
In fact I have often used myself as a humble example of the changes that the physical practice, whether grounded in belief or not, can have a transformative effect on the mind that ultimately changes your life. It is that, in my opinion, that makes the power of yoga all the more profound and authentic.
Keep up the good work,
James


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