Introduction

If atman is brahman in a pot (the body), then one need merely break the pot to fully realize the primordial unity of the individual soul with the plentitude of Being that was the Absolute.[1]

In the above quote, which paraphrases the Chandogya Upanisad (6.8.7), David Gordon White draws on a useful analogy for one beginning a study of what has come to be known as “yoga”. The absolute, brahman, is “bottled up” within the human body, wherein it becomes identified as atman. It is the human body here that becomes the seat or vehicle of sacrifice and the human soul becomes the indwelling Absolute. The action of breaking, or removing the walls that contain human consciousness so as to bring about a “union” of the individual self (jivatman) with the supreme self (paramatman), is the goal or purpose of the practice of yoga, and, it would seem, this is only possible through the body. The body becomes the mediating vehicle, or mesocosm, which stands between the individual, human world order (microcosm) and absolute, cosmic reality (macrocosm). This monistic vision implies a boundless unity between the individual and the world, or the microcosm and the macrocosm. This monistic philosophy, which became known as Vedanta (lit. “The end of the Vedas), transformed the dualistic Vedic worldview, wherein there was a sharp break between the human order and the cosmic order, which only sacrifice (the mesocosm) could bridge. White notes that, “it was likely the concrete experience of yoga that gave rise to this mystical and monistic vision”[2], wherein all apparent oppositions and disjunctures between the human and divine, male and female etcetera, become consumed through the fires generated by yogic sadhana, or austerities (tapas), conceived of as the internalization of the sacrifice.

Despite the apparent singularity of this vision of “union”, it is important to assert that yoga is a complex, multifaceted phenomenon that embraces a number of spiritual paths and orientations. “It” cannot be properly understood as a monolithic system, but rather as a tradition that has been developing for several millennia in India. Its goal and means have been expressed variously and have developed within numerous, often contrasting theoretical frameworks with occasionally incompatible goals.[3] To this effect, Ian Whicher writes:

In its long complex evolution Yoga can be seen as a vast tradition (or rather as several traditions within a tradition) that has incorporated a diverse and rich body of teachings within Hinduism and indeed other religious traditions over a period of many centuries.[4]

As such, classical or raja yoga, which is the name often attributed to the philosophical system that has developed around Patanjali’s Yoga-Sutras (ca. 2nd-3rd CE) and its commentarial literature, was preceded by many generations of investigation into the possibilities for self-transcendence and ultimate freedom (moksa).[5] With the appearance of the Yoga Sutras, however, yoga achieved philosophical maturity (somewhere in the classical period; ca. 150-800 CE). Panini’s text “provided a foundational text on the formal philosophical system of yoga”.[6] The Sutras provide its readers with progressive stages of physical and mental training to break the boundaries that confine one’s sense of self to the conditional, samasaric realm and to evoke a radical identity shift or change in perspective—from that of the mortal ego-personality to that of the immortal self. Through the successive unfolding of the various stages of Patanjali’s astanga yoga, the practitioner unravels the layers of ignorance and delusion that bind purusa (the absolute, supreme Self and conscious observer) from prakrti (the phenomenal world/matter).

The Yoga Sutras is a pivotal text in the formulation of what has come to be called “orthodox yoga”. As a foundational text, it is constantly referred to as a source of inspiration or as the text which best encapsulates and defines the final goal or purpose of yoga, whatever form it may come in. Nevertheless, the dualist, metaphysical framework from which Patanjali’s yoga emerged, namely the Samkhya school of philosophy, has caused many students and scholars of yoga to distinguish between it and later, and especially tantric developments of yoga.[7] Upanisadic speculation into the nature of the universe and the relation of the individual soul to it inspired new forms of yoga (e.g. jnanayoga, bhaktiyoga, etc.), which had monistic metaphysical frameworks as their basis. Tantric metaphysics carried this to its logical conclusion: imploding body (microcosm), individual soul (mesocosm), and divine soul (macrocosm), into one. It also developed concrete and coherent methods, like Laya, Kundalini and Hatha yoga[8], for the return of being (atman) in to essence (brahman). As the human body itself is the seat of the sacrifice and the locus of the absolute, it was to the physical, “this-worldly” capacities of humankind that the architects of Hindu tantrism turned. It is through the physical body and yogic sadhana that one progressively attains recognition of the subtle realms of being, and ultimately, the inseparability of the individual, physical being from the absolute, divine Being.

It is this overt transformation of the focus, or geography,of yoga—from its classical (raja yoga) to tantric (kundalini/ laya yoga) context—that I would like to explore in this paper. Although, as has been argued, the goal of yoga (samadhi) may indeed remain the same, the techniques for achieving the goal vary among different schools. Due to the necessary brevity of this paper, I will focus my comparative analysis on the connections, commonalities and differences that obtain between the “classical” school of yoga developed by Patanjaliand the overtly praxis-oriented school of Hatha yoga, as presented in the Nath sampradaya text, the Hathayogapradipika (ca. 15th CE). Although there are important differences between these two schools, mostly in terms of the overt valuation and utilization of the human body as a means towards the ‘end’ of yoga, there are also some notable continuities and similarities. The Hathayogapradipika, for example, claims that the ultimate goal of its elaborate, physically technical path is not only the mastery of the body, but also the mind (rajayoga) and to this effect incorporates the last two stages of Patanjali’s yoga system. Mastery of the body (divyadeha) and the mind (cittavritti)are, in fact, conceived to be interdependent by the hathayoga school. The same might be said for Patanjali’s astangayoga, although he does not elaborate on the necessarily “embodied” steps of the path to the same extent as the hathayoga school.[9]

Before probing the means, goals and correspondences between these two schools in greater depth, it is useful to briefly examine the history, literature, and various classifications that have been accorded the many and various schools of yoga.

Categorizing Schools of Yoga

Systematizing, classifying, or categorizing the numerous streams of Indian “religious” thought and practice that has collectively come to be called Hinduism has been the work of many generations of scholars, practitioners, and lay people. Numerous books have been written to present the various systems of classification that have been developed over years of study and volumes more exist which attempt to problematize, critique, contribute to and move beyond what has come before.[10] This enquiry into the transition between classical, or Patanjala yoga and tantric, or hatha and kundalini yoga enters in to a muddled world of mixed adjectives, transferable names and vastly varied interpretations and systematizations of yoga.

If we accept Mircea Eliade’s definition of yoga, “any ascetic technique and any method of meditation”[11], then there are as many kinds of yoga as there are spiritual paths in India (e.g. karmayoga, bhaktiyoga, jnanayoga, Samkhya yoga, Buddhist yoga, Jaina yoga, Integral yoga, etc.). While all of these forms of “yoga” conform to Whicher’s formal definition of yoga,[12] he picks out eight “major” forms of yoga, including (1) classicalyogaor raja yoga (which is often used to refer to Patanjali’s astanga yoga), (2) jnanayoga, (3) hathayoga, (4) bhaktiyoga, (5) karmayoga, (6) mantrayoga, (7) layayoga and, (8) kundalini yoga. Whicher notes that laya and kundalini yoga are closely associated with hathayoga, and that raja yoga is often used in contrast with hathayoga.[13]According to Sanjukta Gupta, however, laya and kundalini yoga are essentially the same, “though some Tantrics are unaware of (their) identity”, and the techniques of hathayoga are “often despised by the Tantra”, so that, apparently, the hathayogin is not even considered a “true tantric”.[14]

In their focus on tantric traditions and their immediate associations, Sanjukta Gupta[15] and N.N. Bhattacharyya[16] simplify Whicher’s list by classifying yoga into only four categories: matrayoga, hathayoga, layayoga and rajayoga. Of this list, hathayoga occupies a rather ambiguous place. Despite the fact that both discuss hathayoga within a tantric context, they agree that it is not as “characteristically tantric” as layayoga, kundalini yoga and mantra yoga. Interestingly, raja yoga is described as the “highest form of yoga”by all of the above-named sources. Conflating all of these schools and configuring them in a hierarchy, Bhattacharyya writes:

“The highest form of yoga…is Raja-Yoga through which nirvikalpa-samadhi is attained. By means of mantra, Hatha and Laya-yoga to aspirant steps up to perfection in the form of Raja-yoga which is complete and final liberation”.[17]

Similarly, Tookaram Tatya writes that “Raja-yoga begins where Hatha-yoga ends”. In accord, he simplifies Whicher, Gupta and Bhattacharyya’s lists by classifying all forms of yoga into two broad divisions: Hatha yoga and Raja yoga.[18] He writes: “The Raja and the Hatha yogas are necessary counterparts of each other, the limbs as it were of the same body, wither of them cannon be successfully followed to the exclusion of the other…”[19] Although Tatya is likely writing as an adherent to the hathayoga path, it is noteworthy that this kind of conflation or fluid crossing of “disciplinary boundaries” is not uncommon in yoga texts, commentaries and academic expositions.

Although scholarly frameworks which organize these many different schools and sub-schools of yoga tend to be more selective (e.g. Gupta above), they often either acknowledge some kind of conceptual and/or practical hierarchy existing between them (e.g. Bhattacharrya above), or a more subtle connection existent between them through a not necessarily dependent or hierarchal relationship between action (karma) and knowledge (jnana). For example, Goldberg, drawing from the commentary of Swami Krpalvananda’s (1913-1981) on the Hathayogapradipika, suggests that although there is a fundamental difference between the disciplinary orientation and emphasis of the raja and hatha yoga schools,[20] at some stage of practice, these distinctions necessarily dissolve (along with the need for or creation of karma).

“… (W)e see a distinct difference between karmayoga and jnanayoga (or rajayoga) insofar as the initial procedures require physical action; yet owing to their prolonged practice they are abandoned naturally in the final stages of attainment”.[21]

The “end” of yoga, thus, ultimately involves recognition of the “crucial interdependence…and continuity between hathayoga and rajayoga“.[22] Clearly, it would be inappropriate for one grasping for an understanding of the various classifications of yoga to conflate all systems into one owing to the fact that there are a vast number of means to the ultimate goal, each with separate histories, metaphysics and procedures for its attainment. Samadhi itself is also conceptualized differently among and between schools. In fact, the differences may even be construed as beneficial in terms of practice, as each practitioner may be inclined towards or suited for one or another form. Nonetheless, if one applies the same bi-polar metaphysics that inspires both Patanjali’s rajayoga and tantric schools of yoga to the actual study of these various systems, there is some stage where words and apparently separate systematic and hierarchal ontologies necessarily dissolve or, by nature, become inadequate qualifiers of what is actually experienced. This is the uniqueness of yoga—as a means toward a goal and, paradoxically a goal in itself, it requires action to propel one towards the eventual achievement of absolute inaction of both the physical (or “gross”) and subtle mind and body.

It is to a discussion of these systems of action, and in particular raja and hatha yoga to which I now turn. Despite this supposed eventual consumption or de-evolution of matter and differentiation that attains from the practice of yoga, rendering all of the above-named schools inherently “empty” of being, there is still a notable transformation that occurred in the transition from classical to tantric systems of yoga. Tantric systems of yoga elaborate complex, mystical physiologies in which the microcosm of the body is identified with the macrocosm of the universe, which serve as maps for the practitioner’s journey inward. Hathayoga, which is often described as preeminently practical in nature, places its emphasis on the use of the human body, and more particularly the need for one to transform it into a divine body (divya deha), to catapult the individual toward realization of boundless, Absolute reality. The same degree of focus on the physicality of liberation is not present in Patanjali’s classical exposition on yoga. Although asanas and pranayama are included in his astanga yoga, the Sutras are predominantly concerned with the later stages of yoga. As such, while the body is present in classical yoga, it is not its primary focus, as could be said for tantric, and especially hathayogic, traditions.

Still, a great deal of authority is afforded to Patanjali’s yoga; if not for a detailed description of the actual “means”, then certainly for the language and philosophy it provides one with to understand its “end”. The Hathayogapradipika, for example,contends that the goal of hathayoga is rajayoga. [23] This is, however, somewhat paradoxical because Patanjali’s yoga is so often conceived by contemporary scholars as radically dualistic as a result of its affiliations with and adaptation of the language of Samkhya, one of the leading schools or classical philosophical systems of India. Georg Feuerstein, for example, contrasts the ideal of rajayoga, which he writes “is to recover one’s true identity as the transcendental Self standing eternally apart from the realms of Nature,” with the ideal of hathayoga, which he states “is to create an immortal body”.[24] There seems, however, to be something missing from this analysis (it may indeed be more dualistic than his claim about Patanjali’s yoga because he fixes the goal of rajayoga as liberation from nature, or material reality and the goal of hathayoga as the perfection of nature…). Clearly, as will be discussed below, the “ideal” of hathayoga is not only to create an “immortal body”. Although this is considered a defining characteristic of hathayoga, and even a necessary step along the way towards its “ideal”, it should not be confused with its ultimate goal, namely, samadhi (or rajayoga). Perhaps, as Ian Whicher argues, the same might be said about Patanjali’s yoga. Although the explicit techniques for the achievement of liberation are not explicit in the Sutras, this does not necessarily mean that rajayoga is disembodied, “excessively spiritual” or isolationist to the point of being a world-denying philosophy, as Feuerstein suggests above. Although the praxis, or bodily, aspect of yoga is elaborated more overtly and in tantric, and especially hatha, systems of yoga, the theory and philosophy provided by Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras does not necessarily deny their importance or even necessity.

Classical Yoga

The Yoga Sutra represents the attempt by the great grammarian to provide concise definitions, descriptions and explanations of the central concepts relating to yoga, thereby providing it with a complete and systematic grounding which led to its recognition, legitimization and establishment as one of the six darsanas within Brahmanical Hinduism. It has come to be the most authoritative source for the classical yoga school of Hinduism. Whicher writes: “Out of all of the various yogic schools in existence around the time of the composition of the Yoga Sutra, it was Patanjali’s that was to become recognized as the authoritative perspective (darsana) of the Brahmanic Yoga tradition”.[25]

Many scholars find the roots of Patanjali’s yoga in preceding Indian speculative traditions; and in particular in the radically dualistic metaphysics of Samkhya philosophy (another of the six darsanas). Agehananda Bharati, for example, discusses Samkhya as one of the root contributors to the both classical and tantric ontologies. [26] Samkhya explains the universe as consisting of only two principles: prakrti, inert nature, and purusa, the conscious principal or absolute self. The phenomenal universe of experience, change, activity and movement happens in and through prakrti; purusa, conversely, is the pure consciousness or witness and does not act.[27] Flood states that in Patanjali’s yoga, liberation or nirbijasamadhi, is not the realization of the self’s identity with the absolute but rather, “the realization of the self’s solitude and complete transcendence” and “detached” from its entanglement with prakrti. [28] The fact that Patanjali draws on the language and metaphysics of Samkhya has caused many scholars to classify his yoga system as dualist. There are, however, some important differences between Samkhya and Yoga, which Whichler is careful to point out:

“In spite of the similarity between these schools in the approach to the basic structure of reality, they in fact present different systems of thought, holding divergent views on important areas of doctrinal structure such as theology, ontology, psychology, and ethics, as well as differences pertaining to terminology”.[29]

Although a full comparative analysis of Samkhya philosophy is beyond the scope of this paper, suffice is to say that both the samkhyan and rajayoga philosophies for attaining freedom (kaivalya, moksha), are intended to guide the practitioner to the realization of purusa and are thus ultimately derived for soteriological purposes. In order to translate the final realization of yoga into practical, experiential terms, Patanjali translaterd a macrocosmic perpective into subjective, microcosmic terms. Absolute spiritual integration is the ultimate goal of yoga and experience seems to be at the heart of Patanjali’s discourse.

Perhaps the most important difference that exists between these two schools is related to their methodologies. Their ‘means’ for arriving at the ‘end’ or yoga are significantly different. Samkhya relies primarily on discernment between purusa and prakrti, “stressing a theoretical/intellectual analysis” to bring one to emancipation, understood as “isolation” (kaivalya), whereas yoga is “a practical spiritual discipline for mastering the modifications of the mind, and abiding as the changeless identity of Self (purusa)”.[30] Surendranath Dasgupta also observes this difference between the Samkhya and Yoga darsanas. He posits that although the schools are fundamentally the same in their metaphysical positions, they hold quite different views on many points of philosophical, ethical and practical interest.[31]

It is noteworthy that the emphasis on practice as a factor that distinguishes classical yoga from Samkhya is present in both of Whicher and Dasgupta’s discussions. Put candidly, Whicher states,

“Samkhya’s overt conceptual means of discrimination (vijnana) is not sufficient enough for the aspiring yogin…Without praxis and its experiential and perceptual dimension, philosophy would have no meaning in Yoga… In yoga, immortality…cannot be demonstrated through inference, analysis and reasoning”.[32]

The Yoga Sutra clearly evidences the central importance that Patanjali gives to experience.

The “eight-limbed” (astanga) path elaborated in the Yoga Sutra can be read as a kind of psychocosmological map, which leads the seeker through progressive stages of disciplined physical and mental training in order to slowly unravel layers of ignorance and delusion which serve to bind the true spirit (purusa) within to the phenomenal world (prakrti). The Yoga Sutra proposes that through dedication to the path of yoga, one gradually becomes aware of the subtle levels of not only the material world but, importantly, how it is reflected inwardly. Patanjali tells us in his opening aphorisms, however, that the very goal of yoga, the “cessation of the turnings of thought” (1:2-4) is only possible through “practice and dispassion” (1:12). One must actively engage in the rigorous effort to still the cognitive functions of the mind (cittavritti). Although the greatest proportion of the Sutras (and commentary on them)is concerned with the later, essentially “inner” stages of meditation(dharana, dhyana, samadhi), the first five steps (yama, niyama, asana, pranayama, pratyahara), which consist of preliminary, “external” exercises, are integral to his rajayoga in that they prepare the practitioner for the more advanced “internal” stages. In her translation of the Yoga Sutras, Barbara Stoler Miller writes that, “For Patanjali, the interior dimensions of yoga are impossible to attain unless one first pays attention to the body”.[33]

Through the meditative practices and contemplative thought experiments Patanjali prescribes,an intimate “transformative” realization is ultimately achieved. Through the initial stages of his yoga, one must pass beyond the bounds of material nature and learn to watch, instead of engage, in the games of the mind and intellect. It is a progressive, unlearning process:

“When the turnings of thought stop, a contemplative poise occurs, in which thought, like a polished crystal, is colored by what is nearby–whether perceiver, process of perception, or object of perception” (1:41).

Through “contemplative poise” one becomes aware through intuitive means or by the intellect that prakrti and purusa are distinct. This “seed-bearing contemplation” (sabija-samadhi) leaves traces and still involves cognitive processes but important wisdom is gained by it (1:41-46):

“A subliminal impression generated by wisdom stops the formation of other impressions. When the turnings of thought cease completely, even wisdom ceases, and contemplation bears no seeds” (1:50-51).

The “tranquility” that follows the “intuitive cognition” of seed-bearing contemplation (1:47) sets the ground for an even deeper state. The seed of wisdom gained by sabija-samadhi stops the formation of new thought or impressions. Miller writes that thought, recorded memory and even intuition “have no relevance to the realization of the state of pure contemplation” (nirbija-samadhi)–even the wisdom gained in sabija-samadhi dissolves.[34] Rational knowledge, made of prakrti, is necessary to proceed on the path, but in a kind of backwards cycle of de-evolution. One strips prakrti of its external components until it no longer exists—all that is left is purusa which itself dissolves.

Patanjali is most consistentlycelebrated for these expositions on the training of the mind. The very foundation of Patanjali’s yoga practice, writes Whicher, is “mastery of the mind…through the process of nirodha” (cessation).[35] Although this involves a “wide range of methods” (physical, moral, psychological, and spiritual), Patanjali’s yoga is most commended or remembered for its “serious enquiry into the structures and contents of the mind along with an analysis of how the mind—including the empirically rooted sense of self—differs from purusa“.[36] Despite the avowed importance Patanjali places in the preliminary moral and physical aspects of his yoga to prepare one for the later stages of contemplation, meditation and pure concentration,he only devotes ten brief lines to description of asana, pranayama, and pratyahara. Although commentary on these three stages has speculated on which asanas and pranayamas Patanjali was likely alluding to (e.g. Gupta, who writes that “simple sitting-postures are recommended” like lotus, svastika, vajra, bhadra, vira[37]), it is the hathayogins that eventually expand this aspect of yoga into a vast system of physically and spiritually efficacious postures, and it is to this system that we turn now.

Hathayoga

“While Patanjali’s yoga is primarily concerned with developing mental concentration in order to experience samadhi, hathayoga, or the ‘yoga of force’, develops a system of elaborate and difficult postures (asana) accompanies by breathing techniques (pranayama)”.[38]

Hathayoga occupies a rather ambiguous, and somewhat marginalized position in the vast domain of Indian soteriological systems. As discussed above, its name appears in books, chapters and articles about Tantra, and yet it is most commonly associated with or considered an extension of the classical yoga system of Patanjali and/or Samkha philosophy.[39] Where rajayoga is deemed the “highest” path of yoga[40], hathayoga is described as “inferior”, or “despised by the Tantra”.[41] This occurs in some sources, however, while others attempt to draw parallels with and “fit” hathayoga into the tantric fold.[42] It becomes clear from a careful reading on one of its principle texts, the 15th century Hathayogapradipika, that it in fact corresponds and draws from many, if not all, of these sources, and yet develops them in a unique, and perhaps often misunderstood, way.

As Flood’s quote above implies, hathayoga presents itself as an effort to bring to center “the yoga of force” or “action” (kriyayoga). What he neglectes to mention, however, accurate though it might be, is the fact that hathayoga names rajayoga as its goal. It differs from Patanjali’s yoga, however, primarily because it focuses so intently on the means of achieving the later, “interior” stages of yoga. The aim of hathayoga has been described variously by different authors as a system of yoga aiming to “master” [43] or “control” [44] the body, “overcome normal physiological limits” [45], or to “create an immortal body”[46]. Ellen Goldberg warns, however, that we must “confuse the means with the end”.[47] Perfection, according to Eliade, is always the goal, and, “it is neither athletic, nor hygienic perfection”.[48] The goal of hathayoga, according to one of its primary source texts, the Hathayogapradipika (15th century), is rajayoga (4:103).[49] Although this text goes to great lengths to provide meticulous descriptions of the “means”, little is spared to remind the student of hathayoga that they are only useful insofar as they facilitate knowledge, and ultimately, its dissolution (laya) in the higher stages of rajayoga (4:103).

The body, however, attains unparalleled importance as a “means” in hathayoga. All of the preliminary stages work to master the body, in order to transmute it into a divine body (divyadeha). There is no confusing the goal with the means in the Hathayogapradipika. Eliade writes:

“Philosophical justification has a very small place in these brief treatises, which are entirely devoted to technical formulas. The states of consciousness corresponding to the various exercises are mentioned only rarely and in a rudimentary way. It is the physics and physiology of meditation that are the chief concern of these writers”.[50]

The yoga taught in the Hathayogaprdipika pays close attention to describing the specific practices (sadhana) that will lead to experience of absolute reality, or transcendence. Through practice of the its six- fold purificatory program (satkarma), followed by (and in this order) asana, mudra, pranayama, pratyahara, dhyana, and liberation (samadhi), the final stage, is gradually and systematically induced. The stages of hathayoga are arranged hierarchically because mastery of one prepares one and leads one on to next. The Satkarma prepares the body and keeps it healthy. Asana (such as svastikasana, virasana, matsyasana, pascimotattanasana etc.) and mudra are important aids for regulating vital breath (pranayama). By controlling the breath, the practitioner stops the passage of the breaths through the nadis (“veins” of the subtle body that connect the mind and the senses), thereby stopping the activities of the senses and severing the connection to the mind and the external stimuli which prevent concentration (dhyana) on the essence of the individual self. Pranayama, thus, merges with pratyahara which further melds into the final two stages of hathayoga (rajayoga). Ellen Goldberg writes: “In the same manner that hathayoga leads to rajayoga, asana (as well as other ritual technology such as pranayama, mudra, nada, etc.) leads to advanced stages of meditation (dhyana, samadhi)”.[51]

Although hathayoga clearly takes on a language and practical soteriology of its own, which deserves to be examined on its own merit, it may be (and indeed has been) effectively argued that its goal (moksa) is not different from other forms of yoga.[52] Tatya, in the introduction to a (relatively) recent translation of the Hathayogapradipika writes:

“The Hatha- and Raja-yoga’s far from being antagonistic towards each other, are, on the contrary, interdependent, and the pursuit of the Raja-yoga cannot be successfully accomplished without the cooperation of the sister Hatha-yoga”.[53]

According to Sanjukta Gupta, the philosophical speculations about the nature of prakrti and purusa, and the psycho-physical techniques that were systematized in Patanjali’s yoga (to eliminate one’s “false” identification with prakrti) ultimatelyculminated in hathayoga.[54] Clearly, however, tantric theory and practice also influenced hathayoga. There are many allusions made to the “subtle body” metaphysics of kundalini, and layayoga in the Hathayogapradipika. The very fact that hathayoga places so much emphasis on the body may be justification enough to make this parallel, and is likely the reason it always manages to find its way into discussions of tantric sadhana.[55]

Tantric theory and practice (sadhana) revolve, in general, around the basic metaphysical tenet that the absolute reality contains in itself all polarities and all dualities. All that exists and all that is created and destroyed represents the shattering of ultimate unity, the coming apart of the two principles (represented variously as macrocosm and microcosm, Siva & Sakti, samsara and nirvana, purusa and prakrti, ha- & tha- etc.).[56] Despite the different philosophical leanings, symbolism and practical soteriologies, in all cases, the absolute reality is conceived of possessing two attributes or aspects, which stand in polar opposition to one another. They are “conceived as the negative and the positive, the static and dynamic, rest (nivrtti) and activity (pravritti)–the principle of pure consciousness and the principle of activity;–one represents subjectivity and the other objectivity; and, again, the one is conceived as the enjoyer and the other as the enjoyed”.[57] The experience of duality and thus bondage, suffering and illusion is a consequence of the experience of a state of duality. The purpose of tantric yoga, thus, is to bring the two polar principles back together; first within the disciple’s own body and then to be realized in all experience[58].

Volumes of complicated theory and symbolism codify this idea in a countless variety of ways. It is constantly stressed, however, that any of the concepts we may try to attribute to the immutable paradox of reality, which is at once one and many, necessarily fall short of the truth. The universal and absolute consciousness with which the yogin must become identified can not be known through speculation, which is inherently dualistic in character. Thus, the esoteric practices described in the Tantras, eighty per cent of which are concerned with ritual,[59] concern themselves with the ultimate union of these dual aspects of totality.

This concern with a practical soteriology clearly inspires hathayoga the goal of which is the union (yoga) of the two, bi-polar principles: ha=sun + tha=moon. As the tantras never tired of reiterating, nothing can be achieved without practice. The hathayoga texts, Ellen Goldberg writes, “basically adopts a philosophical framework form which to expound its programmatic praxis-oriented ritual procedures”.[60] It is essentially a “bottom-up” procedure, which aims to bring about a return of being (microcosm) into essence (macrocosm). The mediation between these two states of being occurs within the “gross”, physical body and the “subtle”, essential body (mesocosm). Hathayoga, in this sense, serves as a technique for the reabsorption or implosion of the human microcosm into the divine source. This process of de-evolution, or merging of effect into cause, is symbolized as kundalini’s journey through and piercing of the chakras. It is in these very subtle realms into which alchemy, the subject of David Gordon White’s book, The Alchemical Body, enters. He writes:

“When the kundalini rises from the muladhara cakra to the svadhisthana, the element earth becomes reabsorbed into and encompassed by the element water. Likewise, water is reabsorbed into fire in the third cakra, the manipura; fire into air in the anahata; and air into ether in the visuddhi cakra. As in Samkhya, hathayoga, and other hierarchical systems, so too in alchemy: that which is higher encompasses, absorbs, that which is lower”.[61]

These experiences, however, only occur in the later, culminating stages of hathayoga. Preceding this subtle gnosis is, in the grave words of Aurobindo, “a lengthly, laborious, and tedious procedure”![62] One needs to be reminded through this process, however, that both tantric and hathayoga treatises declare the attainment of a “divine body” as a necessary preliminary “step” towards enlightenment. In the hathayogic tradition, this groundwork comprises many, interpenetrating advances along a hierarchical path. Gradual shifts in consciousness bring one progressively closer to its final goal, rajayoga.

Concluding Remarks

Although there has been a great deal of scholarly research directed at the many and various systems of yoga that have developed in India over a period of several millennia, there is clearly a tendency to view it in terms of its philosophical and doctrinal characteristics rather than in its other aspect—as a kind of “spiritual technology”.[63] Yoga, as developed in the Hathayogapradipika for example, directs one’s attention to the various practical means prescribed by the various disciplines of yoga to propel the practitioner towards his or her goal. It would seem that if the ultimate “goal” of yoga is indeed “union” of the individual self (jivatman) with the supreme self (paramatman), the means to this goal are just as important and worthy of examination as the goal itself.

Having examined the classical yoga expounded in Patanjali’s classic, the Yoga Sutras, and the Hathayogapradipika of Svatmarama, and its associations with tantric theory and practice, it becomes clear that they share some important similarities and differences. Although the Yoga Sutra does probe some of the same practices that arise in the Hathayogapradipika, it remains a fundamentally rajayoga text. It does not locate the body or practice centrally, nor does is expound upon the actual physical practices in nearly as much detail as this kriyayoga tradition. Hathayoga, in its turn, places central importance on the utilization of prescribed physical techniques, combined with subtle physiology, to progress towards Ultimate “union”. Despite their differences in character, however, they ultimately lead the practitioner to the same goal, namely the cessation of the cognitive functions or fluctuations of the mind. The psychophysical effects of hathayoga prepare the ground for the emergence of rajayoga. The transition from classical to tantric forms and theories of yoga, as such,involved the development of integrative practices between body and mind (in this order).

This is not to say, however that Patanjali’s classical exposition on Yoga, was entirely doctrinally or philosophically centered. Whicher notes that it is reasonable to assume that Patanjali “was an active preceptor or guru“, and a great authority on yoga. He notes that he was also writing at a time “of intense debate and ongoing philosophical speculation in India”[64]. From these conjectures, it is quite possible that Patanjali did not place the same amount of effort into developing the same kind of detailed exegesis on practice as the hathayoga texts because: (1) He may have made assumptions about the background and preparedness of the audience for whom he was writing (perhaps a community of disciples, already devoted to the study and practice of yoga); and/or (2) In his effort to supply yoga with a reasonably inclusive and homogenous framework so that it might at par with the many rival traditions, he could not write more than could be remembered (the Yoga Sutras belong to the smrti literature within Hinduism). The former explanation may be more plausible, especially as yoga is characterized not only by its practical nature, but also its initiatory structure. It is conceivable that, because he provides at least a basic framework for praxis, Patanjali only said as much as he needed to in order to impart the essential essence of his yoga.

Out of this classical system, or perhaps in response to it, there emerged new monistic currents of thought with Vedanta speculation and literature, and later the Tantras. Hathayoga, one of the many schools that unfolded during this time period, makes the goal of yoga (rajayoga) dependent on and consistent with its means, which are more overtly elaborated than in Patanjali’s discourse on yoga. Neither school, however, denies the importance of practice. The means are just as important as the end, and neither should be viewed in isolation if a ‘holistic’ understanding of the many various and complex systems of yoga is to be achieved.

Works Cited

Basu, M., 1986. Fundamentals of the Philosophy of the Tantras. Calcutta: Mira Basu Publishers

Bharati, Agehananda, 1975. The Tantric Tradition. Samuel Weiser, Inc., N.Y.

Bhattacharyya, N.N., 1999. History of the Tantric Religion: As Historical, Ritualistic and Philosophical Study. New Delhi: Manohar

Das Gupta, Shashibhusan, 1976. Obscure Religious Cults. Saraswati Printing Press, Delhi

Dasgupta, Surendranath, 1930. Yoga Philosophy in Relation to Other Systems of Indian Thought. Calcutta: Calcutta University Press

Eliade, Mircea, 1973. Yoga, Immortality and Freedom. 2nd Ed. Trans. Willard R. Trask. Princeton, NJ: Bollingen; 4

Feuerstein, Georg, 1979. The Yoga Sutra of Patanjali: As Exercise in the Methodology of Textual Analysis. New Delhi: Arnold-Heinemann

Feuerstein, Georg, 1989. Yoga: The Technology of Ecstasy. Los Angelos, CA: J.P. Tarcher; 38

Flood, Gavin, 1998. An Introduction to Hinduism. New Delhi: Cambridge University Press; 97-98

Fuerstein, Georg, 1998. Tantra: The Path to Ecstasy. Shambhala, Boston

Goldberg, Ellen, 2001. “The Hathayogapradipika of Svatmarama and the Rahasyabodhini of Krpvalananda”. In: Journal of Indian Philosophy and Religion. Vol.6 (Oct.)

Gupta, Sanjukta, 1979. “Modes of Worship and Meditation”. In: S. Gupta, D.J. Hoens, T. Goudriaan. Hindu Tantrism. Leiden, Koln: E.J. Brill

Miller, B.S., 1995, (trans); Yoga: Discipline of Freedom. Los Angelos, CA: University of California Press

Tatya, Tookaram, 1972. “Introduction”, In: The Hathayogapradipika of Svatmarama. Adyar, Madras: Vasanta Press

Whicher, Ian, 1998. The Integrity of the Yoga Darshana: A Reconsideration of Classical Yoga. New York: SUNY Press

White, David Gordon, 1996. The Alchemical Body: Siddha Traditions in Medieval India. Chicago: University of Chicago Press

Footnotes

[1] David Gordon White, 1996. The Alchemical Body: Siddha Traditions in Medieval India. Chicago: University of Chicago Press; 18. NOTE: Similar identification also made in the Hathayogapradipika (4.50).

[2] ibid., 18

[3] Georg Feuerstein, 1989. Yoga: The Technology of Ecstasy. Los Angelos, CA: J.P. Tarcher; 38

[4] Ian Whicher, 1998. The Integrity of the Yoga Darshana: A Reconsideration of Classical Yoga. New York: SUNY Press; 38

[5] See D.G. White, 1996; I. Whicher, 1998; G. Feuerstein, 1989; for survey of history, literature and branches of yoga.

[6] Ian Whicher, 1998; 38-39

[7] Ian Whicher (1998) challenges interpretations that present Patanjali’s yoga as dualistic, seeing it rather as an “integral” path which does not advocate abandonment of the world (prakrti), but rather “supports as stance that enables one to live more fully in the world without being enslaved by worldly identification”. This is an interesting enquiry, but lies beyond the scope of this paper.

[8] Although hathayoga is often discussed in relation to or as a tantric variant of yoga, it is unclear if it is “officially” part of the Tantric milieu. In this paper, I will discuss it as if it is.

[9] See concluding remarks in this paper for an explanation of some of the very good reasons why this may be the case.

[10] See T. Goudriaan, 1979. “Introduction, History and Philosophy”. In: S. Gupta, D.J.Hoens, T. Goudriaan. Hindu Tantrism. Leiden, Koln: E.J. Brill; 3-5.

[11] Mircea Eliade, 1973. Yoga, Immortality and Freedom. 2nd Ed. Trans. Willard R. Trask. Princeton, NJ: Bollingen; 4

[12] “South Indian paths of spiritual emancipation, or self transcendence, that bring about a transmutation of consciousness culminating in liberation from the confines of egoic identity or worldly existence”. In: Whicher, 1998; 6

[13] I. Whicher, 1998; 6

[14] Sanjukta Gupta, 1979. “Modes of Worship and Meditation”. In: S. Gupta, D.J. Hoens, T. Goudriaan. Hindu Tantrism. Leiden, Koln: E.J. Brill; 164-165

[15] ibid.; 164

[16] N.N. Bhattacharyya, 1999. History of the Tantric Religion: As Historical, Ritualistic and Philosophical Study. New Delhi: Manohar; 308

[17] ibid, 1999; 309

[18] Tookaram Tatya, 1972. “Introduction”, In: The Hathayogapradipika of Svatmarama. Adyar, Madras: Vasanta Press; ix

[19] ibid, 1972; xii-xiii

[20] Ellen Goldberg, 2001. “The Hathayogapradipika of Svatmarama and the Rahasyabodhini of Krpvalananda”. In: Journal of Indian Philosophy and Religion. Vol.6 (Oct.); 22

[21] ibid, 23

[22] ibid; 24

[23] Although “rajayoga” does not always necessarily refer to Patanjali’s yoga (Gupta, 1979, describes in what other contexts it is used), I chose to use Gupta’s definition; “that which leads to immediate samadhi“, or what Patanjala yoga refers to as “undifferentiated merger” (asamprajnata samadhi).

[24] G. Feuerstein, 1989; 38, italics mine

[25] I. Whicher, 1998; 42

[26] Agehananda Bharati, 1975. The Tantric Tradition. Samuel Weiser, Inc., N.Y.; 204-208

[27] However, and interestingly, they are conceptually interdependent in so far as prakrti cannot act if purusa is not present. See Bharati, 1975;205

[28] Gavin Flood, 1998. An Introduction to Hinduism. New Delhi: Cambridge University Press; 97-98

[29] I. Whicher, 1998; 53

[30] ibid; 53, italics mine

[31] Surendranath Dasgupta, 1930. Yoga Philosophy in Relation to Other Systems of Indian Thought. Calcutta: Calcutta University Press; 2

[32] I. Whicher, 1998; 53

[33] B.S. Miller, 1995, (trans.); Yoga: Discipline of Freedom. Los Angelos, CA: University of California Press

[34] B.S. Miller, 1995; 43

[35] I. Whicher, 1998; 152

[36] ibid; 152

[37] S. Gupta, 1979; 167

[38] G. Flood, 1998; 98

[39] T. Tatya writes that rajayoga and hathayoga are terms that are “synonymous” with the Samkhya and Yoga darsanas (xiv).

[40] N.N. Bhattacharyya, 1999; 309

[41] S. Gupta, 1979; 164-165

[42] For example, Ian Whicher (1998; 6) writes that laya and kundalini yoga are “closely associated with hathayoga.” 1998; 6

[43] M. Eliade, 1973; 228

[44] M. Basu, 1986. Fundamentals of the Philosophy of the Tantras. Calcutta: Mira Basu Publishers; 624

[45] S. Gupta, 1979; 180

[46] G. Feuerstein, 1989; 38, italics mine

[47] E. Goldberg, 2001; 13

[48] M. Eliade, 1973; 228

[49] Svatmarama Svamin, 1972. Hathayogapradipika. Adyar, Madras: Adyar Library and Research Center

[50] M. Eliade, 1973; 230

[51] E. Goldberg, 2001; 9

[52] For example, see E. Goldberg, 2001; 6-7. Goldberg suggests that Patanjali’s astanga system of yoga and the six stages of hathayoga presented in the Hathayogapradipika can be “roughly” paralleled. She also correlates the “rajayoga” described in the HYP with the last three stages (antarangas) of Patanjali’s system (Although Patanjali is never mentioned in the HYP).

[53] T. Tatya, 1972; xvi

[54] S. Gupta, 1979; 166

[55] See, for example, M. Eliade, 1973; 200-273, and S. Gupta, D.J. Hoens, and T. Goudriaan, 1979; 163-183

[56] Shashibhusan Das Gupta, 1976. Obscure Religious Cults. Saraswati Printing Press, Delhi; xxxvi

[57] ibid; xxxiv

[58] ibid; xxxv

[59] Fuerstein, Georg, 1998. Tantra: The Path to Ecstasy. Shambhala, Boston; 124

[60] E. Goldberg, 2001; 21

[61] D. G. White, 1996; 208. See also S. Gupta, 1979; 176-177

[62] M. Basu, 1986; 624

[63] E. Goldberg. “The Hathayogapradipika of Svatmarama and the Rahasyabodhini of Krpvalananda”. Queen’s University, Kingston, ON: Unpublished; 1

[64] I. Whicher, 1998; 43

Related

• The “Pure Consciousness Experience”

Sigmund Freud, unlike Jean-Paul Sartre, had a divided view of consciousness. Freud divided it into three functional parts: id, ego, and superego. He saw the id as the deepest level of the unconscious, dominated by the pleasure principle, with its object the immediate gratification of instinctual drives. The superego, originating in the child through identification with parents, and in response to social pressures, functions as an internal censor to repress the urges of the id. The ego, on the other hand, is seen as a part of the id modified by contact with the external world. It is a mental agent mediating among three contending forces: the outside demands of social pressure or reality, libidinal demands for immediate satisfaction arising from the id, and the moral demands of the superego. Although considered only partly conscious, the ego constitutes the major part of what is commonly referred to as consciousness.

For simplicity’s sake and to make Freud’s conception comparable to Sartre’s, I will collapse the superego into the ego and only talk of it and the id, as Sartre does. So we have left the id, which essentially drives and determines the actions in the ego while it itself remains beneath the surface, and the ego, which is driven by the id and yet disconnected from it; basically a bifurcated view of consciousness with each part acting without the knowledge of the other; he posits consciousness, and below it, unconsciousness. To put it in Sartre’s language: “By the distinction between the “id” and the “ego,” Freud has cut the psychic whole in two.  I am the ego but I am not the id.  I hold no privileged position in relation to my unconscious psyche. … I stand in relation to my “id” in the position of the Other.”

Sartre’s major contention with Freud’s theory is the bifurcation itself. Sartre saw consciousness as one whole unit, as something inseparable, and to speak of it otherwise was ludicrous, as he attempted to show in “Bad Faith”, a chapter in his book Being and Nothingness.

Sartre begins by first marking the distinction between lying to another and lying to oneself, or committing an act of bad faith, as Sartre puts it. A lie directed outward from a person and toward another implies the fact that the liar is actually in complete possession of the truth which he is hiding. A person cannot lie about what he is ignorant of, he must know the truth. As Sartre says, “The ideal description of the liar would be a cynical consciousness, affirming truth within himself, denying it in his words, and denying that negation as such…”.

Sartre goes on to describe bad faith and the fundamental difference between it and a projected lie toward another. The difference lies in the fact that in the case of an act of bad faith the lie is directed toward the self, not the other. In the case of a projected lie there was an apparent duality, between the liar and the one to whom the lie was told. But on the other hand, in the case of bad faith, the duality has been removed; bad faith implies the unity of a single consciousness, not two, as in the case of the liar and the lied to, and pertaining to Freud, the unconscious and the conscious.

Having established this, Sartre begins to examine the psychoanalytic method, which relies on the bifurcation of consciousness, and begins to formulate some of its problematic implications. For example, Freud reports that during psychoanalysis, when he is near to approaching the truth of some repression, the patient shows defiance, may refuse to speak, exaggerate about his dreams, or even remove himself entirely from the psychoanalytic treatment. Under a divided view of consciousness this behavior doesn’t seem to make sense. The ego, as an outsider to the id, and in just the same position as the doctor, as an outsider to the id, has no privileged position. The ego cannot be the source of the resistance. In fact the ego, as analogous to the doctor, would be more apt to uncover any hidden desire, as that is the point of psychoanalysis. Sartre concludes by saying, “In this case it is no longer possible to resort to the unconscious to explain bad faith; it is there in full consciousness…”, in a single consciousness.

Though, it could be contended that the source of resistance actually comes from the complex which the psychoanalyst is trying to uncover. But Sartre discusses this too, positing the complex as a collaborator of the psychoanalyst, not an enemy, because it desires to express itself in clear consciousness and because it plays tricks on the censor (the patient as repressing the complex) and seeks to elude it. He goes on to say that the only level on which the resistance can be found is on the censor because “it alone can comprehend the questions or the revelations of the psychoanalyst as approaching more or less near to the real drives which it strives to repress-it alone because it alone knows what it is repressing”.  Here we can see that the censor must be able to be aware of the repressions. He must be able to discern the condemned drives. And by discernment of these drives, must we not infer that, instead of disparate sections of consciousness, we find it more plausible to posit a single consciousness that is capable of discernment? It seems so.

The next section begins to give further credence to Sartre’s theory that there is a single consciousness. We have seen that the discernment of the repressed drive by the censor implies unity of consciousness, but more evidence may be found in the fact that the censor must also recognize them as to be repressed; it must be aware of the information to be repressed and as to be repressed before it could actually be repressed.

Sartre summarizes well:

“All knowing is consciousness of knowing. Thus the resistance of the patient  implies on the level of the censor and awareness of the thing repressed as such, a comprehension of the end toward which the questions of the psychoanalyst are leading…These various operations in their turn imply that the censor is conscious of itself”

Now that we’ve established a unity of consciousness with respect to repressing complexes and uncovering them, we’ll return to the question of bad faith, or of one lying to oneself. This consciousness, capable of discerning and repressing complexes, is an example of this. This consciousness “must be the consciousness of being conscious of the drive to be repressed, but precisely in order to not be conscious of it. What does this mean if not that the censor is in bad faith?”. The censor is lying to himself and is therefore in bad faith, as Sartre has defined it, and is the product of a single consciousness, without which bad faith would not be possible.

Freud has rejected the unity of consciousness and in doing so he is looking for some magical casual connection between distant phenomena. Sartre likens it to sympathetic magic which, like the operation of a voodoo doll, depends on leaps across objects and space to unite two disparate objects. It could even be compared to Descartes’ problem of the soul affecting the body; how could something of such different compositions and natures be united?

To summarize, if Freud is correct in his dividing of consciousness into the ego and the id, then bad faith is not possible due to the fact that, to qualify for an act being in bad faith, one must deceive himself and to separate consciousness is to separate the self. But, as Sartre argues, bad faith is possible and does exist, as we see in the examples of the young lover, the waiter, and the homosexual. Therefore, the Freudian conception of consciousness must be incorrect and must be replaced by another, Sartre’s.

Related

• The Speechwriter

One example of a Frankfurt-style situation in which an agent is thought to be free and held morally responsible for performing an action is the “voting example”. In the voting example an agent, Tom, goes to the polls on election day to vote for either candidate #1 or candidate #2. In this case Tom intends to vote for candidate #1. Unbeknown to him, Tom’s evil neighbor had crept into his bedroom the night before and had implanted a device in Tom’s brain that would alter his choice if he had decided to vote for candidate #2 and not for #1. But since Tom intended to vote for #1 the device was never activated and thus, never affected Tom’s vote, his freedom, or his moral responsibility for casting his vote in the way that he did. So, in effect, Tom could not do otherwise but is still free and morally responsible.

At first glance it seems that Frankfurt has succeeded in showing that the ability to do otherwise is not a necessary condition for freedom and moral responsibility, but the example must be criticized in several places.

First, what exactly is meant when by the phrase “the ability to do otherwise” and more precisely, “do”? I think there are many ways to interpret this (Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary offers fifty-seven definitions), but it basically comes down to two. The first involves “do” referring to an action or a movement, like someone going to the polls to cast a vote. In this sense “the ability to do otherwise” would be to not go to the polls or to not cast a vote (for candidate #1, #2, or at all).

The second incorporates a teleological element into the equation, i.e. the reason for casting the vote, or more generally, the intended results of an agent’s action. In this sense “the ability to do otherwise” would be to have one’s intentions of casting a vote for #2 instead of #1 realized.

To apply these two different definitions to the example and to see their differences, it would help to visualize the cause and effect process of Tom in the voting booth. To review, Tom intends to vote for candidate #1. Tom’s evil neighbor also wants Tom to vote for #1 and has implanted a device in Tom that assures this (if Tom intends to vote for #2). But since Tom has no intention of voting for #2 the device is not used, Tom is free, bears moral responsibility and so on.

A schematic of the situation (fig. 1) allows one to easily visualize what is happening inside the mind of Tom and the results of it. The first set of ovals represents Tom in a primary mental state, in his intentions to vote for either candidate #1 or #2. It seems evident that everyone would agree Tom is free in this situation since he can vote for either #1 or #2 and is not yet affected by the implanted device. The problem arises when this primary information is perceived by the device and is then either ignored or translated into something else which leads to a different result than was intended. Now remembering the two interpretations of “the ability to do otherwise” and looking at (fig.1), it seems that Tom’s freedom and his moral responsibility may be in jeopardy.

His actions satisfy the first definition of “do” in that he acts on his own and chooses between two options, but the second definition is far from satisfied. Tom cannot act in a way that links his intentions with what will be the outcomes of those intentions in both cases. Only in the upper case does Tom have control of the outcome; in the lower case the device impedes his intentions and creates its own outcome. So it seems that the Frankfurt-style example, as used by Frankfurt, is incomplete in its analysis and in fact offers an example of freedom followed by an instance of lack of freedom. I believe this is why the example seems so paradoxical to a lot of people. From one perspective Frankfurt is correct, in that the agent cannot affect the result, cannot “do otherwise”. From another, more primary perspective the agent can “do otherwise”. The only problem is that the affect of the other action is not realized.

But this is not the end of the problem of free will and the ability to do otherwise. I believe that the common conception of freedom is highly problematic. Remember, the theory states that an action is free and the agent is responsible for the action if and only if the agent could’ve done otherwise. But this theory says nothing about the number of possible options open to the agent from which he can choose.

To continue let’s first define freedom and then we’ll look at our voting example again. “Freedom”, as defined by Webster’s is “the state of being free or at liberty rather than in confinement of under physical restraint” (763). I think most people would agree with this definition and would not find it problematic.

Now moving on to our voting example we said that Tom basically had three options open to him: (1) attempt to vote for candidate #1 (2) attempt to vote for candidate #2 and (3) don’t vote at all. What if Tom was not satisfied with these options? What if he wanted to vote for a third candidate or in a more extreme example, what if he wanted to get ice cream? This may not seem to make much sense at first, but bear with me.

Tom cannot escape the options given to him. He cannot act on options that do not exist. This is the situation in which we find ourselves every day and yet a lot of people believe they are free to act. But I perceive this as a limited freedom, a freedom that is bound by certain parameters. Webster’s definition, for example, spoke of being free of physical restraint. But what is physical restraint if not the laws of gravity and thermodynamics and space and, consequently, time? Breaking these laws are impossible and thus not available to us. But acting within these laws, within these absolute parameters I believe we can find a limited amount freedom. So the assertion that to have free will and to be held morally accountable for an action it is necessary that one have the ability to do otherwise is mistaken. We can’t jump to the moon or travel back in time, but yet we have a limited amount of freedom to choose from among the options that are available to us.

Figure 1:

Related

In my understanding, Schopenhauer says that an individual is, at his core, a will. This will it seems is the blind desire for life, the yearning to exist and continue to exist. For the will to exist it must communicate with the individual’s “reason”, the intellectual aspect of the individual, which can lead the will to the water of life to drink. The problem is that the language used by the will to communicate is that of pain and suffering. The will perceives a lack of something and immediately says to reason, “Here is pain. It is from a want. Fill this void”. And then reason goes on to do so, (consciously or unconsciously) creating a temporary relief of suffering for the will. Schopenhauer then goes on to say that because this is temporary the will must always swing between the suffering and the absence of suffering; “its life swings like a pendulum to and fro between pain and boredom, and these two are in fact its ultimate constituents.”

And so, Schopenhauer’s ontology tells us that life is basically suffering. He moves from this assertion to a prescription about how one may escape this suffering via art, that great mystical savior. He says, “What might otherwise be called the finest part of life, its purest joy, just because it lifts us out of real existence, and transforms us into disinterested spectators of it, is pure knowledge which remains foreign to all willing, pleasure in the beautiful, genuine delight in art” (italics mine; [1]). I have several problems with this. First, why should we even consider escaping this type of life (real existence)? And furthermore, if we deny suffering are we denying life?

Dealing with the first question, “Why should we consider escaping this life”, I feel that we’re dealing with phenomenological, existentialist, and ontological issues. Phenomenologically, It seems very difficult to accurately describe life from one perspective, analyze another’s life, and declare one better that the other. I think Schopenhauer attempts to answer this by declaring that we all share the will as a universal. It allows us to be bound to each other and to execute comparisons among all sentient beings. But I feel that he has no way of verifying this. If he’s right then he’s right, but if he’s wrong then he only believes that he is right and is misguided by his subjective approach.

Ontologically, it seems Schopenhauer is trying to get us to transcend above this existence, but I’m not sure if there is anything to transcend to. What completely baffles me about his philosophy is that he even says that the world of suffering is the “real existence”, and yet he wants us to escape from it to some purported “higher” realm of existence. He believes that art can liberate us; “it lifts us out of real existence”; “when we enter the state of pure contemplation [of art], we are raised for the moment above all willing, above all desires and cares; we are, so to speak, rid of ourselves” [1].

So, it seems that by viewing a proper work of art we are supposed to be lifted out of this harsh existence in order to know the “true nature of life and of existence”. But I just don’t see how it’s possible to differentiate between the “real” existence and the “true” existence. I think Schopenhauer is trying to posit some ethereal world which is not the true world, but a romanticized and falsified version of this one, which really gets us no further in the end. We have gained nothing from looking toward the sky as Plato did. We need to bring it back down to the dirt and soil and earth as Aristotle recommended; we need to just look around and observe the suffering. This brings us to the existentialist point of view.

I feel that a great many existentialists would be upset with Schopenhauer’s generalization, for he is in fact declaring that (1) there is something else besides this world and this suffering and (2) “essence precedes existence” and not the contrary.

We saw evidence for (1) earlier in his admonition to rise above the suffering via art and we see evidence for (2) in his theory of the will as universal. According to this theory “the will, considered purely in itself, is devoid of knowledge, and is only a blind, irresistible urge, as we see it appear in inorganic and vegetable nature and in their laws, and also in the vegetative part of our own life…It always strives because striving is its sole nature, to which no attained goal can put an end”. Here Schopenhauer is clearly stating what the will is, in the positive. He is, in effect, giving a definition (the same definition at core) to man and animals and plants and all that live.

This is in direct contradiction to most existentialist thought. A basic tenet of existentialism is that man has no universal definition. Each man and woman decides for himself and herself what they are and are to become, if they so choose. For them, existence precedes essence; universal definition does not precede them. To sum it up (if possible), existentialism is a “philosophical movement that emphasizes the individual, the self, the individual’s experience, and the uniqueness therein as the only reality. Existentialists believe in sheer freedom and accept the consequences and ramifications of their actions wholly. Existentialists prefer subjectivity, and view general existence as arcane, that they are isolated entities in an indifferent and often ambiguous universe.” [2]

Secondly, it seems absurd to lump people and other animals together when talking about the striving will and the suffering it entails. Though, to his credit Schopenhauer does say that “the more complicated the organization becomes in the ascending series of animals, the more manifolod do its needs become, and the more varied and specially determined the objects capable of satisfying them, consequently the more torturous and lengthy the paths for arriving at these…” [1]. So he is saying that the suffering an animal feels is not quite that of modern man, but yet they do share some suffering in that both of their attempts to live are stifled at some point. But I think the existentialists would say that they are nearly beyond comparison and by unifying them via the will Schopenhauer is mistaken.

Though Schopenhauer does seem to have many differences with thinkers like Nietzsche, there are some similarities. For example, Schopenhauer and Nietzsche both view human evolution as an artistic process. Nietzsche, the theorist of the will to power, understands evolutionary history as one aspect of a universal, cosmic becoming, as the unfolding of certain creative forces immanent in nature. The same is true of the young Schopenhauer, metaphysician of The Birth of Tragedy, for whom ‘art’ designates not only a mode of human activity or its artifacts, but also a universal, supra-individual phenomenon (Moore, 7).

Consequently, their worldviews could even be constructed in similar manners. For Nietzsche the world – that is, the world of appearance, the world as ‘representation’ in Schopenhauer’s sense – is itself a work of art, one fashioned by a cosmic process represented by his famous distinction between the Apollonian and Dionysian.

Other similarities can be seen deeper in the ideas of the two philosophers. Nietzsche’s idea of the Kunsttrieb, or pseudo-sexual force that prompts one to recreate himself in a work of art has a parallel in Schopenhauer. On the basis of his concept of the Kunsttrieb, Nietzsche establishes a hierarchy, graded according to the various levels of its objectification in nature, in much the same way as Schopenhauer orders the natural world according to the progressively more ‘adequate’ objectification of the Will. Organisms are deemed ‘higher’ or ‘lower’ according to their ‘artistic’ capacities or their sufficiency as media for the expression of the Kunsttrieb. Human beings, of course, represent the highest level of objectification. Nietzsche writes, “The awakening of the Kunsttrieb differentiates the animals. That we see nature in a particular way, in a particularly artistic way – this we share with no other living thing. But there is also an artistic gradation of the animals” [3]. This seems very similar to what Schopenhauer is saying when he talks of the Will in association with animals: “The difference of its [Will] manifestations in the various species of animal beings depends on the different extension of their spheres of knowledge in which the motives of those manifestations are to be found” [1].

But while Nietzsche shared some of the same philosophical ideas as Schopenhauer, he was also trying to break away. In the ‘Attempt at Self-

Criticism’ which prefaced the second edition of The Birth of Tragedy in 1886, he lamented the fact that he had labored “to express strange and new evaluations in Schopenhauerian…formulations, things which fundamentally ran counter to both the spirit and taste of…Schopenhauer” (Moore, 8). And so he felt the need to clarify his views, criticizing Schopenhauer and the Kantian process that was used in Schopenhauer’s philosophy. Nietzsche felt that in the aesthetic state the organism experiences an irresistible feeling of superabundant energy which must be discharged and channeled into creativity. In this, it resembles – or rather, is actually a species of – sexual arousal. This conception of aesthetic pleasure Nietzsche explicitly develops in opposition to the Kantian model of pleasure. Kant argues that the aesthetic attitude involves detachment from appetitive behavior, from purposiveness, and above all from sexuality.

For Nietzsche, on the other hand, the work of art, like the object of sexual attraction, actually stimulates desire. It is impossible (at least for a male, heterosexual viewer) to gaze at a female nude without interest. His real target here, however, is not so much Kant as Schopenhauer, who, as he correctly observes, appropriated the Kantian version of the aesthetic problem, although he certainly did not view it through Kantian eyes. Though Kant holds that disinterestedness is a necessary condition for aesthetic pleasure, it is not its end. The object in which we take pleasure is a kind of ‘free’ orderliness, the kind of orderliness we recognize in an object of perception when we bring it under a concept but which, in the case of the beautiful, is perceived without categorizing it in this way. For Schopenhauer, however, the object of pleasure is one’s own state of disinterestedness: the pleasure gained from a temporary release from the blind urging of the will, the celebration of the ‘Sabbath after the hard labor of desire’. As a means of restraining the human being’s sexual interest, art thus gestures towards the ethic of self-denial which he advocates.

This model of aesthetic experience as disinterested contemplation is, however, self-defeating, Nietzsche contends, because art remains enmeshed within the economy of means and ends: the momentary state of serene detachment is for Schopenhauer itself an object of desire, something which he desperately craved in order to deliver him from the tyranny of his own sexuality. Repudiating the Kantian-Schopenhauerian conception of aesthetic experience, Nietzsche embraces instead the view of Stendhal, ‘a no-less sensual but more happily constituted nature than Schopenhauer’, whose equally famous description of beauty as ‘a promise of happiness’ he makes his own, interpreting it in the more narrow sense as the promise of sexual pleasure, as a means to arouse the will.

In Twilight of the Idols, he again attacks Schopenhauer for mistakenly seeing in beauty the means of denying the ‘procreative drive’. This claim, he declares, is contradicted by nature: ‘Why is there any beauty in sound, colour, fragrance, rhythmic movements in nature? What is it that forces out beauty?’ He answers these questions this time by quoting Plato, who, in The Symposium, argues that ‘all beauty stimulates procreation’ (p. 54). Backed up by the authority of Stendhal and Plato, Nietzsche thus finally breaks with Schopenhauer, creating a line of demarcation between the two philosophies (Moore, 14-15).

Beginning on a new topic, another great problem I have with Schopenhauer is the means of his “escape”. If indeed his prescribed escape is justified, is art the proper medium through which to make the escape? Why is it seen as a higher, more transcendental approach when other things may work just as well?

For example, the criterion for a great work of art is that it must be capable of “lifting us out of real existence” and that when we “enter the state of pure contemplation [of it], we are…for the moment rid of ourselves.” But if I can find this same effect elsewhere it stands to reason I don’t need art. Drugs, for example, lift a person out of real existence. LSD can create entirely new visual objects for a person and allow one to enter into a new state of consciousness. Is this to be revered as another savior? Harvard educated Dr. Timothy Leary thought it could. What about games or sex or food or anything else that allows us to escape from suffering.

It seems that the swing from boredom to pain that Schopenhauer talks of is no different from the aesthetic swing of true perception to entanglement in suffering. To invoke again existentialist thought, Schopenhauer’s enjoyment of fine art may be no different than someone’s enjoyment of a Big Mac or one’s occasional need for a pint of vodka.

Works Cited:

[1]: Schopenhauer quote handout

[2]: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Existentialism

[3]: Nietzsche, “On Truth and Lies in an Extra-Moral Sense”. Cambridge, 2002.

[4]: Moore, Gregory. “Art and Evolution: Nietzsche’s Physiological Aesthetics.” British Journal for the History of Philosophy 10(1) 2002: 109-126. May 4, 2005.

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In society, many tensions occur between these classes, and must occur, else these classes would lose their characteristics and identities, and so could not fulfill their functions. The primary tension has always been between the follower and the leader; the speechwriter’s purpose lies in the mediation of this tension. The modern crisis of authority grows out of the uncontrolled brutality of this conflict at present due to the lack of speechwriters.

Friedrich Nietzsche created the basic concept of these three classes, calling them the weak, or sick, the strong, or healthy, and the ascetic, respectively. The strong have the purpose of ruling society. These “blond beasts” possess all the strength, will, and ferocity necessary for such a task and remain the only class capable of fulfilling it. However, rulers need subjects. In fact, without subjects, without the weak, the strong could not express their strength. There could be no “pathos of distance,” and thus no true nobility (Nietzsche 462). Likewise, the weak could not exist without the strong, for they need guidance and authority. They even crave it, in a sense.

Yet, at the same time, the strong despise the weak and the weak hate the strong. This conflict, though quite natural, poses a threat to society itself. There must be someone to mediate this conflict, someone stronger than the weak, yet weaker than the strong and possessed of a few of the qualities of both, someone who may temper the harm that each would do the other, if their wills to power were left unchecked. Society’s answer to her conflicts is the speechwriter. He acts as the agent of society to “adjust the mutual relationships” of man to man (Freud 42).

The speechwriter himself is not a ruler, nor was meant to be (Nietzsche 546). He is one of the weak, not one of the strong. However, he distinguishes himself from his peers in that while most of the weak direct their wills to power outwards, he directs it back upon himself (Freud 91). Finding no outlet for his desire for domination, he turns to dominating himself (Nietzsche 520). This concept parallels Sigmund Freud’s idea of the superego, a part of the ego set up against and over the ego (Freud 84).

The power of his superego is the most notable thing about the ascetic. Though everyone develops the superego, in some it is more pronounced than others. In the ascetic, the superego gains the greatest predominance. As Freud observed, the more virtuous a man is, the stricter his standards of virtue (Freud 87). Herein, we see precisely the strength of the speechwriter: his free will.

Now, all men have free will, but only the ascetic has it effectively, for only he dares to test it. The ascetic alone has the courage to set out in search of the limits of his powers of self-mastery, a futile and endless journey, for he possesses no such limits. With each new attainment, more remains possible, and thus he goes onwards. Nothing in his path can block his progress, and the path he walks lies endlessly before him. Thus, he can never weary of himself, nor of his journey.

Freud’s opposing forces of Eros and Thanatos play themselves out in the ascetic (Freud 82). His asceticism is a denial of life and nature for the sake or preserving life, for the sake of escaping the rest of the weak and the weariness of life they invoke (Nietzsche 556). The ascetic finds in his self-denial a means of occupying himself and preserving the will to life, as well as making life and society possible for everyone (Nietzsche 556-557).

This man, the ascetic, remains a weak man, however, for the root of all this self-mastery is his ressentiment, his will to power turned against himself in the creation of his superego. Thus, he becomes, not one of the strong, but a caretaker of the weak and an advisor of the strong. He guards the strong against infection by the weak, and guards the weak from the full ambition of the strong (Nietzsche 560-561).

For the strong care nothing for the weak, seeing society as theirs, as the arena in which they may overcome themselves and seek the creation of a higher species of man (Nietzsche 395-396). This, naturally, would not be possible without the weak, as strength requires weakness. However, the strong largely forget or ignore this matter. The pursuits of these “blond beasts” can hardly be expected to contain constant foresight. Thus, the speechwriter makes his appearance.

The speechwriter, the ascetic, takes it upon himself to encourage his way of asceticism among the weak and the strong alike. He acts as the agent of the cultural superego (Freud 107). He seeks to instill in the strong a sense of duty to their inferiors. They must, naturally, be allowed to vent their will to power upon the weak, but they must maintain some semblance of temperance and moderation.

Thus, the speechwriter infuses a bit of the slave morality into the nobility at any chance it gets, introducing this and that bit of guilt into the leaders, convincing them to allow some lenience to their subjects (Nietzsche 562). To the strong, his advice seems credible, to one degree or another, because he is, though one of the weak, one of the strongest of the weak.

Likewise, he acts as the strong’s emissary to the weak. He explains and justifies the suffering which the strong impose upon the weak (Nietzsche 564). For this purpose, he conjures up and strengthens the power of the superego in the weak, convincing them that their suffering is their own fault (Freud 87). Indeed, he inculcates to them that need and desire for suffering and for authority which Freud thought common to all (Freud 100).

In both of these capacities, the speechwriter’s main characteristic is his ability to convince. He convinces the strong to reign in their will to power and sublimate it, while convincing the weak to turn their will to power against themselves. This talent for convincing lies within his station as the strongest of the weak. To the weak, he seems a guiding light, a promise of what they too might become, and a man who knows what is best for them. To the strong, he seems, though still one of the weak, a welcome change from the weakness they see below them so plentifully gathered, which they have the role of ruling over.

The speechwriter wields the powers of creation: “The bad conscience is an illness, there is no doubt about that, but an illness as pregnancy is an illness” (Nietzsche 524). The weak lack the will and strength to truly create things of great value. The strong, on the other hand, must create things, must have authority, that is, authorship. However, their strength gives them a higher focus, for what the strong create, most of all, is themselves, and through themselves, a higher man (Nietzsche 391).

The speechwriter, on the other hand, is free to create what lies in between. He forms art and culture and searches for knowledge and truth (for these searches are also creative processes). In this way, he once more serves society in the encouragement of the higher faculties and pursuits of man (Freud 47). He has the life energy, which he conserves by self-denial, to channel into his creations, while he himself cannot become a higher man (Freud 51). This urge, too, he denies in service of his art. He exchanges, as it were, his freedom for the focus required by creativity (Nietzsche 544).

The ascetic, furthermore, in his propensity for suffering, his love of suffering, is distinctly suited to stand between the weak and the strong. He possesses the fortitude to bear the abuse of each, as a sort of shield for both. He acts as messenger between the two, and as only a half compatriot of either, his status makes him a perfect target for the safe venting of the will to power.

The speechwriter can endure this, however, for his will to power is directed against himself and seldom finds any outward expression. Thus, since he suffers the attacks of all and never makes his own attacks on anyone, everyone generally finds him to be a most agreeable and pleasant fellow. Herein lies his marvelous power to convince.

He, the perpetual scapegoat, never takes on the role of aggressor. Thus, he may represent the case of both strong and weak to the other, and seem to empathize with the one while pleading the case of the other. Thus, one is inclined to indulge him, or rather, the men whose cause he pleads. His supreme art is the defense, his chief role as the apologist, the propagandist, in short, the speechwriter.

By far, the most important intellectual staple of societal life, which the speechwriter, naturally, instills in the people, is that of community, the concept of loving one’s neighbor. Nietzsche presents this concept as a “petty pleasure” which distracts one from the pain of life (Nietzsche 571); Freud presents it as a cheapening of love (Freud 57); and Mazzini, a first rate speechwriter, presents it as a societal necessity and divine commands (Mazzini 49). All three theorists, in one sense or another, are correct in their interpretations of it.

Indeed, communal feeling brings joy to the weak and helps to make life bearable, while also cheapening the emotion of love by encouraging its dispersal to all, indiscriminately. However, this community, this love of one’s neighbor, fills a useful social function by establishing ties between the weak, so they do not vent their will to power upon each other, at least, not overly much. Unconditional love of all dampens man’s aggressive urges (Freud 69-70).

Mazzini calls for the education of the people, and this is precisely the speechwriter’s task (Mazzini 10). This education, this conveyance of ideas and ideals, protects society from collapse. Naturally, the speechwriters must fulfill this duty, as they are the men of science, of art, of learning. They are the creative spirits, the men who live for their creations. This concept, itself, embodies the ascetic ideal, to live for something, rather than for oneself and one’s self betterment. This makes the personal sacrifice of one’s instincts for the sake of the community and the rule of law possible (Freud 49). This mutual sacrifice is accomplished by the creation of the superego.

In the modern age, more and more, the number of these men of learning, these ascetics, these speechwriters, diminishes. The sad reason for this is that we begin to doubt the will to truth, the belief that truth exists and is inherently valuable (Nietzsche 588-589). Without the desire to seek truth, to understand, to create, the ascetic loses his purpose in life, his reason for being an ascetic, for rising above the weak, even a little bit.

This position is quite understandable, for who could suffer the abuse of the weak and of the strong and, above all, of himself, if he saw it as a futile effort, a pointless task? Who finds the courage to embark upon such a journey with no destination? If the will to truth is shown to be pointless and illusory, how can the ascetic endure?

Thus, the old breed of speechwriters slowly dies out. As this happens, the natural consequences ripple through the system. One, or even both, of two possibilities results: domination by the strong or domination by the weak. Where the strong dominate, they ruthlessly tear down all ties of community and oppress the weak cruelly and with such vigor that they have little energy left over to focus towards their own self-overcoming (Freud 59). The weak become far too easy a target for the claws of the “blond beasts.”

Whereas, where the weak dominate, they succeed in corrupting the strong with slave morality, in encouraging weakness as a universal good and bringing on the terrible “weariness of man” (Nietzsche 580). In effect, one side wins the war between the weak and the strong, but this war has, heretofore, been the force holding society together.

Society thrives on differences, on distinctions, on separation, and above all, on the fact that all fight, all struggle, and no one ever wins. To win the war is to upset the very balance upon which society rests. The chief means of maintaining this balance is to deny the righteousness, and above all the intrinsic necessity of this struggle, altogether, as Mazzini does (19). Nietzsche proclaims, quite rightly, that the slogan of the weak is, “Supreme rights of the majority” and that of the strong, “Supreme rights of the few” (490). Both cries call for the greatest danger to society: the supremacy of rights (Mazzini 11).

Clearly, the loss of these speechwriters breaks down the barrier between weak and strong and the effects are universally calamitous. Just such a situation exists in modern America. More and more, the idea of asceticism gives way to the idea of instant gratification. The advent of decadence and wastefulness provides a sort of outlet for the will to power, but such sources cannot last long. Furthermore, scarcity prevents many from achieving the purchasing power (a common modern outlet of the will to power) necessary to truly satisfy them.

The increased militarism and outwardly directed anger of our society is another symptom of the absence of speechwriters. Having few ready-made scapegoats within the country, the will to power of both the weak and the strong directs itself outward, while at the same time venting casual, immediate hostility against the remaining speechwriters, hence the growing anti-intellectual ethos (Freud 72).

Before, by virtue of their numbers, the ascetics held a hallowed place, as friends and allies to both weak and strong. Now, seeming more an aberration than a class in themselves, both weak and strong have come to view them as the enemies of both, as the outsiders, as the eternal “other.”

The question remains: how may this problem be solved? The hope of society lies in a new breed of speechwriter: the aware ascetic. Until now, the ascetics have never examined themselves. They looked on their forms and saw seekers of truth, since they did not question the will to truth and the value of truth. Now that this question has sprung to their lips, what resolution can they create? What purpose can they give themselves?

The only answer which seems to appear is their making themselves stupid in order to maintain their strength of focus (Nietzsche 291-292). Their only option seems to be to ignore the “dangerous maybes” presented by the doubt of truth altogether (Nietzsche 200). To declare, emphatically, confidently, and truthfully, that such things do not matter (Nietzsche 201-202). For after all, the ascetic ideal, the position of speechwriter, is the highest advancement possible for the weak man. Also, to take on the role of speechwriter is to serve the community, and upon such little joys, ascetics have always depended.

In short, to preserve the will to truth, the ascetic must ignore the inquiry into the value of truth itself. To ignore this section of inquiry, ironically, is to partially deny the will to truth itself (Nietzsche 597). Thus, by this process, the will to truth is overcome for the sake of its own preservation, and that use of Thanatos for the sake of Eros, so intrinsic to the ascetic ideal, goes on.

(1)Throughout this essay, I use the word “men” and like terms in a sex- and gender-neutral sense, not as some of the theorists I discuss used them.

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This brings up the philosophy of deism. Deism is the religious philosophical concept that when God first created the universe he wound up the whole universe like a great big clock and went beyond the boundaries of the universe and he is letting everything slowly unwind by itself. Therefore it is dangerous blasphemy against the science of the universe to pray to God and change anything because if anything in this universe happens that is the way God wanted it to be.

If you are familiar with the theory of the Big Bang, there is another theory which is the exact opposite of that called the Big Crunch theory. It basically states that if gravity eventually manages to grab hold of the boundaries of the universe the universe will stop expanding and do the exact opposite and start to contract and the pieces and matter of the universe will eventually start to come back together and time will start to go backwards. Who knows, maybe the Big Bang has already happened ten to one hundred times and I have sat here at this very computer and written this exact same essay ten to one hundred times or maybe even more than that even. And it will be just a constant repeated process over and over and over again. But yes Religious and Scientific philosophy is a very interesting subject and it has boggled the minds of philosophers for hundreds and even thousands of years.

The main question that has stirred up not only the minds of philosophers but also the minds of common average man is simply this, “What happens to us after we die and leave this world”? Well fact of the matter is simply this, there is only one down that road and so far throughout human history no man or woman has been able to bring that road back and tell us what they saw after they died. Because I will admit one thing, I have a very hard time believing near death experiences. The ancient pagans in Greece and pre Christian era Rome had very similar beliefs of the after life like ours. They believed if you were a good person you went to a heavenly paradise called the Elysium Fields or otherwise known as the land of the blessed. If you were an evil person you went to a fiery horrible place known as Hades where you were tortured and tormented for eternity.

Than of course you have your atheists, who do not believe in any spiritual being or after life at all whatsoever. Sigmund Freud himself, who was a hardcore atheist, once wrote an article of how religion began. Basically what he said in this article was that in ancient prehistoric times around the times of the ancient Neanderthal man. Prehistoric men did not have the scientific advancements nor the scientific knowledge to explain the world around them. So they made up stories or myths and started worshiping nature gods to explain their strange mysterious unknown world. But now that science has gotten advanced enough we are able to usually make a logical explanation for everything through natural earth science and we do realize that a divine supreme creator or a nature spirits are not the ones controlling the earth.

I am not necessarily saying I am an atheist. But I am starting to wonder that if the God or divine supreme creator that we worship to this day is actually a scientific being rather than a spiritual one or maybe even both. Maybe God was the one behind the Big Bang. Maybe God was the one behind evolution if evolution is how we got here.

It very well could be possible that this divine supreme being in charge of this universe created and controls this universe through natural earth and space science and through biological natural sciences.

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The theories each of these men laid out in attempt to gain knowledge of the nature of existence and perception present direct clash at many points.  Their differences in approach to permanence, shades of reality, and the relationship between body and essence offer a stormy yet rich meeting of concepts for the reader to wade through.Drawing from Plato’s middle dialogues and Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, in comparing their uses and relationships with Arete within the greater context of their respective explorations of the Good, one sees their intellectual influence on each other, yet each maintains a unique, often contradictory paradigm.

The idea of objective truth of the soul and its nature is the most logical place to begin an understanding of Plato and Aristotle in relation to each other.  Some would contend that this is exactly what makes them incomparable, but in all reality, one can think of this as setting them at opposite corners of the boxing ring.  Plato, through slow argument building throughout his middle dialogues, asserts that the forms are unchanging, immortal, and immaterial.  They are essentially, the ultimate authorities on that which they are.  They are the most basic essences of themselves.  All things pious are simply manifestations of the greater singular Piety.  This implies that there is no shading of piety with perception.  Plato believed the forms to be beyond perception, and therefore, by nature untainted.

Singularity, as an idea, is the cohesion to many of the more elusive arguments Plato constructed concerning the nature of our existence and human perception.  The assumption that there exists an ultimately authoritative source point of Piety or Virtue, for example, assumes that there are across-the-board less pious or less virtuous individual best expressions of self.  This rejects the possible existence of a subject-specific personal best action towards piety or virtue, affected by the specific contexts of each situation.  Instead, Plato embraces the universal objective essences, creating a paradigm with well-defined limits of human ability.  The most basic, the most real realm is–by definition–unknowable to us, he asserts.

Aristotle, in contrast, found the logic based on Singularity to be flawed.  Book 1, Chapter 6 of Ethics  His contention that there is no single all-encompassing objective truth of an eternal soul and a realm of unperceivable things or concepts, opens up a space of less rigidity to allow for ideas such as, one person’s ultimate Good may not be the exact same in journey and destination as another person’s.  He challenges the need for permanent and objective standards by which to judge all people.  Instead, he urges the judgment of action to be specifically appropriate for the individual in question.  He argues that permanence does not increase the value of something.  In Ethics he writes, “Good Itself will be no more of a good by being eternal; for a white thing is no whiter if it lasts a long time than if it lasts a day” (Cahn, 2002). states, “Hence it is clear that the good cannot be some common and single universal; for if it were, it would be spoken of in only one [of the types of] predication, not in them all” (Cahn, 2002).

The canyon between Aristotle’s relationship with perception and Plato’s use of it always stands at the middle of the map of their borderlands.  Aristotle disagrees with Plato’s interpretations of perception and the effects of its limits.  Questions arise such as, are human limits real?  Can we even truly conceive of them from our perspective?  What is their intended function?  The idea that something exists that is never perceived is counterintuitive, and he questions even the purpose of debating such a concept for it cannot, by its very nature, be truly resolved.

When applying this to the discussion of the Body/Soul relationship, Aristotle contends that the body and its essence have identities that are mutually dependent on the existence of the other.  Without its basic spark of animation, the body is something other than its normal self, for it no longer serves the purpose it was intended to serve.  And, without the body to perceive of this Soul or to manifest something of it, he argues, the essence cannot fully exist.  There is little unchanging and immortal to Aristotle’s approach, and this later serves as a good compliment to his ideas of the Good.

The Good, the ultimate end, the most basic core of “that which is to be attained” serves a similar role in the rhetorical construction of both their works, being that it is the decidedly most sought after part of the puzzle.  Plato’s concepts of the Good, woven closely with the assertion that ‘objective’ and ‘singular’ were the cornerstones of the ultimate alpha-and-omega essence of realities, is something constructed as almost alien to humans due to our inability to perceive of them directly.  All key things to be learned in life are there, and the human must simply recollect what she already knows from her more basic self, connected to the Forms.  Plato is unable to build a specific picture of exactly what the Good would precisely entail, overall, because of the inherent limits he holds true of human perception.  His theory of the Good requires a perspective unaffected by personal perceptions and experiences, but provides no explicit means to go about manifesting something so oxymoronic.  It is both that which creates and that which is created.  The clearest direction pointed in is that if one participates in specific sub-forms (Virtue, Justice, Courage, etc.), it is indirectly reaching towards the Good.

Aristotle defines a Final End in Book I, Chapter 7 of Ethics as, “That which is always desirable in itself and never for the sake of something else” (Cahn, 2002), or Metaphysics’s, “That for the sake of which” (Cahn, 2002).  Taking actions that strive towards Arete, or Virtue, serve as a means to this Final End.  He argues that to consciously make the virtuous choice breeds habit of virtue.  Book II, Chapter 4 argues a virtuous action as something that resembles the actions of a virtuous person.  Unlike Plato, Aristotle does not believe that there is one single perfect manifestation of Virtue because it is different when placed in the context of a person’s life and options.  “And so the human good proves to be activity of the soul in accord with virtue, and indeed with the best and most complete virtue, if there are more virtues than one” (Cahn, 2002), Aristotle asserts in Ethics.  Aristotle defines happiness as the right exercise of things that are proper for humans.  People do often choose that which they think they desire.  Some would argue that the ability to choose something you desire, but that is not good for your well-being in the long run would disprove his argument that the ultimate Good is Happiness.  The best responses to this are that first, people usually have a sense of what end they’re heading towards when deciding between choices.  If one makes the choice to get very drunk, to feed that desire, it could be considered positive in the immediate.  The inevitable down sides arrive after the choice has been long set in motion, and the unhappiness of moving against Virtue with great excesses surfaces.  Attaining Virtue makes a happy person, he says, and there is nothing to desire past Happiness.  For this reason Aristotle claims Happiness to be the Good, the goal entire unto itself.

Arete, often said to carry a suggestion of consciously striving towards being the best you can be, encompasses some very important Greek concepts.  Synonyms include the traditional Virtue, Excellence, Quality, and Goodness.  Plato’s middle dialogues were very concerned with this broad concept of Virtue.  The Meno sets out to explore whether Virtue can be taught or not.  The answer is never fully reached, but Plato writes extensively on what is necessary to form a solid and rhetorically sound theory of Virtue.  Plato leaves us with the contradiction of accepting that Virtue is some sort of knowledge, at least in part, yet he asserts it cannot be really taught (as all knowledge in one way or another can).  Arete serves more the role of an end that Plato seeks after, than it does in the works of Aristotle.  His explorations of its various concept spaces, at times, make it appear as rewarding to the hunt as the Good itself.  Plato took several works with varying focuses to develop his theories and implementations of Arete.  He utilized it’s meanings as a staple for other more complex theories, and built it to be very strategic in debate.  Plato’s concepts of Arete serve to force the opposing side to concede a large amount of ground from the very beginning.  There is little room for attack on its importance and existence as a driving force.  It draws together his ideas of human conscious worth and function, and yet continues to force the reader into the uncomfortable space where overtly spelled-out definitions and ideas remain elusive.  One cannot simply walk away from the Theory of Forms, for example, and write off the quasi-formed ideas of pure and unperceivable essences.  The presence of Virtue as a critical means to the ultimate end allows for no on-face complete rejection because there are no respectable and rational arguments against Virtue itself.

Aristotle’s view of Arete was marked by a strong focus on intellect and the pursuit of true knowledge. Ethics Book I, Chapter 6 reads:

We had better examine the universal good, and puzzle out what is meant in speaking of it. This sort of inquiry is, to be sure, unwelcome to us, because those who introduced the Forms are friends of ours; still, it presumably seems better, indeed only right, to destroy even what is close to us if that is the way to preserve truth. We must especially do this as philosophers; for though we love both the truth and our friends, reverence is due to the truth first (Cahn, 2002).

Reason reigns paramount throughout Aristotle’s paradigm. He writes of its worth, and labels it as a factor that categorizes our very existence.  If the Good/Happiness is to do well at that which we are built to do, then reasoning is a defining purpose of humanity.  This puts faith in there being an actual intended function for humans, to begin with.  He goes on to point out that when we think of the function of a thing, we think of it performing that function well, not as broken or lacking.  Logically, one could follow that the instinct to identify something at its functional prime is evidence for the idea that it is the most virtuous or best to perform well at what you were intended to perform.

The unique and mutually affecting uses of Plato and Aristotle’s ideas of Arete, within their respective works, offer a complex and oftentimes intense discourse attempting at the most basic questions of the human experience.  Each utilizing their own approach to the craft of argument construction, they offer a wish for greater clarity and a glimpse into overlapping intellectual lives.

Works Cited

Cahn, Steven M., Classics of Western Philosophy. Cambridge: Hackett Publishing, 2002.

Related

• Determinism and Libertarianism
• Schopenhauer’s Aesthetic System