by Yogi Ananda Viraj (Eugene P. Kelly, Jr.)
The fifth yama listed by Patanjali is aparigraha. Aparigraha is restraint from the appropriation (asvikaranam) of objects (visaya). Vyasa says such restraint is required because one sees the disadvantages (dosa) in acquiring, keeping, losing, clinging to and harming objects of possession. The word “aparigraha” is derived from the root graha which means “seize.” The prefix pari means “around.” The combination then takes on the sense of “grasp” or “surround.” The privative a renders the meaning “not to possess” or “not to grasp.”
Vyasa uses the word “asvikaranam,” meaning “not to make one’s own.” It is the same word he uses to define asteya, the restraint from stealing. In the context of aparigraha the word takes on a broader significance. It is not only to restrain from desiring another’s things but to restrain from the desire to possess (graha) objects in general. It is also important to take notice of the word Vyasa uses to denote that which we must restrain from grasping. This word is “visaya,” and is used by Patanjali in three different ways. A visaya is an object of knowledge or meditation ( I. 11, 33, 37, 44, 45)1, a desirable object (I.15)2, or an action, in this case relative to breathing (II. 51)3. Vyasa obviously uses the word in the second and broadest sense. A desirable object does not exclude living beings. “Object” here simply means “that which is desired;” it is not meant to convey the sense of so-called “inanimate” objects alone. All desirables are visaya.
Vyasa says that the practice of aparigraha is undertaken because one perceives disadvantages (dosa) in a relation between owner and owned. The statements that Vyasa offers concerning this harmful relation take into account the all-important aspect of change. The idea of possessing is stagnant. “I own a car” as an idea will not undergo modification. However, the practitioner of Yoga perceives that “I own a car” is merely an idea (vikalpa). At the outset of the desire to invest belief in such an idea there is the work of acquiring (arjana) that to be owned. Ownership is the goal of the desire to appropriate for self. “I want to own” is, in its presumed completion, “I own.” As we shall see, this completion is pure presumption. One labors to affirm ownership, i.e., the ability to say, “I own,” because of the motivation “I want.” This motivation is born with the implicit notion that one can “have.” Acquisition is an act toward the future; one wants to own. Acquisition and ownership, future and present, are an inseparable linguistic pair. One allegedly owns in the present. “I own this” can only mean, “I own this now.” However, upon close examination of this relation something concealed begins to emerge. Ownership in the now is only ownership in the now. The future raises its head once again. What about tomorrow? “I want to keep what I have.” Ownership implies continuity. Time never stands still for the possessor. The motive “to own” evolved to “own” and now to “keep” (raksana). One cannot own in comfort. An anxiety arises as to how to keep what one owns. It is never simply “I own.”
The aspect of continuity has brought the desire to possess, the act of possessing and the desire to keep. Keeping involves guarding against theft and the act of protection. All of this is meant by the word raksana. Vyasa brings to light yet another fault (dosa) in the relation of owner – owned. He views loss and decay (ksaya) as inherent negative components of ownership. Objects can undergo radical changes and hence be rendered unwanted or useless. Therefore, owners must concern themselves with prevention of modification through decay, etc. Loss is another meaning of ksaya. Even diamonds, which, for all practical purposes resist decay, can be lost. Through ksaya owners are at odds to maintain continuity of ownership.
There is also the general attachment (sanga) to the possessed. This attachment could be manifest as a kind of hoarding. Worry and anxiety also follow from attachment. Attachment is the language process that accompanies any form of making a thing (visaya) one’s own.
One further aspect to consider in the relation of owner and owned is harm (himsa). If the object is harmed, damaged or caused to be defective in any way, the possessed may not serve its intended purpose. Therefore, a fear of harm or damage may plague owners.
What we have witnessed as the faults (dosa) in making things one’s own is simply the inability of owners or acquirers to halt change. The possibility of owning, actually the belief that something can be owned, is implicit in the desire to own. From this desire and the labors involved in acquisition, objects are viewed as owned. We would ordinarily think that that would be the end of the matter, but through the practice of Yoga one begins to perceive the defects of acquisition. What stands out is that to possess is to continue to desire and labor; there is no end. Possession is desire. Aparigraha is the practice of emptying the language of ownership of its static connotations. “To own” now becomes, in light of aparigraha practice, “to care for.” Acquiring (arjana), keeping (raksana), protecting from loss or decay (ksaya), attachment (sanga), and the prevention of harm (himsa) to the object, involve “owners” in apprehensive lifestyles.
Further, we may view the practice of aparigraha as putting the practitioner in touch with deeper levels of insight. The entire concept of ownership is steeped in contradiction. Can something be owned if it has to be guarded or kept? Would not ownership itself nullify the concept of keeping? If an object truly were mine, could I fear its loss? What does this concept mine really entail? Is something mine when it is in my house, or in my hand, or on my table, or in my vision? It always takes more than one “my” or “mine” to regard something as owned. To prove that something is owned there must be something owned. “It’s mine because it has my name on it.” To prove ownership requires that you presume it. What kind of proof is this?
The Yogi or Yogini lets others believe in ownership; the practitioners of Yoga live in care. One only cares for visayas; they cannot be owned. Care does not procure for the realization of ownership. Through care one protects visayas without self-interest and allows for change without remorse. Care knows no attachment to self via ownership; and care is the antitheses of harm. It is only through care that asvikaranam, not acquiring for self, is overcome.
The viewpoint of the Yogin concerning the relation with visayas is: appropriate what is necessary for life to continue. Care for that which is appropriated. Above all, appropriate not for self, but for the continuation of life. This contradicts “self-interest.” The Yoga student asks: “Do I need this or want this?” When things are given to the Yogin, he or she either refuses them or cares for them; they are never accepted as “Mine.”
Ownership is a linguistic event. There is no owner or owned beyond or behind the claim. Visayas are subject to their own laws of composition and dissolution. Humans cannot halt change. The power of transformation is not halted because a visaya is claimed. Humans subject themselves to the disadvantages of acquisition through the claim. Even the body is destined to decompose. It is the feeling of ownership of the body which engenders neglect of its needs. Also, the assumption of personal immortality often results in body neglect. The person dies with the body; life as an individual is body-life. Immortality of the person is the implicit denial of human care. The owned is often the most neglected. Care for the owned is generally a consequence of the need for recognition. “My car,” “my life,” “my job,” often evolves to “look at my car, my life, my job.” Care as a Yogic attitude disrupts the practice of “my-ing” or claiming for self-recognition. Every claim is a form of karmic magnetism that must be neutralized via discrimination, i.e., aparigraha. Yoga practice halts the self-centered procedure of “possessive prefixation.” Nouns do not live to be prefixed by “my” or predicated by “mine.” Objects exist in the sphere of the Yogin’s influence only to be cared for. This care is the nurturing of the life process which, for the Yogin, brings all beings to a realization of its fullness. Ownership is the vain attempt to restrict this process.
All that has been said is not to suggest that the Yoga student does not enjoy or utilize objects for their intended purposes. Use is not ownership. Care is not avoiding visayas. Aparigraha is simply the recognition and the avoidance of the disadvantages of svikaranam, the making one’s own. Change is inevitable and the “owner” fails to live with this fact.
If the Yoga student is sincere in the practice of aparigraha the causes of composition will be realized. The Yogin’s detachment from the concept of ownership and owned works against fixing visayas, including the body, as static images. All things came to be and will cease to be. Ownership is the denial of this. “My body” fixes both an I and a body. The “my” refuses to allow for composition and decay. The source questions: “Who was I? How was I? What is this birth? How is this birth? What shall become of us? How shall we become?” are answered via the perfection of aparigraha. It is the Yogin’s surrender to change that opens the mind to the truth of becoming. In this world there is only cause and effect; the Yogin does not peer behind these for a vision of life. Change is the secret. Aparigraha is openness to change, surrender to coming and going. To own is to fix, to make stagnant. To fix is to deny change. Possession is never a state of affairs but an ongoing desire. There is no rest in acquisition; peace is realized in care and care is ahimsa.
Given that ownership is a purely linguistic event, the practitioner of aparigraha deploys language opposite in nature to the language of the claim. The Yoga student is extremely cautious in the use of the words “my” and “mine.” Claiming is also evident in the acquisition of qualities. “I am pretty,” I am ugly,” “I am nice,” “I am mean,” are all claims to qualities. When the I is identified with qualities the I becomes those qualities. Pleasure and pain are also grasped; aparigraha practice is language opposed to making things one’s own. We do not own pleasure; it comes and goes. Ownership attempts to freeze life, to possess the moment. Aparigraha loosens the grip of illusion; life is allowed to live you. In letting go of the constrictive hold that possession of self, body, mind, things, people, events, qualities, etc. has on the flux of life, the practitioner of aparigraha concedes to peace.
“Do I need or want?”
1. The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali Book I↩
2. Ibid. ↩
3. The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali Book II ↩