Yoga vs. Baseball

Been thinking about the functions of culture recently: the ways that the different activities and institutions, practices and philosophies that we interact with, put to use, etc., create a unified whole. Here are some thoughts:

Yoga, over the past few decades, has become a burgeoning facet of Western culture.

It's revealing, though, to think of yoga in the context of what I'll call our "cultural gestalt." Consider the representations of yoga on TV and in other media that simplify and, to a degree, codify what yoga means in the context of everything else. Many of these are ignorant, hyperbolic, or absurd — but they represent something in our cultural conscience that can't quite come to grips with yoga.

So while many Americans practice yoga, it's still got that flavor of the bizarre, and the occult. I blame the gap in people's knowledge, between the culture at large and the people who have actually learned a thing or two about yoga. Because the fact is, the most many people know about yoga comes from what they get to do on their Wii Fit, which, well, leaves a lot to be desired — and a lot to the imagination as well. And, to compound the problem, we're talking about a cultural practice that comes from people whose gods have blue skin and extra arms and elephant heads. So it doesn't take a whole lot to get your imagination working overtime, and coming up with some absurd assumptions.

We can think, then, about the way that knowledge in this case is interacting with our culture, and taking an interesting (I won't say flawed) path to a more explicable and unified cohesiveness within the cultural whole.

But is the ultimate path of yoga to be incorporated into the cultural whole at all? Will yoga ever be just as American an activity as playing baseball or, at least, eating take-out Chinese food in front of your TV?

I think there's a small but vocal group of people in the yoga community that don't really actually want to be incorporated into the American cultural whole. Some people take their enthusiasm for yoga and Hindu culture to dogmatic extremes, and speak out against the local lifestyle in favor of what seems, coming from their mouths, to be this panacea of refined and enlightened cultural praxis that, in fact, is just another complex and fraught belief system with as much danger and liability as any other — and I'm not saying anything against belief systems.

I, for one, will profess belief in the value of positive thinking. I think that any cultural practice or system should be expected to highlight its positive traits, and let the people sort out what they like and don't like through trial and selection.

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Cities with professional baseball teams have lower divorce rates than other cities; or even compared with those very same cities, but before they got a team.

What benefits can yoga claim?

Asana

The names of yoga poses are a lot like the names of constellations. Sometimes you look at them and say 'Oh, I understand why that would be called frog pose.' Other times the names for the poses are all but incomprehensible.

I kind of like that.

(not a whole lot it turns out)

Rain falls to the earth, onto the mountains and plains, hillsides, marshes and forests. It congregates in rivulets and streams, which flow together and accrue into rivers, which join whole systems of rivers as they flow toward the deltas and debouch into the lakes and oceans.

In the same way, we perceive the world. The chaos of the universe collides with our bodies; it moves into and around us in the particular shape and vector of whatever corner of reality we inhabit. The various ramifications of afferent nerve systems converge on our own ocean's worth of brain systems to deliver the alluvium of our senses to the breadth and depths of our minds.

But what does a fish swimming through the depths of the ocean ever really know about a mountainside?

Is Yoga an Art?

Yoga is not a sport or a game. But is it an art? People say that yoga is a practice: like brushing your teeth and flossing, like driving a car, or any number of other regular and somewhat normative activities that have a longitudinal influence on our lives.

But is yoga an art?

If yoga is an art, then it should meet certain criteria, which might qualify it to be called an art.

AskOxford.com gives these definitions under art:

1 : the expression of creative skill through a visual medium such as painting or sculpture.

2 : the product of such a process; paintings, drawings, and sculpture collectively.

3 : (the arts) the various branches of creative activity, such as painting, music, and drama.

4 : (arts) subjects of study primarily concerned with human culture (as contrasted with scientific or technical subjects).

5 : a skill: the art of conversation.

Definition #5, here, is much too broad, and not really what I’m trying to get at. Defs 1, 2, and 4 are out, too, for obvious reasons.

I think definition #3 comes closest to defining art the way that I mean it. I want to know if yoga fits in among activities like painting, music, and drama. Is it an art, or is it something else — in some other category closer to brushing your teeth, or clearing brush.

In his book The Art Instinct, Dennis Dutton asserts that art has seven universal signatures. According to him, virtually every art shares these seven signatures.

Dennis Dutton’s 7 Universal Signatures of Art:

Expertise or virtuosity, non-utilitarian pleasure, style, criticism, imitation, special focus, and imagination.

Painting, drawing, sculpture, drama, and the likes all share these signatures. So how does yoga measure up?

Expertise or virtuosity: Yoga easily qualifies on the expertise requirement. The practice develops the whole body, making it stronger and more supple, while increasing concentration and patience in the mind. The results are clearly manifested in any yogi’s practice.

Non-utilitarian pleasure: I certainly take plenty of pleasure from my yoga practice, the effects on my mind and body both during and after I practice. But the question of utility is an interesting one, because I do sort of expect to derive tangible benefits, and not just an abstract pleasure.

The gut-level sense of awe and beauty that I feel when I look at a great painting, or a listen to Mozart (or Jimi Hendrix, for that matter) isn’t really a part of my practice. I’ve watched people demonstrate yoga poses, and derived a similar reaction that might constitute N-UP, but I hesitate to really call that yoga.

If, though — as I’m not ready to say that it is —presentation, for others to admire and enjoy, is an important and integral part of yoga, then it might share the quality of non-utilitarian pleasure.

Style: Definitely. Yoga has scores of styles, passed on from teachers to pupils, over hundreds of years, along with the accrued knowledge of yoga theory and praxis that have condensed within each style’s lineages.

Criticism: You can certainly say something like, “That person’s triangle pose is sound, and that one needs work,” or, “That person is breathing calmly, while that one is breathing fast and choppilly.” Those would be legitimate avenues of criticism. However, it might be a little bit harder to say, “That person is mentally active and focused, while the other is daydreaming,” without actually getting inside the yogi’s own head.

That being said, the mind/body partition isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. As B.K.S. Iyengar says: “The mind functions through the nervous system.” (Light on Yoga)

It’s not too difficult to spot the outward manifestations of a scattered mind. These inlude an inability to take or retain instruction, sloppy form, and wandering eyes. And as a result, I say the critique of an inconstant mind can certainly be applied and put to use. In my opinion, a place for discernment and criticism, even in the more internalized areas of the practice, is important to yoga.

Imitation: The yoga tradition uses and has used imitation to pass on the postures since antiquity. Even though they might exist on paper, either written down or drawn, the real place where the poses exist is in the practices of yogis themselves.

The process of imitation is dynamic, and the poses warp and change to fit each person. But the techniques and natural human lines of energy maintain a constancy and a texture that lend themselves to ready observation and attempts at direct imitation. In fact, the act of imitation is crucial before an individual practice can take root and develop.

Special Focus: The wellness of the body; the integration of the mind and body; the cultivation of mental stillness and fortitude. (Among others.) These, in my mind, are the special focus of yoga.

Imagination: I am unable, as I see things, to endorse yoga’s imaginative element. Imagination implies an element of the unreal, of the abstract and fantastical. As Dutton wrote, “Art's world of imagination and make-believe is one where analysis and criticism spoil none of the fun.” I don’t believe the realm of imagination is the same realm that yoga occupies.

In fact, I’d argue that yoga occupies a realm almost antipodal to that of the imagination, in which the experience is manifest not by exploring the imagined but the irrefutably real and tangible. Yoga imports that reality into the structure and function of the mind.

This gets back to the question of utility, in a way. There are very real and intended benefits from yoga, and these derive from refusing to let the imagination fill in the gaps, and instead actually pushing the body to push the limits of physical ability.

Conclusion:

Yoga is not an art. It is a practice of skill, with style and tradition that are passed on and developed through instruction and criticism. However, its goals are tangible and useful — they are meant to enhance the life (i.e. health, strength, and stamina) of the practitioner. And as such, the imaginative element is woefully lacking, if not actively avoided.

I must say, this is sort of disappointing, because I do like to think of myself as of the at least marginally artistic kind. But I think the conclusion is sound: yoga is about real world knowledge, and not the abstract and elusive energies of the artistic.

Practicing for Expertise

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Love all of God’s creation, both the whole of it and every grain of sand. Love every leaf, every ray of God’s light. Love animals, love plants, love each thing. If you love each thing you will percieve the mystery of God in things. Once you have perceived it, you will begin tirelessly to perceive more and more of it every day. And you will come at last to love the whole world with an entire, universal love.

—Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov (tr. Pevear & Volokhonsky)

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The great thing about reading is: when you do it, you come across such beautiful, beautifully articulate sentiments.

The above passage comes out of Dostoevsky’s last novel — his longest — whose second installment he never wrote but which remains one of the towers of modern literature.

The book reads as composed, articulate, and mature: the result of a lifetime of practice, developing and honing his craft.

Only this lifetime of practice, the practice of love, he tells us, can teach us the details, the particular quirks and foibles of the world. And through that practice of knowing, the whole of the universe will reveal itself.

Every person is equipped with a brain ready to develop its own areas of expertise, to specialize in and master disciplines. But not without practice and dedication. Not without the love.