Why should I tell the truth?
The Five Yamas: Satya Part I
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Om Sri Gurubhyo Namah. Salutations to all the teachers.
The eight-limbed Yoga starts at the most external level of our being - our interactions with the world around us - moving further inward with each limb, allowing the Yogi to systematically let go of each outer layer once it has been stabilised.
In this vein, the Yamas (the first limb) are a fivefold method to stabilise and simplify our external interactions so that they are not a distraction to the mind. The underlying principle of the Yamas is to use our daily actions and interactions as a method to weaken the apparent boundary between “self” and “other”, known as avidya. Actions, words, and thoughts that weaken this boundary lead to a calm, steady, and joyful mind, while those that strengthen this boundary lead to a mind that is scattered, troubled, and unfulfilled. This feeling of constant hankering, lack of fulfilment, and general underlying dissatisfaction in life is known as dukkha, and is a fundamental truth of embodied existence. The goal of Yoga is freedom from dukkha, also known as Moksha.
In this way, the Yamas are not moral injunctions or diktats from some authority or higher power. Nor are they for the purpose of some abstract idea of “virtue” or “goodness.” Rather, they are a systematic method to uncover the Self by dissolving avidya. There is no room for guilt, shame or judgement, nor any compulsion to follow the methods - it is simply a matter of personal choice. The more you practice them, the more calm, joyful and fulfilled the mind feels. The less you practice them, the more the mind feels distracted, unhappy, and dejected. Don’t take my word for it, try it for yourself. Yoga can be seen as a series of experiments - try the method for a sustained period of time, using the four keys to practice, and notice the effect on your mind.
The five Yamas are:
Ahimsa: Non-violence
Satya: Truthfulness
Asteya: Non-stealing
Brahmacharya: Non-indulgence
Aparigraha: Non-possession
Last week, we discussed the first of the five Yamas - ahimsa, or non-violence. In case of a conflict between Yamas, ahimsa always comes first. The story of the robbers who were directed towards the merchant by the truth-telling Yogi is an excellent example of this. If telling the truth, or following any of the other Yamas, results in violence, it should not be followed. All the other Yamas are for the purpose of non-violence, and are only taught as examples. The tenth-century Jain philosopher Acharya Amritachandra summarises this beautifully:
आत्मपरिणामहिंसनहेतुत्वात्सर्वमेव हिंसैतत् ।अनृतवचनादिकेवलमुदाह्रतं शिष्यबोधाय ॥AatmaParinaamAhimsanaHetutvaatSarvamEva himsaiTatAnritaVachanAadiKevalamUdaahritam shishyaBodhaayaAll these subdivisions (violence, untruthfulness, stealing, indulgence, and ownership) are violence, since acting in those ways veils/affects the [Knowledge of the] Self. Untruth, etc. have been mentioned separately only as illustrations to help the student understand [the subtle extents of violence].
- Acharya Amritachandra, Purushaarthasiddhupaaya, 42
With this in mind, let us now move on to the second of the five Yamas - satya, or truthfulness.
In addition to speaking truthfully, satya also includes the following:
काले हितं मितं ब्रूयाद्विसंवादि पेशलम्Kaale hitam mitam brooyadvisamvaadi peshalam[The Yogi should speak] at the appropriate time, only those words which are to others’ benefit, minimally, for the purpose of understanding, and lovingly.
- Ashtaanga Hrdaya Sutra
In summary, this means that satya has six aspects, to be practised in thought, word, and deed:
Satya: Words that reflect the evidence, without misleading the listener
Kaale: At the appropriate time, and in the appropriate context
Hitam: To others’ benefit
Mitam: Minimally
Visamvaadi: For the purposes of understanding
Peshalam: Lovingly
This week, we will discuss the first two aspects - satya and kaale - and next week we will continue with the remaining aspects of satya, including the result when the Yogi is completely established in this Yama.
Satya: Speaking truthfully
The word “truth” in English can mean many things, but here the word satya (pronounced suh-thyuh) specifically refers to when words correspond to evidence (pramaan).
But what counts as evidence?
As discussed in the article on vrittis, there are three1 forms of evidence that we humans use to gain knowledge in the world. They are:
Pratyaksh: Direct perception (e.g. I see fire on the hill)
Anumaan: Inference (e.g. I see or smell smoke, so I infer that there is fire on the hill)
Aagamah: Trusted testimony (e.g. I heard from a trusted friend that there is fire on the hill)
Satya is when thoughts and words reflect pramaana. For example, if I saw, inferred, or heard that there was fire on a hill, and then told you that there is fire on the hill, this is truth. However, if I saw, inferred or heard that there is fire on the hill, and I told you that there is water rushing down the hill, that there is no fire, that there is a giant pink elephant on the hill, or any number of other things, it is asatya (also known as anritam) - a lie. Alternatively, if I didn’t have any evidence and yet I said, or even thought, that there was fire on the hill, that would also be an untruth.
Truth is only truth when words (and thoughts) reflect the evidence - nothing more, nothing less.
P: By why should we tell the truth? How is telling lies counterproductive to the goals of Yoga?
In telling a lie, there are two possible situations that arise in the mind:
You told a lie, and now you are anxious or worried that you will be found out.
You told a lie, and you don’t care if others find out.
In the first scenario, telling a lie has increased the turbulence in the mind. In addition to the anxiety and stress that comes from the aversion (dvesha) to others finding out that you have lied, there is also the heightened mental activity you now need to apply in order to make sure you don’t get caught in the future. Every time you are asked about the lie, you have to remember the specifics of what you said, in addition to the mental effort required to act as though you are telling the truth.
In the second scenario, where you don’t care whether or not others find out, you have created a distinct boundary between the body-mind you call “you” and those you call “other.” The very act of lying in this way has strengthened this separation, or avidya, in your mind.
The concept of satya extends beyond just saying words that reflect evidence. The goal of satya is to reduce the kleshas, increase vivek, and ultimately weaken avidya. In order to properly practise this Yama, we must first understand the underlying principle of how it works.
We humans have the capability of transferring thoughts to one another. This sounds amazing when you think about it in this way, but we do it every day. The mechanism we use is to vibrate the air around us in particular patterns, and we call the specific vibratory patterns “language.”
When we speak, we are quite literally transferring the thoughts in our mind to another mind. However, when we lie, we are intentionally sending a different thought to the listener than the one we have in our mind. For example, I know that there is no fire on the hill, but I tell you that there is fire on the hill. The thought in my mind is one thing, but I want there to be a different thought in your mind. In this way, lying cultivates a sense of separation between “self” and “other” in the mind of the speaker, and this sense of separation is the same avidya that leads to feelings of anxiety, sadness, and mental scattering.
Given this, just saying the appropriate words that reflect the evidence is not sufficient - the intention behind them must also not be misleading.
There is a famous story in the Mahabharata that illustrates the point:
Yudhishthir was the oldest of the five Pandava brothers, and was well known for his commitment to truthfulness. In fact, he was so truthful that his feet, and his chariot, would hover about four inches above the ground at all times.
During the war at Kurukshetra, where the Pandavas were in the difficult position of fighting a war against the Kauravas - their cousins - it had become clear that one of the generals in the Kaurava army, Dronacharya, was going to be a decisive factor in the battle. Dronacharya was the Guru of the Pandavas and the Kauravas, and had taught them everything they knew about the art of warfare. He was a fierce warrior, and it had become clear that no one would be able to defeat him in battle. As long as Dronacharya was still fighting, the Pandavas would lose the war. Knowing this to be true, the Pandavas came together on the battlefield to think of a way to kill him.
Dronacharya had a son, Ashwatthaama, whom he loved more than life itself. The Pandavas, together with Krishna, came up with a plan to deceive Dronacharya into thinking that his son was dead. They figured that if he thought that his son had died on the battlefield, Dronacharya would lay down his weapons in grief, and they would then be able to kill him. But how could they convince Dronacharya that Ashwatthama was dead?
At this point they all looked at Yudhishthir. If Yudhishthir, renowned for his truthfulness, were to say that Ashwatthama had died, Dronacharya would surely believe it to be true.
Yudhishthir was not a fan of this plan, but knew it may be the only way to turn the tide of the war. He had one condition. There was an elephant on the battlefield that was about to give birth. He suggested that when the newborn elephant was born, they name it Ashwathhama, and then kill it. That way, Yudhishthir could say that Ashwathhama was dead, and still be telling the truth.
And so the baby elephant was born, named, and killed, and the soldiers in the Pandava army started to shout, “Ashwathhama is dead! Ashwathhama is dead!”
Hearing this news, a crestfallen Dronacharya approached the Pandavas on the battlefield. Sure enough, he came up to Yudhishthir, asking him to confirm if this was true.
Yudhishthir, bringing the image of the baby elephant to his mind, then said the words, “It is true. Ashwathhama is dead.”
Hearing this, Dronacharya dropped his weapons, and sat down on the ground in meditation to deal with his grief.
Immediately, Drishtadyumna, the Pandavas’ brother-in-law, approached the meditating Dronacharya with his sword, and beheaded him.
Simultaneously, Yudhishtir’s feet touched the ground - despite having said words that reflected evidence, he had broken his vow of truthfulness.
As we can see here, even speaking words that are technically true, but intentionally misleading, constitute a violation of the Yama of truthfulness.
P: So then I should just tell everyone everything?
Jogi: Not at all. In fact, speaking too much, or speaking out of context, is also against satya.
P: So what should I do if someone asks me a direct question, but I know that telling them will harm me or others in some way?
Jogi: You can simply tell them the truth - that you cannot answer them because you feel it will cause harm. Answering every question is not the goal of satya, especially when it may result in violence. However, misleading the other person would be in violation of satya, unless it is in order to avoid violence.
Kaale: Timing and context
“In your conversation, avoid talking at length or overmuch about your own exploits or the dangers that you’ve faced; for pleasant though it may be for you to recall your perils, it is not as pleasant for others to listen to everything that has happened to you.”
— Epictetus
Timing has two components - the actual timing of the words during a conversation (ie. are you interrupting, are you speaking over another person, did you reply too quickly or too late, etc.), and the context of the words being said (ie. is this the appropriate time for the subject matter, or for speech in general).
Let us start with the first component - the timing of words during a particular conversation.
Any conversation is an interplay between silence and speech. Notice your next conversation carefully, perhaps it is a conversation with a friend, your significant other, or a meeting at work. There are moments of silence interspersed with words. Now notice the moments of silence. Depending on the people, the context, and the subject, these silences may be long or short, and they may be pregnant with suspense or entirely comfortable. In these moments of silence, thoughts arise in the minds of all the participants - these can be thoughts of understanding, memories of what was said, associations with other memories or ideas, and also thoughts of what to say next. These moments of silence, although brief, provide all participants in a conversation a chance to make a choice - to speak, or not to speak, and, of course, what to say or not say.
Unless we are mindful (ie. seated in the buddhi), we can easily get carried away by the urge to fill this silence with words - any words at all. This urge is a manifestation of the kleshas in the mind, which we will discuss more in the section on “mitam”, or speaking less, next week. However, when we do choose to speak, the timing of our speech is just as important as what we say.
“Inappropriate” timing can be broadly broken down into two main categories:
Speaking over another person, or too quickly after them
Speaking too long after another person
In the first scenario, where you speak over another person, this can be for several reasons. Perhaps you are not really listening to their words and are only thinking of what to say next, or perhaps you are just speaking without observing for cues that the other person wishes to speak. Just like with the example of lying above, this kind of speech solidifies the boundary between “self” and “other” by assigning a higher importance to the words coming out from the body-mind you call “you.” Additionally, it strengthens the klesha of asmita, or “I-am-ness” - this body-mind is “you”, and it comes over and above others, even if you don’t consciously feel that way.2
Alternatively, perhaps you know that you’re not listening to the other person, and are not really making an effort to listen either. Once again, the same kleshas are strengthened - your words are given a greater significance than the words of others, in your own mind, thus strengthening the boundary between “self” and “other.”
Finally, it is also possible that you actually care about what the other person is saying, but are so excited that you just cannot contain your words. This kind of speech comes from an inability to contain your own organ (karmendriya) of speech. You had an urge to speak (klesha of raag towards your own speech), and you followed the tendency, thus strengthening the klesha in your mind. As a result of allowing the mind to follow the tendency, it will be harder to stop following that tendency in the future (ie. harder to weaken the klesha).
Now let us consider the second scenario, where you speak too long after another person. Just like the first scenario, it may be that the mind is busy thinking of what to say next (rajas). Alternatively, it may be that you weren’t actually listening, and were thinking of something completely different (tamas).
In either scenario, importance is being given to the thoughts in your own mind, over the thoughts of others. Giving higher importance to your own thoughts, consciously or unconsciously, is once again strengthening the very divide between “self” and “other” that Yoga is trying to dissolve.
Ok, so ill-timed speech strengthens the “self”-“other” divide, and being mindful and intentional about the timing of our speech is a method to weaken this avidya.
However, this aspect of timing goes beyond just the actual spacing between speech and silence in a particular conversation.
Timing extends to the context of speech as well.
Consider a time when you heard someone saying something in an inappropriate context. Perhaps they started giving advice when no one asked for it, started talking about their sex life in a work meeting, or said something in a conversation when it was not at all relevant to the matter at hand. How did this make you feel? How did others in the room react? Did you notice that people were annoyed, uncomfortable, or receptive? How did you feel about the person who made the ill-timed comment? Did this make you take them more or less seriously in the future?
This mental exercise is for the purposes of considering how you might make others feel when you speak at an inappropriate time. Just as you may have felt annoyed at the person who spoke at an inappropriate time, similarly, others will likely feel annoyed with you, and are less likely to take you seriously at a later point in time.
More importantly, this kind of speech has consequences on your own mind. When you speak at an inappropriate time, the reaction in the mind is either completely tamasic (a la “I don’t care what they think”), which strengthens the boundary between “self” and “other”, or rajasic (a la “oh no, what have I said, what will they think of me now”), which leads to a disturbance of the mind. There is no situation in which speaking at an inappropriate time is conducive to mental calm in the mind of the speaker.
P: Ok, I understand. But what is an appropriate time to speak? Is there a way to know when to speak, and what to say?
Jogi: Yes, there is a method, but there is no formula.
The method is to listen closely and deeply. In being fully aware of the words that others are saying, how they are saying them, and the context in which they are being said, there is enough information to flow with the conversation rather than try to place your own stamp on it. The principle is the same as in non-violence - simply work to weaken the divide between “self” and “other.” In the timing of speech, this means giving the same or more importance to what others are saying as compared to your own thoughts. This can be compared to flowing with the current of a river versus against it. In flowing with the current, there is minimal effort involved, all you need to do is let go. Similarly in speech, rather than trying to force your way in one direction or another, simply let go of any preconceived intentions, listening fully and deeply, and trusting the seeds in your mind (or Ishvar, if you are so inclined) to carry out the work for you. As with any skill in Yoga, it takes the twin foundations of abhyaas (practice) and vairaagya (letting go).
This week, we discussed the first and second aspects of satya - words that reflect evidence, without misleading the listener, and speaking at the appropriate time and context. Next week, we will go through the remaining aspects of satya individually, breaking them down so that you can use your speech as a method of dissolving the walls of avidya in your own mind.
Until next time:
Carefully notice if your words (spoken, written, or even internal vocalisations) are based on evidence. If the answer is yes, are they based on direct perception, inference, or trusted testimony? Additionally, before speaking (or writing), consider whether the words you are about to communicate are based on evidence, and if the context is appropriate.
Finally, in your daily conversations, try to notice the gap between when others speak and when you begin to speak. Is the gap short or long? Are you giving the other person enough time to finish communicating their thought? Are you paying enough attention to respond in a meaningful way?
Take notes to figure out your own habit patterns with regard to satya. In which situations do you find it most difficult to follow this Yama?
Feel free to share your experience, questions, or objections in the community subreddit here!
Next time: The Five Yamas: Satya Part II
Other schools of Indian philosophy differ from each other on this point. Some schools only accept direct perception and inference, some accept additional pramaanas such as comparison, presumption, and absence, while the Chaarvaaka school of ancient Indian materialists only accept direct perception. Which pramaanas are accepted by a school of Indian philosophy is a major defining factor.
This type of ill-timed speech is especially common for people who are not aware of how their own identities play a part in the power that they hold in their interactions. The phenomenon of “mansplaining” is an excellent example of this, but it also extends to other identities such as race, caste, and nationality. If you are on the receiving end of this kind of behaviour, you will likely find that the gaps of silence that are expected by the other person are shorter than what you expect. In such situations, try to speak sooner or more quickly after the other person than you normally would, leaving a slightly shorter gap between when they finish speaking and when you begin. This takes practice. Alternatively, you can also try to tell the other person how you feel about their behaviour in a manner that assumes the best intention from their end, and leads with vulnerability and openness from your side. More often than not, people do not intend to hurt others (ahimsa is our natural state), and so this kind of behaviour is most likely a blind spot for them.