Since starting a “problem page”, I have lots of unanswerable questions. Here’s another one I’ll try to address without getting sidetracked by too many tangents…
Q: Is there a yogic way to handle disagreement that doesn’t mean arguing or giving in?
Well, there’s always the “love and light” option – pretend it’s not happening. 🌈🦄
That’s basically “spiritual bypassing”, a phrase invented by John Welwood to describe “a widespread tendency to use spiritual ideas and practices to sidestep or avoid facing unresolved emotional issues, psychological wounds, and unfinished developmental tasks.” So awkward opinions are unwittingly stifled to seem more enlightened.
Acceptance is widely promoted in yogic texts. The original commentary on the Yoga Sūtra defines contentment as “not wanting to acquire more than the means at one’s disposal”, which is sixteen times better than “pleasure that comes from love”.1 But that’s not a good reason to avoid disagreements, or submit to others’ will.
A lot of modern discourse, particularly online, consists of arbitrary assertions about what’s right while dismissing rival views as inherently wrong, if not borderline evil. The Bhagavad Gītā describes this as the dullest form of knowledge, “which attaches itself to a single causal factor as if it were everything.”2
Hamish Hendry, a London-based teacher, has a personal mantra that helps to correct this: “I could be wrong”. As he put it recently, “dogma dogs us” and “the idea of losing face is very difficult for some people.” It might not feel easy to doubt one’s beliefs, but assumptions of certainty are self-reinforcing and impervious to reason. For a genuine dialogue, one has to be open to changing one’s mind in the face of new evidence.
Another useful tool – which I learned as a reporter – is to articulate other perspectives in terms they might recognise, rather than caricatures. This requires one to listen in good faith, which lets multiple views co-exist and helps to stop exchanges collapsing in acrimony. The Gītā calls that mindset “understanding based on distinction.”3
Reflecting on objectives can deepen the process. Distinguishing constructive dialogue from divisive debate, the philosopher and physicist David Bohm warns: “Discussion is almost like a ping-pong game, where people are batting the ideas back and forth and the object of the game is to win or to get points for yourself,” not to find meaning.4
In his book On Dialogue, Bohm notes that opinions are often inherited, so holding them less tightly enables transformative conversations, which spark new ideas. “The different opinions that you have are the result of past thought: all your experiences, what other people have said, and what not,” he says. Moreover:
“You may then identify with those opinions and react to defend them. But it doesn’t make sense to do this. If the opinion is right, it doesn’t need such a reaction. And if it is wrong, why should you defend it? If you are identified with it, however, you do defend it. It is as if you yourself are under attack when your opinion is challenged. Opinions thus tend to be experienced as ‘truths,’ even though they may only be your own assumptions and your own background. You got them from your teacher, your family, or by reading, or in yet some other way. Then for one reason or another you are identified with them.”
Perceiving this much can be challenging – and it’s still a long way from the ultimate clarity, which the Gītā defines as “when one changeless existence is seen in all beings, undivided in their diverse forms”.5 Although Bohm was writing 50 years ago – before social media amplified discord – his words sound prophetic, warning that people “are hardly able to talk to each other without fighting.”
Our attachment to assumptions means “the very attempt to improve communication leads frequently to yet more confusion,” Bohm explains, “and the consequent sense of frustration inclines people ever further toward aggression and violence, rather than toward mutual understanding and trust.”
To cultivate this underlying unity, we need to pay attention to those we disagree with and speak to them kindly. While that might sound submissive, it’s really the opposite. “Understanding and compassion are very powerful sources of energy,” observes the late Buddhist monk and activist Thich Nhat Hanh. “If you think that compassionate people do not resist and challenge injustice, you are wrong.”6
As he adds: “To be compassionate does not mean to allow others to walk all over you.” Instead, it means curbing anger to “speak the truth, but not to punish.” That might be easier said than done, but it’s a long-standing goal. Approximately 2,000 years ago, the Brahmanical law book Manu Smṛti decreed that a wise man “should say what is true, and he should say what is pleasant” but “should not say what is true but unpleasant” or “what is pleasant but untrue – that is the eternal Law.”7
Those last two words in Sanskrit highlight a dharma (code or doctrine) that is sanātana (timeless). Although the term is now a synonym for Hinduism, it’s really more general. One early Buddhist text, the Dhammapada, includes its Pāli equivalent in a verse that extols loving-kindness – as echoed in this line from the Mahābhārata: “Not harming, truthfulness, remaining free from anger, and charity are the four practices you must adhere to. This is the sanātana dharma.”8
Speaking truthfully without hurting others is a delicate balance. Depending on the context, one might need to prioritise one of these principles more than the other. But the Gītā’s advice seems a good place to start: “Austerity of speech is said to consist of speaking words that do not disturb others and which are true, loving, and beneficial.”9
How others respond is beyond our control, but this much remains in our power – at least in theory. And if all else fails, perhaps we can agree to disagree.
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Commentary on Yoga Sūtra 2.32 and 2.42 (translated by James Mallinson and Mark Singleton).
Bhagavad Gītā 18.22 (translated by Nicholas Sutton).
Bhagavad Gītā 18.21 (translated by Nicholas Sutton).
David Bohm, On Dialogue (Abingdon: Routledge Classics, 2004). Thanks to
(with whom I spoke here) for the recommendation.Bhagavad Gītā 18.20 (translated by Nicholas Sutton).
Thich Nhat Hanh, Anger (New York: Riverhead Books, 2001).
Manu Smṛti 4.138 (translated by Patrick Olivelle).
Mahābhārata 13.147.22 (translated by Nicholas Sutton).
Bhagavad Gītā 17.15 (translated by Nicholas Sutton).
Your essay brings to mind two efforts I have been working on in my practice: a) detachment, and b) theorizing. In order to survive the tumultuous US politics of the last two decades and keep my marriage intact, I started an active practice of detaching from my emotions while still engaging in political discussion. What a difference it has made to my peace of mind. Then, from my scientific training I've been experimenting with the language of, "My theory is...." rather than just blurring out my opinion and triggering an immediate push-back negative reaction. It would be interesting to know how many times in the Gita Krishna exhorts one to detach. It is all over the Gita. I can offer that this detachment practice from the Gita really works IRL. I suspect that it is dominated by the "buddhi."
Yes, I agree. Perhaps the word 'stifled' (a good one!) is limiting the options. I find that some thoughts that are held rather than expressed/shared can give that vital space for reflection and discernment. Other times they do come out sideways causing more harm than good. Straightforward seems generally better than sideways and sometimes the chosen pause of silence is best of all.