Forgetting, Nirodha, and Liberation

Abstract

Current research in the field of memory and forgetting has reshaped our understanding in psychology and cognitive science. Philosophical research, particularly a systematic investigation into non-Western modes of thinking, is still lagging. Common themes in popular culture today, such as memory editing or selective forgetting, are not limited to fantasies alone, as they are becoming increasingly prevalent in reality. This invites questions on the morality of such practices. The focus of this paper is the classical Patañjalian approach to memory and forgetting. By engaging classical Indian philosophies and relating the arguments to contemporary research, I explore the core issues of memory and forgetting in Patañjali’s philosophy.

1. Introduction

In the yoga system of Patañjali (400 CE), the penultimate goal of a yogin is to achieve liberation, which is described in terms of isolation (kaivalya) from everything that is not the self. Upon this ‘isolation’ of consciousness from phenomena, the liberated yogin is merely aware of self-aware consciousness identified as puruṣa. This is achieved through the cessation of every single mode of cognition, including memories and fantasies. The yogin has, in a sense, no memory and no recollection of the phenomena at the ultimate state of realization. This raises the issues of forgetting, such as active and passive modes of forgetting, or the moral and ethical dimensions of forgetting.1 It is difficult to say it is moral to forget all the crimes a subject commits, or that it is ethical for the state to incarcerate a subject who has no memory of committing any crimes. In this paper, I seek to ground the issue of forgetting in the Patañjalian context of cessation (nirodha). Before addressing these questions, I would like to offer a brief introduction to Patañjali’s model of contemplative practice. The ultimate goal would be to ground forgetting in light of cessation (nirodha),2 as grounded by Patañjali in his Yogasūtra (Shastri Agashe 1904). I will bring into dialogue comparative concepts from Buddhist traditions to explain cessation (nirodha) in Patañjali’s philosophy.

In order to achieve the goal of liberation, Patañjali teaches the yoga with eight limbs, which culminates in absorption (samādhi). There are many grades of samādhi experience, but all relate to a successive bracketing of the outward flow of consciousness, returning the gaze of the mind inward. The final mode of samādhi is called asaṃprajñāta, the state of consciousness that is bereft of objects. One of the common categories used in explaining this mode of absorption is cessation (nirodha). Even though the Patañjalian system is unique, there are some overlaps with Buddhist Nikāya or the early school of Buddhism centered on Pālī Cannons and the Yogācāra school in grounding these concepts. While this study does not expand beyond Patañjali, I consider it necessary to bring some of the key categories into dialogue, for there is substantial overlap between the Patañjalian yoga and Buddhist yoga systems, in particular Nikāya and Yogācāra models of samādhi.3 The focus of all these systems is to suspend the flow of the mind and suppress all emerging mental faculties, such as concepts, emotions, or memory.4 Absorption (samādhi) is not necessarily understood in terms of cessation. In contrast to this, another contemplative tradition, the Trika system,5 focuses on ‘recognition’ (pratyabhijñā) of the self-nature. If Buddhist and Patañjalian models focus on cessation (nirodha) of mental fluctuation, comparable to forgetting everyday reality, the Trika model stresses ‘recognition,’ binding direct apprehension with memory. And they all use the vocabulary of absorption (samādhi). The Trika model of recognition is not the focus here. However, Patañjalian and Buddhist philosophers face some questions. First, if a liberating experience requires suppression of all cognitive processes, is it moral for a yogin to forget the past, or can a yogin retain a selected memory? If the latter is the case, the yogin would not have erased memory in totality—a contradiction to essential definitions—and would such a state still culminate in liberation? Even the scope of learning, in particular the cultivation of the samādhi state, faces the same question: yogic exercises also tend to cultivate memory, and if memory as such is to be bracketed from the very yogic practice, even the cultivation of samādhi experience would be counterintuitive. Furthermore, if liberation leads to forgetting, we also need to question the value of such liberation. With a primary focus on Patañjali’s Yogasūtra (YS hereafter) (see Gokhale 2020) and its commentarial literature, this paper attempts to address these questions. I will occasionally engage Buddhist and Trika understandings for elucidation.

Indian philosophical schools broadly use the vocabulary of saṃskāra and smṛti for memory and recollection.6 Generally speaking, saṃskāra is translated as predisposition or memory trace. We can bring saṃskāras to the fore upon recall. Yoga systems ground the thesis that this memory trace is not only the root cause for our passion-aversion driven relationship in the world, but is also the cause for bondage or suffering in the world. It is due to memory traces, they argue, that a subject undergoes rebirth, further extending suffering. Broadly, yoga systems help the subjects to cultivate positive memory and remove the force of memory, so that negative memories or memories that cause affliction do not stimulate any emotional response. Yoga systems also argue that upon erasure of negative memories, even the positive memories collapse in the pristine form of the mind, leading to absolute liberation. But these systems also maintain that the current body is the product of past karmas and therefore the current realization or elimination of karmic trace has no consequence for this body. This means that even a liberated person would continue to have the body, and for that matter, only minimal memory is required to regulate bodily functions. All in all, yoga systems do recognize the virtue of forgetting or the elimination of memory.

Let me offer a brief introduction to Patañjalian soteriology before addressing cessation (nirodha) in the context of forgetting. Patañjali defines yoga as the ‘suspension of modifications of the mind’ (YS I.2). In YS I.6, he identifies five mental modifications: veridical knowledge, error, fantasy, sleep, and memory. While suspension of mental modifications also involves suspension of memory, forgetting is not something distinct from the erasure of memory. But forgetting or memory is a graded experience. We may not forget or fully remember something. Also, not all of what we cannot recollect is forgotten forever, as we can oftentimes retrieve them and say, I had almost forgotten it. In the same way, what we consider as not forgotten can also be forgotten in totality. In recent years, a new form of memory, Rilkean memory (Rowlands 2016), has been introduced as a category. Rilkean memory, as it stands, has its content lost or forgotten, but the trace is not erased so that it still guides human instincts and drives on certain occasions. For those advocating Rilkean memory, they argue that our personality is broadly shaped by these ‘forgotten but not erased’ memories.7 From the Patañjalian perspective, the real nature of the self is not made of memories, but rather the self or puruṣa is the basis upon which all the cognitive activities occur. The approach of nirodha, which covers both the Buddhist and Patañjalian yoga practice, is a systematic process of filtering thoughts, bracketing all the nonconductive thoughts, and eventually suspending all cognitive functions. The only difference between these systems is that, for Patañjali, the basis in the form of puruṣa or pure consciousness is nontemporal and not subject to temporal concepts such as the arising of thoughts or actions and ceasing to exist. In contrast, for the Buddhist schools, the penultimate state of liberation has no intrinsic nature (svabhāva) of its own. If, for Patañjali, this gradual suppression leads to a separation of the self from the creative complex (prakṛti), for Buddhist philosophers, this leads to the total annihilation of saṃskāras, and in the absence of saṃskāras, there are no new births or new modes of suffering. As far as gradual forgetting is concerned, this concept applies primarily to yoga practices rather than to contemporary experiments, invasive or otherwise.

For cessation (nirodha) to be true, we need active forgetting to also be true. Meaning, if we cannot forget some detrimental thoughts and emotions, we cannot rise to the more exalted stages of samādhi. Regardless of the methods Patañjali or Buddhists adopt, this gives us insights into the process of the active erasure of memory, an essential aspect of cognitive psychology. Broadly speaking, there cannot be any injunction against forgetting. Nobody can command us to forget.8 Before we discuss the applicability of forgetting, we need to logically ground that active forgetting is possible. Let us explore how Patañjali accomplishes this.

For Patañjali, the self (puruṣa) undergoes transmigration and suffers in the world as long as the mind continues to undergo modifications (vṛttis). Every event of consciousness can leave behind a ‘trace’ which, in turn, comes to fruition based on the rise in appropriate conditions, and the subject is bound to undergo a chain of appropriation, forming new thoughts, creating new saṃskāras, and undergoing new modes of consciousness. Against this backdrop, Patañjali argues that a yogin can train his mind to suspend all thoughts and enter the state of absorption that he calls a “non-cognitive” (asaṃprajñāta) state and by cultivating this state, a yogin can eliminate the traces of past modes of consciousness or make them seedless (nirbīja) so that they do not propagate new forms of afflictions (kleśa). Liberation, what Patañjali calls “isolation” (kaivalya) in this paradigm, is not a discovery of something new; it is not a modification of the self into new forms, but rather, it is merely a return to one’s true nature, svabhāva, and it is possible only when consciousness stops projecting the world conditioned by its afflictions (kleśas). Since, for Patañjali, even memory falls under the modification of the mind, one cannot reach the ‘non-cognitive’ state without suspending it. Since this suspension is volitional, the subject has a choice to act or not act on it. We can compare this process of returning to the essential nature of the self as pure or predetermined consciousness with Plato’s concept of anamnesis, as, rather than this state producing new knowledge, this state leads the self to discover its original nature that had remained forgotten due to memory traces and afflictions. The insight (prajñā) that fulfills the self by revealing the essential nature merely removes all conditioning factors that keep the self confused about its real nature. This prajñā then is not revealing something new but only bringing to the spotlight what has been ignored or has remained under the curtain of ignorance.

This removal of all predispositions and ultimately either returning to the primordial state or residing in a concept-free state invites a question related to morality. Is it moral to forget our deeds? We correct ourselves because we have cultivated the sense of guilt, the sense of regret, the sense of preservation of ego, but the yogic practice of samādhi demands an erasure of all cognitive and emotional activities. So the question is valid whether an enlightened yogin will have nothing to stop from acting immorally. If this liberating experience is grounded on erasure of shame or guilt, is it even moral to attain liberation? Since liberation lies at the heart of the contemplative practices across Hindu and Buddhist traditions, this question touches the heart of them all. Even though these questions seem valid, they arise due to not comprehending the foundational concepts of suspension (nirodha), non-cognitive absorption (asaṃprajñāta samādhi), and the very notion of liberation identified as “isolation” (kaivalya) in the Patañjalian yoga system.

2. Cessation (Nirodha)

In a Jātaka narrative of an ‘intoxicating woman,’ the protagonist pleads:

“I want to forget her. I am as if seeing her in my mind. She is stuck in my mind. She resides in my mind as if governing it.”9 Memory is what makes us who we are. But at one point, our memories haunt us, and we seek freedom from our memories. We find parallel approaches in both the Patañjalian and Buddhist contemplative systems to bracket everyday consciousness, and consequently, liberation from the world implies forgetting the phenomenal world. The approach to cessation (nirodha) is the foundational overarching concept, bridging both systems. For Patañjali, the practice of suppression of mental functions rests on the assumption that the self is the basis for the mind and mental activities, that memories determine modes of unfolding of the self, or its new manifestations, and that the erasure of all the predispositions leads the self to attain freedom from both the mind and its projection. Whicher (1998, pp. 153–54), while exploring the Patañjalian yoga system, interprets nirodha as:

• “a process through which ignorance is counteracted, temporarily preventing the afflictions’ domination or hold over the mind and thereby checking the distorted or wrong functioning of vṛttis, that is, vṛttis as appropriated in the condition of saṃyoga;” and
• “a process through which knowledge (jñāna) or insight (prajñā) is revealed, which can be called the ‘sattvification of consciousness,’ and which, grounded in knowledge of puruṣa (puruṣa-jñāna), allows for the corrected or right functioning of vṛtti, that is, vṛttis as appropriated through the illumination and purification of mind.”

If Whicher’s interpretation is followed, nirodha does not relate to cessation. He considers nirodha as a temporary control over the mind in order to observe and essentially correct mental modifications. This makes nirodha suppression rather than cessation. Even though it may be effective in initial stages of suspension, this interpretation does not apply if we read Patañjali further: when even subtle impressions are suspended because all cognitive functions are suspended, there arises the seedless absorption (YS I.51). Even though the results of nirodha are different in Hindu and Buddhist paradigms, there is no need to say that the very concept of nirodha differs from one system to the other. Broadly, it makes sense to argue that nirodha refers to the suspension of all mental activities, including memory. However, if we read nirodha only as a mechanism of consciousness as it moves from its manifest object-directedness towards inward nonconceptual forms, this parallels some forms of visualization. And if this is the case, the state of nirodha is not devoid of fantasy consciousness.10 However, yogic nirodha does not merely suspend memory or fantasy; it also suspends direct apprehension. Again, when Patañjali identifies mental modifications (vṛttis), he addresses direct apprehension and memory as occupying the same space, and when he introduces cessation, he does not say that only selective mental functions are suspended or that they are suspended only temporarily.

In all accounts, the category nirodha is shared in both Buddhist and Patañjalian philosophies. From the Buddhist perspective, since there is no foundational basis of reality, there is no real or absolute nature (svabhāva) for the manifest world, but merely a stream created by the bundle of memories or their traces from the past, constituting the poles of both subject and object, and when mental processes are suspended, one enters the state of emptiness (śūnyatā) or that just like a lamp ceases to burn upon exhaustion of fuel, so does the mind cease its activities when there is no fuel in the form of predispositions, resulting in emptiness. On the contrary, following the Patañjalian perspective, ‘suppression’ is a positive state that results from suspension of mental functions, including memory, resulting in revelation of the state of puruṣa, the essential nature of consciousness. If we evaluate this suspension from its outcome, we can say that it is a positive act. But the act as such is not positive, because something, a mental function, is suspended to effect manifestation of the self. The argument based on homogeneity of cause and effect, as Whicher proposes, does not withstand scrutiny here, because it is comparable to the removal of ignorance and subsequent rise in knowledge. There is no homogeneity between ignorance and knowledge, nor between the act of removal and consciousness.11

Even when Buddhist nirodha practices teach the concept of āśraya-parāvṛtti, this does not represent a return to a foundational reality, but rather, an overturning of the cognitive basis. The difference is, there is no constant foundational consciousness as ground in this paradigm. And this is where Patañjali fundamentally differs. The Buddhist doctrine of emptiness rejects the concept that cause and effect are homogeneous. Either they deny any causality, as in the case of the Mādhyamika philosophers such as Nāgārjuna (150–250 CE), or they give examples of erroneous projection to explain causality, rejecting any homogeneity. On the contrary, Patañjali relies on the Sāṅkhya model of causality, where the homogenous cause gives rise to a homogenous effect, and nothing can arise out of nothing. In the process of nirodha, what is suspended are the functions of the mind. However, from the Patañjalian paradigm, consciousness and mental functions are not the same: consciousness is the basis upon which the mind emerges, and in the absence of its functions, it returns to its pristine form of pure consciousness.

I have outlined above that the scope of nirodha is wider than suspending memory. Nevertheless, the very suspension of memory in the process of nirodha invites an interesting issue in the discourse on forgetting, that yogic practices do involve active suspension of memory. How does this cessation (nirodha) work? The term nirodha is derived from nir + √rundh, and has in its background the meaning of ‘obstructing’ or ‘inhibiting’ something in its entirety. In early Buddhist usage, the term nirodha stands for ‘annihilation’ or total removal. The metaphoric candle of the Buddhist paradigm is very different compared to the metaphoric canal in Patañjalian yoga. From the Buddhist perspective, there is total annihilation of all mental functions, and since there is no basis upon which consciousness projects reality, it leads directly to pacification (nirvāṇa). On the contrary, the metaphor of a canal illustrates that when we make barriers, water stops flowing through the canal, and the river flows in its natural form. And this would be in congruence with the Patañjalian paradigm.

Now we can engage the concept of nirodha from two different traditions and address the issue of the morality of forgetting. Let me share a narrative to address the Buddhist perspective. There was a vicious serial killer, Aṅgulimāla, who would wear a garland of the fingers of his victims. By the time King Pasenadi finds him, Buddha has already converted him to his path. Instead of arresting him, the king offers him gifts and his family title. When Aṅgulimāla dies, Buddha declares that he is enlightened, resolving both soteriological issues as well as legal consequences, since he recognized reality as emptiness, following the teachings of the Buddha. Similarly, Āryadeva (3rd Century CE) is said to have forgiven and given teachings on his deathbed to the person who mortally wounded him. Whether or not these are accurate historical accounts, these narratives confront standard models of soteriology and common laws of incarceration and morality. However, if we take the “no-self” (anattā) theory seriously, there lies no enduring self, as all that exists or appears are momentary phenomena, and ultimately, nothing has an original nature (svabhāva). From this account, there is no historical being manifest as the enduring person. When one recognizes reality, there is no past self that endures, nor is there someone to bear the consequences. At the end or from an enlightened perspective, these are all conceptual categories relevant only in conventional reality (vyavahāra). From the Patañjalian perspective, even after cessation (nirodha), and as a consequence, the self alone remains, upon achieving total isolation from prakṛti and its evolutes (kaivalya). Or, there is no difference between the person who committed the crime and the person who is standing there. So from the public perspective, there is still the body-mind complex that can be brought to justice. However, from the yogic perspective, since the tendencies and afflictions that led to committing the crime are all erased, there is no further cure necessary. The person is not capable of committing further crimes either, as subjects commit crimes being guided by delusion, motivated due to passion and aversion, or due to afflictions that guide subjects to misconception and mistaken identity and wrong actions. Since a yogin has erased all these tendencies, there is no reason for him to commit any crime. But that does not mean that he would refuse to have committed the crime. He could only say, due to ignorance or because of affliction, I was driven to commit the crime. Now the problem is not moral anymore. This returns to the social system of whether or not to punish the enlightened subject for committing the crime occurring during the stage of bondage. Since a yogin would have no issue rejecting punishment either, there will not be an issue of law and order. It would not make any difference for a yogin to be incarcerated, whether from the Buddhist or the Patañjalian perspective, for a yogin is not worried either about physical suffering or societal status. Even though the issue of an enduring subject divides Buddhists and Patañjalian yogic practitioners, from both accounts, the yogins would not have their memories wiped clean, but only that the force that lies within memory to motivate a subject has vanished.

If we explore Nikāya literature, it becomes clear that the concept of nirodha in this literature is identified as a total cessation of all modes of consciousness, and there is no higher order consciousness or foundational consciousness to return to, as nirodha is the termination of all mental functions and there is nothing beyond the mind, and no entity that we can identify as a person or the self or the soul. In the context of Nikāya literature, it appears that the term nirodha is used to describe cessation or removal of associative and cognitive functions and pleasure-pain-neutral sensations.12 This attainment of cessation, also called saññā-vedayita-nirodha, is described in terms of ‘extinction of feeling and perception.’13 This describes the mental state of a yogin who temporarily suspends all consciousness and mental activity, and this state occurs after the semi-conscious state called the ‘sphere of neither-perception-nor-non-perception’ (naivasaṃjñānāsaṃjñāyatana). Majjhimanikāya (43),14 and is even more explicit when it compares the state of nirodha with a deceased person, identifying the yogin in terms of ‘a monk who has reached ‘extinction of perception and feeling’ (saññā-vedayita-nirodha), where bodily, verbal, and mental functions have been suspended and come to a standstill, but life is not exhausted, the vital heat is not yet extinguished, and faculties are not destroyed.’

Now, if we take nirodha seriously, following the above description from the Buddhist perspective, the yogin would have no recollection, nor would there be a subject recollecting events, either. In this scenario, the issue of confirming or rejecting a crime, accepting or rejecting incarceration, is irrelevant.

3. ‘Refinement of Memory’ (Smṛti-Pariśuddhi): Erasure or Memory-Editing?

Both in clinical practice and popular culture, the concept of memory editing is a buzzword these days. But this concept is mostly linked with neurological surgery or inhibition of neural activities in certain brain regions. Accordingly, memory is exclusively linked with the brain. Not just that, the physicalist approach considers consciousness either as a byproduct of neural functioning or equivalent to neuronal activities. Even though from the Nikāya perspective, there is no separate self or foundational consciousness as basis for the mind, the mind is not merely a byproduct of the body. This is because the Nikāya texts support the thesis that there lies a causal relationship between the mind and the body, that the body produces the mind and likewise, the mind causes or determines future bodies. In Patañjali’s paradigm, filtering of memory broadly stands for bracketing memory content during the mode of experience so that direct apprehension is not contaminated by anything, such as memory or fantasy. In most cases, it only relates to dissolving reactive tendencies in association with memory, so that subjects, when recollecting past positive or negative experiences, are not tempted to act on them. The process of filtering memory, whether from Nikāya or Patañjalian perspectives, allows the yogin to see the way things are, rather than intermixing past or future, memory or fantasy. This concept of ‘filtering memory’ adds yet another layer to our conversation of forgetting, at least active forgetting, where subjects gain freedom to determine what memories to keep and what to erase, or gain the ability to suspend memory from active or direct apprehension. Setting aside moral and soteriological issues of memory-editing, suspension of memory demonstrates some similarity with phenomenological reduction, as both processes anticipate bracketing all remaining mental activities, other than a single object that is being examined, so that the subject has complete and unmediated access to the object.

Yet again, Nikāya Buddhism and Patañjalian philosophies differ in the ways they understand the mechanisms of ‘purification of memory’ (smṛtipariśuddhi YS I.43).15 Vācaspati interprets the term ‘purification’ (pariśuddhi) as apagama or removal, and in this sense, the category memory-purification is similar to the concept of cessation (nirodha). What is being bracketed in this process, following the Vyāsa-Bhāṣya commentary, is vikalpa or conceptualization. This process gives direct access to the mechanisms involved in the identification of the sensory realm of consciousness, including its relation to the object. As a result, the yogin acquires the skills to expunge language and other processes involved in the rise in object-consciousness, and he attains direct access to the bare object. This is not a process of expunging language from memory. On the contrary, this is removing memory from direct experience that conditions the object in the mold of the memory, interrupting it from being exposed as it is.16 The imperative of yoga thus lies in the ability of active bracketing of memory, and this amounts to an agentive forgetting.

Furthermore, Patañjali’s conversation upon the “purification of memory” comes in the context of explaining a particular type of meditation that he calls the “absorption that is expunged of conceptualizations’ (nirvitarka samādhi YS I.43). Comparable to phenomenological reduction, Patañjali outlines this meditative practice as a process that directly apprehends the object as it is, even bracketing the ego. The yogic practice in Patañjali’s paradigm is broadly about tracing consciousness back to its source, observing the flow of consciousness from its most external form to its intrinsic nature before it is conditioned by concepts. The objective of the meditative state, expunged of conceptualization, is different from the Buddhist paradigm. Rather than an inwardly oriented focus, this is the outward focus, intending to actualize the bare object without allowing any other modes of consciousness to contaminate it, so that the external object is known as it is. In terms of phenomenology, this process not only involves expunging language and memory, but it also involves bracketing the ‘sense’ aspect of consciousness so that the bare object is all that is manifest in the act of consciousness. What is expunged from the field of consciousness, following Vyāsa’s commentary, involves bracketing language, inferential processes, and concepts or mental modifications (vikalpa).17 In our context, what is removed from the field of consciousness is memory. It is necessary to forget, to not have the history corresponding to an object in the foreground of the mind, so that the subject can freshly encounter the object. Most philosophers from the Indic traditions raise the argument of novelty to determine veridical knowledge. Even though memory is also knowledge, this clause of newness is to bracket it, removing memory from within the scope of veridical knowledge. Veridical knowledge, in this paradigm, is possible using the bracketing of memory, or being able to actively overcome memory so that it does not interfere with the process of cognition.

Now, when we think of forgetting, it is not that a yogin itemizes the entities that need to be removed from the screen of the mind so that he can focus on the bare object. But rather, he simply focuses on the bare object with all intensity so that the mind’s focus is not dissipated and expends no saved energy to evoke memories from its past or the fantasies, instead imposing concepts in the mode of direct encounter. There cannot be an injunction on forgetting; nobody can command one to forget. Neither can I forget by simply wishing for it. Even forgetting needs to be exercised through recollection. Only when aspects of experience are absent upon recall, we face our forgetfulness. When I see something in front of me, my good or bad memories related to that entity will be elicited. However, a yogin trains his mind to emancipate direct awareness of the object from the intermixing with the past, or he can bracket fantasy and memory alike, distinct from the mode of direct apprehension. There cannot be active forgetting like active cognizing or remembering. When we forget something, we do not actively think of the object to forget, as that would be counterintuitive. We forget when there is nothing to forget, not even a vague something, not even nothing as a thing. To defend the argument of how the Patañjalian paradigm supports selective forgetting, I will offer two additional examples:

(a)

The exercise of repeating the thought of no-thought (YS 1.18) offers the first strategy. This passage identifies a non-cognitive mode of absorption as caused by the repetition of the suspension of thoughts.18 This is not an active forgetting of something specific but rather a suppression of thoughts altogether.

(b)

A second method consists of meditating upon contradictory thoughts to eradicate negative thoughts (YS 2.33). The practice here refers to channeling contradictory thoughts to root out unwholesome thoughts. Even though the focus is on recollection, the effect is of forgetting. In this paradigm, the mind processes a single stream of thought, and if we want to repress any particular thought-stream, we need to channel a counter-stream.19

Śrīdhara maintains that, if we gain contradictory information from what we knew before, this leads to an elimination of the earlier predisposition.20 While this is ultimately true because otherwise there would be no motivation for learning, we do not instantaneously rid ourselves of earlier saṃskāras, as we often continue to make mistakes, even after knowing that what we have been doing is counterproductive. Saṃskāras are not erased instantaneously. Furthermore, we do not remember only what we know; we also remember how we erred, even after confirming that instant as erroneous. We say “yesterday, I was confused with this pole in the dark,” or “I saw this rope and thought it was a snake.” We are not only registering veridical consciousness in relation to our consciousness, but also combining the consciousness of X with our erroneous consciousness of Q(x). Even in the paradigm of Śrīdhara, Rilkean-type memory is not accommodated, as this does not address the trace remaining within the category memory but does identify this in the category saṃskāra.

Not all of our thoughts are wholesome. Patañjali teaches us how to curb negative thoughts. He suggests that one can bring to mind contradictory thoughts as a method to eradicate negative thoughts (for instance, YS 2.33—34). In order for the subject to have positive thoughts, the training here is to focus on thoughts such as nonviolence in order to eradicate violent thoughts. By providing a mechanism of forgetting, Patañjali is endorsing active forgetting, even though the way to forget X for him is to play Y, something that contradicts X. Contradictory thoughts conflict, and one thought indeed triumphs over the other, as Śrīdhara maintains. In the case of Patañjali, he is suggesting planting contradictory thoughts for what one wishes to erase. This is the case of voluntary erasure of memory.

The yogic exercise targeting memory and forgetting rests on two assumptions, first, that this exercise allows one to directly encounter reality the way it is, unmarred by any afflictions, and second, that this exercise allows one to move the trajectory of this skill inward and thus be able to directly actualize the self, puruṣa, or consciousness in its primordial form, free from all the conditioning factors. The yogic suppression of mental functions applies to the suspension of all the fivefold mental functions in terms of perception, erroneous consciousness, fantasy, deep sleep, and memory. Each of these functions can be either afflicting (kliṣṭa) or non-afflicting (akliṣṭa). Even though the goal of yogic meditation is to free oneself from all afflictions, the practice of nirodha applies to all types of mental functions, whether afflicting or non-afflicting.

Now, for example, I have a propositional memory that the capital city of Nepal is Kathmandu or that 2 + 2 = 4. There is nothing in these memories that can be afflicting, as these have nothing to do with my emotional state or could cause mental affliction. In the practice of nirodha, even these neutral types of memories are bracketed, so that every event of consciousness is new from the yogic perspective. If a yogin is supposed to erase even these memories, there would categorically be no difference between a yogin and a subject with acute forms of memory loss. Not only that a yogin could be dysfunctional, he would also not be able to enlighten others, a task reserved solely for an enlightened person. A yogic mind would have wiped clean all language and culture, as these are all based on memory. This could not be the goal of yogic practice. We have to explain suppression along the lines that a yogin can bracket all the afflicting memories from the screen of his mind or be able to temporarily block memory and other factors, as Whicher has argued earlier, so that he can focus only on the object of his attention. This is what makes pariśuddhi, purification of memory, distinct from repression or simple forgetting. In essence, we cannot address forgetting in the context of yoga without engaging the concept of affliction (kleśa) (YS II.3). Just as the mind counteracts by bringing to the fore some undesirable memories in the process of active inhibition, passive forgetting can take away some of the desired memories. On both occasions, there lies something beneath the surface of the active ego that makes forgetting possible.

4. Shall We Forget?

In Funes the Memorious, Borges (1944) introduces a character, Funes, who has a problem of remembering everything. Taking from Borges’ fiction to the neurological problem, Quian Quiroga (2012) engages the issue of ‘concept cells’ that respond to abstract concepts. In essence, the ability to forget and to abstract is crucial for normal brain function.21 It takes the character Funes an entire day to report an event of the past day, as he remembers every single detail, including the duration of the past events. If consciousness were not to filter our experiences, we would have the same problem that the fictional character Funes has. Subjects with hyperthymesia demonstrate an extraordinary capacity for episodic memory. We can understand now why forgetting is a blessing. In reality, every memory contains a partial forgetting, as not all the aspects of experience are retained in memory. Memory is oftentimes also a commentary. It does not just record the event; it regularly encapsulates the subject’s viewpoint. It is contextual to raise the new concept of Rilkean memory again. In its embodied form, it relates to our behavioral and bodily dispositions, while in affective form, it manifests in us as moods, feelings, and sensations. It is the type of memory where content can be lost, but its trace determines our embodied and affective modes. Some have argued that our very subjectivity is a product of Rilkean memory, meaning that what constitutes our subjectivity are the memories that linger even though their contents are lost. The classical Hindu concept of saṃskāra broadly explains what we are learning in terms of Rilkean memory. For there are two types of saṃskāras, the first being predispositions that relate to determined objects or specific concepts. The word ‘cow’ corresponds to the animal, ‘cow’, for example. Another identifies predispositions that manifest in our skills, such as dancing or archery. This also manifests in our feelings, such as liking someone based on fear or our previous encounter. Indian philosophers use the concept of saṃskāra to explain instincts such as that of an infant to suckle breasts. Saṃskāras play a crucial role in the Hindu or Buddhist theologies, as saṃskāras are the roots of bondage; they are credited for causing new births and suffering, and the elimination of saṃskāras is necessary for liberation. Patañjali does address saṃskāra as one of the categories to be erased. For as long as there are saṃskāras, the cycle of bondage continues. Even from this account, we can say that saṃskāras determine our personality, or that our phenomenal ego is a product of saṃskāra. However, in the Patañjalian paradigm, the self as the basis continues even after death, and is therefore not fully compatible with Rilkean memory. If erasure of saṃskāra is a precondition for liberation, liberation involves forgetting.

If we move beyond the Buddhist and Patañjalian paradigms and engage Trika philosophy, focus is given to recollection over forgetting or suppression to recognize reality. The term central to this system is ‘recognition’ (pratyabhijñā), meaning knowing again something that was known before. But this ‘knowing again’ is not merely a resurfacing of past experiences. In this paradigm, this is the total awakening, recognizing oneself as God or the totality. Recognition as such is a unique category, and some classical philosophers have bundled it with memory, while others have identified it with direct apprehension. However, Trika philosophers such as Utpala and Abhinavagupta have identified ‘recognition’ as a unique mode of consciousness that cannot be reduced to either.22 From the perspective of Trika, the self is never really bound, and even in its most finite level, the self retains its divine nature. Liberation, in this paradigm, is a rediscovery of this divine nature. Self-realization, in this account, does not amount to new knowledge but merely realizing the eternally luminous and blissful nature of the self. There is no emphasis on suppression here, but rather, the focus is established in recognition of every instant of consciousness as being the very base consciousness being expressed in manifold forms.

Liberation in Buddhist and Patañjalian paradigms comes with a paradox: if you are liberated, what type of memory would you have to confirm it? Or, can a liberated being recollect his past? The most common answer would be that there are different types of saṃskāras, and the particular saṃskāra that retains our body is called prārabdha, or the saṃskāra that is already in motion. Just like one cannot suspend the speed of an arrow that is already flying, in the same way, saṃskāras that are already active maintain our bodily function, including our memories. Īśvara Kṛṣṇa explains this with a metaphor of a potter’s wheel, as even after the potter stops spinning the wheel, it keeps moving for some time.23 Now, if we read the narratives of ‘liberated’ beings such as the Buddha, they do not demonstrate any lapse of memory. Oftentimes, they are credited for having extraordinary memory that extends beyond this life cycle. The narratives in the Jātakas relate to the Buddha remembering hundreds of previous births. The Yogavāsiṣṭha24 is replete with narratives of memory and forgetting, exemplified in two such narratives. In the narrative of Bhuśuṇḍa, an Enlightened Crow, the protagonist has the memory of different cycles of creation. The crow is the metaphoric self as the witness, eternally observing and never conditioned by time. The narrative of Bhuśuṇḍa is also relevant because it presents a contrast between two enlightened personalities, where the main narrator, Vasiṣṭha, has no recollection of a past meeting with Bhuśuṇḍa, even though he identifies himself as a liberated being. This narrative explores two models of liberation, where one forgets previous modes of existence, whereas the other does not.

If the story of Bhuśuṇḍa is of memory, the story of Jīvaṭa is that of forgetting and recognition. In this narrative, during meditation, one mendicant focuses on the plasticity of his subjectivity. This makes him imagine himself as another person, Jīvaṭa. This initiates a chain of new modes of becoming, ultimately assuming the subjectivity of Rudra. When assuming oneself as the deity Rudra, the subject regains memory of all the previous modes of becoming, liberating every manifestation as imagined by another subject, ultimately dissolving all the finite modes of subjectivity, leading the mendicant to the state of liberation. The story of the mendicant has multiple levels of recognition. First, the central concept is that subjectivity is fluid and that memory determines subjectivity. Second, all these fluid subjectivities are not entirely wiped from the background memory, the basis upon which one actualizes upon self-realization. Third, the recognition of oneself as the Lord, Śiva, is simultaneous to the recognition of all the past modes of subjectivity. A total recall, in this account, occurs at the same time as the simultaneous realization that all these subjectivities are fantastic. All these memories and recognitions lead to the dissolution of the very egos that are producing the memories.

Now, we must address the virtue of forgetting. The narratives above demonstrate that memory and subjectivity are interdependent, and an enlightened subject can either choose to retain a particular mode of subjectivity, as in the case of Bhuśuṇḍa, or question all the modes of subjectivity as arising due to fantasy. But in both accounts, rather than forgetting, memories appear to surface even in the mode of liberation. And having memories is not contradictory to being liberated. If we reflect again, we also come to realize as unfounded the thesis that memory is a positive entity, and forgetting or its erasure is negative in nature. Not only do we harbor false memories, but many of our memories are also of negative experiences. Likewise, we realize that there is not one picture of the state of liberation: if some texts stress suppression of memory, others emphasize the model of liberation, where memories of the past appear as a boon.

Let us return to Patañjali one more time. He defines “memory is the retention25 of the objects that have been experienced” (anubhūtaviṣayāsaṃpramoṣaḥ smṛtiḥ | YS I.11). We can derive some insights from this definition before moving forward. The first significant aspect of this definition is that memory retains the object aspect of past experiences. The Vyāsa commentary raises a question of whether this retention relates to the experience itself or the object of experience. And as an explanation, it goes on to elaborate on what constitutes saṃskāras, that a saṃskāra is a fusion of both the object and its experience. In the divide between object and experience, the Vyāsa commentary makes clear that there is a primacy of the experience aspect in apprehension (buddhi), whereas there is primacy of the object in recollection (smṛti). In all accounts, Vyāsa commentary is explicit in maintaining that all forms of memory are initiated by experience, even though some experiences can be derived from dreams or other non-veridical modes of consciousness.26 If we read memory strictly along these lines, Rilkean memory would not be considered memory; instead, it would simply be bundled with saṃskāras. Second, this definition does not integrate the experiential mode of consciousness into the discourse of remembering: when I remember, I do not just recall objects; I also remember myself experiencing those objects. There is a sensory part given to consciousness that is not identical to the object part, and Patañjali does not engage the sense aspect of experience in his conversation on memory. In response, we have to consider “the experienced object” as not just referring to the object but also as presented with its qualifier as experienced (x), the object that is experienced in the past. An object has to reveal itself as being experienced in the past for it to be an object of memory. Even then, memory is not about experience from the past but about the object that is being recalled. Why this is crucial in this conversation is because, for Patañjali, memory needs to be suspended so that the pristine state of the mind can reflect puruṣa or pure consciousness as it is. This is to say that from the perspective of Patañjali, as long as the mind is afflicted with conditioning factors or is undergoing different modifications, the mind cannot reflect consciousness as it is. If we stress the consciousness aspect of memory, there is no issue with its suspension. For Patañjali, he is only interested in suspending the object aspect of consciousness and not the experiential aspect. If memory is about objects, suppression of memory is also about preventing the object from arising, and this leads to defending the argument that nirodha does not suspend consciousness. Further, this is what marks a fundamental difference between the Nikāya model of nirodha and Patañjalian nirodha. But still, Patañjalian definition of memory stands in large part with a negative qualifier, a non-erasure of something that was experienced. He is not defining memory as presentive; he does not say memory is the presentation of past experience with its corresponding object. By defining memory as non-erasure, he gives space for memories that are partially present or that are occasionally present. We do not need to remember something constantly; memory as a state of consciousness is different from direct apprehension because it is only the instant in which the object is present, and we identify that as direct apprehension. On the contrary, we know of something being an object of memory as long as it can be retrieved on some other occasion.

I have highlighted both the sensory and object aspects of consciousness in addressing memory. However, the sense of temporality is still not addressed. We can sometimes have time as our object of consciousness. But in most instances, time is passively facilitating experience. Events that are being experienced in the present moment are recalled as something experienced in the past. If time is integral to experience, it should be recalled in the same mode as it was given during the experience. This is not the case. We also cannot say that time is integral to consciousness. On some occasions, we have time as an object of consciousness. But even when it is not a direct object, it is appearing as conditioning experience, as something experienced in the past or being experienced in the present, and not as the basis, not as consciousness itself, not as integral to consciousness. Furthermore, Patañjali does not ask us to suspend the temporal mode. Time for him is integral to the modes of consciousness, and when the modifications are suspended, time-consciousness is automatically suspended. Furthermore, Patañjalian consciousness is not temporal, nor is it consciousness as the basis that is identified with puruṣa or the self. Liberating insight in the a-cognitive mode of absorption is possible only when all determining factors other than consciousness are removed from the sphere of consciousness. Time that is registered during the mode of experience, the present time, is not the time that is invoked during the mode of recollection. If we consider time as duration, even that does not make sense because when we remember some events from the past, we do not recollect them with the same duration. Most experiences are synthesized. Some accidental events that happen within seconds may be recalled over a longer duration. In all accounts, there is no direct correlation between time that is given during the mode of experience and time that is recalled. Furthermore, most experiences are registered without any temporal mark. I do not experience something and say, ‘this experience corresponds to the present mode of time.’ But when they are recalled, they are organized as occurring in the past. Basically, time is a mode of archiving experience, and the past mode of time is merely the way of accessing the archive, reviving the experience.

Not all memories are inextricably enmeshed with temporality. For example, I derive from my past knowledge that Kathmandu is the capital city of Nepal. Whenever I learned the word ‘book,’ the concept referring to the object ‘book’ is erased from my memory, and today, as I hear the word book, in my consciousness, I can associate book with an object, leaving the memory aspect aside. In the case of episodic memory, however, temporality is mostly marked, either given as present with the object of consciousness or as some entity staying in the background. Rather than infusing time with an event or with consciousness, it makes more sense that we consider this as integral to subjectivity. Without time, there is no narrative, and without narrative, there is no subjectivity. It is the subject that requires a temporal sequence, and therefore, the subject as the center weaves a temporal order based on the events archived in successive order. Now returning to forgetting, it is the subject that fears forgetting; it is the presence of subjectivity that needs temporality. However, as far as Patañjalian puruṣa is concerned, it is the basis or foundation and not the temporally constructed subjectivity. In the Patañjalian paradigm, we can consider the ego or ahaṃkāra as subjectivity, for there is a separate vocabulary here for the mind, i.e., manas. There is yet another category, citta, that includes the mind that does mentation and buddhi that makes cognitive determination (niścaya). Now, what is bracketed in the Patañjalian paradigm are manas, buddhi, citta and ahaṃkāra, meaning, all the cognitive functions, including the ego. And since the Patañjalian paradigm considers the primary driving force of prakṛti as the basis for temporality, or time as the rajas aspect of the expression of prakṛti, there is no problem of subjectivity being inscribed by temporality.

Even if the categories of memory and forgetting addressed here are derived from classical texts, in particular from the Yogasūtra of Patañjali, these issues are as relevant today as they were in classical times. When Patañjali or other contemplative philosophers address these issues, their objective is liberation, or strictly speaking, isolation of consciousness from its confusion with the externals. But when a contemporary psychologist, philosopher, or cognitive scientist is interested in these issues, his interest is guided by the perennial question of what amounts to our subjectivity, and if we can erase memories from the past, to what extent can this exercise be considered ethical. Liao and Sandberg (2008), for instance, address normative issues related to modifying or erasing memories. While the issues involve whether we are obliged to retain our memory and if memory editing is possible, they examine issues of truthfulness and agency alike. The issue of authenticity is at the center of Leuenberger (2022) when she explores the issue of personal identity. Zawadzki (2022), accordingly, explores the issue of personal identity in the context of memory modification. Yang (2025), accordingly, reviews memory modification technologies and seeks to address legal and ethical issues related to memory editing. In a nutshell, erasure of memory is not a topic of science fiction anymore. However, the immediate concerns of memory editing involve legal and ethical issues. If, on the one hand, we have the need for forgetting, we equally have a moral obligation to remember. We can say more on all of these issues if we read the Trika philosophical paradigm of recognition (pratyabhijñā), or other contemplative approaches to memory and forgetting further. Returning to Patañjalian or any other contemplative tradition, liberation is the most sought-after goal, and so erasing all the habit tendencies is never questioned ethically. However, one can say that even when a yogin erases karmic tendencies and the lived and emotional domain of memory, the depth of memory is erased, but a yogin does not erase the cognitive content. A yogin frees himself from all the afflictions that determined his actions in the past, for the acts that have been accumulated in the sphere of memory, yet he does not erase his subjectivity or the cognitive contents of the past. Even the enlightened Buddha retains memories from the past. The difference is that these memories do not inflict suffering on him. The goal then is not to erase the cognitive content but only not to be haunted by the past.

5. Concluding Remarks

The issues of memory and forgetting are perennial. Even if inhibition of the cognitive faculties of memory, fantasy in contemporary research, and classical contemplative traditions are for different objectives, the epistemic or ethical issues related to such practices are the same. We need two questions answered: (a). What type of soteriology can we derive from Patañjalian conversation on cessation (nirodha)? and (b). What type of moral considerations are to be derived from this conversation? For the first question, as it is clear through and through, Patañjali is not writing a book on psychology or phenomenology. It is a project to guide the yogin through the path of self-realization. In the bigger picture, yoga is about returning to one’s primordial nature, to pure consciousness, and the exercise of forgetting in the form of suppression is aimed at curbing the lower order of consciousness, the mental functions that bracket consciousness from recognizing its real nature. He is not teaching the individual to forget but rather to recollect; however, to recollect the self as it is, one has to forget what one mistakenly takes it to be. For the second question, a yogin, by definition, eliminates all instincts and drives that can lead to wrongful action. A yogin can be guided by pure compassion or live merely by maintaining the body at a minimum. To realize the self, a yogin goes to the root of his mistakes, to eliminate tendencies that can lead to wrongful actions. But what happens after this is not so straightforward. From the Patañjalian perspective, a yogin still retains his subjectivity if not at the level of the ego (ahaṃkāra). Consequently, there is the self that affirms past wrongful action, and there remains the scope for intersubjective understanding, for punishment if the laws demand. From Aṅgulimāla’s narrative, since there is no enduring subject, there is nobody to bear the consequences, whether in legal terms or in the afterlife. But what if the society seeks his incarceration? I do not see the enlightened being having any objection either. Just as he can recognize the reality of no-self and emptiness as he reflects on himself, he is likewise able to recognize the ignorance of others and the world they have construed based on their illusion.