The first recorded
contact between yoga and western thought occurred during the times of
Plato (428–348 BCE) and his disciple Aristotle (384–322 BCE). The
Greeks had heard much about the Indian yogis, whom they called gymnosophists (“naked philosophers”) and greatly admired their depth of wisdom.
In 327 BCE
Alexander the Great invaded a small portion of India, only to abandon
it, exhausted, after two years and move on to Persia. Alexander the
Great had been instilled with a deep appreciation of philosophy by his
master Aristotle as well as by the unorthodox teacher Diogenes, and was
eager to learn from yogis. The Greek historian Plutarch recounts two
interesting episodes in the life of Alexander in this respect.
Once Alexander
sent one of his messengers, Onesikritos (a student of Diogenes) to
summon a great forest-dwelling sage called Dandini (known as Dandamis
in Greek) to come to Alexander’s camp and engage in some philosophical
discourse with him. The sage, absorbed in blissful contemplation, gave
no answer. Onesikritos warned the yogi that Alexander did not take
kindly to not being obeyed, and that he would have the sage put to
death if he did not comply with his request. To which Dandini calmly
remarked that the tyrant may well cut off his head, but could never
disturb the peace of his soul… something that Alexander had apparently
never found in all his wanderings and conquests. When Alexander
received the message, he was seized by the greatest desire to meet such
a fearless sage, and came to him willingly. The great yogi taught him
that the body belongs to man, but that man does not belong to the body,
so even beheading does not bring any suffering to one established in
soul consciousness.
Another time,
Alexander’s army had captured a large group of prisoners in a fierce
battle, amongst which were ten brahmin yogis. Alexander decided to test
their wisdom with some trick questions, specifying that whoever gave
the worst answer would be the first to die. Having appointed the oldest
brahmin to be the judge of the competition, he began the
interrogation.
To the first yogi
he asked, “Which be the more numerous, the living or the dead?” “The
living,” said the yogi, “because the dead no longer count.”
“Which breeds more creatures, the sea or the land?” Alexander asked the second. “The land,” was his answer, “because the sea is only a part of it.”
Turning to the third brahmin, he asked “Which is the cleverest of beasts?”
“The one we have not found yet” he replied.
Alexander asked the fourth what argument he had used to stir up the Indians to fight against him, and he answered: “Only that one should either live nobly or die nobly.”
“Which existed first, the day or the night?” he asked the fifth yogi. “The day was first… by one day” he answered. As Alexander looked dissatisfied with this answer, the sage added: “Strange questions deserve strange answers.”
“What should a man do to make himself loved?” asked Alexander. The sixth yogi replied: “Be powerful without making yourself be feared.”
Alexander then asked a question very dear to his heart “What does a man have to do to become a god?” The seventh yogi responded: “Do what is impossible for a man to do.”
“Which is stronger, life or death?” he questioned the eighth yogi, who responded: “Life, because it bears so many miseries.”
To the ninth yogi he asked “How long is it proper for a man to live?”, and he said: “Until it seems better to die.”
Finally, Alexander turned to the last yogi officiating as the judge, and asked him for his verdict. The old sage said that each one had answered worse than the other. “You will die first, then, for delivering such a judgment,” said Alexander. “Not so, mighty king” said the yogi, “as you said that you would kill first the one who made the worst answer.”
Alexander was so impressed with each of the ten yogis’ sagacity that he set them all free and rewarded them richly. He further requested the oldest one, Swami Sphines, to stay on as his personal guide and instructor, to which the sage agreed.
Swami Sphines became known as Kalanos in Greek—due to the old saint’s custom of always uttering the name of his chosen deity, Kali.
Kalanos accompanied Alexander to Persia, where he left his body in extraordinary circumstances. Sensing the time of his death coming near, he embraced all his intimate friends, but he only looked at Alexander and addressed him with the words “I shall meet you shortly in Babylon”. He then calmly entered his own funeral pyre and let himself be consumed to ashes in front of the whole Macedonian army. A year later, on June 13, 323 BCE, Alexander died outside the walls of Babylon. Kalanos’ words had proved true, and guru and disciple were reunited beyond life and death.
“Which breeds more creatures, the sea or the land?” Alexander asked the second. “The land,” was his answer, “because the sea is only a part of it.”
Turning to the third brahmin, he asked “Which is the cleverest of beasts?”
“The one we have not found yet” he replied.
Alexander asked the fourth what argument he had used to stir up the Indians to fight against him, and he answered: “Only that one should either live nobly or die nobly.”
“Which existed first, the day or the night?” he asked the fifth yogi. “The day was first… by one day” he answered. As Alexander looked dissatisfied with this answer, the sage added: “Strange questions deserve strange answers.”
“What should a man do to make himself loved?” asked Alexander. The sixth yogi replied: “Be powerful without making yourself be feared.”
Alexander then asked a question very dear to his heart “What does a man have to do to become a god?” The seventh yogi responded: “Do what is impossible for a man to do.”
“Which is stronger, life or death?” he questioned the eighth yogi, who responded: “Life, because it bears so many miseries.”
To the ninth yogi he asked “How long is it proper for a man to live?”, and he said: “Until it seems better to die.”
Finally, Alexander turned to the last yogi officiating as the judge, and asked him for his verdict. The old sage said that each one had answered worse than the other. “You will die first, then, for delivering such a judgment,” said Alexander. “Not so, mighty king” said the yogi, “as you said that you would kill first the one who made the worst answer.”
Alexander was so impressed with each of the ten yogis’ sagacity that he set them all free and rewarded them richly. He further requested the oldest one, Swami Sphines, to stay on as his personal guide and instructor, to which the sage agreed.
Swami Sphines became known as Kalanos in Greek—due to the old saint’s custom of always uttering the name of his chosen deity, Kali.
Kalanos accompanied Alexander to Persia, where he left his body in extraordinary circumstances. Sensing the time of his death coming near, he embraced all his intimate friends, but he only looked at Alexander and addressed him with the words “I shall meet you shortly in Babylon”. He then calmly entered his own funeral pyre and let himself be consumed to ashes in front of the whole Macedonian army. A year later, on June 13, 323 BCE, Alexander died outside the walls of Babylon. Kalanos’ words had proved true, and guru and disciple were reunited beyond life and death.