The Science of Yoga

candy, running wild.
    I say ideas come from a higher source
but secretly wish they’re mine of course.
     
    Life holds few mysteries greater than those concerning the wellsprings of creativity. Thinkers down through the ages have developed many theories about what keeps the springs flowing and what causes them to dry up. Freud proposed one of the most enduring when he suggested that the sublimation of sexual energy fosters the artistic temperament and the creative impulse. But he denied that he, or psychoanalysis, could provide much else by way of explanation. “Before the problem of the creative artist,” Freud remarked in a study of Dostoyevsky, “analysis must, alas, lay down its arms.”
    Despite the durability of the question, a fair body of evidence—much of it anecdotal, some of it middling, parts of it robust—has emerged over the decades to suggest that yoga can play a role in stirring the wellsprings. And kundalini is only part of the story.
    The evidence has accumulated even though the issue is scientifically challenging. Creativity, after all, is rooted in human subjectivity, and even the best investigators can have a hard time finding ways to explore the ephemeral nature of inspiration. By definition, the research is much more difficult to doproperly than measuring hormones and muscle tension, brain waves and blood pressure.
    A complicating factor is that the overall issue of yogic creativity tends to be poorly known. It has received little public attention compared to more popular aspects of the discipline. The low profile and lack of buzz mean that scientists face serious challenges in trying to obtain funding to pursue the unfamiliar lines of research.
    Even so, the topic is potentially quite important. Artists and creative thinkers have reputations as rebels. But throughout history, they have starred not only in the annals of invention but in the social upheavals that frequently result in periods of civil progress. If yoga contributes to the advance of artistry, it seems like the discipline might act as a cultural force of some consequence.
    This chapter explores that possibility and the extent to which science in its current state of development can illuminate the topic.
    The potential links between yoga and creativity often lie hidden in plain sight. For instance, Carl Jung relied on the calming effects of yoga during one of the most tumultuous and inspired periods of his life, doing so long before he issued his warning about the dangers of kundalini.
    The Swiss psychiatrist (1875–1961) and founder of analytical psychology turned to the discipline relatively early in his career as he struggled with two crises. The first was personal. In his thirties, as part of his inquiries, Jung engaged in a furious battle to pry open his own mind, so much so that he would often shudder with hallucinations and cling to nearby objects to keep from falling apart. Ultimately, his “confrontation with the unconscious,” as he called it, resulted in a secret journal bound in red leather that, when published in 2009, was hailed as the genesis of the Jungian method.
    The other crisis was World War I. It raged beyond the psychoanalyst and his home in neutral Switzerland, shattering the old European order. Jung perceived an enigmatic link between the inner and outer conflicts. And, in the interest of science, he used that relationship to push himself to what he considered the edge of madness. “I was frequently so wrought up,” Jung recalled, “that I had to do certain yoga exercises to hold my emotions in check.” He did so sparingly. “I would do these exercises only until I had calmedmyself enough to resume my work with the unconscious.”
    Another example of the ostensible interaction between yoga and creativity centers on Leopold Stokowski (1882–1977), a conductor renowned for his exuberance, intuition, and a style that shunned the traditional baton for hand motions. He is often remembered for his starring role with the Philadelphia Orchestra in the Disney film Fantasia.
    Early in his career, Stokowski became a confirmed health enthusiast, throwing himself into a disciplined regimen of yoga, meditation, and strict limits on what he ate and drank. He was said to be able to relax completely at will and, on six hours of sleep, handle workdays running up to eighteen hours. Before each concert, he would meditate to clear his mind.
    Stokowski was also a famous womanizer. When, in the 1930s, he and Greta