[The tendency of] clinging to life affects even the wise; it is an inherent tendency.

Bryant Commentary:

The commentators consider this clinging to life kleśa, abhiniveśaḥ, to be a synonym for the fear of death. All living beings, says Vyāsa, wish that they would never die and could live forever. The inherent nature of such a wish, he says, suggests that the nature of death has been experienced in the past. From this one can conclude that one has undergone previous births. In other words, just as the previous sūtras indicated that attachment or aversion to something is caused by positive or negative memories of that thing, aversion to death likewise indicates that one’s memory retains unpleasant recollections of past deaths, although these are latent or subconscious in the present life. It is perhaps because fear of death pertains to past-life rather than present-life saṁskāras, suggests Balslev (1991), that clinging to life is characterized as an independent kleśa rather than relegated under the category of the previous kleśa of dveṣa, aversion.

Even a newly born worm is afraid of death, Vācaspati Miśra argues to make this case. This fear cannot be explained by the standard means of attaining knowledge established by Patañjali in I.7: direct perception, inference, or verbal testimony. In other words, Vijñānabhikṣu elaborates, one might argue that a person’s fear of death need not be based on previous death experiences in past lives but can easily be accounted for by the fact that one directly perceives death around one and can thus infer that one, too, is going to die. Or, one might attain this knowledge of the imminence of death from the testimony of reliable people such as parents or teachers, or from scriptures or books of knowledge. But a newly born worm has not had these perceptions or inferences or testimonies yet nonetheless displays a fear of death.

The same innate fear of death is visible in the human infant, says Vācaspati Miśra. A newborn infant cannot have inferred the reality of death or heard about it any more than the worm. Given the Yoga position indicated in the last verse that dveṣa, aversion, like rāga, attachment, is the product of memory, how can this innate fear of death be accounted for unless all creatures have latent recollections of previous deaths? Such experiences are embedded in the citta in the form of saṁskāras or mental imprints, that subconsciously cause creatures to avoid death. These saṁskāras underlie the clinging to life of all creatures noted in this sūtra. This seems to be a form of a long-standing argument offered by most Hindu sects in defense of the existence of the soul that instinctive memories in the newborn and, indeed, any type of memories whatsoever, require a preexisting substratum, or soul, on which to initially inhere, or find their support.

As Patañjali indicates in this sūtra, the kleśa of clinging to life is found even in the learned, not just the ignorant. The vidvān (here in the genitive form viduṣo) is one who has vidyā, knowledge, that is, one who is learned in the scriptures. Even the wise pursuing liberation, who are aware of the temporality of all things, are subject to this kleśa, say the commentators. This is because it is a stronger saṁskāra than other saṁskāras, says Vijñānabhikṣu (although Vācaspati Miśra adds that this is the case only for those whose wisdom is based on perception, inference, and testimony, not for those who have actually attained samādhi).

As In The Ignorant So In The Learned The Firmly Established Inborn Fear Of Annihilation Is The Affliction Called Abhinivesa.

Clinging to life is instinctive and self-perpetuating, even for the wise.

Clinging to life and the fear of death are sustained by an intrinsic force in the same way that the other primal causes of suffering persist dominating even the wise.

Abhinivesa is the strong desire for life which dominates even the learned (or the wise).

Taimini Commentary:

The last derivative of Avidya is called Abhinivesa. It is generally translated as desire for life or will-to-live. That every human being, in fact every living creature, wants to continue to live is, of course, a fact with which everyone is familiar. We sometimes see people who have nothing to gain from life. Their life is one long drawnout misery and yet their attachment to life is as great as ever. The reason for this apparent anomaly is, of course, that the other four Klesas which result in desire for life or Abhinivesa are in full operation even in the absence of unfavourable external circumstances.

There are two points in this Sutra which require some explanation. First, that this strong attachment to life which is universal is well established even in the learned. One may expect ordinary people to feel this attachment but a wise man at least who knows all about the realities of life may be expected to sit lightly on life. But as a matter of fact, this is not so. The philosopher who is well versed in all the philosophies of the world and knows intellectually all the deeper problems of life is as much attached to life as the ordinary person who is ignorant about these things. The reason why Patanjali has pointed out this fact definitely lies perhaps in his intention to bring to the notice of the would-be Yogi that mere knowledge of the intellect (Vidusah here really means the learned and not the wise) is in itself inadequate for freeing a man from this attachment to life. Unless and until the tree of Klesas is destroyed, root and branch, by a systematic course of Yogic discipline the attachment to life in smaller or greater degree will continue in spite of all the philosophies we may know or preach. The wouldbe Yogi, therefore, places no reliance on such theoretical knowledge. He treads the path of Yoga which alone can bring freedom from the Klesas.

The second point to be noted in this Sutra is contained in the phrase Svarasavahi which means sustained by its own inherent force or potency. The universality of Abhinivesa shows that there is some constant and universal force inherent in life which automatically finds expression in this ‘desire to live’. The desire to live is not the result of some accidental development in the course of evolution. It seems to be an essential feature of that process. What is this all-powerful force which seems to underlie the current of life and which makes every living creature stick to life like a leech 139 all the time? According to the Yogic philosophy this force is rooted in the very origin of things and it comes into play the moment consciousness comes in contact with matter and the evolutionary cycle begins. As was pointed out in II-4 Avidya is the root of all the Klesas and Abhinivesa is merely the fruit or the final expression of the chain of causes and effects set in motion with the birth of Avidya and the involution of consciousness in matter.

It was pointed out earlier that the different Klesas are not unconnected with one another. They form a sort of series beginning with Avidya and ending with Abhinivesa. This view is supported by II-10 according to which the method by which the subtle forms of Klesas can be destroyed is by reversing the process by which they are produced. According to this view, then, Abhinivesa is merely the final phase in the development of the Klesas and that is why it is Svarasavahi. Until the initial cause disappears the subsequent effects must continue to appear in an unending flow.

In the connected series of Klesas, Raga and Dvesa appear as the immediate cause of attachment to life. It follows from this that the greater the play of attractions and repulsions in the Jife of an individual the greater must be his attachment to life. Observation of life shows that this is to a great extent true. It is people who are under the domination of most violent attractions and repulsions who are most attached to life. We also find that in old age these attractions and repulsions temporarily lose their force to some extent and pari passu the desire for life also becomes comparatively feebler.

Self-preservation or attachment to life is the subtlest of all afflictions. It is found even in wise men.

Iyengar Commentary:

Love of life is sustained by life’s own force. This urge for self-perpetuation is so strong that it does not spare even the wise, and is an affliction for them and the ignorant alike. If even a highly educated, scholarly person cannot easily remain unattached to life, it is not difficult to gauge the feelings of an average individual.

Patañjali indicates that each human being has had a taste of death, which lingers. This imprint is the seed of fear.

Abhinivesa is an instinctive defect which can be transformed into intuitive knowledge and insight by practising yoga.

While practising Asana, pranayama or dhyana, the sadhaka penetrates deep within himself. He experiences unity in the flow of intelligence, and the current of self-energy. In this state, he perceives that there is no difference between life and death, that they are simply two sides of the same coin. He understands that the current of self, the life-force, active while he is alive, merges with the universe when it leaves his body at death. Through this understanding, he loses his attachment to life and conquers the fear of death. This frees him from afflictions and sorrows and leads him towards kaivalya.

If avidya is the root cause of afflictions, so abhinivesa results in pain. In realizing the oneness of life and death there is an end to ignorance in the aspirant, and he lives forever in the flow of tranquillity (see III.10 and IV.10).

Clinging to life, flowing by its own potency [due to past experience], exists even in the wise.

Satchidananda Commentary:

The next obstacle is the clinging to life: abhiniveśa.

Here we can get a clue to the nature of rebirth also.

Many Westerners don’t believe in reincarnation. They feel, “It’s all over once we die.” But the Yoga philosophy reminds us that all our knowledge comes through experience. Without experience we cannot understand or learn anything. Even books can only remind us of something we have experienced in the past. They help kindle a fire that is already in us. That fire must be there first for the kindling stick to kindle it.

For example, have you ever experienced a sapadilla fruit? It is abundant in Mumbai, India, in certain seasons and is very soft and tasty. But even if I spend three hours explaining a sapadilla fruit and how it tastes, you are not going to understand it because you have never experienced it. Knowledge comes only through experience. If you allow a baby to crawl on a tabletop, as it comes to the edge and is about to fall, it will yell. Why? Out of fear of falling and dying. How can fear of death come into the mind of a baby? The baby can only fear death if it has died before.

Some might say, “That’s just instinct.” But what does instinct mean? Yoga says instinct is a trace of an old experience that has been repeated many times, and the impressions have sunk down to the bottom of the mental lake. Although they go down, they aren’t completely erased. Don’t think you ever forget anything. All experiences are stored in the citta; and, when the proper atmosphere is created, they come to the surface again. When we do something several times, it forms a habit. Continue with that habit for a long time, and it becomes our character. Continue with that character, and eventually, perhaps in another life, it comes up as instinct.

Many of you might play the guitar. When you first learned, you might have even marked the notes right on the guitar to get the proper finger position. Each time you played, you checked to see which string should be manipulated. But after a few months, you became proficient and could even talk to someone and play at the same time without looking or thinking about it. How? The experience became habit, and eventually the habit became your character. Probably, in another birth, you might easily pick up guitar-playing without much effort. Don’t people say, “Oh, So-andso is a ‘born’ guitarist?”

In the same way, all of our instincts were once experiences. That’s why the fear of death exists. We have died hundreds and thousands of times. We know well the pang of death. And so, the moment we get into a body, we love it so much that we are afraid to leave it and go forward because we have a sentimental attachment to it.

Some people have old, old cars, say a 1943 Dodge. Even if you offer them the latest model Dodge, they wouldn’t want it. You may even say, “Your car is no good anymore. You are blocking the road by driving it at ten miles an hour when everybody else is going fifty-five. You need to get a new one.” The motor vehicles department may even take it away by force and throw it in a junkyard, but the owner will sit by it, crying and lamenting. Attachment to the body is like attachment to that car.

God’s government regulations say that if your old body is taken away by force, they must give you a new one. Many people do not know this and cling to the body even when it gets old and dilapidated. That constant clinging, breaking away, clinging again, breaking away is why we are mortally afraid of death. It is another kleśa based on ignorance of our true nature. So all these kleśas, whether dormant, feeble, intercepted or sustained should slowly be gotten rid of. Only then are we ready to go further.

Flowing through its own nature, and established even in the learned, is the clinging to life.

SV Commentary:

This clinging to life you see manifested in every animal, and upon it many attempts have been made to build the theory of a future life, because men like their lives so much that they desire a future life also. Of course it goes without saying that this argument is without much value, but the most curious part of it is that, in Western Countries, the idea that this clinging to life indicates a possibility of a future life applies only to men, but does not include animals. In India this clinging to life has been one of the arguments to prove past experience and existence. For instance, if it be true that all our knowledge has come from experience, then it is sure that that which we never experienced we cannot imagine, or understand. As soon as chickens are hatched they begin to pick up food. Many times it has been seen where ducks have been hatched by hens, that, as soon as they come out of the eggs, they flew to water, and the mother thought they would be drowned. If experience be the only source of knowledge, where did these chickens learn to pick up food, or the ducklings that the water was their natural element? If you say it is instinct, it means nothing—it is simply giving it a word, but is no explanation. What is this instinct? We have many instincts in ourselves. For instance, most of you ladies play the piano, and remember, when you first learned, how carefully you had to put your fingers on the black and the white keys, one after the other, but now, after long years of practice, you can talk with your friends, and your hand goes on just the same. It has become instinct, it becomes automatic, but so far as we know, all the cases which we now regard as automatic are degenerated reason. In the language of the Yogi, instinct is involved reason. Discrimination becomes involved, and gets to be automatic Samskaras. Therefore it is perfectly logical to think that all we call instinct in this world is simply involved reason. As reason cannot come without experience, all instinct is, therefore, the result of past experience. Chickens fear the hawk, and ducklings love the water, and these are both the result of past experience, and these are both the result of past experience. Then the question is whether that experience belongs to a particular soul, or to the body simply, whether this experience which comes to the duck is the duck’s forefather’s experience, or the duck’s own experience. Modern scientific menhold that it belongs to the body, but the Yogis hold that it is the experience of the soul, transmitted through the body. This is called the theory of reincarnation. We have seen that all of our knowledge, whether we call it perception or reason, or instinct, must come through that one channel called experience, and all that we know call instinct is the result of past experience, degenerated into instinct, and that instinct regenerates into reason again. So on throughout the universe, and upon this has been built one of the chief arguments for reincarnation, in India. The recurring experiences of various fears, in course of time, produce this clinging to life. That is why the child is instinctively afraid, because the past experience of pain is there. Even in the most learned men, who know that this body will go, and who say “never mind: we have hundreds of bodies; the soul cannot die”—even in them, with all their intellectual conviction, we still find this clinging to life. What is this clinging to life? We have seen that it has become instinctive. In the psychological language of Yoga if has become Samskaras. The Samskaras, fine and hidden, are sleeping in the Chitta. All these past experiences of death, all that which we call instinct, is experience become sub-conscious. It lives in the Chitta, and is not inactive, but is working underneath. These Chitta Vrttis, these mind-waves, which are gross, we can appreciate and feel; they can be more easily controlled, but what about these finer instincts? How can they be controlled? When I am angry my whole mind has become a huge wave of anger. feel it, see it, handle it, can easily manipulate it, can fight with it, but I shall not succeed perfectly in the fight until I can get down below. A man says something very harsh to me, and I begin to feel that I am getting heated, and he goes on until I am perfectly angry, and forget myself, identify myself with anger. When he first began to abuse me I still thought “I am going to be angry.” Anger was one thing and I was another, but when I became angry, I was anger. These feelings have to be controlled in the germ, the root, in their fine forms, before even we have become conscious that they are acting on us. With the vast majority of mankind the fine states of these passions are not even known, the state when they are slowly coming from beneath consciousness. When a bubble is rising from the bottom of the lake we do not see it, or even when it is nearly come to the surface; it is only when it bursts and makes a ripple that we know it is there. We shall only be successful in grappling with the waves when we can get hold of them in their fine casues, and until you can get hold of them, and subdue them before any become gross, there is no hope of conquering any passion perfectly. To control our passions we have to control them at their very roots; then alone shall we be able to burn out their very seed. As fried seeds thrown into the ground will never come up, so these passions will never arise. 

In all living beings exists the self-benediction, * would that I were never to cease. May I live on.’ And this self-benediction cannot exist in him who has not experienced the nature of death. And by this the experience of a former life is inferred. This is the affliction of Love of Life, which flows by its own potency.

That even a worm just born should know the fear of death, which is the same as the knowledge of annihilation, and that this fear cannot be explained by perceptive, verbal and inferential knowledge, leads to the inference that the pain of death has been experienced in a former life. And as this affliction is found existing in the extremely ignorant, so also is it established even in the wise, who have come to know both the starting and finishing ends of life. Why? The residual potency having been brought about by an experience of the pain of death, is necessarily common to both of them, the knowing and the ignorant.

~ Rāma Prasāda translation.