For me the governing feature of asceticism is not chastity, self-discipline, frugality, fasting, puritanism or self-mortification.  “The adjective ascetic derives from the ancient Greek term áskēsis, which means training or exercise. The original usage did not refer to self-denial, but to the physical training required for athletic events.” Rather it is the monkish denial of things that I find to be of paramount influence.  Solitude from indulgence of the material world would in my opinion – at least historically – have been a recognizable deprivation. But there is an even more pernicious element to materialism; and that is its predictable cadence with decomposition. Paradoxically this ruination is aligned with the psychological benefits of asceticism.

However, ascetics maintain that self-imposed constraints bring them greater freedom in various areas of their lives, such as increased clarity of thought and the ability to resist potentially destructive temptations. Asceticism is seen in some ancient theologies as a journey towards spiritual transformation, where the simple is sufficient, the bliss is within, the frugal is plenty.

If ever you’ve bought a new car or television or piece of furniture – to which you were initially very much attached – and it subsequently malfunctions or begins to dissolve, then you know the heinous anxiety of the material world. The erstwhile moment of perfection is suddenly melted away. The inescapable moss of anything material is eventual corruption whether simply mechanical, cosmetic or structural. The ingredient of superfluity which originally attracted you to the object precipitously evaporates into the ether. Small wonder the ascetics devote themselves so assiduously to transformation and re-interpretation of the otherwise static characteristics of value and beauty.

It helps in the comprehension of this raucous arena to remind oneself that a complicated watch is no more than an assembly of parts – all of which are capable of malfunction and decay. Naturally unintended carriage of an object constitutes exposure to collision and mishandling. And be assured that nothing – whether Breitling, Cartier or whatever – is spared the destiny. In the end, all the stuff in the world is second-hand and auctioned. The further the drizzle of decomposition, the more remote the alliance with its reputed perfection. Materialism then becomes often little more than a question of retail – appealing to the commercial interests of its possessor rather than its mystical imagery.

As a result the option is two-fold; namely, abandon the material world or adopt a realistic model instead. The enforcement of this rigorous parallel oddly transforms one from the grounded material sphere to the mystical atmosphere of accommodation and compromise. We are translated from a vulgar sybaritic lifestyle to one of intellectual purity. By process of change and disintegration we – perhaps unwittingly and unwillingly – elevate our mental resolve beyond the performance of the object. We may even acquaint ourselves with the blunt reality of things as earlier discovered by the ascetics.

The Keśin does not live a normal life of convention. His hair and beard grow longer, he spends long periods of time in absorption, musing and meditating and therefore he is called “sage” (muni). They wear clothes made of yellow rags fluttering in the wind, or perhaps more likely, they go naked, clad only in the yellow dust of the Indian soil. But their personalities are not bound to earth, for they follow the path of the mysterious wind when the gods enter them. He is someone lost in thoughts: he is miles away.

— Karel Werner (1977), “Yoga and the Ṛg Veda: An Interpretation of the Keśin Hymn”