Thomas Cattoi, June McDaniel (Eds.) - Perceiving The Divine Through The Human Body - Mystical Sensuality-Palgrave Macmillan US (2011)

Perceiving the Divine through the
Human Body
This page intentionally left blank
Perceiving the Divine through the
Human Body
Mystical Sensuality
Edited by Thomas Cattoi and June McDaniel

perceiving the divine through the human body
Copyright © Thomas Cattoi and June McDaniel, 2011.
Softcover reprint of the hardcover 1st edition 2011 978-0-230-11974-1
All rights reserved.
First published in 2011 by

PALGRAVE MACMILLAN® in the United States – a division of
St. Martin’s Press LLC, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
Where this book is distributed in the UK, Europe and the rest of the world,
this is by Palgrave Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited,
registered in England, company number 785998, of Houndmills, Basingstoke,
Hampshire RG21 6XS.
Palgrave Macmillan is the global academic imprint of the above companies and
has companies and representatives throughout the world.
Palgrave® and Macmillan® are registered trademarks in the United States,

the United Kingdom, Europe and other countries.
ISBN 978-1-349-29834-1 ISBN 978-0-230-33976-7 (eBook)
DOI 10.1057/9780230339767
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Cattoi, Thomas.
Perceiving the divine through the human body : mystical sensuality /
Thomas Cattoi, June McDaniel.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-1-349-29834-1
1. Human body—Religious aspects. 2. Sensuality—Religious aspects.
3. Mysticism. I. McDaniel, June. II. Title.
BL604.B64C38 2011
202'.2—dc22
2011013948
A catalogue record of the book is available from the British Library.
Design by MPS Limited, A Macmillan Company
First edition: November 2011
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Contents
Acknowledgments vii
The Mysticism Group of the American Academy of Religion viii
List of Illustrations ix
Introduction: Spiritual Body, Spiritual Senses, Past and Present 1

June McDaniel
1 A Hindu Monk’s Appreciation of Eastern Orthodoxy’s
Jesus Prayer: The “Inner Senses” of Hearing, Seeing,
and Feeling in Comparative Perspective 17
Joseph Molleur
2 Indo-Tibetan Tantrism as Spirit Marriage 29
Stuart Ray Sarbacker
3 Experiencing the Single Savior: Divinizing the Body
and the Senses in Tantric Buddhist Meditation 45
David Gray
4 The Daoist Mystical Body 67
Louis Komjathy 康思奇
5 Daoist Mysticism: Embodiment, Eudaimonia, and Flow 105
Laura E. Weed
6 Liminality and Ambiguity: Christina the Astonishing as
Co-Redemptrix and Alternative Model of Authority 121
Charlotte Radler
7 The Patristic Roots of John Smith’s True Way or
Method of Attaining to Divine Knowledge 141
Derek Michaud
8 “The Body Gains Its Share”: The Asceticism of
Mechthild of Magdeburg 159
Michelle Voss Roberts
vi ● Contents
9 The Enlightened Body in A. H. Almaas’s Diamond Approach 175

Ann Gleig
10 The “Map of Consciousness”: A New Paradigm for
Mysticism and Healing 197
Fran Grace
Conclusion: The Virtues of Sensuality 223
Thomas Cattoi
List of Contributors 237

Index 241
Acknowledgments
Thomas Cattoi and June McDaniel would like to extend a word of thanks
to Burke Gerstenschlager, Editor at Palgrave Macmillan, and Kaylan
Connally, Editorial Assistant, for their help in making this volume a reality.
They would also like to express their gratitude to Dr. David Rounds, Editor
of Religion East and West, and to Prof. LikKuen Tong of the Academy for
Field Being Philosophy of Hong Kong for allowing the republication of the
articles by Joseph Molleur and Laura Weed.
Laura Weed’s article “Daoist Mysticism: Embodiment, Eudaimonia and
Flow,” was previously published in LikKuen Tong (ed.), Wei Wu Wei: Essays
on Taoist Philosophy (Hong Kong: Daoist Association Press, 2009), 45–57.
Joseph Molleur’s article “A Hindu Monk’s Appreciation of Eastern
Orthodoxy’s Jesus Prayer: The ‘Inner Senses’ of Hearing, Seeing, and
Feeling in Comparative Perspective,” was previously published in Religion
East and West No. 9 (October 2009), 67–76.
The Mysticism Group of the
American Academy of Religion
The Mysticism Group began as a consultation within the American

Academy of Religion (AAR) in 1987 and achieved formal group status in
1989. While its early focus was primarily Christianity and Western reli-
gions, and the study of experience and textual interpretation within those
areas, the group has grown and changed over time, paralleling the change
and growth in the AAR itself. Today, our conversations cut across bounda-
ries that characterize many of the program units within the AAR boundaries
of discipline, tradition, temporality, and region. Members of our group use
different methodologies and work across a variety of disciplines, among
which are psychology of religion, sociology of religion, history of religions,
hermeneutics and textual analysis, biographical analysis, feminist studies,
film studies, philosophy of religion, mysticism and science, art criticism,
postmodern theory, cultural studies, and anthropology of consciousness
among others. This interdisciplinary character has importance not only to
our work as scholars, but also to our work as teachers and public
educators.
Over the past few years, the group has hosted several panels on the topic
of mystical perception and the spiritual senses. The present volume is an
attempt to share with a broader public the insights that emerged from these
sessions.
Interested readers may join the list-serve of the group at aarmysticism-
owner@yahoogroups.com
Illustrations
4.1 Spirits of the five yin-orbs 82

4.2 Ingestion of solar effulgences 83
4.3 Locating the Northern Dipper in the body 84
4.4 Inner landscape map 88
4.5 Diagram of the emergence of the yang-spirit 90
All illustrations come from the private collection of Louis Komjathy.

INTRODUCTION
Spiritual Body, Spiritual Senses,

Past and Present
June McDaniel
T
he spiritual senses have grown out of favor in the modern world.
Like the appendix, they may be considered vestigial organs, once
important but today atrophied or disused, vaguely known but of
uncertain function. They may be considered less “real” than the appendix,
as they are harder to find. On the other hand, we have a clearer idea of their
function than we do of the appendix (theories on whose uses range from
helping immune function to digesting tree bark), as the mystical literature
of various religious traditions describes their nature and development.
Humanity routinely develops and loses skills. A good example is memory.
Earlier forms of schooling emphasized the importance of rote memory,
especially before publishing became available. In ancient India, brahmin
sages would memorize entire Vedas, which consisted of thousands of stanzas,
and recite them in order without an error (it was understood that each recita-
tion was symbolically recreating the world, and any error would distort that
world, so they would have to go back to the beginning and do it properly
in case of a mispronunciation). In the early twentieth century, Classics schol-
ars could often recite the Iliad in the original Greek, and students at Muslim
madrassas today can recite the entire Qur’an in Arabic. Yet in the modern
West, we see college students who suffer through memorizing a single page
from a textbook.
Another form of memory that gets lost is eidetic or “photographic”
memory. With this sort of memory, the person can still perceive an object
after it has been removed from sight. Today, this is sometimes seen in
childhood, but it is rarely developed in modern cultures. Indeed, children
T. Cattoi et al., Perceiving the Divine through the Human Body

© Thomas Cattoi and June McDaniel 2011
2 ● June McDaniel
with this ability are often accused of dishonesty or an overactive imagination,

and the skill disappears after a few years.
Two major difficulties for the study of the spiritual senses in the modern
West have been the European Enlightenment and the rise of Protestant
Christianity. From the perspectives of the philosophers and scientists of the
Enlightenment, such senses required belief in the existence of a supernatural
realm, and were thus superstition, irrational and unprovable, and unpredict-
able even if they did somehow exist. There was no mechanism for prediction
and control. The rise of Protestant thought involved the negation of the
supernatural as well, with its arguments against saints, intercession, and the
mystical body of Christ. There was no experiential ladder linking heaven and
earth, the only link to God was through faith—or perhaps ethics. Alternative
sorts of perceptions could be superstition, but they could also be heresy.
Neither was an attractive possibility, and neither could legitimately be
investigated.
Such alternative forms of perception came to be jumbled together into
the areas of occultism, spiritualism, and psychic phenomena, with the mod-
ern New Age taking an interest in the same sort of areas that we see
explored in the late-Victorian period. These variously included communica-
tion with ghosts, mediumship, extrasensory perception, telepathy, clairvoy-
ance and clairaudience, prophecy, encounters with alien beings, experiences
of past lives, predictions of the end of the world, and messages from ances-
tors and supernatural beings. These phenomena come from different under-
standings of the nature of the world and mankind, different conceptions of
time and space, even the question of whether time is linear (having a begin-
ning and an end) or cyclical (without beginning or end, and continually
undergoing transformations). They do not make sense in relation to each
other, or with a secular worldview. They are now a subject of humor, as in
the film satire “Ghostbusters,” or mediumistic dramas for television enter-
tainment. Humor is an improvement from earlier responses to such phe-
nomena, which included burning at the stake.
Rejection of ignorance and superstition can be refreshing, leading to
gains in truth and insight and the removal of false beliefs. Of course, from
another perspective, losing ability at a form of perception can also be a
disability. In this case, such a disability becomes a virtue, and the less that
is perceived, the more virtuous the investigator becomes. In the study
of religious and mystical phenomena today, most writers who mention
mystical states note their lack of such experiences to emphasize their legiti-
macy in studying it. It is a sign of academic rigor to have no personal
experience of the area under study. This is beginning to change in the field,
but very slowly.
Spiritual Body, Spiritual Senses, Past and Present ● 3
Indeed, a recent novel has as its narrator a scholar working on a treatise

on medieval mysticism. He notes,
I personally have no belief or faith whatsoever in anything supernatural, or

even transcendent for that matter, and so I thought myself eminently quali-
fied for the difficult task of elucidating mystic states.1
If we wish to do something more than simply dismiss the whole range of

such phenomena, it is important to clarify the systems of thought from
which these experiences and perceptions arise. This allows for contexts in
which these ideas make sense, as opposed to contexts in which they do not.
An example of the importance of context and framework comes from the
story of Ramakrishna Paramahamsa, a siddha or saint from nineteenth-
century West Bengal in India. From his childhood on, Ramakrishna had a
series of experiences that were often labeled as madness by observers. As a
child he fell into trances, and by the age of twenty he would hear mantras
and see them formed before his eyes, see the world turned to light, feel his
body burning and being destroyed, see his environment dissolve into a great
ocean of consciousness, perceive supernatural beings, and laugh and dance
with a statue of the goddess Kali, which he understood to be alive.2 His
relatives understood him to be insane, and took him to Ayurvedic doctors,
exorcists, and other healers. He worried about insanity himself. Eventually,
a holy woman called Bhairavi Brahmani who was educated in Hindu
Vaishnava and Shakta tantric spiritual practices came to see Ramakrishna
at Dakshineswar. She interpreted his visions not as madness but as
mahabhava, a state of altered perception that is due to legitimate spiri-
tual experiences. She arranged a conference of Vaishnava scholars to prove
Ramakrishna’s status as a saint, and quoted from the Caitanya Caritamrta
and other scriptures. The scholars were convinced and declared Ramakrishna
to be a saint rather than a madman. His previous visions and supernatural
claims, which had earlier been grounds for viewing him as insane, were now
interpreted as divine events. Ramakrishna began to perform spiritual prac-
tice, sadhana, to learn about these states and how to control them. He
eventually became quite famous as a guru and teacher in India. His experi-
ences came to be understood as a model for how spiritual states can occur
spontaneously in people, and his perceptions became a model for how
spiritual senses should be understood in India.
Hinduism is a good religion in which to study the range of spiritual
senses, as there is a wide literature available on the topic. In the Indian
context, spiritual senses tend to develop in two ways. One comes from the
model of wisdom or jnana, and is elaborated in the Yoga, Samkhya, and
4 ● June McDaniel
Vedanta traditions of India. The emphasis is upon distinguishing truth from

falsehood, understanding degrees of relative and ultimate truth, and analyz-
ing the ways that perception works through the many inner, spiritual bodies
that people possess. The other development tends to come from the devo-
tional or bhakti traditions of India. From this approach, it is love or devo-
tion that develops the soul, and spiritual senses grow to perceive the deity
in his or her various forms. The body that is composed of spiritual love, or
prema, corresponds to the physical body, and has many of its skills. But this
spiritual body or siddha deha can perceive the heavens of the deities and the
actions that occur there.
These approaches reflect different understandings of the person and the
nature of the universe. The yogic models are based upon the Upanishads,
a set of writings derived from the visions and commentaries of Vedic sages,
often dated around 1000 BCE. According to the Taittiriya Upanishad, there
are five layers or sheaths of self: physical, vital (based on breath or prana),
mental, intellectual/spiritual, and blissful. Each layer has its own equivalent
of a body, with its own abilities to perceive (these are sometimes called
subtle bodies in English). A major approach to understanding the Upanishads
is the philosophy of Advaita Vedanta, which interprets the Upanishads
according to a nondual model. It notes that the physical body (annamaya-
kosa) has the five physical senses: the vital body ( pranamayakosa) has the
energies of breath and includes bodily perceptions that are ordinarily
unconscious (like respiration and digestion); the mental body (manomaya-
kosa) has the ability to interpret the information from the breath and the
senses; the intellectual/spiritual body (vijananamayakosa) can perceive and
analyze (it generally includes buddhi, which reveals and reflects on data by
echoing the forms that it encounters, citta or memory which is a storehouse
of all past impressions and information, and sometimes ahamkara, in which
a relation between the self and the stored information is established).3 The
highest sheath or level of body, the bliss body or anandamayakosa, directly
perceives infinity as Brahman. It is considered to be pure consciousness, so
it does not require separate spiritual senses.
Advaita Vedanta follows several of the Upanishads in arguing that people
have four states of consciousness: waking, dream, deep sleep, and the fourth
state or turiya, which is the unmediated perception of the absolute. Such
direct perception (saksatkara) is a desirable state, and the goal of all experi-
ence. The individual mind merges with the universal mind, the individual
soul ( jiva) with God (Isvara), and the divine aspect of the self (atman)
mingles with the cosmic spirit (brahman). While the ordinary senses work
in the waking state, in the dreaming state they are disconnected from mind,
and clouded by ignorance or avidya. The senses do not connect with their
physical objects, only with the perceptions of the subtle body. From the
Advaita perspective, both realms of sensation are unreal and illusory. In the
state of deep sleep, we have a state of pure witness, but no sensations, even
from the subtle body. There is only consciousness, without memory. In the
deepest state, there is direct perception of the Absolute.4
From the Advaita Vedanta perspective, the mind reaches out toward its
objects through the sense organs, drawing in sensations and impressions,
and it stores and evaluates them. There is indirect perception without the
five senses, like pleasure, pain, and knowledge of self, and also direct percep-
tion by the five senses, in which the object must be knowable, exist in time,
and have some relationship to the knower. The highest form of perception,
direct mystical insight, does not involve separate sensory organs, but is
rather a direct merging of self and infinite consciousness.
As we move toward the Yoga schools, we may note that spiritual senses
come into play as a result of yogic meditative practice, with the withdrawal
of the senses and the focus of the mind on a single point. This draws the
mind into various states of concentration or samadhi, leading to kaivalyam
or liberation. As the yogi performs spiritual practice or sadhana, the sense
organs are transformed. By the practice of samyama or meditations on
specific objects, we see the development of unusual abilities—the vision of
subtle, hidden, or distant objects; the vision of inner anatomy and physiology;
knowledge of the minds of others. Ordinary perception is stilled or
redirected.
Yogic perception may involve a single intuitive sense, or a variety of
spiritual senses. It includes flashes of intuition about future events ( pratib-
hajnana), and knowledge of past, present, and future events. These occur
as a result of a single insight, for temporal order is understood as an artificial
construction of the intellect.5 For these events, there is a single perception
or cognition, rather than a set of spiritual sense perceptions. There is also
siddha-darsana, valid and immediate perceptual knowledge of hidden and
remote objects, using transformed external sense organs (involving super-
natural vision, sound, touch, taste, smell, and knowledge). This transforma-
tion may occur through spiritual practice, visualization, mantra, drugs, and
accumulation of karma. This “sensory perception of supersensible objects”
comes through sense organs that are strengthened and purified, according
to Candrakanta.6 Yogic perception is the highest excellence of human per-
ception, according to Jayanta Bhatta, for the minds of yogis can have
immediate knowledge of all knowable objects, even varied and contradic-
tory ones.7
Yogic perception is sometimes divided into ecstatic (yukta) and non-ecstatic
(viyukta) varieties. According to Prasastapada, ecstatic yogic perception
6 ● June McDaniel
involves realization of the essential nature of self, space, time, and con-
sciousness, while non-ecstatic perception involves hidden and remote
knowledge using sense organs.8 For the philosopher Udayana, yogic percep-
tion (yukta pratyaksa) occurs when yogis withdraw consciousness (manas)
from the sense organs and focus it on supersensible objects. An example of
this is seen in the Bhagavad Gita, when Arjuna sees Krishna through his
spiritual (divya) eye, an ability granted by Krishna.9 There is a longstanding
debate in Vedanta and yoga philosophy as to whether supernatural percep-
tion occurs through pure awareness (manas) or through separate spiritual
senses, or transformed external senses. Some philosophers understand that
spiritual perception is still limited (by ignorance, karma particles, or mate-
rial elements), while others argue that there is special perception by liber-
ated souls, in which the mind becomes transparent and all of reality is
reflected. Here the mind is unobstructed, and the yogi can see things as
they really are, an ability bound souls do not share.
The supernatural yogic states, in which specific forms of hidden knowl-
edge are perceived, are understood to occur as a part of spiritual practice
whose further goal is samadhi, a total focus of mind. The goal of samadhi
may be understood in two forms. Nirvikalpa samadhi has the soul identified
with the Absolute, a union of knower, known, and knowledge. We may
perhaps call this a collapse of perception, as there is no relation of subject
and object. The limitations of time, space, and causation are negated, and
the person enters a state of pure existence, consciousness, and bliss. Infinity
is a state of consciousness rather than a personal deity.
However, there is also a form of samadhi in which infinity is understood
as a God, a personal figure with a personality and emotions. This is called
savikalpa samadhi, a state in which the senses are withdrawn from the objec-
tive world and focused on God. God may be understood in a particular
form, as one’s ishta deva or personal form of God, or through a relationship.
God may be one’s mother, father, child, friend, or beloved, and the devotee
becomes the embodiment of love. This approach has been elaborated in the
tradition of Hindu bhakti or devotional love.
Each form of Hindu devotion has its own theology and spiritual prac-
tices, but we can give as an example the Gaudiya Vaishnava school, in which
the major deity is Krishna. His devotees focus on Krishna as a monotheistic
god, the origin of the universe, who exists in eternal play with his consort
Radha in the heaven of Vrindavana. Gaudiya Vaishnava devotees can wor-
ship him in many moods, but one that is greatly respected involves the
manjari sadhana. In this practice, devotees take on the spiritual bodies of
Radha’s handmaidens or manjaris, and they live eternally in Krishna’s para-
dise. These spiritual bodies are composed of pure devotional love ( prema)
and are young and female. They are created by visualization and meditation,
with spiritual senses that are focused on the play (lila) of Radha and Krishna.
Each spiritual body has its own service to the deities, its own color of cloth-
ing, its own residence. The devotee must memorize the layout of the heav-
enly Vrindavana world, learn the location of Radha’s house and village, and
Krishna’s house and village, and the pond in the forest where they meet, and
locales for their various flirtations. When the visualization is successful, these
places and events are directly perceived through the spiritual senses within
the siddha deha or visualized spiritual body.10 Such a spiritual body exists not
only during life, but is understood to live eternally after death.
There is a strong link between the material body and the spiritual body,
which is increased as the devotee’s love intensifies and the heart softens. It
can show up physically, as in stories where the spiritual body is burned
while boiling milk, and this shows up in physical burns on the person.11
There are also stories of devotees getting physical indigestion from food
eaten by the spiritual body. While the spiritual body normally exists sepa-
rately from the physical body, at times they may interact or even merge
together. The spiritual senses come to be merged with the physical senses,
and the deity and heaven may be sensed with the material body.
This range of understandings of spiritual senses, from one sense to many,
from united to separate spiritual bodies, may be seen in the chapters in this
volume.
Joseph Molleur’s chapter, “A Hindu Monk’s Appreciation of Eastern
Orthodoxy’s Jesus Prayer: The ‘Inner Senses’ of Hearing, Seeing, and
Feeling in Comparative Perspective” examines some aspects of Vedantic
understanding of the spiritual senses and compares them with Orthodox
theology on the inner senses. Swami Prabhavananda followed the philosophy
of Ramakrishna and the Vedanta Society, but also had an interest in com-
parative religion. He was particularly interested in the Hindu practice of
mantrajapa, in which a sacred word or mantra is repeated for long periods
of time, until the sound resonates on its own. The practice of mantra is
found in both yogic and bhakti traditions—Molleur cites Prabhavananda’s
use of both Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras and Narada’s Bhakti Sutras. Prabhavananda
argues that the Jesus prayer in Eastern Orthodoxy, in which the name of
Jesus is invoked until it becomes automatic, like the heartbeat or breath,
can be viewed as a mantra. Both are forms of interior prayer, in which
contemplation is constant and uninterrupted. Both mantrajapa and the
Jesus prayer involve the spiritual senses of hearing and seeing. The Jesus
prayer is said to move from the lips, to the spirit, to the heart, until it occurs
spontaneously, as mantrajapa does. However, while much Hindu practice
also emphasizes visualization of images, the Orthodox practices avoid
8 ● June McDaniel
specific visualizations, and instead focus on perception of spiritual light and

the feeling of Jesus’ presence.
He cites the most famous Orthodox text on the Jesus prayer, The Way
of a Pilgrim, which emphasizes Jesus’ name as radiant and the importance
of the inward light of the heart. Mantrajapa, too, brings illumination and
divine light, especially as located in the lotus of the heart. Orthodox theo-
logians debate whether this perception of the inner light is a physical
perception of a supernatural light (using physical senses), a supernatural per-
ception of a supernatural light (using the inner sense of sight), a metaphorical
description of a theological truth, or an inner feeling of luminosity, in
which the person feels penetrated by light, a sort of feeling of joy and
warmth. All of these seem to be legitimate theological possibilities.
Prabhavananda is interested in the phenomenological similarities in these
experiences, despite the theological differences. Molleur emphasizes the
similarities in these understandings of spiritual senses, noting Prabhavananda’s
universalist perspective and belief in Jesus as an avatara. He interprets these
similarities of practice and interpretation as a part of Prabhavananda’s out-
reach to the Western world and hopes for tolerance and understanding in
turn. The distinction he follows from Shankara, of “ordinary” vision that
comes and goes, subject to birth and death, as compared to “real” vision of
the atman, which is eternal, describes the visionary aspect of mystical expe-
rience that is found in many of our chapters in this volume.
Stuart Sarbacker’s paper, “Indo-Tibetan Tantrism as Spirit Marriage”
examines a very different side of Hinduism—it discusses the role of spirit
marriage in Hindu and Buddhist tantric traditions. It analyzes spirit marriage
as a similar phenomenon to shamanic ritualism and a way to understand
tantric spiritual development and the mediation of religious power. Indo-
Tibetan tantra involves a variety of mystical ideas, including the transference
of numinous power, the transformation of the practitioner into a deity, a
transcendence of ordinary limitations, and a direct and immediate encounter
with the sacred. The spirit spouse transforms marriage into initiation, bring-
ing the practitioner into spiritual awareness through sexual activity.
The major connection between the practitioner and the spirit spouse is
through dreams and possession. The spirit world is sensed through dream
images and felt and embodied through the state of spirit possession, in
which the practitioner’s ordinary identity is merged with that of the spouse.
The physical senses are spiritualized through tantric ritual, by ritual worship
or puja, in which the experience of darsan gives the practitioner direct sight
of the deity. The deity is internalized through eating sacred food or prasad,
in which taste becomes a means of contacting a divine realm. The
tantric “five Ms” or pancamakara symbolically transform the senses, and
the tantric exchange of sexual fluids brings supernatural power and a change
in the practitioner’s status and abilities. Sexual interaction is primarily by
touch, which is the most important of the spiritual senses for this tradition.
It brings direct contact with the deity and evokes a depth dimension not
present in ordinary perception.
It is the sense of touch (sparsa) that best represents the tantric conception
of contact with divinity, and like sexuality can evoke the intensity and
transformative power of bliss (ananda). While the spiritual sense of sight is
important for the initial stages, it is touch that represents closeness to and
interaction with the deity.
David Gray’s article, “Experiencing the Single Savor: Divinizing the
Body and the Senses in Tantric Buddhist Meditation” deals more specifically
with the Buddhist tantras. It focuses on one in particular, a manual attrib-
uted to the tenth-century tantric practitioner and mahasiddha Luipa, called
the Cakrasamvarabhisamaya. It describes a purification practice in which the
senses are visualized as male deities, and their sense objects are visualized as
female deities. They are imagined as embracing in sexual union, which both
represents and induces a union of sensory powers and their objects, creating
a state of bliss or ekarasa. It is a transformation of human perceptual powers
in order to gain liberation.
One major process of tantric purification involves identifying aspects of
the self with deities by means of visualization. In this case, the body is rec-
ognized as a mandala, and the senses and elements are cleansed of ignorance
by the process of identification with male and female mandala figures.
Ordinary human senses are corrupted by egotism and greed and perceive the
world in a limited fashion. They are dim echoes of the divine senses. But
this process allows the person to recapture original perception, recognizing
that the world is filled with Buddha wisdom and bliss. Deities are placed
in the eyes, ears, nostrils, mouth, and sense of touch, and also in the bodily
elements. These deities act as transforming agents within the human subtle
body, a body similar to the physical one, which is capable of supernatural
power and movement. The purification process leads toward the extremely
subtle state of clear light of nonduality. The male and female deities engage
in sexual union, which represents the union of the senses and their objects
(or elements). Their state of bliss in union reflects the consciousness of the
practitioner. The senses within the spiritual body are cleansed of obstruc-
tions, divinized, and able to perceive the true bliss of union.
With respect to East Asian perspectives, we also have two papers on
Chinese religion, focusing on Daoism. Louis Komjathy’s chapter, “The
Daoist Mystical Body,” shows many similarities between Daoism and the tan-
tric Hindu and Buddhist traditions. He describes the Daoist understanding
10 ● June McDaniel
of the body as complex, and having many subtle, esoteric dimensions. He

emphasizes “somatic mysticism,” for the practitioner experiences the Dao
through the body.
Komjathy identifies seven views of the body in this tradition: naturalis-
tic, cosmological, bureaucratic, ascetic, theological, alchemical, and mysti-
cal. It is the latter few that are most relevant for a study of the spiritual
senses. From a Daoist theological perspective, the body is a sacred realm
with a diverse pantheon, in which spirits dwell within the organs. From an
alchemical perspective, the person creates an immortal body, with qi flow-
ing through energetic networks. The mystical view recognized the divine
aspects of embodiment, and the body is often mapped and illustrated.
In order to perceive the sacred aspects of the body, or to create an
immortal body, a major technique used is visualization. For instance, in the
Highest Clarity techniques, the body-gods are visualized (down to their
white brocade robes), and secret parts of the brain are seen and explored:
the palace of the Hall of Light, the cavity of the celestial court. Such visu-
alization, using a spiritualized sense of sight (and sometimes inner sound
and music) brings encounter with the deities. In these techniques, we also
see an inner sense of taste, in the ingestion of qi through elixirs, which allow
light to reach down to the stomach. There are a variety of elixirs, which
cause or encourage alchemical transformation.
However, in this chapter, the focus has been upon the spiritual sense
involving vision or inner observation (neishi). It integrates the cosmological
and mystical, and allows a systematic exploration of the energies and divini-
ties of the body. It allows the person to perceive the body as a microcosm
of the universe and as an internal landscape with deities and worlds.
Laura E. Weed’s paper on Daoism, “Daoist Mysticism: Embodiment,
Eudaimonia, and Flow,” also talks about the importance of the body. However,
her “embodied mysticism” deals more with ethics and examines self-cultivation
as a way to transform and perfect the self. The self is complex—it is simultane-
ously physiological, cosmological, psychological, and transcendent. It includes
the shen, comparable to the ego, but also a collection of all senses, and it is in
a continuous process of transformation. Daoist practices include visualization,
the use of ritual iconography, and belief in pantheons of gods. There are also
rituals of listening to sounds and being enraptured by music, and the music
reveals the Dao with primordial purity, allowing the person to achieve perfec-
tion. But it is the kinesthetic sense of movement or transformation that Weed
finds to be most important to bring the person into the darkness of Dao and
to evoke the experience of spiritual liberation.
This sense is part of the spiritual development that Weed describes in
both Aristotle’s idea of eudaimonia, and Csikszentmihalyi’s idea of flow.
Aristotle viewed contemplation as the highest activity, which brought out

aspects of the person that are most divine or perfect. These moral virtues
bring happiness, and also develop the person into an ideal. For Csik-
szentmihalyi, the state of flow is a process, during which a person is fully
functioning and full of energy. The ordinary limits of time disappear. The
person is totally involved in activity, living intensely and completely
focused. Such activity is “autotelic,” done for its own sake, as opposed to
the dull passivity and “psychic entropy” of required and unappealing work.
Flow, too, brings a person into an ideal state.
While the more yogic applications of inner sight and sound can purify
and transform the body, the kinesthetic flowing with the Dao brings attun-
ement to nature (through such exercises as tai chi) and unimpeded action
that is harmonious.
On the Western side for spiritual senses, we have Charlotte Radler’s article,
“Liminality and Ambiguity: Christina the Astonishing as Co-Redemptrix
and Alternative Model of Authority.” It deals with the medieval saint
Christina, known for her bodily transformations and ascetic life. The domi-
nant sensation described in her biographies is pain, which would be aligned
most closely with the sense of touch. Christina’s spiritual body dominates
her physical body, distorting it in strange and bizarre ways. This causes her
suffering, which is understood as redemptive, as Jesus’ sufferings redeemed
humanity.
Radler notes that Christina’s spiritual senses are located in both her body
and her soul, which can be seen in the clear physical results of her mystical
states. She carries purgatorial torments in her physical body, which may be
compressed into a sphere, or levitate, or bring miracles, such as allowing
her to nurse herself on her own milk while she was starving in the woods.
She was also physically tormented, forced into hot ovens, boiling cauldrons,
and freezing water, yet her body remained unmarked and unharmed.
Christina may be understood as both living and dead, or at least she
seems to have access to both physical life and purgatory, which allows her
to intercede for both the living and the dead. The evidence for this is
marked in her body—it is not her claims that convince others of her spiri-
tual status, but rather her sufferings and her miracles. While these deal pri-
marily with bodily feeling and touch, her other senses are heightened as
well—she has visions of purgatory and hell, and listens to Christ’s words;
she cannot stand the foul stench of human corruption, she tastes the horror
of evil alms, and her voice involved a spiritual breath that no instrument
could imitate.
For Christina, the spiritual body and its senses could dominate her
physical body, making her a human link to the supernatural worlds. Her
astonishing ability to suffer freezing and burning and beating, and yet
remain whole and unharmed, demonstrated the power that a spiritual body
could possess, and her relationship with God.
Derek Michaud’s article “The Patristic Roots of John Smith’s True Way
or Method of Attaining to Divine Knowledge” is a study of Christian
Neoplatonism, ranging from the Patristic writer Origen to the Protestant
John Smith. Both Origen and Smith are dualists, assuming the existence of
separate but related physical and spiritual bodies, each with their own
senses. For both, the physical and spiritual senses are ontologically distinct.
Michaud describes the spiritual senses as perceptual, as they encounter
purely noetic or spiritual objects, but also conceptual, as their objects are
nonphysical, like concepts and ideas.
Origen based his understanding of the spiritual senses on his interpreta-
tions of the Bible, especially the prophetic books, which give many exam-
ples of dreams and revelations (with visions of cherubim, hearing divine
voices, and tasting living bread). For Origen, these are not allegories—they
are literal, but in a different way. Smith was a philosopher and theologian,
and based his understanding of these senses on scripture as well as on
Descartes and his notion of mind/body dualism. Smith described visions of
light common to Origen and Plotinus, and understood Christ to link purity
of heart with beatific vision. He emphasized seeking God within the self,
with the soul’s own senses, rather than in books.
Both writers sometimes speak of five separate spiritual senses, and also
of a single spiritual capacity, an “intellectual sense” or “sense of the heart.”
Such senses can be understood as multiple, or as fused together. All human
beings have such senses, it is part of human nature, an important aspect of
rational beings. However, most people do not realize this potential. For
Smith and Origen, the development of the spiritual senses requires personal
effort and practice, as well as the gift of divine grace.
Michelle Voss Roberts’ chapter, “The Body Gains Its Share: The
Asceticism of Mechthild of Magdeburg,” focuses on a medieval saint and
beguine of the thirteenth century. Mechthild contrasts body and soul, but
does not understand them as ultimately separate. Instead, they are linked
together through a unified sensorium, a single set of physico-spiritual senses.
These senses begin as ordinary physical ones, but with ascetic practice and
contemplation they are transformed into organs of divine perception.
The ascetic path involves three sorrows: for guilt, for purification and
penance, and for love of God. All of these sorrows are understood as painful,
but ultimately transformational. The soul becomes able to rise and fall, “as
love dissolves through the soul into the senses,” and the senses are refined
and divinized. The physical senses are thus able to participate in mystical
experiences. This process of transformation also includes the emotions,

which come to focus on God and appreciate divine love more and more.
Transformation also comes in three stages. Initially there is spiritual blind-
ness, there is no divine perception. Then the person begins to have glimpses
of divine light and sound and sweetness as he or she develops virtues.
Ultimately the person proceeds to the state where the light of God can be
seen more directly. All of the senses are transformed—the soul is light, musi-
cal, with the taste of grapes and the smell of balsam. Body and spirit are not
opposed, they exist together on multiple levels, like the meanings of Scripture.
The physical can point to the spiritual, and both can exist equally.
The process of asceticism and contemplation give insight into the state
of the future resurrected body with its divinized senses. For Mechthild, the
sinne (mind/senses) or sensorium begins as an ordinary set of senses, and is
trained and perfected to receive divine relation. It is a single joint collection
of senses, and incarnational sensorium, and as such can be understood as
one or many spiritual senses.
While many studies of the spiritual senses are quite ancient, we also have
papers that examine this area from a more modern perspective. Ann Gleig’s
chapter, “The Enlightened Body in A. H. Almaas’ Diamond Approach”
focuses on a new tradition that emphasizes the importance of psychoana-
lytic knowledge in exposing unconscious barriers to mystical insight and
experience. Rather than transcending the ego, the Diamond Approach
emphasizes knowledge of the ego and its dynamics. Gleig’s paper discusses
the role of psychoanalysis in understanding problems of mystical experience
in the modern West.
Almaas draws largely on Sufism for his Ridhwan School, with influences
from Gurdjieff and other sources, and uses retreats and sessions to induce
spiritual states. Its major practice, the Diamond Approach, first has the
person become aware of repressed thoughts and emotions, which manifest
as blocks and tensions in the body (as in Wilhelm Rich’s character armor).
As those repressed ideas and tensions rise to the surface, the body becomes
sensitized, and this allows several subtle energetic centers to emerge. These
allow the person to perceive essence, which is understood as the subtler
aspect of ordinary sensory experience.
The initial awakening of these subtle and essential senses occurs in the
belly center or kath. It corresponds to touch—subtle events are first encoun-
tered through the body. The heart center then develops subtle taste, where
emotions can be tasted and felt (love, for instance, tastes sweet). Sight cor-
responds to the head center in the forehead, which gives both information
about essential existence and appreciation of its form and beauty. While
there are also capacities for subtle hearing and the subtle sense of smell,
these are only described to advanced practitioners. The essential aspects

of these senses, as color, texture, small, taste, sound, or emotion, can be
directly experienced by the embodied soul. Almaas links them theoretically
to the traditional Sufi latifahs or spiritual centers. Experiencing these inner
senses leads the person to a realization of deeper unity, bringing self-
realization and self-development, linking ego, soul, and Absolute. Such
senses allow both soul and body, ego and spirit, to be included on the per-
son’s path to Being.
Fran Grace writes on a modern mystic in her “Map of Consciousness:
A New Paradigm for Mysticism and Healing.” Her article deals with David
Hawkins, a physician who had spontaneous mystical experiences while he
was not affiliated with any religion, and so had to adapt his own interpretive
framework to understand them. He is interested in uniting the worlds of
mysticism and medicine, and his focus is on spiritual healing through con-
tact with radiant goodness, a physical contact that transforms the person in
multiple ways. Hawkins examines fields of consciousness, which he believes
are able to integrate scientific thought into a mystical worldview. This inter-
est came from his own mystical experiences, which he described as a sense
of infinite presence, in which the individual self had been dissolved. When
seen from this perspective, all things appeared as beautiful, perfect, and
infinite, beyond space and time. Hawkins first analyzed this through the
model of kundalini yoga, and later developed his own teachings of “devo-
tional non-duality.” He developed a roadmap of the spiritual life, organized
by higher and lower emotions. Its focus is not on separate spiritual senses,
but rather a united sense of energy and love, realized when in contact with
spiritual leaders like the Dalai Lama, Mother Teresa, Ramana Maharshi, and
Ammachi. The “physics of silent transmission” is a way to examine this
spiritual energy. Hawkins believes that the spiritual senses can be awakened
spontaneously by the presence of a living mystic, and that these senses can
discern both subtle bodies and the essence of all things.
As we look at these widely varying mystical traditions, there are a few
ideas that we might wish to keep in mind. The collection of mystical senses,
the sensorium of embodied spirituality, is configured in a variety of ways.
For those traditions that describe the spiritual body as separate from the
physical body, there tend to be separate collections of senses that work
independently from the physical senses. For those mystical traditions that
emphasize a continuity linking physical and spiritual dimensions of the
person, we tend to see a single sense, or a focus on the presence or encoun-
ter with a divine source. Both interpretations have been largely lost in the
modern West. They are casualties of early modern philosophy, as will
be shown in the conclusion.
Notes
1. Carol de Chellis Hill, Henry James’ Midnight Song (New York: W. W. Norton,
1993), 19.
2. See June McDaniel, The Madness of the Saints: Ecstatic Religion in Bengal
(Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1989), chapter 3, for more details on
Ramakrishna and other Shakta siddhas.
3. Raghunath Safaya, Indian Psychology: A Critical and Historical Analysis of the
Psychological Speculations in Indian Philosophical Literature (New Delhi:
Munshiram Manoharlal, 1976), 223. Citta also holds such basic instincts or
vasanas as the desire for name and fame, concern for beauty and attractiveness,
and the passion for knowledge.
4. Ibid., 237–42.
5. Jadunath Sinha, Indian Epistemology of Perception (Calcutta: Sinha Publishing
House, 1969), 139.
6. Ibid., 131.
7. Ibid., 132.
8. Ibid., 133.
9. Ibid., 134.
10. See McDaniel, The Madness of the Saints, 45–50.
11. Ibid., 48.
Bibliography
de Chellis Hill, de. Henry James’ Midnight Song. New York: W. W. Norton, 1993.
McDaniel, June. The Madness of the Saints: Ecstatic Religion in Bengal. Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1989.
Safaya, Raghunath. Indian Psychology: A Critical and Historical Analysis of the
Psychological Speculations in Indian Philosophical Literature, New Delhi:
Munshiram Manoharlal, 1976.
Sinha, Jadunath. Indian Epistemology of Perception. Calcutta: Sinha Publishing
House, 1969.
CHAPTER 1
A Hindu Monk’s Appreciation of

Eastern Orthodoxy’s Jesus Prayer:
The “Inner Senses” of Hearing,
Seeing, and Feeling in
Comparative Perspective
Joseph Molleur
L
“ ord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” This
prayer formula, sometimes with slight variations (such as the omis-
sion of either “Son of God” or “a sinner” or both), is referred to in
Eastern Orthodox Christianity as the “Jesus Prayer” or the “Prayer of the
Heart.” Two of Eastern Orthodoxy’s most prominent commentators on
the Jesus Prayer tradition, Kallistos Ware1 and Lev Gillet,2 have rightly
pointed out that the appeal of the Jesus Prayer in recent decades has spread
beyond the confines of Eastern Orthodoxy, with many Roman Catholic and
Protestant Christians now repeating the prayer as a regular component of
their spiritual practice. Appreciation of the Jesus Prayer has spread even
beyond the borders of Christianity. For example, in an article called “Jesus
Prayer and the Nembutsu,” Taitetsu Unno, a Shin Buddhist of the Pure
Land tradition, explores with great appreciation the affinities between the
Orthodox practice of repeating the Jesus Prayer and the Japanese Pure Land
Buddhist practice of repeating as its normative prayer Namo Amida Butsu,
“I take refuge in Amitabha, the Buddha of Immeasurable Light and Life.”3
Another example is Swami Prabhavananda, the main subject of this chapter.
Prabhavananda, who led the Vedanta Society of Southern California
from 1923 until his death in 1976, is one of the most influential monks
of the (Hindu) Ramakrishna Order to have “come to the West.” In three of

18 ● Joseph Molleur
his published commentaries (two on Hindu sacred texts and one on the
New Testament’s Sermon on the Mount), Prabhavananda quotes extensively
from The Way of a Pilgrim and The Pilgrim Continues His Way, Russian
Orthodoxy’s anonymously authored classic texts on the practice of the Jesus
Prayer. The aim of this chapter is to analyze Prabhavananda’s treatment of
Eastern Orthodoxy’s Jesus Prayer tradition, with special attention to the issue
of the “inner senses” of “spiritual hearing,” “spiritual seeing,” and “spiritual
feeling.”4
While the events described in The Way of a Pilgrim and The Pilgrim
Continues His Way probably took place some time between 1853 and 1861,
the first Russian edition of the texts was not published until 1884.5 It is
unknown how long they may have existed in manuscript form prior to their
initial publication. The books have since become enormously important,
because they have popularized the spiritual approach of another—and con-
siderably less accessible—classic of Eastern Orthodox spirituality, The
Philokalia.6 Indeed, it is largely due to the widespread popularity and appeal
of The Way of a Pilgrim and The Pilgrim Continues His Way that the Jesus
Prayer tradition is no longer limited to Eastern Orthodox Christians but
has come to make a strong impression on non-Christians such as Swami
Prabhavananda.
Together with the novelist Christopher Isherwood, one of his most
famous western disciples, Prabhavananda coauthored a translation of and
commentary on the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali—Hinduism’s premier how-to
guide for the practice of meditation. (How to Know God is the rather
unconventional title of their Yoga Sutras translation and commentary.)
Verses 27–29 of Part 1 of the Yoga Sutras read as follows: “The word which
expresses Him [Ishwara/God] is OM. This word must be repeated with
meditation upon its meaning. Hence comes knowledge of the Atman
[indwelling divinity] and destruction of the obstacles to that knowledge.”7
In commenting on these verses, Prabhavananda and Isherwood emphasize
the power of the word in spiritual life and how the constant repetition
(a practice known as japa in the Hindu tradition) of a spiritually charged
word or phrase (called a mantra) can greatly conduce to spiritual progress.
In the course of their commentary, the authors quote at length three
paragraphs—all of which will subsequently come under consideration in
this chapter—from The Way of a Pilgrim and The Pilgrim Continues His
Way.8
Prabhavananda also draws directly on the two books in his commentary
on Narada’s Bhakti Sutras, titled Narada’s Way of Divine Love. One of the
Hindu tradition’s most important sacred texts on the “path of devotion,”
Narada’s Bhakti Sutras articulates the various ways by which a spiritual
A Hindu Monk’s Appreciation ● 19
aspirant can experience the love of God. According to verses 36 and 37 of

Prabhavananda’s translation of the Bhakti Sutras, “Supreme love is attained
by uninterrupted and constant worship of God, by hearing of and singing
the glory of the Lord, even while engaged in the ordinary activities of life.”9
In his explication of these verses, Prabhavananda—with the help of The Way
of a Pilgrim and The Pilgrim Continues His Way—urges the devotee to keep
heart and mind in God unceasingly, by means of mantra repetition and
meditation.10
Finally, in his “boundary-crossing” commentary titled The Sermon on the
Mount according to Vedanta, Prabhavananda once again quotes at length
from The Way of a Pilgrim and The Pilgrim Continues His Way, this time in
the process of analyzing the phrase “hallowed be thy name” from the Lord’s
Prayer (Matt. 6:9). Prabhavananda argues that God’s name can be viewed
as a mantra, the repetition of which both confers spiritual power and puri-
fies the aspirant’s heart and mind. By means of this practice, God’s “name
is experienced as living and conscious, as one with God—and illumination
is attained.”11
Prabhavananda quotes the same two paragraphs—one from The Way of
a Pilgrim and the other from its sequel, The Pilgrim Continues His Way—in
all three of the books just mentioned. (He makes use of R. M. French’s
translation, in which The Way of a Pilgrim and The Pilgrim Continues His
Way are included together in a single volume.12) The first quotation is taken
from a point early on in The Way of a Pilgrim, when the anonymous pilgrim
who authored the book receives instructions from a starets, the monk who
acted as the pilgrim’s spiritual director. The instructions Prabhavananda
quotes were as follows:
The continuous interior Prayer of Jesus is a constant uninterrupted calling

upon the divine Name of Jesus with the lips, in the spirit, in the heart, while
forming a mental picture of his constant presence, and imploring his grace,
during every occupation, at all times, in all places, even during sleep. The
appeal is couched in these terms, “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.”13
One who accustoms himself to this appeal experiences as a result so deep a
consolation and so great a need to offer the prayer always, that he can no
longer live without it, and it will continue to voice itself within him of its
own accord.14
The spiritual senses of “inner hearing” and “inner seeing” seem to feature
prominently here. Concerning inner hearing, the practitioner voices, first
“with the lips” and then “in the spirit” and “in the heart,” the words of the
Jesus Prayer until eventually, after long practice, the prayer voices itself
within the heart and mind. Prabhavananda notes: “You can make japam
[repeat the divine name] aloud if you are alone, or silently if you are among
other people.”15 And on the prayer’s voicing itself within us of its own
accord, Prabhavananda notes: “Through constant practice, the repetition
becomes automatic. It no longer has to be consciously willed.”16 In other
words, eventually we reach the stage where we hear the Jesus Prayer repeat-
ing itself within us, nearly all the time.
As for the spiritual sense of “inner seeing,” this concerns the instruction
to form and maintain a clear mental picture of Jesus while meditating on
the words of the prayer. Very significantly, Prabhavananda does not launch
into a discussion of a practice that is common in Hindu spirituality, the
meditative practice of visualizing every aspect of the appearance of one’s
beloved deity, from head to toe. Instead, he makes comments such as the
following: “If we persevere in our repetition, it will inevitably lead us . . .
to think about the reality which it represents.”17 And, “You then live always
in the awareness of the presence of God.”18 Also, “The aspirant must feel
the presence of God within himself as he chants the name.”19
This approach shows that Prabhavananda has an appreciative insight
into Orthodoxy’s nervousness about attempting to picture Jesus’ physical
appearance in one’s imagination. In contrast to the teaching in The Way of
a Pilgrim concerning the practice of “forming a mental picture of Jesus’
constant presence,” a hermit whom our pilgrim encounters in the sequel, The
Pilgrim Continues His Way, warns against “using the imagination and . . .
accepting any sort of vision [spiritual seeing] during contemplation,”
including with respect to Christ.20 On this subject, Eastern Orthodox theo-
logian Kallistos Ware writes: “As we invoke the Name, we should not
deliberately shape in our minds any visual image of the Savior.” Preferable
to “forming pictures of the Savior” is “simply feeling his presence.”21 Ware
cites many examples of Orthodox authors who have strongly expressed this
preference.22 So what seems at first glance in The Way of a Pilgrim to be
encouragement to exercise one’s spiritual sense of “inner seeing” is really
understood in the Orthodox teaching on the Jesus Prayer to concern “inner
feeling,” and Prabhavananda understood this. His comments emphasize
“feeling” the beloved deity’s presence during japa rather than “seeing” the
deity’s physical form in the mind’s eye. (Picturing Jesus in one’s imagination
must not be confused, however, with a practice highly prized in Eastern
Orthodox spirituality, the practice of viewing actual icons of Jesus with
one’s physical eyes.)
The second passage that Prabhavananda reproduces in all three of his
books under discussion was taken from The Pilgrim Continues His Way. The
speaker is a skhimnik, a monk who has attained the highest of the three
grades of Russian Orthodox monasticism.23 This skhimnik is portrayed as

conveying the teaching of an unidentified “spiritual writer,” as follows:
Many so-called enlightened people regard this frequent offering of one and
the same prayer as useless and even trifling, calling it mechanical and a
thoughtless occupation of simple people. But unfortunately they do not
know the secret which is revealed as a result of this mechanical exercise; they
do not know how this frequent service of the lips imperceptibly becomes
a genuine appeal of the heart, sinks down into the inward life, becomes a
delight, becomes, as it were, natural to the soul, bringing it light and nourish-
ment and leading it on to union with God.24
On the notion that repetition of the Jesus Prayer can bring the soul light,
we read earlier on in The Way of a Pilgrim an even stronger assertion:
“Everyone who . . . sink[s] down in silence into the depths of one’s heart
and call[s] more and more upon the radiant name of Jesus . . . feels at once
the inward light, everything becomes understandable to him, he even
catches sight in this light of some of the mysteries of the Kingdom of
God.”25
Swami Prabhavananda has much to say on this topic of seeing an inner
light during japa and the process of illumination more generally. For
example, he writes: “Through repetition of the mantra, mind and heart are
purified. Eventually the name is experienced as living and conscious, as one
with God—and illumination is attained.”26 And commenting on Jesus’
teaching that “[t]he light of the body is the eye: if, therefore, thine eye be
single, thy whole body shall be full of light” (Matt. 6:22, KJV),
Prabhavananda says: “Concentration of the mind on the chosen ideal of
God is the way to uncover . . . the divine light within.”27 Further, com-
menting on the teaching of the Yoga Sutras that “concentration may also be
attained by fixing the mind upon the Inner Light, which is beyond sorrow”
(I:36), Prabhavananda writes: “The ancient yogis believed that there was an
actual spiritual consciousness, called ‘the lotus of the heart,’ . . . which
could be revealed in deep meditation . . . and that it shone with an inner
light. . . . [T]hose who saw it were filled with an extraordinary sense of
peace and joy.”28 It is worth noting that, both here and in the passage from
The Way of a Pilgrim referred to just above, the locus of this inner light is
said to be the heart.29
We may well ask: Is this process of illumination, of perceiving light
within oneself, properly understood as an inner feeling? Or as inner seeing?
Or merely as intellectual illumination? Eastern Orthodox theologian
Lev Gillet offers the following interpretation: “[T]he invocation of the
Name . . . is very often accompanied by an inner feeling of joy, warmth

and light. One has an impression of moving and walking in the light.”30
Elsewhere Gillet greatly expands and deepens his analysis:
Concerning the luminous vision to which the Jesus Prayer leads, let us dis-
tinguish four possibilities. There is in the first place the perception, by the
natural organs, of a light produced supernaturally; this has happened to both
saints and sinners. Next, far above the first as a limiting case, there is the
supernatural perception of a supernatural light, a perception that is not sen-
sible or physical, and that consequently transcends normal psychology.
Gillet likens this “supernatural perception of a supernatural light” experi-

ence to Christ’s transfiguration. He continues:
At the bottom of the ladder, there is the purely symbolic use of the word
“light,” when the name of Jesus is regarded in a figurative sense as the sun
of the soul. Between this case and the first one considered, there is room for
an intermediate possibility: the constant or frequent practice of the Jesus
Prayer can place the one who prays in an habitual inner state of “luminosity.”
Even if he closes his eyes, he has the impression of being penetrated by radi-
ance and of moving in light. This is more than a symbol; it is less than a
sensible perception, and is certainly not an ecstasy; but it is something real,
although indescribable.31
I have referred to Gillet’s analysis of the experience of inner light at some

length here because he goes into greater detail about the possible meaning
of the experience than does Prabhavananda. What is important to note
about the Swami’s analysis is that he agrees with the author(s) of both The
Way of a Pilgrim and The Pilgrim Continues His Way that the practice of
repeating the divine name leads to a real and palpable sense of “seeing an
inner light.”
In addition to the two passages discussed thus far, quoted by
Prabhavananda in all three of his books under discussion, there is a further
quotation from The Pilgrim Continues His Way that appears only in
Prabhavananda’s work on Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras. Here, the same skhimnik
who was previously mentioned is drawing on the writings of the early
church father John Chrysostom:
St. John Chrysostom, in his teaching about prayer, speaks as follows: “No
one should give the answer that it is impossible for a man occupied with
worldly cares, and who is unable to go to church, to pray always. Everywhere,
wherever you may find yourself, you can set up an altar to God in your mind
by means of prayer. And so it is fitting to pray at your trade, on a journey,

standing at the counter or sitting at your handicraft. . . . In such an order
of life all his actions, by the power of the invocation of the Name of God, would
be signalized by success, and finally he would train himself to the uninter-
rupted prayerful invocation of the Name of Jesus Christ. He would come to
know from experience that frequency of prayer, this sole means of salvation,
is a possibility for the will of man, that it is possible to pray at all times, in
all circumstances, and in every place, and easily to rise from frequent vocal
prayer to prayer of the mind and from that to prayer of the heart, which
opens up the Kingdom of God within us.”32
Commenting specifically on the notion of the “power of the invocation of

the name of God,” Prabhavananda writes: “The power of the Word, for
good and for evil, has been recognized by mankind since the dawn of his-
tory.”33 A bit further along in his analysis, he adds: “[W]e should appreciate
the power of the Word in our spiritual life; and this appreciation can only
come through practical experience. People who have never tried the practice
of repeating the name of God are apt to scoff at it: it seems to them so
empty, so mechanical.”34 Here Prabhavananda is also answering those who
have criticized the practice of repeating the same prayer over and over again.
The Swami comments further, in what I hold to be a very significant state-
ment: “Try saying ‘war,’ or ‘cancer,’ or ‘money,’ ten thousand times, and
you will find that your whole mood has been changed and colored by the
associations connected with that word. Similarly, the name of God will
change the climate of your mind. It cannot do otherwise.”35 Often in Asian
thought, the mind is considered a sixth sense organ in addition to the usual
five. Viewed in this way, “changing the climate of your mind” through the
practice of japa (repetition of one’s mantra) is yet another example of “inner
sense experience.”
It is understandable why Swami Prabhavananda would want to draw on
the Jesus Prayer tradition, as articulated in The Way of a Pilgrim and The
Pilgrim Continues His Way, in his commentary on a Christian sacred text,
Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount. But why cite these Eastern Orthodox texts,
and their underlying tradition, in his commentaries on two Hindu sacred
texts—Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras and Narada’s Bhakti Sutras—as well? One can
only speculate; my own response begins with the recognition that the
Hindu practice of japa (that is, repeating one’s mantra, which contains the
name of one’s beloved deity) and the Eastern Orthodox practice of repeating
the Jesus Prayer, are phenomenologically very similar. That is to say, in both
cases the actual practice involves repeating, many hundreds or even
thousands of times a day, a short prayer formula that includes the name of
one’s beloved deity, resulting in the descent of the prayer into the heart, the
eventual automaticity of the prayer, and the experience of inner light. This
phenomenological similarity has been recognized not only by Prabhavananda
but by the author of The Way of a Pilgrim and by Kallistos Ware as well.
We read in The Way of a Pilgrim (unbeknownst to these nineteenth-century
Russians, the Hindu practice clearly predated the Christian one): “It was
from [the great and very holy men of olden times . . . such as Anthony the
Great, Macarius the Great, Mark the spiritual athlete, John Chrysostom]
that the monks of India . . . took over the ‘heart method’ of interior prayer,
only they quite spoiled and garbled it in doing so, as my starets explained
to me.”36 And according to Kallistos Ware, “The frame of the Jesus Prayer
certainly resembles various non-Christian frames [he mentions Sufi as well
as Hindu parallels], but this should not make us insensitive to the unique-
ness of the picture within, to the distinctively Christian content of the
Prayer.”37 In other words, as religious phenomena, the Orthodox Jesus
Prayer tradition and the Hindu practice of japa, or mantra repetition, are
very similar, but when it comes to the specific divine name invoked by
practitioners of the two traditions, for Ware (and, one suspects, for the great
majority of Christians) it makes all the difference in the world that the
name is Jesus, rather than Vishnu, or Krishna, or Shiva, or Kali, or Durga,
or whatever other divine name a Hindu may use to address the presence of
the divine. And the reverse is undoubtedly true as well: most Hindus would
not feel right reciting the name of Jesus.
Returning to the possible reasons for Prabhavananda’s repeated references
to an Eastern Orthodox practice, first, it is clear from the tone of his discus-
sions of the Jesus Prayer that he held the prayer in great respect and con-
sidered it to be a valid spiritual practice. This is not surprising when we
recall that the Ramakrishna Order, of which Prabhavananda was a member,
views Jesus as a bona fide avatara, or divine incarnation, and has therefore
always shown great respect and reverence for him. Second, the sort of spiri-
tual path that is advocated in The Way of a Pilgrim and The Pilgrim
Continues His Way is familiar to many Hindus and can perhaps be viewed
as giving evidence that the practice of mantra recitation may be universal.
A third possible reason is that Prabhavananda might have felt that Western
readers would understand what he had to say about prayer more easily if
he referred to a Christian prayer practice that was in many ways similar to
his own. And finally, having shown knowledge of and respect and sympathy
for a Christian practice, Prabhavananda undoubtedly hoped that this would
inspire Westerners to view his religion with the same generosity and
understanding.
Notes
1. Kallistos Ware, “The Power of the Name: The Function of the Jesus Prayer,”
Cross Currents 24:2–3 (Summer–Fall, 1974): 187.
2. Lev Gillet, On the Invocation of the Name of Jesus (Springfield, IL: Templegate,
1985), 7; The Jesus Prayer (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press,
1987), 86–7.
3. Taitetsu Unno, “Jesus Prayer and the Nembutsu,” Buddhist-Christian Studies 22
(2002): 93.
4. As a monk of the Ramakrishna Order, Prabhavananda stands in the spiritual
tradition of Advaita Vedanta that traces its lineage back to Śankara. According to
Śankara, there is a strong distinction between the physical senses and the corre-
sponding spiritual senses. For example, “There are two types of vision in every
one of us . . . ordinary and real.” Śankara explains the difference as follows:
“Ordinary vision is the function of the mind connected with the eye. . . . It is a
process, an action, and so it has a birth and a death.” By way of contrast, “real”
vision is “the vision of the ātman ”—the vision of the divinity that lies at the core
of one’s being—which is “like heat and light of fire.” Unlike “ordinary” (physical)
vision, this “real” (spiritual) vision “has neither birth nor death”; it does not come
and go. For this analysis by Śankara, see Swami Ranganathananda, The Message
of the Brihadāranyaka Upanishad (Kolkata: Advaita Ashrama, 2005), 393–95.
5. R. M. French, in his “Translator’s Note” to The Way of a Pilgrim and The
Pilgrim Continues His Way (San Francisco: Harper Collins, 1965), xi–xii.
6. Published in five volumes as The Philokalia: The Complete Text, translated and
edited by G. E. H. Palmer, Philip Sherrard, and Kallistos Ware (London: Faber
and Faber, 1979–2007). For a very useful abridgement, see Allyne Smith, ed.,
Philokalia: The Eastern Christian Spiritual Texts (Woodstock, VT: SkyLight
Paths, 2006).
7. Swami Prabhavananda and Christopher Isherwood, How to Know God: The Yoga
Aphorisms of Patanjali (Hollywood: Vedanta Press, 1953), 56.
8. Ibid., 56–64.
9. Swami Prabhavananda, Narada’s Way of Divine Love: The Bhakti Sutras
(Hollywood: Vedanta Press, 1971), 85.
10. Ibid., 85–90.
11. Swami Prabhavananda, The Sermon on the Mount according to Vedanta
(Hollywood: Vedanta Press, 1963), 87–91.
12. Some scholars contend that The Pilgrim Continues His Way has a different
author than The Way of a Pilgrim (see, e.g., Gillet, Jesus Prayer, 83), but this
debate lies outside the scope of the present study.
13. In the Slavonic original, the Jesus prayer reads as follows: “ȘɃɆɄɃȹȽ
ȝȽɆɈɆȺȪɅȽɆɇȺɄɃɁȽɀɈȾɁɔ!”
14. French, Way of a Pilgrim, 9–10; Prabhavananda and Isherwood, How to Know
God, 62–63; Prabhavananda, Narada’s Way, 89; Prabhavananda, Sermon on the
Mount, 89.
15. Prabhavananda and Isherwood, How to Know God, 61–62.

16. Ibid., 60.
17. Ibid., 61.
18. Prabhavananda, Narada’s Way, 85.
19. Ibid., 87.
20. French, Way of a Pilgrim, 196.
21. Ware, “Power of the Name,” 194.
22. In his introduction to Igumen Chariton’s The Art of Prayer: An Orthodox
Anthology, trans. E. Kadloubovsky and E. M. Palmer (London: Faber and Faber,
1966), 24–6, 33, 100–101.
24. Ibid., 178–9; Prabhavananda and Isherwood, How to Know God, 63; Prabhavananda,
Narada’s Way, 89; Prabhavananda, Sermon on the Mount, 89–90.
26. Prabhavananda, Sermon on the Mount, 90.
27. Ibid., 104.
28. Prabhavananda and Isherwood, How to Know God, 71; cf. Chandogya Upanishad
8.1.1: “Within the city of Brahman, which is the body, there is the heart, and
within the heart there is a little house. This house has the shape of a lotus, and
within it dwells that which is to be sought after, inquired about, and realized”
(quoted in How to Know God, 72).
29. It is interesting to note that in Buddhism, also, practitioners are commonly
instructed to focus their meditation within the heart chakra.
30. Gillet, Invocation of the Name of Jesus, 24.
31. Gillet, Jesus Prayer, 109; cf. a similar but less complex analysis by Ware, Art of
Prayer, 26.
32. French, Way of a Pilgrim, 174–75, emphasis added; Prabhavananda and
Isherwood, How to Know God, 63–64.
33. Prabhavananda and Isherwood, How to Know God, 57.
34. Ibid., 58.
35. Ibid., 59–60.
37. Ware, “Power of the Name,” 199.
Bibliography
Chariton, Igumen. The Art of Prayer: An Orthodox Anthology. Translated by
E. Kadloubovsky and E. M. Palmer. Edited with an Introduction by Timothy
[Kallistos] Ware. London: Faber and Faber, 1966.
French, R. M., trans. The Way of a Pilgrim and The Pilgrim Continues His Way. San
Francisco: Harper Collins, 1965.
Gillet, Lev. On the Invocation of the Name of Jesus. Springfield, IL: Templegate, 1985.
Gillet, Lev, and Kallistos Ware. The Jesus Prayer. Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s
Seminary Press, 1987.
Palmer, G. E. H., Philip Sherrard, and Kallistos Ware, trans. and ed. The Philokalia:
The Complete Text. London: Faber and Faber, 1979–2007.
Prabhavananda, Swami. Narada’s Way of Divine Love: The Bhakti Sutras. Hollywood:
Vedanta Press, 1971.
———. The Sermon on the Mount according to Vedanta. Hollywood: Vedanta Press,
1963.
Prabhavananda, Swami and Christopher Isherwood. How to Know God: The Yoga
Aphorisms of Patanjali. Hollywood: Vedanta Press, 1953.
Ranganathananda, Swami. The Message of the Brihadāranyaka Upanishad . Kolkata:
Advaita Ashrama, 2005.
Smith, Allyne, ed. Philokalia: The Eastern Christian Spiritual Texts. Woodstock, VT:
SkyLight Paths, 2006.
Unno, Taitetsu. “Jesus Prayer and the Nembutsu.” Buddhist-Christian Studies 22
(2002): 93–99.
Ware, Kallistos. “The Power of the Name: The Function of the Jesus Prayer.” Cross
Currents 24:2–3 (Summer–Fall, 1974): 184–203.
CHAPTER 2
Indo-Tibetan Tantrism
as Spirit Marriage
Stuart Ray Sarbacker
Introduction and Methodology

As has been documented by Eliade, Lewis, and others, a fascinating dimension
of shamanic ritualism is the practice of shamanic or “spirit” marriage. The
foundational principle of such marriage is the “nuptial” connection between a
shamanic ritualist and a spirit spouse, sometimes yielding amorphous “spirit
children” and even leading in some cases to “spirit divorce.” As a ritual
institution, shamanic marriage represents one manner in which religious
power is mediated through the contact, if not a contract, between physical
and spiritual beings, and in which the human practitioner gains the ability
to perceive and thus utilize the resources of a spirit world. This chapter will
demonstrate how the logic of various types of shamanic marriage can be
said to be parallel to that of the embodied, gendered, and sexualized prac-
tices of Hindu and Buddhist tantra, in which physical and spiritual bodies
are brought into contact and bound together in concrete ways through rit-
ual performance. It will be discussed how practices such as tantric worship
( pūjā) and the use of transgressive ritual offerings or the “five m’s”
( pañcamakāra), including sexual practices (maithuna), mediate the spiritual
world and make it tangible and perceptible to the tantric practitioner
(sādhaka). We will also examine how the principles of tantric ritualism
parallel those of shamanic marriage in interesting ways, especially with
respect to the exchange of physical substances and offerings for spiritual
“goods,” such as higher forms of perception and knowledge, obtaining
siddhi (magical accomplishment) and vidyā (knowledge) for the sake of
worldly power, and self-transformation or liberation (mukti).

30 ● Stuart Ray Sarbacker
It might be asked how “spirit marriage” as applied comparatively

between shamanism and Indo-Tibetan tantric practices can be said to fit
into the spectrum of religious practices and experiences characterized as
“mysticism” and specifically “mystical marriage.” This question hinges, first
of all, on the way in which we define “mysticism,” and secondly on the
concept of marriage as it is applied within these contexts. The concept and
category of “mysticism” is a highly contested term in the contemporary
academic context, as evidenced by the wide range of current literature in
Religious Studies and in Philosophy in which this concept and category has
been interrogated and theorized. Marriage itself is a concept that is con-
tested not only as an academic concept, but also as a touchstone for social
reality and religious ethics in the contemporary public sphere; it has been
part of the moral and political narrative that has shaped the political arena
in the United States in recent years, given its centrality in civic and religious
discourse. A discussion of “spirit marriage” therefore offers the possibility
of shedding light upon the historical and cultural domain of religious expe-
rience, with ideological and metaphysical implications of academic and
possibly contemporary public interest.
One common approach to defining “mysticism” is to appeal compara-
tively to a unitive, supersensory experience that has a transcendent and
ultimate nature, a definition characterized by the work of Ninian Smart.1
Such definitions have the benefit of a predisposition toward “contentless”
experiences and thus transcend contextual differences among religious
experience. Others see this as a much too “narrow” definition of mysticism,
in which the unitive typology is seen as a subcategory of a larger set of
categories of immediate and supersensory religious experience.2 Smart’s
position was rooted in his articulation of a distinction characteristic of
many of the “core” mysticism theorists—the distinction between outward
and sensory-data driven experiences and inward-directed or introverted
forms of experience.3 Smart characterizes this as the distinction between
numinous types of experience and those of a mystical character, strongly
defining the boundaries between the two based upon the notion of tangi-
ble content and outward-direction of the experience versus the inwardness
and unconditionality of the other. Smart’s theory appears to parallel to
some degree the work of Stace, who distinguishes between introvertive and
extrovertive experiences, experiences of a “worldly” character versus those
of withdrawal from the world. Stace, however, perceives both to have mysti-
cal character only when removed from the world of the senses, with the
introvertive viewed as the ultimate trajectory and consummation of the
mystical path.4 Another approach that pays attention to a “spectrum” of
experience is found in the work of Erica Bourguignon and others, who
Indo-Tibetan Tantrism as Spirit Marriage ● 31
make a sharp distinction between “mystical” and “ecstatic” types of religious

experience based upon the inner or outer orientation of the experience—
which leads to a number of other important and interesting questions
about the nature of the boundary between the mystical and the ecstatic,
and the issue of what constitutes religious versus nonreligious ecstatic
experiences.5 In the Indian context, these dynamics are demonstrated in
terms of the practices of yoga and meditation in their various historical
and literary contexts, where there is a clear dynamic relationship between
the numinous power (the transformation of the practitioner into an
“other”—i.e., a deity) resulting through such practices, and the concept of
the ending of worldly existence (especially rebirth) through a liberatory
process where a special form of knowledge leads to a separation or detach-
ment from the field of experience.6
Acknowledging the arguments offered by Katz and others against the
postulation of a universal “unitive” or “core” theory of mysticism in favor
of contextualizing approaches, I would argue that a more satisfactory defini-
tion of mysticism should recognize the dynamic range of types of religious
experience, allowing for contextuality, self-identification, and heuristic use.
In its broadest sense and in pragmatic and heuristic usage, “mysticism”
refers to religious experience in its full array of possibilities, and, following
upon this, secondarily as particular theories of universality, contextuality,
and so on. In other words, both on the grounds of common usage and on
the basis of creating a heuristic, or pragmatic, larger framework for the
purpose of elucidating this domain of religion, I prefer to use the term
“mysticism” here as equivalent to the expression “religious experience.”
What I would suggest is that mysticism, in its most common usage, refers
to a sense of direct and immediate encounter with sacred, transformative,
or transcendent objects, states, or presences, ranging from the tangible and
concrete to the intangible, ineffable, and abstract. In this context, I would
stipulate that the term “sacred” is not to be understood as a theological
category, but rather as an anthropological category, and likewise for the
term “numinous,” which is a useful term for elucidating the phenomeno-
logical, especially the embodied, dynamics of religious experience, when
divorced from its normative moorings.7 In other words, mysticism in its
broadest sense refers to the first-person and first-order experience of tran-
scendence, transformation, power, value, or meaning—as directly felt or
perceived—rather than a second-order experience that is rooted in the
reports of others. There can clearly be overlap in that second-order experi-
ences often lend or lead toward first-order cultivation (the recollection of
the Buddha’s qualities as an enlightened being, for example, may lead to an
experience of peace in the present that is first order), and this element is of
great import in comparative analyses of the nature of religion in the twen-

tieth century (such as that of Eliade and the concept of illud tempus). With
respect to the “numinous,” the types of intensive emotive content can be
one foundation for the noetic quality of the experience—the profundity of
the experience is real, even if one might analytically question the epistemo-
logical implications, that is, postulate epistemological limits, of such an
experience.8 This approach also has the benefit of connecting—or recon-
necting—the concept of “mysticism” to its etymological derivation, as
pointing to the idea of being “initiated,” having been through a process of
knowledge and transformation.
One might argue that this approach has the effect of decontextualizing
the term “mysticism,” and thus separating it from its historical roots, and
thereby its linguistic matrix. I would argue that first of all, this has already
happened—“mysticism” as a term in contemporary usage, which is rooted
in a Greek cultural and linguistic context, has been extricated and theorized
by Christians and has been applied to Judaism, Islam, and other traditions
by both scholars and practitioners. Second, the decontextualization lends
paradoxically toward allowing for greater contextuality in comparison—if
we restrain the impulse characteristic of narrow theological (i.e., normative)
discussions of mysticism that privilege monotheistic, and ultimately
Christian, forms of mysticism, the door is open to a more balanced
approach to studying religious experience. Lastly, this approach is more
satisfactory because it applies to everyday usage as well as technical mean-
ings, being closer in many ways to the conventional usage of the term
“mysticism,” referring to the first-person dimension of religion, while allow-
ing for theoretical complexity within that overarching context. Even if we
do not follow the most avid articulations of religious experience that place
it at the center of what religion is about—such as those of Otto and
Eliade—most of us can, I think, agree that first-person accounts are a cru-
cial aspect of the larger phenomenon of religion.
Such a broader frame of reference allows for the acknowledgement of
threads of continuity between ecstatic and mystical types of religious phe-
nomena, suggesting both structural similarities and the possibility of dif-
ferences revealing something important about context, especially with
respect to sociodynamics of various types. Even if we apply the narrow
definition of mysticism to analyze shamanism, it is possible that shaman-
ism contains a range of practices that may be of mystical as well as ecstatic
character, demonstrating the fact that there is not mutual exclusivity
between “types.” As Agehananda Bharati, one of the twentieth century’s
most provocative scholars of Hinduism and of mysticism, stated in his
classic work on the topic: even if an ecstasy distinct from mysticism
is the primary goal of shamanic practice, one should not rule out the
possibility that shamans experience mystic (i.e., unitive) states and that
these should not be viewed as mutually exclusive categories.9 I would argue
that in fact, we should expect to see just such a thing—that the margins
of the enstatic and ecstatic are fluid, and over time shift and transform
accordingly with internal psychophysical reconfigurations and shifts in
external sociocultural conditions, even if the morphology of a tradition
changes so slowly as to make these changes virtually imperceptible or sim-
ply inconspicuous.
Spirit Marriage and Shamanic Power

An important dimension of many shamanic traditions, most notable being
the paradigmatic ritual practices found in Siberia and Central Asia, is the
attainment of shamanic power and authority through connection to “helper
spirits” and through pacts with supernatural beings. These helpers and spirits
are the “initiators” of the shaman, encountered in dreams, sickness, and
other fringe states of human awareness.10 The intersection between the sha-
man and such spirits leads to the possibility of a relationship between mate-
rial and spiritual worlds through the sexual or “nuptial” intersection between
humans and spirit agents. As is so central to religious practice and experience
more broadly, the shaman becomes a medium or mediator between the
mundane, physical world and the invisible and transcendent world of spirits,
often in a manner that evokes strong gender imagery. In Eliade’s retelling of
Buryat tales, for example, the first shaman is the child produced through the
sexual union of a celestial eagle and a human woman, and thus can be
understood as a “spirit child” himself. Or, alternately, the woman who
encounters the Eagle becomes, through the process, the first shamaness.11 In
either case, a primordial “act of love” or “act of passion,” if I may, is the basis
for the intersection of the mundane physical and supramundane spiritual
worlds—either through the transfiguration of the woman who is in contact
with this other world, or through the creation of a child that hybridizes the
forces that characterize these two parallel planes of reality. These types of
mediumship issues play out at the level of shamanic types of discourse in
various contexts (celestial marriage or union as the source of the first shama-
ness, among the Buryat) and in the formulations of Abrahamic theism (such
as in Christianity, where God the celestial Father paired with human mother
Mary begets Jesus the Son, Mary being the “mediatrix” of humanity).12 It
can be pointed out that this model of “union” of opposites has important
cosmological parallels as well—cosmogonies tied to the sexual joining of
primordial or archetypal forces are characteristic of religions throughout the
world (with numerous examples in Ancient Near Eastern, Greek, Japanese,

Chinese, and Indian traditions). Another example of the marriage narrative,
cited by Eliade, is from among the Goldi, in which a feminine tutelary spirit
(ayami) initiates the shaman, first though her claiming the shaman as her
husband through explicit vows, then through joining him in sexual union,
and ultimately in the long term by visiting him physically as an old woman,
as various animals, and in dreams for the purpose of instructing him in
shamanic techniques and in attracting spirit helpers.13
This might be said to compare in intriguing ways with the “initiators” of
Buddhist tantra (such as in the story of Naropa), who appear in the guise
of a fierce but beautiful young woman and also as an old crone, and the
strong representation, more broadly, of goddesses characterized by animal
and animal-headed imagery. There is some ambiguity, however, in both
tantra and shamanism with respect to the consort or spouse being possessive
or predatory upon the initiate, perhaps paralleled in the larger Indian ethos
of the temptation of the yogin by celestial nymphs. In the Indian paradigm,
the apsaras, or celestial nymph, serves to draw an ascetic or yogi out of their
discipline, enjoying the fruit of their efforts in the form of sexual pleasure
and thus effectively discharging their energy and discontinuing their practice.
The ambiguity of tantra is likewise exemplified by the character and nature
of the Hindu god Śiva—who, in his wrathful manifestations such as
Bhairava, is the model of the enlightened deity within Vajrayāna Buddhism—
and his consort Pārvatı̄. In Kālidāsa’s epic poem Kumarasambhava, Śiva is
drawn out of his profound samādhi or state of meditative absorption by
Pārvatı̄ through the force of her own tapas, or ascetic striving (after her
enlisting of Kāma, the lord of eros, who loses his own physical form having
attempted to provoke Śiva’s desire—Kāma is destroyed as Śiva’s third eye
opens). On the other hand, the relationship between Śiva and Pārvatı̄
becomes the model both for tantric exposition (Śiva instructing Pārvatı̄ or the
opposite) and the two in sexual union come to represent the tantric paradigm
of maithuna, the non-dual metaphor for the ultimate state, if not the physio-
psychological ground for siddhi (spiritual perfections) and mukti (liberation).
As Wendy Doniger has discussed at length, the persona of Śiva is continuous
with a discourse of tapas and sexuality that is rooted in the earliest Vedic texts,
and plays on the ambiguities of the power of asceticism and the discharge of
such power through magical and sexual actions.14 Likewise, the narrative of
Pārvatı̄ utilizing ascetic discipline, that is, “spiritualizing” herself in order to
attract the physical advances of Śiva, is in line with other Indian religious
narratives, where asceticism is a “hook” for physical attraction and for the
production of semidivine progeny through the human female’s consorting
with a deity.15
The conception of garnering sexual attention or being the victim of sex-

ual “attacks” by spiritual beings are by no means confined to shamanism or
to tantra—the extensive European literature dealing with incubi, succubae,
etc., attests to a range of levels of parallelism that would be worth exploring.
Likewise, there may be a sense of animosity between spiritual consorts and
human ones, such that the spirit may require absence from the earthly
spouse (due to jealousy) or possibly even steal them away at the moment of
death as in the Saora of Orissa in India.16 Female shamans may find their
worldly relationships even more suppressed by their spiritual suitors, as
appears to be the case with respect to some homosexual shamans whose
celestial spouses are male.17 Though Eliade argues that the sexual or erotic
aspect of shamanism is secondary, there is a large body of literature that
suggests that the sexual act and ultimately orgasm are at the center of the
shaman-spirit relationship, enacted ritually through exaggerated movements
and the suggestion of sexual ecstasy. One might further look at the impor-
tant distinction between “adorcism” (the willful joining in possession) versus
exorcism (the attempt to break away from a hostile spirit).18 Some sexual
relationships may be desired; others not, and in both cases shamanic prac-
tices aim at the control of such spirits. It is interesting to point out as well
that these spirits may also be of various animal types (female animal spirits,
female cousins of animals, or female spirit children of animals), making the
boundary fluid between the spirit in anthropomorphic form and in animal
form, which itself suggests “boundary crossing” or “boundary breaking.”19
With respect to Indo-Tibetan tantra, this is a quite familiar theme, especially
among female tantric deities, where the boundary between goddess and ani-
mal spirit seems particularly fluid, and deities like Bhairava and his various
consorts appear in wrathful and animal-headed forms. Sexual union and
spirit marriage are, in this analysis, founded on a root metaphor of sexual
ecstasy being coextensive with religious ecstasy, where the religious ecstasy is
a sublimation or a yoking of the erotic and orgasmic state at the core of the
human condition of embodiment. According to Kripal, this is exemplified
in contexts in which the male or female has turned to ascetic or mystical
practice in the wake of failed human marriage and relationships, connecting
the dissatisfaction of the worldly expression of eros to the otherworldly
ecstasy of a spiritual form of rapture and marriage.20 Hindu bhakti, for
example, exemplifies the complexity of spiritual marriages or consorting (or
cavorting, for that manner) and the multiple streams of interpretation that
flow from it—human emotions of love and eroticism being the paradigm
for divine love, and perhaps a means of sublimating or cultivating those
emotions that are not being exhausted in one’s human relationships. The
relationship between Kr·s·n·a and Rādhā in Vais·n·ava traditions exemplifies the
multiple possibilities of conceiving of the relationship between the human

and the divine, from the romantic to the erotic.
Shamanic Marriage as Pact or Contract

Clearly there are some questions that extend out of this discussion as to
what degree sexuality confers power or, for that matter, strips a person of
it. However, there are important connections in shamanic traditions
between spirit marriage, initiation, mediumship, and possession. As Lewis
has pointed out, among the Tungus and Eskimos, there is clearly a sense
that at the heart of the shaman’s vocation is the formation of a pact with a
spirit-entity that provides the basis of their mastery over spiritual beings and
over the spirit world.21 This “pact” or “contractual agreement”—shamanic
“marriage”—is at the center of the shaman’s mastery, and involves the giving
of a part of the soul, self, or part of the self as a crucial ingredient of spirit
mastery and possession across a range of traditions.22 This, according to
Lewis, confers an “illumination” or gnosis, which is exemplified by the full
effacement of the personality by the spiritual “other,” paralleling the
engrossment or annihilation of the self in mysticism, and illustrated in
terms of the language of erotic love.23 The language of erotic love finds a
range of expressions, including those of being “mounted” by a spirit, inter-
preted through the language of marriage and spiritual kinship.24
This is a point of perhaps the strongest and clearest relationship between
shamanism and tantra—the existence of an economy of power rooted in
the psycho-physiological relationship between the human world and the
spirit world, in which a basic “spiritual substance” becomes the means of
linking the two worlds, seen and unseen. If we follow David Gordon
White’s compelling arguments regarding the origins of tantra, it would
appear that there is a profoundly intimate and visceral relationship between
tantric sādhakas and their female consorts, the Yoginı̄s, that parallels the
“pact” spoken of previously. White argues that the economy of power in
early tantra involved the transmission of “power substances” between male
and female yoga practitioners as a means of attaining spiritual perfections,
referred to as siddhis—many of which are characterized by heightened forms
of perception (such as divine sight) and action (such as flight).25 These
“power substances” were sexual fluids, and they were the potent means for
the transmission and attainment of power by male practitioners from female
goddesses of a wrathful sort (the Yoginı̄s) and vice-versa, through the prac-
tice of maithuna and other means. Sexual fluids thus serve as the link
between the material and spiritual, as the tangible “essence” of the spirit-
force or vitality engendered through yogic and tantric discipline. The Yoginı̄s,
the agents of the spiritual world that are the recipients of these offerings,
are wrathful in character and often have animal attributes, paralleling their
shamanic counterparts. Though this may seem to only be a basic parallel,
analogous to the larger literal and figurative uses of sexuality in the com-
parative context, there is an important point of difference. This is the fact
that sexual fluids and their restraint (brahmacarya) and sealing (mudrā) are
seen as having profound ramifications for the spiritual path and physical
vitality as the distilled essence (bindu, “drops”) of life itself. It might be
argued that sexual fluids are the physical equivalent of the soul or spirit and
the physical analogue of the subtle physiological process, and in giving these
up, one is in principle giving up one’s spirit. As characterized in the
hat·hayoga tradition more broadly, the “bindu” composed of the vital life
energies (and ultimately sexual fluid) is the core basis for psycho-physiological
life and the process of rebirth, and therefore its manipulation and transfor-
mation has crucial spiritual implications. The bindu, which is the very
essence of life, is a powerful, refined spiritual substance that if manipulated
properly facilitates the obtaining of bodily immortality, spiritual mastery,
and unlimited gnosis of samādhi in hat·hayoga and tantra. Here is where one
of the clear parallels can be found—the tantric yogin or tāntrika exchanges
the vital force of sexual restraint and tapas acquired through yogic control
for the attainment of supernatural power. This power may be, in my analy-
sis, of a numinous character (approximating or assimilating divine abilities
such as flight) or a cessative one (lending toward insight or wisdom, as is
the case with the Buddhist prajñā goddesses, the d· ākinı̄s), and I believe
White would argue the primacy of the numinous over the cessative, espe-
cially in the early formations of tantra.
In the Kulārn·avatantra, which is the distillation of the kula or “clan”
tantric practices, the spirit world, and especially the Goddess (Devı- or Śakti),
is made manifest in the material world through multiple forms of mediation,
allowing the spiritual “transaction” to take place. The Kulārn·avatantra, which
represents a sophisticated attempt to systematize the practice of tantric yoga
into Śaiva and Vedānta traditions, presents a glimpse of how exactly the
spiritual “transaction” or spirit marriage can take place in concrete and sys-
tematic terms. These include the performance of incantation or mantra,
ritual worship (pūjā), the use of prohibited substances as offerings
(pañcamakāra), including sexual rites (maithuna). Pūjā, the performance of
worship through offerings, invokes the various sense-fields through offerings
that correspond to them—through the image, the offering of incense and
flowers, food and water, ringing a bell, through touching the image, and so
forth. The taboo substances are understood not only as transgressive offer-
ings appropriate for an occult deity, but also as the cultivation of inner
powers in the sādhaka, where the fragrance of wine activates the power of
will (icchāśakti), the taste of wine activates the power of knowledge
(jñānaśakti), and the intoxicating effect, the purification of mind
(cittaśodhana).26 Likewise, in the tantric sexual ritual of maithuna, the sen-
sation of bliss (ānanda) at the heart of the sexual act is seen as the power
of the goddess (śakti) in a tangible form, and the discernment of that reality
differentiates maithuna from the mundane expression of intercourse, and
activates the inner transformation of the sādhaka.27 Thus, through the proc-
ess of kaulatantra, the sādhaka strives for the complete and total divinization
of mind and body—identity with the god Śiva—and thereby the transfor-
mation into a deity with attendant knowledge (vidyā) and power (siddhi)
that is unlimited in nature.
The basic ritual and sexual equations, transactions, or contractual agree-
ments lay the foundation for the more extensive interpretation of tantric
maithuna as a consorting of identifiable gods and goddesses who dwell in
an ecstatic and timeless state, as opposed to the more “momentary” encoun-
ters of earlier tantra. On a purely speculative level, sociologically speaking,
this might demonstrate a shift from tantric encounters with “rogue” female
possession ritualists that are part of charismatic female movements (such as
characteristic of contemporary India and many other parts of the world)
toward an integration or control of such (liminal) possession ritualism
within the folds of a (liminoid) tantric tradition. On the other hand, the
exchange between the male and female might be argued to bring an elevated
spiritual status to both parties as the female is the gateway to possession
and personification (initiation) and the discharge of male sexuality is the
basis for the absorption by the female of the fruits of the male tapas and
procreative on a spiritual if not a physical level. The “contractual” arrange-
ment of this tantric relationship, or the exemplification of it through the
Śiva-Śakti relationship and the Buddhist analogues such as Cakrasam.vara
and Vajravārāhı̄, demonstrates the exchange of power in a state of equilib-
rium, and therefore a more stable resolution of the polarization and
exchange process.
Marriage (vivāha) in the traditional Indian context is centered on the ritual
control of sexual fluids, and therefore the continuity between sexuality, mar-
riage, purity, and spirituality is clear.28 Tantra inverts this paradigm, disrupt-
ing the physical basis of both psychological and social reality, and ultimately
creating a new order or equilibrium that is like a reverse mirror image of the
stability of brāhman.ical norms. Urban suggests this allows for the challenging
and subverting of the social order through the manipulation of its own sym-
bols.29 It should also not be forgotten that the core sectarian sense of tantric
identity emerged in part out of the Kaulatantra tradition, whose namesake is
derived from kula, meaning “clan” or “family”—indicating the establishment

of a familial foundation for cult authority and identity. The family identity
is tied into the concept that at the apex of the family tree is the divine, sug-
gesting the descent of the divine into the human realm through the human
intermediary chain of lineage, which plays out across tantric and non-tantric
Indian religious practice (family being the model for spiritual community,
such as the bodhisattva as the “son” or “daughter” of the Buddha, etc.).30 It
is interesting to note that Max Weber argued in The Sociology of Religion that
in many religious contexts, marriage is founded as a contractual agreement
based on supporting the well-being of the collective—producing workers and
descendents who can care for the cult of the dead, namely the ancestors, to
be contrasted with “orgiastic” eroticism that is a flight from such a centralized
and ideologically homogenous community.31 Here we seem to have an inter-
esting juxtaposition of these impulses, brought to complexity in the differing
states of the partners and the status of the “children” resulting from their
union.
Symbolic Power in Human and Spirit Marriage

Marriage as a human phenomenon clearly mediates power both within a
relationship of partners and outside of it. Part of the power of marriage is
in the power of communal effort, that “two heads are better than one” in
problem solving, survival, and actualization. It is the locus for the satisfaction
or lack thereof of a dizzying array of physical and psychological desires and
necessities, and thereby a complex economy of priorities and negotiations
and in some cases the reckless abandonment of one person, the other, or
both. It is not surprising that like its spiritual twin, human marriage often
involves a dimensionality of sacrifice with respect to potential relationships
and types of agency, but also a gaining in terms of material abundance,
legitimating sexual relationships, procreating, and so forth. Worldly respon-
sibilities are brought into focus, for example, by the tension between
renouncer and householder in the Indian tradition—exemplified in the
modern context by the complex relationship of Gandhi and his spouse.
Nevertheless, it can be pointed our that yogic and ascetic practices have been
woven into householder traditions, exemplified in contemporary yoga tradi-
tions such as the Krishnamacarya lineage and in tantric householdership in
India, Nepal, and Tibet. It also is demonstrated in the complex worldly and
otherworldly relationships between female possession ritualists in India and
their material families and their spiritual helpers and preceptors.
One question that naturally comes to mind is the way in which “spirit
spouses” may reflect intrapersonal and spiritual tensions within a community.
Does the jealousy of the spirit spouse, for example, reflect the jealousy of
the divine powers that are battling for the souls of human beings, or is this
a metaphor for the power dynamics of human relationships? Might this be
a metaphor for relationships of power and attraction outside of one’s imme-
diate relationship, or a fantastic mirror image of such relationships—which
cannot be consummated in the manner of a material relationship, not hav-
ing the fullness of the physical dimension, with jealousy possible in both
directions? Or, analogously, a reality that would be familiar in the context
of polygamy or polyandry (or in contemporary polyamory), where jealousy
and other emotions must be held in check or dealt with in strategic ways?
In this analysis, issues such as fidelity in the spiritual and sexual dimensions
of life serve as a model for the complexity of relating to the larger “spiritual
family.” This is not to broach the topic of arranged marriages and the
complexity of issues that that brings to the fore, such as the ways in which
the broader social context of the conjoining play a crucial part of the nar-
rative of “union.” Marriage brings social order to the world, spirit marriage
to the spiritual world paralleling this world—perhaps with clear implica-
tions in the opposite: bodily marriage, spiritual effects; and spiritual mar-
riage, bodily effects. Another question would be, “Does the gendered body
enter into this equation, and therefore reflect an idealized spiritual
order?”—a point that may have implications with respect to the issue of gay
marriage, for example.
Two points stand out clearly with respect to the issue of the intersection
of spirit marriage and tantric traditions. The first is the idea that at the foun-
dation of the power relationship is a process of exchange, whereby the spirit
draws on the power human, to some degree “feeding” on it, and thereby
through that transaction exchanging and infusing the human consort with
power. In tantra, this transfusion of power is centered on the distillation of
spiritual energy (prān· a, bindu) in the subtle body (suks·ma śarı̄ra) in the form
of sexual fluids, identified and mastered in the form of the sensation of bliss
(ānanda), which is at the core of the psychophysical rituals of kaulatantra and
hat· hayoga and the transformation of the ordinary human person into a divine
being (such as Śiva) or a Buddha. The second point is that this exchange is
situated in a larger nexus of communal relationships that suggest that the
connection between the spirit world and the human world is mediated
through the consort relationship, and that power extends out of this primor-
dial conjunction. This can in turn be tied into larger discussions about the
role of sexuality as both a central component of embodied life and experience,
and as a metaphor for transcending the dualities implicit in embodied exist-
ence, world, and deity that characterize religious experience, and thus mysti-
cism, through a range of religious traditions and phenomena. Marriage and
its structure in human life is a privileging of a relationship where the sacrifice

of autonomy is seen as means to a higher unity, a leap of faith that is para-
digmatic on multiple levels. It is reflexive in that it demonstrates the continu-
ity of order in both embodied and disembodied existence, and ultimately, the
power of their conjunction.
Notes
1. Ninian Smart, “Understanding Religious Experience,” in Mysticism and
Philosophical Analysis, ed. Steven T. Katz (New York: Oxford University Press,
1978), 10–21.
2. Jerome Gellman, “Mysticism,” The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Fall
2008 Edition), ed. Edward N. Zalta http://plato.stanford.edu/archives/fall2008/
entries/mysticism/.
3. Robert K. C. Forman, “Mysticism, Constructivism, and Forgetting,” in The
Problem of Pure Consciousness (New York: Oxford University Press, 1990), 3–49.
4. W. T. Stace, Mysticism and Philosophy (Philadelphia: Lippincott, 1960), 62–123.
Though I find the distinction between “extrovertive” and “introvertive” quite
appealing as a “spectrum” of experience, I am arguing here that the term “extro-
vertive” can be fruitfully applied to the realm of the senses, a usage that is at odds
with Stace’s definition. On Stace’s assertion that sensorial phenomena should not
be included under the “mystical,” see Mysticism and Philosophy, 47–55.
5. See, for example, Erica Bourguignon, Religion, Altered States of Consciousness,
and Social Change (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1973), 3–35.
6. Stuart Ray Sarbacker, Samādhi: The Numinous and Cessative in Indo-Tibetan
Yoga (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2005), 27–51.
7. In the second case, this would be so if the experience of the numinous “other-
ness” is understood as being the experience of an external force, the experience
of radical self-transformation, or some combination of these possibilities.
8. Two possible trajectories of interpretation that might be fruitful with respect to
looking at the noetic in this manner would be to plug this approach into James’s
theory of mysticism and Geertz’s definition of religion (especially the concept
of the “aura of factuality”).
9. Agehananda Bharati, The Light at the Center: Context and Pretext of Modern
Mysticism (Santa Barbara, CA: Ross-Erickson, 1976), 141–48.
10. Mircea Eliade, Shamanism: Archaic Techniques of Ecstasy (Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 1972), 67.
11. Ibid., 69.
12. I. M. Lewis, Ecstatic Religion: A Study of Shamanism and Spirit Possession
(London: Routledge, 1989), 56.
13. Eliade, Shamanism, 71–73.
14. Wendy Doniger, Śiva: The Erotic Ascetic (New York: Oxford University Press,
1981), 40–82.
15. Ibid., 64–65.
16. Eliade, Shamanism, 78; Lewis, Ecstatic Religion, 53.

17. I. M. Lewis, Arguments With Ethnography: Comparative Approaches to History,
Politics & Religion (London: The Athlone Press, 1999), 109–11.
18. Ibid., 106.
19. Ibid., 109.
20. Jeffrey Kripal, Roads of Excess, Palaces of Wisdom: Eroticism and Reflexivity in the
Study of Religion (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001), 73–77.
21. Lewis, Ecstatic Religion, 50.
22. Ibid.
23. Ibid., 50–51.
24. Ibid., 52.
25. David Gordon White, Kiss of the Yoginı̄: “Tantric Sex” in its South Asian Contexts
(Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2003), 10.
26. Arthur Avalon, M. P. Pandit, and Tārānātha Vidyāratna, Kulārn·ava Tantra
(Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 2000 [1965]), 47–48.
27. Ibid., 52.
28. Hugh Urban, The Economics of Ecstasy: Tantra, Secrecy, and Power in Colonial
Bengal (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), 140.
29. Ibid., 141.
30. White, Kiss of the Yoginı̄, 18–21.
31. Max Weber, The Sociology of Religion, trans. Talcott Parsons (Boston: Beacon
Press, 1991), 240.
Bibliography
Avalon, Arthur, M. P. Pandit, and Tārānātha Vidyāratna. Kulārn·ava Tantra. Delhi:
Motilal Banarsidass, 2000 (1965).
Bharati, Agehananda. The Light at the Center: Context and Pretext of Modern
Mysticism. Santa Barbara, CA: Ross-Erickson, 1976.
Doniger, Wendy. Śiva: The Erotic Ascetic. New York: Oxford University Press,
1981.
Bourguignon, Erica. Religion, Altered States of Consciousness, and Social Change.
Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1973.
Eliade, Mircea. Shamanism: Archaic Techniques of Ecstasy. Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 1972.
Forman, Robert K. C. “Mysticism, Constructivism, and Forgetting,” in The Problem
of Pure Consciousness. New York: Oxford University Press, 1990, 3–49.
Gellman, Jerome. “Mysticism,” The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Fall 2008
Edition), Edward N. Zalta (ed.), http://plato.stanford.edu/archives/fall2008/
entries/mysticism/.
Kripal, Jeffrey. Roads of Excess, Palaces of Wisdom: Eroticism and Reflexivity in the
Study of Religion. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001.
Lewis, I. M. Arguments With Ethnography: Comparative Approaches to History, Politics &
Religion. London: The Athlone Press, 1999.
———. Ecstatic Religion: A Study of Shamanism and Spirit Possession. London:

Routledge, 1989.
Sarbacker, Stuart Ray. Samādhi: The Numinous and Cessative in Indo-Tibetan Yoga.
Albany: State University of New York Press, 2005.
Smart, Ninian. “Understanding Religious Experience,” in Mysticism and Philosophical
Analysis, ed. Steven T. Katz, 10–21. New York: Oxford University Press, 1978.
Stace, W. T. Mysticism and Philosophy. Philadelphia: Lippincott, 1960.
Urban, Hugh. The Economics of Ecstasy: Tantra, Secrecy, and Power in Colonial Bengal.
New York: Oxford University Press, 2001.
Weber, Max. The Sociology of Religion, trans. Talcott Parsons. Boston: Beacon Press,
1991.
White, David Gordon. Kiss of the Yoginı̄: “Tantric Sex” in its South Asian Contexts.
Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2003.
CHAPTER 3
Experiencing the Single Savior:

Divinizing the Body and the Senses
in Tantric Buddhist Meditation
David Gray
T
he Buddhist traditions are replete with meditation practices that
focus upon, or seek to transform, the human sense powers.
Buddhism is arguably a gnostic religion, one that sees salvation as
resulting from the attainment of knowledge. This knowledge, however, is
not the mundane knowledge of worldly matters (laukikajñāna), but rather
“ultimate knowledge” (lokottarajñāna) or the gnosis of ultimate reality. This
special knowledge, also known as the gnosis of a Buddha (buddhajñāna),
involves a special “yogic perception” (yogipratyaks·a), a direct knowledge of
ultimate reality attained via meditative practices.1 This is particularly the
case with respect to the Tantric Buddhist traditions that developed in India
beginning in the mid-seventh century.2 Tantric Buddhist traditions devel-
oped a wide array of techniques designed to heighten or transform a prac-
titioner’s perceptual powers in order to facilitate the rapid attainment of
awakening.3 There is, arguably, very good reason to include a discussion of
these techniques in a volume dedicated to the exploration of “mystical
sensuality.”
However, since there are some who would object to the application of
the term “mystical” to Buddhist meditative practices, it seems advisable to
begin with a defense of this application. Potential objectors would likely
include the Buddhists or advocates of Buddhism who attempt to portray
Buddhism as “rational” or “scientific.” Those who portray Buddhism in this
fashion tend to ignore the fact that the ultimate reality that Buddhist medi-
tation practices purportedly enable one to apprehend is typically defined as
46 ● David Gray
“inconceivable” (acintya), and hence not knowable via empirical observation

or rational analysis. The techniques that yield knowledge of the inconceiv-
able thus cannot be accurately considered to be “scientific.”4
Moreover, the category of “mysticism,” as narrowly defined by early- to
mid-twentieth-century authors such as Evelyn Underhill, tended to ignore
Asian traditions such as Hinduism and Buddhism, and also to downplay the
body, presenting “mystical experience” as private, ineffable, and disembodied
(Kripal 2001, 50–51, 68). This Eurocentric understanding of mysticism was
reinforced by contemporary scholarship on Buddhism, which tended to be
heavily laden with “Protestant presuppositions.” This resulted in a vision of
a “pure” and primary Buddhism, free of mystical tendencies, which became
gradually corrupted by mystical theologies and ritual practices.5 This paper
will explore a Buddhist tradition that is arguably strongly mystical, but
which focuses on the body as the transformable site of mystical experience.
In using these terms, I follow Jeffrey Kripal’s definition of the “mystical” as
“a hidden dimension of human consciousness in which the dichotomies of
normal awareness are transcended in an intense experience of unity or com-
munion with a hidden reality or presence” (Kripal 1995, 20).
As this chapter invokes the problematic category of “experience,” it is
important to briefly address the contested status of this term. The notion
that “mystical experience” entails a special category of experience involving
direct and unmediated access to the absolute has received considerable criti-
cism, notably by Steven Katz (1978) and Robert Sharf (2000). This claim
has been defended by others, such as Robert Forman (1990, 1999).
Interestingly, Mahāyāna Buddhists seemingly straddle this debate. With the
constructionists, Mahāyāna Buddhists of the Yogācāra-Madhyamika synthe-
sis that came to dominate in Northern India during the time that Buddhist
tantras were composed argued for the conditioned, and hence constructed,
nature of ordinary experience (Forman 1999, 81–89). However, many
Buddhist traditions, like other traditions with strong mystical inclinations,
claimed that it is possible to give rise to direct knowledge of the absolute.
Since at least the time of Dharmakı̄rti, many Buddhists have also presumed
a special mode of “yogic cognition” (yogipratyaks·a), resulting from successful
meditation practice, which permits direct and unmediated experience of
ultimate reality.6 While ultimate reality is characterized by Buddhists as
acintya, inconceivable and thus indescribable, this experience has often been
described in Buddhist literature as a “luminous gnosis,” a direct apprehen-
sion of ultimate reality as clear light (Kapstein 2004, 126–30).
In this paper I do not wish to make any special claims about the nature
of “experience” as actually apprehended by Buddhist meditators, past or
present. Being based solely upon textual sources, this chapter can only
Experiencing the Single Savior ● 47
address with the rhetoric of “experience” or “self-experience” (svasam · vedya)

contained within these texts. The exact content of any experiences that the
meditative practices described in these texts might engender is beyond the
scope of this chapter. However, insofar as the meditative practices that will
be described below do yield, on a regular basis, distinctive forms of “reli-
gious experience,” I agree with Matthew Kapstein, who argued that experi-
ences, religious or otherwise, are not private and are thus reproducible by
qualified agents. Rather, “religious experiences, like aesthetic experiences,
are thus second order experiences, constituted by our interpretations and
judgments of primary phenomenal experiences of sound, sight, and so on,
and of mental and abstract phenomena as well.” (Kapstein 2004, 287).
The tradition of meditation to which I would like to turn is a style of
meditation practice found within the Buddhist Yoginı̄tantras, which were
composed in India during the eighth and ninth centuries. Sometimes
termed “body man·d·ala” (kāyāman·d·ala) practices, these traditions involve the
reimagination of one’s body, as well as the elements of one’s sensory experi-
ence, as divine. As such, they are based upon the classic Mahāyāna belief
that our experience is indeed constructed, and that our suffering and hap-
piness both result from this conditioning.7 These practices are “meditation”
in the classical Buddhist sense, as they entail a transformation of the self
via a process of (re)conditioning (bhāvanā) through practices involving
focused attention upon the mind-body complex.8
In particular, I would like to focus on an important practice called
“Deity Purification” (devatāviśuddhi) that occurs at the beginning of a very
influential Indian Tantric Buddhist meditation manual (sādhana). This text
is entitled the Cakrasam · varābhisamaya, and is attributed to the Mahāsiddha
Lūipa. While its exact date of composition is unknown, it was probably
composed during the tenth century.9 This text is the “root” sādhana for the
Cakrasam · vara practice tradition attributed to Lūipa, which is one of the
three main practice traditions connected with this scripture. It has spawned
dozens of derivative works, including a number of commentaries and medi-
tation manuals. Here, I will present just its opening section, which accom-
plishes the “purification” (viśuddhi) of the practitioner. I will do so with
reference to the highly influential commentary on this text composed by
the great eleventh-century Indian scholar Atiśa Dı̄paṅkaraśrı̄jñāna.10
This sādhana begins with the meditative transformation of the practitio-
ner’s sense of self and reality, or the radical reconceptualization of the body
and its environment, from an impure vessel to a divine abode. It entails a
systematic process of “purification” by means of identifying components of
one’s self and environment with the deities of the man·d·ala. The influential
Tantric Buddhist scripture the Hevajra Tantra, which was composed by the
48 ● David Gray
late ninth or early tenth century,11 begins its chapter on purity with the
following:
The true nature of all things is regarded as pure. Consequently, one can speak
of their individual differentiation in terms of the deities. The six sense pow-
ers, the six sense media, the five aggregates, and the five elements are naturally
pure, but they are obscured by the affliction of misknowledge (ajñānakleśa).
Their purification consists in self-experience (svasam · vedya), and by no other
means of purification may one be liberated. This self-experiencing, since it is
the purified nature of the sense objects, is supreme bliss. For the yogı̄ the
sense objects such as form and so on, and whatever else there may be, all
appear in their purified nature, for the world is composed of Buddhas.12
A very similar idea is expressed in the Cakrasam · varaTantra, a Tantric

Buddhist scripture composed most likely during the early ninth century.13
The following verse occurs in the thirteenth chapter of that text: “One
should experience everything, whatever comes naturally within the path of
the sense powers, as being composed of buddhas (buddhamaya), through
the yoga of ultimate equipoise.”14
These scriptures call for a transformation of one’s experience of the
world, characterized as “purification,” in which the elements of one’s experi-
ence, without exception and without discrimination, are seen as divine,
“composed of buddhas,” as both texts describe the “true nature” of all
things. The latter text also implies, but does not describe, a contemplative
practice designed to transform one’s experience in this fashion, there called
the “yoga of ultimate equipoise.”
Fortunately, the meditation manuals associated with this scripture give
us a much clearer sense of exactly what this sort of practice entails. Lūipa’s
Cakrasam · varābhisamayasādhana is composed in a laconic style, presenting
terse instructions for what often turn out to be elaborate contemplative
exercises. It opens with the following concise instruction:
First, the Lord of Yoga should contemplate for some time the four divine
abodes.
prathaman tāvad yoges´varen·a caturbrahmavihārin·ā bhāvyam/ 15
rnal ‘byor pa’i dbang phyug gis re zhig dang por tshang pa’i gnas bzhi bsgom par
bya’o/ 16
The four divine abodes—loving kindness (maitrı¯), compassion (karun·ā),

sympathetic joy (mudita), and equanimity (upeks·a)—are classical Buddhist
contemplative categories that thus root the practice to very venerable Buddhist
precedents. For Atiśa, this first line indicates the type of practitioner who
should be engaged in this practice, which is a person well grounded in

classical Mahāyāna ethical training, and who has received the requisite tantric
empowerments. He comments: “The characteristics of the adept who thus
succeeds are [as follows]: First, [he] has stabilized the perfected spirit of awak-
ening which arises from the power of compassion, and has obtained through
the grace of the guru the consecrations, the jar, secret, and so forth.”17
While the qualified adept should have received the tantric empower-
ments and cultivated the spirit of awakening, she or he will also need to
cultivate the other requisite for Buddhahood, namely wisdom. For Atiśa,
this is the aim of this contemplative tradition. He wrote:
Regarding the method whereby one succeeds, one [succeeds] with method of
unborn gnosis. The Vajrad·āka states that “He who applies himself to the empty
state should perform all actions with wisdom.”18 The actions here refer to
meditation on the four divine abodes and so forth. “Should perform . . . with
wisdom” refers to the object seen by the eye of wisdom. Regarding “the empty
state,” since for the wise growth is dependent origination ( pratı̄tyasamutpāda),
it is meditation on emptiness by means of the gnostic method. First . . . for
some time19 shows the yogı̄’s sequence of actions. The Lord of Yoga is one
made into a proper vessel by the four consecrations. The four divine abodes
are loving-kindness and so forth. “Contemplation” is the aspiration that all
beings have happiness, and seeing that they suffer, the aspiration that they are
free of it. It also is the aspiration that they are placed in the supreme state of
Heruka, and that they are established with all of the mundane and supramun-
dane virtues that exhaust all of the non-virtuous tendencies.20
Atiśa indicates that this meditation system starts out with a classical Buddhist
meditation on the four divine abodes, structured in the classical Mahāyāna
fashion, as a meditation on compassion and loving kindness. He also asserts
that this involves a meditation on emptiness as well, although he does not sup-
port this claim with any detailed description of the “meditation on emptiness
by means of the gnostic method” that he prescribes. But this assertion was likely
seen to be self-evident by Atiśa, since the very term “purification” (viśuddhi),
which designates the initial step of many sādhanas, also designates absolute
reality, the Buddha nature that is emptiness, as well as the practices designed to
give rise to the gnosis of absolute reality, buddhajñāna.21
Why does the meditation open with this contemplative exercise? Atiśa
addresses this questions as follows:
Now, this is the protection of yoga; by “yoga” here [Lūipa] intends the non-
duality of compassion and emptiness. Against what does it protect? [It pro-
tects against] discordant tendencies, malicious thoughts, violence, attachment
50 ● David Gray
to the lower vehicles, and the exhaustion the all of the roots of virtue without
augmenting them. As long as you have those things, you will destroy [the
virtues] previously produced, and you will rise to them again; you will fall
from one’s place in the Mahāyāna, and you will definitely not emerge into
omniscience.22
Since purification exercises are designed to remove the obstacles to the

realization of ultimate reality, Atiśa’s explanation, as we would expect,
clearly and concisely highlights the significance of this exercise.
‘This meditation is actually a preliminary exercise to the actual purifica-
tory meditation, called “purification by means of the deities” (devatāvis´uddhi).
This practice involves the transformation of one’s sense of self via identifica-
tion of elements of one’s psycho-physical continuum with man·d·ala deities.
Lūipa’s sādhana continues, as follows:
‘Then one should give rise to the pride of the five aggregates. Vairocana is in
the form aggregate, Vajrasūrya in the feeling aggregate, Padmanarteśvara in the
cognition aggregate, Vajrarāja in the conditioning aggregate, Vajrasattva in the
consciousness aggregate, and Śrı̄ Herukavajra in the state of all Tathāgatas.’
tatah·pañcaskandhāhaṅkaram utpādayet // rūpaskandhe vairocanah· / vedanāskandhe

vajrasūryah· / sam· jñāskandhe padmanartes´varah· / sam· skāraskandhe vajrarājah· /
23
vijñānaskandhe vajrasattvah· / sarvatathāgatatve ´rı̄herukavajrah
s · / /de nas phung
po lnga’i nga rgyal bskyed par bya ste/ gzugs kyi phung po ni rnam par snang mdzad
do/ /tshor ba’i phung po ni rdo rje nyi ma’o/ /’du shes kyi phung po ni padma gar
gyi dbang phyug go/ /’du byed kyi phung po ni rdo rje rgyal po’o/ /rnam par shes
pa’i phung po ni rdo rje sems dpa’o/ /de bzhing shegs pa thams cad kyi rang bzhin
ni dpal he ru ka’o/ 24
This practice then turns to the five aggregates, the classical Buddhist
formulation of the basic psycho-physical constituents that collectively and
interdependently give rise to our sense of self; they serve, in Sanskrit techni-
cal terminology, as the “I-maker,” ahaṅkara, the basis of our sense of self
and thus our “self-conception” (ngar ‘dzin pa) and also “pride” (nga rgyal),
as the term is variously translated into Tibetan. These aggregates are nor-
mally conceived as “defiled,” but here they are purified via their revisualiza-
tion as deities. Atiśa comments on this contemplation as follows:
Then one should give rise to the pride of the five aggregates. In this way
self-conception arises in dependence upon one’s attachment to oneself. And
depending upon attachment to the “mine,” one becomes possessive. But
one will lack self-conception insofar as one lacks attachment to self. And
if one is not attached to self, one will not become possessive. Vairocana, by
transforming the basis of this attachment, purifies the atoms of one’s material
form. He has one face and two arms, seated on lion throne on a moon disk
atop a lotus. His right hand holds a discus, his left a bell. Likewise, for the
other four aggregates there are Vajrasūrya, Padmanarteśvara, Vajrarāja, and
Vajrasattva.25 They have one face and two arms, and each holds in his right
hand his symbol, and in all of their left hands they hold bells. They sit on
lotuses and sun disks on thrones with, respectively, a horse, peacock, garud·a
and elephant. The Essence of all Tathāgatas is called Śrı̄ Heruka, who sits on
a corpse seat, black colored and with a vajra and bell.26
Atiśa here explicates how the practice effects purification. It functions by

undermining delusions of independent self-existence, and hence the self-
absorption and possessiveness that results from this underlying delusion. It
does this by transforming the bases of this sense of self, the five aggregates,
by visualizing them as deities. This, presumably, would destabilize the ordi-
nary sense of self as an isolated individual ( pudgalajana), and instill a puri-
fied sense of self, redefined in the context of the awakened beings of the
man·d·ala. Atiśa continues his argument as follows:
Here the five clans are the purities specific to the five different aggregates,
etc. Heruka is purity in general. Form, etc., conventionally are purity in
regard to the illusion-like deity. Śrı̄ Heruka is purity as the unborn ultimate.
He is the abandonment of cause and so forth, ru is the end of manifestation
and ka is non-locality.27 “Cause and so forth” is the abandonment of birth
either from self, other or both, or from causelessness. “The end of manifesta-
tion” refers to the lack of the states of abiding and destruction. Since he is
birthless and so forth he is the non-located nirvana. As it says in the
Vajrad·āka, “Without doubt, all empty forms should be regarded non-
discursively, with the eye of the empty appearance.”28 Meditating on the
conventional, illusion-like deities of the aggregates, elements and media is
emptiness with respect to the ultimate.29
The practice then moves to the visualization of deities corresponding to

one’s sense powers and elements. Lūipa’s initial purification contemplation
concludes as follows:
Mohavajra is in the two eyes, Dves·avajra in the two ears, Īrs·yāvajra in the
two nostrils, Rāgavajra in the mouth, Mātsaryavajra in the [sense of ] touch,
and Aiśvaryāvajra in all of the sense media. The earth element is Pātanı̄, the
water element Māran·ı̄, the fire element Ākars·an·ı̄, the wind element Narteśvarı̄,
and the space element Padmajvālinı̄. Thus there is purification by the deities
in the aggregates, elements, and sense media.
52 ● David Gray
caks·us·or mohavajrah· / śrotayor dves·avajrah· / ghrān·ayor ı̄rs·yāvajrah· / vaktre

rāgavajrah· / sparśe mātsaryavajrah· / sarvāyatanes·v aiśvaryāvajrah· //
pr· thvı̄dhātuh· pātanı̄ / abdhātu māran·ı̄ / tejodhātur ākars·an·ı̄ / vāyudhātur
narteśvarı̄ / ākāśadhātuh· padmajvālinı̄ //
30
evam · skandadhatvāyatanes·u devatāvis·uddhih· //
/mig gnyis la ni gti mug rdo rje’o/ /rna ba gnyis la ni zhes dang rdo rje’o/ /sna la
ni ser sna rdo rje’o/ /kho la ni ‘dod chags rdo rje’o/ /reg la ni phrag dog rdo rje’o/
/skyem ched thams cad la ni dbang phyug rdo rje’o/ /sa’i khams ni ltung bar byed
pa’o/ /chu’i khams ni gsod par byed pa’o/ /me’i khams ni ‘gugs par byed pa’o/ /rlung
gi khams ni padma gar gyi dbang phyug go/ /nam mkha’i khams ni padma’i dra
bcan te/ de dag ni phung po dang khams dang skyem ched rnams kyi lha’i rnam
par dag pa’o/ 31
The text thus expands the purification process; after purifying the con-
stituents of one’s own self, one then purifies one’s sense powers and the
material elements. All aspects of one’s experience, subjective and objective,
are thus purified, reconceptualized as divine. Atiśa continues his exegesis as
follows:
In that way, in the eye, etc., are Mohavajra, Dves·avajra, Mātsyaryavajra,

Rāgavajra, Irs·yāvajra and Aiśvaryavajra, who are white, black, yellow, red,
green and white. Their implements are the same as their lords. Also, in earth,
etc., there is Pātanı̄, Māranı̄, Ākars·an·ı̄, Padmanarteśvarı̄ and Padmajālinı̄,
who are yellow, black, orange, red, and blue, and who abide in their respec-
tive man·d·alas. They each have one face, four arms, and in their upper right
hands [they hold, respectively,] a discus, a vajra, a lotus and a sword. Their
lower hands have curved knives. Their left hands have a skull and a magic
staff. Padmajālinı̄ abides on a solar disk, with three faces and six arms. In her
three right arms [she holds] a skull, magic staff and a noose. In her left are
an iron hook, a Brahma head, and a knife. They thus extract the afflictions
of misknowledge, etc., kill the preoccupations, draw forth natural bliss, and
accomplish the aims of beings with unobjectifying compassion. This is
because they perfect the deity wheel via the awakening to the inseparability
of space and gnosis, wisdom and expedience. One whose aggregates and so
forth are “thus” purified, is naturally purified, birthlessly, as is a magical deity,
because one has purified one’s self-conception.32
For Atiśa, the purification process is an essential step in the tantric

sādhana. Its primary objective is transforming one’s self-conception via the
visualization of the elements of one’s existence as man·d·ala deities. This
serves, as he explains, as a remedy to attachment to self and possessiveness,
two of the great curses of human behavior, and thus a worthy goal in and
of itself. It also renders one competent to engage in the advanced creation
and perfection stage meditations, such as those that follow this brief purifi-
cation contemplation in the Cakrasam · varābhisamayasādhana proper.
Tantric practice involves a complex vision of embodiment, which sees
our body/mind complex as consisting of three levels of increasing subtlety.
The yogic techniques that are concerned with the purification and transfor-
mation of the elements of this complex aim to achieve the ultimate
Buddhist goal, awakening, which is characterized by great bliss. They thus
seek to effect the eradication of the ultimate cause of bondage, the igno-
rance that gives rise to all forms of suffering.
These practices involve the cultivation and mastery of the “subtle”
(sūks·ma) and “extremely subtle” (atisūks·ma) elements of the body-mind
complex. The “extremely subtle body” in Buddhist advanced yoga
systems consists of the “indestructible drop,” which is the basis for the
most subtle consciousness, clear light ( prabhāsvara), which is described as
the gnosis of the nonduality of subject and object. This gnosis is Buddha
nature, the awakened mind, which is obscured due to ignorance.
Its obscuration is effected by the “subtle” and “coarse” (sthūla) bodies,
which develop from the latent dispositions associated with it in conjunc-
tion with the red and white drops inherited from the parents at conception.
They function almost like sheaths, limiting and distorting the gnostic clear
light, by yoking one’s native awareness to the channels of the sense powers,
which inclines one toward the deeply ingrained tendency to view
reality in a dualistic fashion, in terms of the subject/object, self/other
distinctions.
The “subtle body,” often termed in Buddhist literature as the “mind-
made body” (manomayakāya), consists of subtle channels, winds, and drops.
This body is compared to the body made by the mind that one inhabits
when dreaming, as well as in the postmortem “intermediary state” (San.
antarābhava. Tib. bar do). The subtle body is described as possessing super-
natural powers of perception and movement.33 The subtle body’s superior
sense faculties are dulled and limited by the “coarse” physical body, and are
thus only fully realized in dream and postmortem states in which it is sup-
posedly free of the body’s restraints.
The Caryāmelāpakapradı̄pa, a key “explanatory tantra” (vyākhyātantra) in
the Guhyasamāja tradition, describes as follows the generation of subtle
consciousnesses and sense faculties from the underlying “extremely subtle”
nondual gnosis of “clear light,” or “brilliance,” in Christian Wedemeyer’s
translation:
The Lord said, “The consciousness which arises from brilliance—that very
thing is called ‘mind’ (citta) [and] ‘mentation’ (manas). All things have [their]
54 ● David Gray
root, [having] the nature of defilement [or] purification. From that, [evolves]
the imaginary duality, self and other. ‘That consciousness is mounted on air.
From air, fire. From fire, water. From water, earth. From these [evolve] the
five aggregates, six media, [and] five objects.”
(Wedemeyer 2007, 215)
This passage describes the evolution of subtle and coarse mental and
physical states from the underlying extremely subtle clear light gnosis of
nonduality. It describes what we might term a personal cosmogony, the
generation of a psycho-physical universe for and by each individual. The
goal of tantric practice is to reverse this personal cosmogony and return to
the pristine gnosis of nonduality.
The tantric consecrations are, ideally, intended to effect this transforma-
tion. The consecration process is described in exactly this fashion by Atiśa
in his commentary on Lūipa’s sādhana. Here, he describes it as a gnosis that
is generated as part of the second and third “secret” (guhyābhis· eka) and
“gnosis of the consort” (prajñājñānābhis· eka) consecrations. It involves a
symbolic reconception of the initiate, using the very same sexual symbolism
and substances, the red and white “drops” of sexual union, by which the
individual is generated at and following conception.34 This gnosis involves
the realization of the clear light gnosis of nonduality, followed by the gen-
eration of the subtle body, which in the context of advanced yogic practice
is usually referred to as the “magic body” (māyākāya or māyādeha), which is
a purified mind-made body envisioned in a divine form, composed of the
deities of the man·d·ala.
Imagine that the five, the four mothers and Vārāhı̄, [descend] from the sky
holding the flask filled with the ambrosia of gnosis, and that they bestow
consecration with their hands. Then, the four mothers dissolve into Vārāhı̄,
and bestow the secret consecration with the seminal essence (bodhicitta) of
equipoise with Śrı̄Heruka. Then, Heruka takes Vārāhı̄ as his consort
(mudrā), and through being equipoised their winds dissolve. Relying on
that, contemplate the experience of the natural (sahaja). Then you, a child
of the clan (kulaputra), unite with the mudrā as Heruka, and, depending on
that, meditate on clear light, that wisdom which is attained in visionary
experience. This is the very essence of the Transcendence of Wisdom
( prajñāpāramitā) which is the purity of the three consciousnesses,35 and
which is liberation from birth due to the non-existence of body, speech, and
mind. This is the ultimate truth that has the characteristic of always appear-
ing completely luminous like the moon, sun, fire, and jewels. Regard
[everything] with the eye of wisdom and gnosis, the vision that is beyond
the objectification of the other. In this way, do not see anything in and of
itself, but see the clear light. And while there is no sort of causation at work
with this sort of clear light, conventionally, see the thirty seven deities from
mere wind-mind clear and complete like a reflected image, colored like a
rainbow, and distorted like [the image of ] the moon in water. Regard them
as caused, and since they arise, they are conventional.36
The consecrations symbolically reconstitute one as a “child of the clan,”

kulaputra, and so consecrated, one then attempts to generate the realization
of clear light, which is the gnosis of nonduality, and then give rise to a new
“magic body” generated from this, one that is not impure, generated from
false conceptions, but purified, divine in nature by virtue of being com-
posed of the man·d·ala deities.
In the remainder of this chapter, I would like to discuss some of the
implications of this practice. If ordinary experience, as many Buddhists
claimed, is characterized by discrimination (vikalpa) and conceptual elabo-
ration ( prapañca), and thus an experience of plurality, then the gnosis that
is free of these conceptual factors, nirvikalpajñāna, would presumably tend
toward an experience of unity. Another term used by Buddhists for this
immediate knowledge of ultimate reality is “nondual gnosis” (advayajñāna),
a term commonly used in Tantric literature. It is characterized by a knowing
that is free of discrimination, particularly the subject-object dichotomy—
the bifurcation of experience into concepts such as “self ” and “other.” As
Atiśa indicated, the purpose of the “purification” practice is eliminating the
ignorance that gives rise to these conceptions.
This practice, and Tantric practice in general, is rich with symbolism of
“union,” yoga. It equates the five sense powers with five male deities, and
the elements that constitute the sense objects as five female deities. Mistaken
belief in an independently existing self is though to yield suffering, and also
yields deluded perceptions that appear to confirm this mistaken belief. This
meditation practice seeks to undermine this conditioning by imagining self
and other, subject and object, as engaged in a union, one that produces
great bliss. All sensation, symbolized as a sexual union between the respec-
tive deities, is understood as being potentially productive of great bliss.37
This implies that all experience, no matter how attractive or repulsive, pure
or impure, in the conventional sense, should ideally be experienced as an
experiential uniformity (ekarasa) of great bliss.
It thus seeks the cultivation of a particular sort of realization, the realiza-
tion of a gnosis of nonduality (advayajñāna), and the body is the site for
this realization. That is, the fundamental dichotomies of human experience,
such as the dichotomy between self and other, is to be resolved via medita-
tive reimagining of the body and its sensual experience. Mark Taylor
56 ● David Gray
describes the body in a way that seems compatible with the manner in
which it is visualized in Tantric yogic practice, as follows:
[A]s a result of its holey-ness or gappiness, the living body cannot be defined
in terms of the binary opposites that structure conceptual reflection. The
body is neither “subject nor object” . . . rather, the body is the mean between
extremes—the “milieu” in which opposites like interiority and exteriority, as
well as subjectivity and objectivity, intersect. Never reducible to the differ-
ences it simultaneously joins and separates, the body is forever entre-deux.
(Taylor 1987, 69)
In Tantric praxis the body is the site for the blissful integration of the
dualities; an integration effected by the union enacted in its ritual and
meditative practices. While this union seemingly violates some of the basic
assumption of human experience, their view that the subject-object distinc-
tion is false may be worthy of serious consideration.
The body received increased significance in Tantric Buddhism as the
locus of liberation, a liberation that is characterized as blissful. This bliss
arises in the body insofar as the body mediates the subject and object,
integrating the two in a state symbolized as sexual union. In the advanced
tantric practices of the perfecting stage, this integration is achieved through
the unification of energies within the body. Regarding this the Tibetan
scholar Tsong Khapa wrote:
In brief, if you meditate on the perfecting stage, you generate the seminal
essence from the blazing up and flowing down of the white and red seminal
essences. That very thing is that on which the yogı̄ relies, as well as that
which must be served, are the commitments. The scope of their practice is
the enjoyment of the six types of sense objects by the six sense faculties.38
This scope is designated vis-à-vis the sense faculties because ultimately

sense faculty and object are inseparable. These objects, by the process of their
arising as the play of great bliss, are enjoyed and therefore cause the blazing
of great bliss. One attains the state of natural experiential unity in which
object and subject are not perceived as isolated.39 And to achieve this bliss, it
is necessary that one attends to one’s sensual experience, and that one culti-
vates it through engagement with objects of desire. For example, the
Cakrasam · vara Tantra’s thirty-third chapter opens with the following passage:
Furthermore, it is not the case that all are adept in all yogas, capable of feast-
ing to the extent of their ability on fish, flesh and so forth. One should
partake of the five foods and so forth with relish, even when they are not
present. At night one should always undertake extensive feasting. Then the
messenger should be bestowed. Placing one’s head in her lap, she is wor-
shipped in the fashion of the nondual hero.40 Whether or not she is one’s
mother, sister, daughter, kinswoman or wife, should one do thus in accor-
dance with the rite, one will be free of all bonds.41
A similar sentiment is expressed in the ninth chapter of this scripture,

with concludes in the following fashion:
The practitioner of love (kāmācāra)42 is given the fruit of all the powers of
mantra. He who is adept in mantra and mudrā knows that which was extolled
by the Sugata, that enjoying the enjoyable, that is food and drink such as the
caru oblations,43 with the savors and so forth (rasādyāh·), is the means of
achieving all powers.44
This passage is understood to refer to the achievement of great bliss

through union achieved via cultivation of the body. Regarding this Tsong
Khapa wrote that:
One must increase bliss in order to produce the union of bliss and emptiness.
In order to augment the “jasmine-like” [semen] on which one depends since
it is the support of bliss, it is necessary to expand the sense powers together
with their supports by enjoying special desired objects. As it says in the
Dvikalpa, “Since camphor is the cause, eat meat and especially drink
wine.”45
For this tradition, the cultivation of bliss resulting from engagement of

sensual pleasures in the context of disciplined yogic practice is a requisite
for enlightenment. In so doing, the body plays a central role, and should
not thus be neglected or punished by ascetic practices. Rather, it must be
treasured and nourished.
The Tantric attitude regarding the body and the senses, at least when
reconceived as divine via mystical contemplative disciplines, can probably be
summed up by the following question and answer from the Hevajra Tantra,
which asks, “Without bodily form how should there be bliss? Of bliss one
could not speak. The world is pervaded by bliss, which pervades and is itself
pervaded.”46 Bliss so conceived is a characteristic of all life forms, suggesting
a parallelism with the doctrine of Buddha-nature, the innate potential for
awakening present in all beings.47 For the these Tantric traditions, then,
Awakening is bliss, and since the goal is taken as the path, bliss is accom-
plished through bliss by embodied beings, who, by virtue of their bodies,
58 ● David Gray
are capable of experiencing it. For this tradition, this can be achieved via
mystical practices that induce the experience of nonduality, the interpenetra-
tion of self and other, subject and object, linked in a continuous embrace.
Abbreviations
AV Atiśa Dı̄paṅkaraśrı̄jñāna, Abhisamayavibhaṅga
CA Lūipa, Cakrasam · varābhisamaya
CT Cakrasam · vara Tantra
HT Hevajra Tantra
KS Tsong Khapa, bde mchog bsdus pa’i rgyud kyi rgya cher bshad pa sbas
pa’i don kun gsal ba
VT Vajrad·āka Tantra
Notes
1. There has been considerable literature published on these ideas as developed in
Indian Buddhism, particularly the Yogācāra school of Indian Buddhism. See,
particularly, Dunne 2006, Woo 2008, and Makransky 1997.
2. For an excellent history of Indian Tantric Buddhism, see Davidson 2002a.
3. For additional discussions Tantric Buddhists claims that their practices yield
special knowledge of ultimate reality, see Steinkellner 1999 and Gray 2005.
4. For an extended exploration of this issue, see Lopez 2008.
5. For discussions of some of the implications of this tendency, see Schopen 1991
and Cohen 2006.
6. See Steinkellner 1999, Dunne 2006, and Woo 2009.
7. A classic expression of this idea is contained in the first chapter of the
Vimalakı̄rti-nirdeśa-sūtra. See Luk 2002, 13–14.
8. The term bhāvanā is usually translated as meditation, but this term can have a
passive sense that perhaps does not capture the active sense of the word, which
implies a “cultivation” or intentional reconditioning of the mind-body complex.
See Carrithers 1983, 44.
9. It was certainly composed by the late tenth century, when it was translated by
the Kashmiri scholar Śraddhākaravarma and the Tibetan translator Rin-chen
bzang-po. Regarding their collaboration and translation activity, see Tucci 1988.
10. Regarding Atiśa (982–1054 CE) and his life and works, see Chattopadhyaya
(1967) and Eimer (1979).
11. The Hevajra Tantra is translated and edited in Snellgrove 1959. Regarding its
dating, see Davidson 2002b, 65, 77–78n.69.
12. My translation of HT 1.9.1–4:
sarves·ām
· khalu vastūnām
· viśuddhis tathatā smr·tā / paścād ekaikabhedena
devatānān tu kathyate // (1) s·ad·indriyam · pañcaskandham · s·ad·āyatanam
·
pañcabhūtam / svabhāvena viśuddham · <api> ajñānakleśair āvr·tam // (2)

svasam
· vedyātmikā śuddhir nānaśuddhyā vimucyate / vis·ayaśuddhabhāvatvāt
svasam
· vedyam · param · sukham // (3) rūpavis·ayādi ye ‘py anye pratibhāsante hi
yoginah· / sarve te śuddhabhāvā hi yasmād buddhamayam · jagat // (4)
(Snellgrove 1959, 2. 32; cf. 1.78–79)
13. Regarding its dating, see Gray 2007, 11–14.

14. My translation from my forthcoming (2010) edition of the CT13.5:
yad yad indriyamārgatvam

· yāyāttat tat svabhāvatah· / paramāhitayogena
sarvam buddhamayam vahet //.
For an annotated translation, see Gray 2007, 215.

15. Sakurai 1998, 3.
16. CA fol. 186b.
17. AV 186a: /de ltar bsgrubs pas sgrub pa po’i mtshan nyid du gyur pa ni, dang
po snying rje’i stobs las byung / /rdzogs pa’i byang chub sems brtan byas/ /bum
pa gsang sogs dbang bskur ba/ /bla ma’i drin gyis yang dag thob/
18. See VT fol. 4a. This quote corresponds to the first three lines of Chapter 1,
verse 59 in Sugiki’s edition. The full verse reads as follows: “He who applies
himself to the empty state should perform all actions with wisdom. This is the
penance of the great spirits.” yas tu sarvān·i karmān·i prajñayā viniyojayet / sā ca
śūnyapade yojya tapo hy etan mahātmanām // (Sugiki 2002, 92).
19. In my translations of Atiśa’s commentary, I place direct quotes from the CA in
bold font to distinguish root text from commentary.
20. AV 186b: /tshul ji ltar bsgrub pa ni skye ba med par shes pa’i tshul gyi ste/ de
yang rdo rje mkha’ ‘gro las/ /gang yang las rnams thams cad la/ /shes rab dang
ni sbyar byas te/ /de yang stong pa’i gnas su sbyar/ /zhes gsungs pas/ las rnams
ni ‘dir tshangs pa’i gnas bzhi bsgom pa la sogs pa’o/ /shes rab dang sbyar ba ni
shes rab kyi mig gis blta ba’i yul yin pa’i phyir ro/ /de yang stong ba’i gnas te
blo gang gis rnam par skye ba de rten ‘brel yin pa’i phyir stong ba nyid du shes
pa’i tshul gyis bsgom pa’o/ /dang por re zhig ni rnal ‘byor pas bya ba’i rim pa
bstan pa’o/ /rnal ‘byor ba’i dbang phyug ni dbang bzhis snod du byas pa’o/ /
tshangs pa’i gnas bzhi ni byams pa la sogs pa’o/ /bsgom pa ni sems can thams
cad bde ba dang ldan par ‘dod pa dang /gang dag sdug bsngal ba la dmigs nas
de dang bral bar ‘dod pa dang/ he ru ka’i go ‘phang la dgod par ‘dod pa dang /
mi dge ba’i phyogs ma lus pa zad par bya ba’i ‘jig rten dang ‘jig rten las ‘das
pa’i dge ba ma lus pa la dgod par ‘dod ba’o/
21. Regarding the significance of the term viśuddhi, see Sferra 1999.
22. AV 186b: /da ni ‘dir rnal ‘byor bsrung ba ste/ rnal ‘byor ni ‘dir snying rje dang
stong pa gnyis med yin par dgongs so/ /gang las bsrung zhe na/ mi mthun pa’i
phyog ste/ gnod sems dang /rnam par ‘tshe ba dang /theg pa dman pa la ‘dod
pa dang /dge ba’i rtsa ba thams cad zad cing mi ‘phel ba’o/ /ji srid de yod pa
de srid du sngar byas pa ‘jig cing phyis mi skye ba dang /theg pa chen po’i gnas
60 ● David Gray
las nyams pa dang /rnam pa thams cad mkhyen pa nyid du nges par mi ‘byung
ba’i phyir ro/
23. Sakurai 1998, 3.
24. CA 186b.
25. The basis of this practice is the ninth sarvānasthitakarmabhedavidhāna chapter
of the Abhidhānottara. See Kalff 1979, 162–63, 286.
26. AV 186b–187a: /de nas phung po lnga’i nga rgyal ba sked par bya ste zhes
bya/ /pa la/ ‘di ltar bdag tu mngon par zhen pa la brten na sngar ‘dzin pa ‘byung
la/ bdag gir mngon par zhen pa la brten nas nga yir ‘dzin par ‘gyur bas/ gang
gi phyir bdag tu zhen pa med na de’i phyir ngar ‘dzin med la/ bdag gi zhen pa
med na de’i phyir nga yir ‘dzin pa med par ‘gyur ro/ /der zhen pa’i gzhi bsgyur
pa’i phyir gzugs kyi phung po’i rdul phra rab rnams rnam par snang mdzad
kyis sbyangs te/ de yang zhal gcig pa phyag gnyis pa padma dang zla ba dang
seng ge’i gdan la bzhugs pa/ g.yas ‘khor lo g.yon dril bu dkur brten pa’o/ /de
bzhin du phung po bzhi’i tshogs la rdo rje nyi ma/ padma gar dbang /rdo rjer
gyal po/ /rdo rje sems dpa’ ste/ zhal gcig pa/ phyag gnyis pa/ g.yas rnams na
rang rang gi mtshan ma ‘dzin pa/ g.yon thams cad na dril bu dkur brten pa/
rta dang /rma bya dang /nam mkha’ lding dang /glang po dang /padma dang
nyi ma’i gdan la bzhugs pa’o/ /de bzhin gshegs pa thams cad kyi bdag nyid du
gyur pa ni dpal he ru ka’o zhes pa la ro’i gdan la bzhugs pa sku mdog nag po
rdo rje dril bu can no/
27. Atiśa here partially quotes the symbolic syllabic analysis of the name Śrı̄ Heruka
that occurs in the Hevajra Tantra as follows: śrı̄kāram advayam · jñānam· hekāram ·
hetvādiśūnyatā /rukārāparagatavyūham · kakāram
· bakvacitsthitam· // (HT 2.7.27;
edited in Snellgrove 1959, 2.24).
28. Atiśa here quotes VT 1.23: śūnyarūpam · idam· sarvam· śūnyākāren·a caks·us·ā /
paśyatām· nirvikalpānām · satām
· nih·śakatā bhavet // (Sugiki 2002, 89). The text
occurs as follows in the canonical translation: /gzugs ‘di thams cad stong pa
nyid/ /stong pa’i tshul gyis mig gis ni/ /dogs pa med par bsgom pa’i mchog /
rnam par mi rtog pa yis blta/ (fol. 2b).
29. AV 187a–b: /’dir rigs lnga ni phung po lnga la sogs pa bye brag gi dag pa yin
la/ he ru ka ni spyi’i dag pa’o/ /gzugs la sogs pa kun rdzob tu sgyu ma lta bu’i
lhar dag la/ don dam skye med du dag pa dpal he ru ka’o/ /de yang /he ni rgyu
sogs rnam par spangs/ /ru ni tshogs dang bral ba nyid/ /ka ni gang du’ang mi
gnas pa’o/ /zhes gsungs pas/ rgyu la sogs pa ni/ bdag dang gzhan dang gnyis ka
las skye ba dang rgyu med pa las skye ba spangs pa’o/ /tshogs ni gnas pa dang
‘jig pa’i tshogs dang bral ba’o/ /skye ba la sogs pa dang bral ba’i phyir mi gnas
pa’i mya ngan las ‘das pa’o/ /de bzhin du rdo rje mkha’ ‘gro las kyang /gzugs
ni thams cad stong pa nyid/ /stong pa’i tshul gyis mig gis ni/ /dogs pa med par
bsgom pa’i mchog /rnam par mi rtog pa yis blta/ /zhes gsungs pas/ phung po
dang khams dang skye mched rnams kun rdzob tu sgyu ma lta bu’i lhar bsgoms
la don dam par stong pa nyid do/
30. Sakurai 1998, 3.
31. CA 186b.
32. AV 187b: /de bzhin du mig la sogs pa la gti mug rdo rje dang / zhes dang rdo
rje dang / ser sna rdo rje dang / ‘dod chags rdo rje dang / phrag dog rdorje
dang / dbang phyug rdo rje ste/ dkar po dang / nag po dang / ser po dang /
dmar po dang / ljang gu dang / yang dkar po ste/ phyag mtshan ni bdag po
dang mthun no/ /yang sa la sogs pa’i khams la ltung byed ma dang / gsod byed
ma dang / ‘gugs byed ma dang / gar gyi dbang phyug ma dang / padma’i dra
ba can te ser mo dang / nag mo dang / dmar ser dang / dmar mo dang / sngon
mo ste rang rang gi dkyil ‘khor la bzhugs pa/ zhal gcig pa/ phyag bzhi pa/
g.yas kyi dang po rnams na ‘khor lo dang / rdo rje dang / padma dang / ral
gri’o/ /tha ma rnams ni gri gug go/ /g.yon na thod pa dang kha t. vām . ga’o/ /
padma’i dra ba can nyi ma la bzhugs pa zhal gsum pa phyag drug pa ste/ g.yas
pa gsum na thod pa dang / kha t. vām . ga dang / zhags pa’o/ /g.yon na lcag skyu
dang / tshangs pa’i mgo dang / gri gug go/ /de ltar na ma rig pa la sogs pa’i
nyon mongs pa ‘byin par byed pa dang / spros pa gsod pa dang / lhan cig skyes
pa’i bde ba ‘dren pa dang / mi dmigs pa’i snying rjes sems can gyi don byed
pa’o/ /dbyings dang ye shes dang thabs dang shes rab dbyer med pa’i byang
chub kyi sems las lha’i ‘khor lo rdzogs par byed pa’i phyir ro/ /de ltar zhes bya
ba la sogs pa la/ gang dag pa phung po la sogs pa dang / gang gi rang bzhin
du dag pa sgyu ma lta bu’i lha dang / ji ltar dag pa skye med du dag pa’o/ /bdag
gir ‘dzin pa dag par bya ba’i phyir/
33. See Wedemeyer 2007, 65. For a detailed discussion of the Buddhist antarābhava,
see Cuevas 2003, ch. 3.
34. For more detailed descriptions of these consecrations, see Gray 2007,
103–31.
35. These are the three subtle consciousnesses that emerge from (or, in reverse
order, lead to) the clear light consciousness, namely “luminance” (āloka), “radi-
ance” (ābhāsa), and “immanence” (upalabdhaka). Regarding them see Wedemeyer
2007, 95–96.
36. AV 197a–b: yum bzhi phag mo dang lngas nam mkha’ nas ye shes kyi bdud
rtsis gang ba’i bum pa blangs nas/ lag pas dbang bskur par bsam mo/ /de nas
yum bzhi phag mo la thims ste/ dpal he ru ka snyoms par zhugs pa’i byang
chub kyi sems kyis gsang ba’i dbang bskur bar bya’o/ /de nas he ru kas phag
mo mu dra gnang ste snyoms par zhugs pas rlung thim/ de la brten nas lhan
cig skyes pa myong bar bsam mo/ /de nas dpal he ru kas rigs kyi bu khyed kyis
mu dra dang gnyis sprod pa la brten nas myong bas nang ba thob pa’i shes rab
de ‘od gsal bar sgoms shig /de ni rnam par shes pa gsum rnam par dag pa shes
rab kyi pha rol tu phyin pa’i ngo bo nyid lus dang ngag dang sems med pa las
dang / skye ba las grol ba/ zla ba dang / nyi ma dang / me dang / nor bu ltar
shin tu gsal ba rtag tu snang ba’i mtshan nyid can don dam pa’i bden pa de ni
mthong ba gzhan gyi g.yul las ‘das pa ste/ shes rab dang ye shes kyi mig gis ltos
shig /de ltar gang gi yang rang bzhin du ma mthong ba de ‘od gsal ba mthong
ba yin no/ /de ltar ‘od gsal ba de’i don rgyu ‘bras gang yang med mod kyi/ ‘on
kyang kun rdzob tu rlung dang sems tsam las lha sum cu rtsa bdun me long
gi gzugs brnyan ltar gsal la rdzogs pa/ ‘ja’ tshon ltar kha dog dang bcas pa/ chu
62 ● David Gray
zla ltar sgro skur dang bral bar ltos shig /de nir gyu rkyen la ltos nas skyes pas
kun rdzob bo/
37. The symbolization of the contact between the sense power and sense object in
terms of sexual intercourse is not in itself a revolutionary idea peculiar to the
Tantras; the sixth link in the chain of relativity (pratı̄tyasamutpāda) is sparśa or
“contact”, referring to the contact between sense organ and object. It was typi-
cally symbolized by a couple engaged in intercourse, and is depicted thus in the
Ajanta cave paintings, and also in written sources such as the Mūlasarvāstivāda
vinaya. See Schlingloff 1988, 167–80, and also Nihom 1994, 185–86.
38. That is, sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch, and mind.
39. KS 42b: /bsdu na rdzogs rim bsgoms pas byang sems dkar dmar gyi ‘bar ‘dzag las
byang chub kyi sems skye ba’o/ /de nyid rnal ‘byor pas bsten zhing bsnyen par
bya bas dam tshig go /de la spyod pa’i spyod yul ni dbang po drug gis yul drug
la longs spyod pa’o/ /dbang po rnams la yang spyod yul zhes pa ni/ don dam par
yul dbang dbyer med pas nye bar btags pa’o/ /yul rnams bde chen gyi rnam rol
tu shar ba’i tshul gyis longs spyod pas bde chen ‘bar te/ yul yul can gnyis so sor
mi snang bar lhan cig skyes par ro gcig pa’i gnas skabs ‘thob par ‘gyur ro/
40. Tsong Khapa takes this as referring to sexual union, commenting that “placing one’s
head between her thighs means placing the head of the vajra in her lotus.” (KS 175a:
de’i brla gnyis kyi dbus su mgo bo byas pa ni rdo rje’i mgo padma mar bzhag pa’o/)
41. My translation from my forthcoming edition of CT 33.1–4:
atah· param · nāsti sarvam · sarvayoges·u sādhakah· / bhaks·abhojyam ·

matsamām · sādibhih· kartavyo yathāśaktitah· // 1 avidyamāne ‘pi kartavyam ·
pañcakhādyādi yatnatah· / rātrau tu sadā kuryāt bhaks·abhojanam · vistaram //
(2) dūtı̄m
· ca tato dadyāt svotsaṅge śirah· kr·tvā / vı̄rādvayapūjitah·// (3)
mātāyadi vā bhaginı̄ putrı̄bāndhavı̄ bhāryā vai / evam
· vidhividhānena kuryād
bandanamuktikam // (4).
42. The tenth century Indian commentator Bhavyakı̄rti defined this term as follows:
“Regarding kāmācāra, love (kāma) is the enjoyment of all objects of desire; that
is what should be practiced. He who conducts himself immodestly day and night
is a practitioner of love.” My translation from his Śrı̄cakrasamvarapañjikā-
śūramanojñā fol. 18b: ‘dod pa’i spyod pa zhe sby aba la ‘dod pa ni yul thams cad
nye bar spyod pa’o/ /de ni spyad par bya ba ste/ gang nyin mtshan du bag med pa’i
tshul gyis spyod pa de ni ‘dod pa’i spyod pa’o/.
43. In this context the caru oblation is a consecrated food offering consumed in
the context of the Tantric feast ( gan·acakra). Typically they consist of five offer-
ings corresponding to the five sense faculties.
44. My translation from my forthcoming edition of CT 9.7c–8d: kāmācāro
‘yam mantrah· sarvasiddhiphaladāyakah· // sugatavarn· itam· yam· jñātvā
mantramu[drā]sādhakah· /khānapānādi carubhojyabhojanam · rasādyāh· sarvasid-
dhiś ca sādhakah· //
45. KS fol. 94b: /de yang bde chen dang stong pa sbyor ba la bde ba ‘phel dgos
la/ de yang bde ba’i rten kunda lta bu rgyas pa la rag las shing / de rgyas pa la
‘dod yon khyad par can rnams bsten pas dbang po rte nbcas rgyas dgos pa yin
te/ brtag gnyis las/ de la ga pur rgyu yi phyir/ /sha ni bza’ ba nyid du bya/ /
khyad par du yang chang nyid do/ /zhes gsungs pa ltar ro/. Tsong Khapa here
quotes three pādas from the HT 2.11.15: karpūram · pı̄yate tatra madanam · caiva
viśes·atah· / balasya bhaks·an·an tatra kuryāt karpūrahetunā //; /de la ga pur btung
bar bya/ /de la ga pur rgyu yi phyir/ /sha ni bza’ ba nyid du ‘gyur/ /khyad par
du yang chang nyid do/ (Snellgrove 1959: 2.98–99). This is one of the verses
that Snellgrove does not translate.
46. HT 2.2.35: dehābhāve kutah· saukhyam· saukhyam· vaktum na śakyate /
vyāpyavyāphakarūpen·a sukhena vyāpitam · jagat (Snellgrove 1959, 2.48); trans-
lated in Snellgrove 1959, 1.92.
47. This association between bliss and awakening is clearly made in the Hevajra
Tantra as follows: “There is no being that is not enlightened, if it but knows
its own true nature. The denizens of hell, the pretas and the animals, gods and
men and titans, even the worms upon the dung heap, are eternally blissful in
their true nature, and they do not know the transitory bliss of the gods and
titans” (Snellgrove 1959, 1.107).
Bibliography
Atiśa Dı̄paṅkaraśrı̄jñāna. Abhisamayavibhaṅga (AV). To. 1490, D rgyud ’grel vol.
zha, 186a–202b.
Bhavyakı̄rti. Śrı̄cakrasamvarapañjikā-śūramanojñā, To. 1405, D rgyud ’grel vol. ma,
1–41a.
Cakrasam · vara Tantra. Translated in Gray 2007, Sanskrit and Tibetan edited in Gray
2010.
Carrithers, Michael. 1983. The Forest Monks of Sri Lanka. Delhi: Oxford University
Press.
Chattopadhyaya, Alaka. Atı̄śa and Tibet. 1967; reprint, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass,
1981.
Cohen, Richard S. 2006. Beyond Enlightenment: Buddhism, Religion, Modernity.
New York: Routledge.
Cuevas, Bryan J. 2003. The Hidden History of the Tibetan Book of the Dead. Oxford
and New York: Oxford University Press.
Davidson, Ronald M. 2002a. Indian Esoteric Buddhism: A Social History of the
Tantric Movement. New York: Columbia University Press.
———. 2002b. “Reframing Sahaja: Genre, Representation, Ritual and Lineage,”
Journal of Indian Philosophy 30: 45–83.
Dunne, John D. 2006. “Realizing the unreal: Dharmakı̄rti’s theory of yogic percep-
tion.” Journal of Indian Philosophy 34.6: 497–519.
Eimer, Helmut, ed. 1979. Rnam Thar Rgyas Pa: Materialeinzueiner Biographie des
Atiśa (Dı̄pam · karaśrı̄jñāna). Asiatische Forschungen vol. 67. Wiesbaden: Otto
Harrassowitz, 2 vols.
64 ● David Gray
Forman, Robert K. C., ed. 1990. The Problem of Pure Consciousness: Mysticism and
Philosophy. New York: Oxford University Press.
———. 1999. Mysticism, Mind, Consciousness. Albany: SUNY Press.
Gray, David B. 2005. “Disclosing the Empty Secret: Textuality and Embodiment
in the Cakrasamvara Tantra.” Numen 52.4: 417–44.
———. 2007. The Cakrasamvara Tantra: A Study and Annotated Translation.
New York: AIBS/CBS/THUS [Columbia University Press], 2007.
———. 2010. The Cakrasamvara Tantra: Editions of the Sanskrit and Tibetan Texts.
New York: AIBS/CBS/THUS [Columbia University Press], (forthcoming).
Hevajra Tantra. Sanskrit and Tibetan edited in Snellgrove 1959, vol. 2.
Kalff, Martin M. 1979. “Selected Chapters from the Abhidhānottara-Tantra: The
Union of Female and Male Deities.” PhD diss., Columbia University, 2 vols.
Kapstein, Matthew, ed. 2004. The Presence of Light: Divine Radiance and Religious
Experience, ed. Matthew Kapstein. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Katz, Steven T. 1978. “Language, epistemology, and mysticism,” in Mysticism and
Philosophical Analysis, ed. S. T. Katz. New York: Oxford University Press,
pp. 22–74.
Kripal, Jeffrey. 1995. Kālı̄’s Child: The Mystical and the Erotic in the Life and
Teachings of Ramakrishna. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
———. 2001. Roads of Excess, Palaces of Wisdom: Eroticism & Reflexivity in the Study
of Mysticism. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Lopez, Donald S. Jr. 2008. Buddhism and Science: A Guide for the Perplexed.
Chicago: The University of Chicago Press.
Lūipa. Cakrasam · varābhisamaya (CA). To. 1427, D rgyud ’grel vol. wa, 186b–193a.
Sanskrit edited in Sakurai 1998.
Luk, Charles. 2002. Ordinary Enlightenment: A Translation of the Vimalakirti Nirdesa
Sutra. Boston: Shambhala Publications.
Makransky, John. 1997. Buddhahood Embodied: Sources of Controversy in India and
Tibet. Albany: State University of New York Press.
Nihom, Max. 1994. Studies in Indian and Indonesian Tantrism: The Kuñjarakars·adh
armakathana and the Yogatantra. Vienna: Sammlung De Nobili.
Sakurai Munenobu, “Cakrasam · varābhisamaya no genten kenkyū,” Chizan Gakuho
47 (1998): 1–32.
Schopen, Gregory. [1991]. “Archaeology and Protestant Presuppositions in the
Study of Indian Buddhism,” in Bones, Stones, and Buddhist Monks. Honolulu:
University of Hawaii Press, 1997.
Schlingloff, Dieter. 1988. Studies in the Ajanta Paintings: Identifications and
Interpretations. Delhi: Ajanta Publications.
Sharf, Robert H. 2000. “The Rhetoric of Experience and the Study of Religion.”
Journal of Consciousness Studies, 7.11/12, 267–86.
Sferra, Francesco. 1999. “The Concept of Purification in Some Texts of Late Indian
Buddhism.” Journal of Indian Philosophy 27.1-2: 83–103.
Snellgrove, David L. 1959. The Hevajra Tantra: A Critical Study. London: Oxford
University Press, 2 vols.
Steinkellner, Ernst. 1999. “Yogic Cognition, Tantric Goal, and other Methodological
Applications of Dharmakı̄rti’s Kāryānumāna Theorem,” in Dharmakırti’s Thought
and its Impact on Indian and Tibetan Philosophy, ed. Katsura Shoryu. Wien:
Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 349–62.
SUGIKI Tsunehiko. 2002. “A Critical Study of the Vajrad·ākamahātantrarāja (I):
Chapter 1 and 42.” Chisan Gakuhō (智山学報) 51: 81–115.
———. 2003. “A Critical Study of the Vajrad·kamahātantrarāja (II): Sacred Districts
and Practices Concerned.” Chisan Gakuhō (智山学報) 52: 53–106.
Taylor, Mark. C. 1987. Altarity. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. 1987.
Tsong Khapa. bde mchog bsdus pa’i rgyud kyir gya cher bshad pa sbas pa’i don kun
gsal ba. In the rJe yab sras gsung ‘bum. Delhi: Ngawang Gelek Demo, 1980,
vol. nya, 1–251b.
Tucci, Giuseppe. 1988. Rin-chen-bzaṅ-po and the Renaissance of Buddhism in Tibet
Around the Millenium. Nancy Kipp Smith, trans. New Delhi: Aditya Prakashan.
Vajrad āka
· Tantra. To.370, D rgyud-’bum vol. kha, 1b–125a. Sanskrit partially
edited in Sugiki 2002 and 2003.
Wedemeyer, Christian K. 2007. Āryadeva’s Lamp that Integrates the Practices,
Caryāmelāpakapradı̄pa, The Gradual Path of Vajrayāna Buddhism According to
the Esoteric Community Noble Tradition. New York: AIBS/CBS/THUS
[Columbia University Press], 2007.
Woo, Jeson. 2009. “Gradual and Sudden Enlightenment: The Attainment of
Yogipratyaks·a in the Later Indian Yogācāra School.” Journal of Indian Philosophy
37.2: 179–88.
CHAPTER 4
The Daoist Mystical Body

Louis Komjathy 康思奇
S
pecific Daoist adherents and communities emphasize the importance
of corporeality and physicality, specifically one’s body as the Dao as
sacred locale. But the “Daoist body,” as those who are familiar with
the work of such influential scholars as Kristofer Schipper, Livia Kohn, and
Catherine Despeux know, is multidimensional. It is not simply the ana-
tomical and physiological given of contemporary biomedicine. In the case
of certain Daoist movements, one’s body is understood to have subtle, eso-
teric dimensions that become activated through Daoist religious praxis.
Here the body itself becomes the means through which the Dao manifests
its own self-unfolding, and the means by which the Daoist adept experi-
ences the Dao as numinous presences. This is what I mean by the “Daoist
mystical body.”
Daoist views of the human body that form the basis of the present dis-
cussion thus problematize ideas of “the body” as a static, immutable given,
pointing rather to the way in which different bodies/selves are encountered
and enacted in different sociohistorical and religio-cultural contexts. It is
noteworthy that specific Daoist practices simultaneously recognize the
importance of “material” bodily constituents (organs, fluids, etc.) and
“energetic” or “divine” dimensions. The importance of the body in certain
forms of Daoist religious praxis may thus represent a previously unacknowl-
edged form of mysticism, namely, “somatic mysticism” (see Komjathy
2007). Here the “sacred” is experienced in/as/through one’s own body,
although what that body is deserves careful study.
Before discussing specific aspects of the Daoist mystical body, a few com-
ments are in order regarding Daoist “theology” and comparative categories.
First, I use “theology” as a critical comparative category, specifically in the more

68 ● Louis Komjathy 康思奇
inclusive sense of “discourse on the sacred.” While “dao-ology” may be a

tempting alternative in the case of Daoism, limiting “theology” to only those
discourse communities that consider theos inhibits comparative analysis, privi-
leges certain accounts of sacrality, and marginalizes radically alternative visions.
In short, it is protective in intent. When considering Daoist perspectives on
the subtle dimensions of the cosmos, there is often confusion regarding what
appears to be a classical Daoist monistic view and a later Daoist theistic view.
In addition to neglecting historical context and textual evidence, such bifurca-
tion fails to understand classical Daoist cosmogony and cosmology, which
emphasizes emanation and immanence (see below).1 Here the Dao, as primor-
dial undifferentiation becoming transformative process, led to the manifest
cosmos, which includes the possibility of multiple sacred realms and gods.
From a Daoist perspective, there is no necessary distinction between “Dao,”
“nature,” “gods,” and “humans”; they form an interrelated spectrum of differ-
entiation. From this perspective, deities are simply differently differentiated
aspects of the Dao, and worshipping deities is not, in and of itself, different
than having reverence for the unnamable mystery that is the Dao, which is
impersonal and incomprehensible. Second, as herein employed, “mysticism”
involves an experience of, encounter with, or consciousness of that which a
given individual or community identifies as sacred or ultimate. From the
perspective of mystics, mystical experience involves a direct experience of a
trans-human reality, an interaction between an individual and/or communal
subject and a sacred dimension. This includes the possibility that conventional
subject-object dichotomies disappear during certain mystical experiences. There
is thus no single, perennial “mystical experience” or a particular mystical experi-
ence that can justifiably be labeled “the mystical experience”; “mystical experience”
encompasses a wide variety of experiences identified as “mystical,” experiences
that are, at least partially, historically and culturally determined. In contrast to
some recent proposals, I would not limit the category “mystical experience” to
only trophotropic or hyperquiescent states (e.g., PCEs [Hindu Vedanta], the
so-called void- or zero-experience, and so forth), while excluding ergotropic or
hyperaroused states (e.g., Jewish Merkabah, Hildegard of Bingen’s visions of
Jesus, and so forth).2
With respect to the Daoist mystical body, in the present discussion I am
most interested in the ways in which specific adherents and communities
interact with corporeal space as the locus of sacrality. This involves attentive-
ness to the complex relationship among views of self, religious praxis, and
religious experience. I am less concerned with a hyper-historical analysis of
presumably distinct cultural moments. That is, I am looking at the panorama
rather than the wetland. Here early and late-medieval Daoist sources are the
focus, though I will occasionally make some additional connections.
The Daoist Mystical Body ● 69
Locating the Body and the Senses in Daoism3

Considering human embodiment and personhood, “the body” is not, as
counterintuitive as it may be, simply an invariable, cross-cultural entity.
Although some take the body as a biological given, or assume that this self
sitting here is the same kind of self that undertook ascetic discipline and
alchemical transformation in twelfth-century China, careful analysis reveals
something else. Research on the social nature of the body4 and the radical
diversity of conceptions of self/body5 suggests that in different cultures and
in different religious traditions we are dealing with different bodies and
different selves.
The kind of body to which we have been accustomed in scholarly and

popular thought alike is typically assumed to be a fixed, material entity sub-
ject to the empirical rules of biological science, existing prior to the mutabil-
ity and flux of cultural change and diversity and characterized by
unchangeable inner necessities. The new body that has begun to be identified
can no longer be considered as a brute fact of nature. In the wake of Foucault
(e.g. Foucault 1979, 1980), a chorus of critical statements has arisen to the
effect that the body is “an entirely problematic notion” (Vernant 1989: 20),
that “the body has a history” in that it behaves in new ways at particular
historical moments (Bynum 1989: 171), and that the body should be under-
stood not as a constant amidst flux but an epitome of that flux
(A. Frank 1991: 40).6
The human body is simultaneously cultural construct, historical artifact,

experiencing agent, and for some, soteriological locus. In addition, more
reflection and reservation concerning reference to “the body” should prob-
ably be exercised. Is Fragments for a History of the Human Body (Feher
et al. 1989) really a history of “the human body”? Or is “the body” simply
a reified entity like “the self ”? It seems that such research is the history of
specific “bodies” (persons) at specific times. Perhaps there is only myself as
experiencing agent and psychosomatic process, and you as experiencing agent
and psychosomatic process.7 This is to deny neither social and interpersonal
dimensions of personhood nor the horror and violence inflicted on different
individuals (specific “bodies”) throughout history.8
To say that there are different bodies in different cultural and religious
contexts is not to deny certain morphological features or anatomical giv-
ens;9 it is, rather, to suggest that departures are as important as convergen-
ces. While it may be unproblematic, for instance, to note that the human
body is composed of organs, skin, sinews, muscles, bones, blood, and so
forth,10 the functions and associations of “anatomical and physiological
givens” as well as the metaphors through which the body and its constituents
are understood often differ.11 So when one sees the body as a “machine,”
one may come to believe that “parts” can be removed and (sometimes)
replaced without any lasting disruption. However, if one sees the body as a
“country” or “universe,” one may recognize the interrelationship and inter-
dependence among its “inhabitants.” It is also possible that philosophical
reflection on and body-based practices employing alternative body-self
models may reveal and/or actualize other aspects of human being.12
The study of self in Asian contexts13 begs the question of the relation
between “self,” “body,” “consciousness,” and “mind.” There can be little
doubt that the idea of a disembodied, metaphysical mind, so often assumed
in philosophical contexts indebted to Rene Descartes’ (1596–1650) notion
of res cogitans (ego-self as “thinking thing”),14 is absent from classical
Chinese and Daoist views of self. However, is “self ” synonymous with body
in Chinese cultural and religious traditions? Expressed differently, when the
body dies, does personal identity cease? In a Chinese context, this issue
relates to further questions concerning death, dying as well as the afterlife,
and immortality, in particular.
The relationship between Chinese views of self and body is discussed in
Roger T. Ames’ contribution to Self as Body in Asian Theory and Practice.15
Ames argues that in classical Chinese philosophy “person” (“self ”) is prop-
erly regarded as a “psychosomatic process.” According to Ames, Chinese
views of self, generally speaking, emphasize “polarism” over “dualism.” “By
‘polarism,’ I am referring to a symbiosis: the unity of two organismic pro-
cesses which require each other as a necessary condition for being what they
are,”16 and, “When we combine the process ontology of the early Chinese
tradition with its polar conception of the psychical [heart-mind/spirit] and
physical [body], it would appear that ‘person’ was seen holistically as a psy-
chosomatic process.”17 Ames in turn suggests that there are three senses of
“body” in classical Chinese philosophy, as expressed in three technical
Chinese terms. First, shen 身, possibly a pictograph of the human physique,
seems to be used most frequently to refer to one’s entire psychosomatic
process. In passages where shen as “self ” refers to the physical body, it is
one’s “lived body” seen from within rather than “body as corpse” seen from
without.18 The second character relating to Chinese notions of “body” is
xing 形, which is the “form” or “shape,” the three-dimensional disposition
or configuration of the human process. Xing-form has a morphological
rather than genetic or schematic nuance.19 Finally, a third character desig-
nating “body” is ti 體, which relates to “physical structure” said to be a
“combination of twelve groups” or parts. Ti-physical structure relates to the
scalp, face, chin, shoulders, spine, abdomen, upper arms, lower arms, hands,
thighs, legs, and feet.20 In addition to clarifying Chinese conceptions of

body-self, Ames’ study is helpful for revealing that concern over “self ” is
not foreign to Chinese culture, contra to facile and conventional feminist
or postmodern critiques.21
Moving on to the Daoist tradition, Livia Kohn has provided one of the
most systematic analyses of Daoist views of the body-self.22 In her article
“Taoist Visions of the Body” (1991), Kohn identifies three major Daoist
views of the body, corresponding to three distinct methods and “intellectual”
traditions within Daoism: (1) the body as an administrative system, rooted
in the worldview of the Daode jing (Scripture on the Dao and Inner Power),
and realized in quietistic and medically oriented meditation; (2) the body as
the residence of spirits or gods, associated with Shangqing (Highest Clarity)
visualization practices; and (3) the body as immortal universe, a vision devel-
oped under the influence of Buddhist insight meditation (Chn.: guan; Skt.:
vipas'yanā).23 Developing Kohn, and for the purposes of the present chapter
and future research, I would identify seven primary Daoist views of the
body, some of which often overlap: (1) Naturalistic; (2) Cosmological;
(3) Bureaucratic; (4) Theological; (5) Ascetic (including demonological);
(6) Alchemical; and (7) Mystical.
Naturalistic views, most clearly expressed in classical Daoist texts such
as the Zhuangzi (Book of Master Zhuang), emphasize the body as part of
Nature; here the fate of the body-self is to decompose, and death is dissolu-
tion into the cosmos.24 Daoist cosmological views often overlap with natu-
ralistic ones, as “nature” from a Daoist perspective is seen, first and
foremost, as a cosmological process and as a manifestation of the Dao. On
the most basic level, Daoist cosmological views of the body map psychoso-
matic experience in terms of Chinese correlative cosmology, which centers
on yin-yang and the Five Phases (wuxing). This is the foundational Daoist
worldview, and it parallels classical Chinese medicine as expressed in the
Huangdi neijing (Yellow Thearch’s Inner Classics) textual corpus.25 From
this perspective, living and dying are part of the same cosmological process.
However, Daoist cosmological views of the body, specifically those expressed
in early Daoist movements such as Taiping (Great Peace) and Tianshi
(Celestial Masters), include microcosmic/macrocosmic correspondences.26
From this perspective, the body is a miniature cosmos, and the inner uni-
verse directly corresponds to the outer universe. For example, the left eye
is the sun and the right eye is the moon, while the spine and head are the
Big Dipper. Here death is frequently seen as mystical union or cosmological
reintegration; death, again, is not fundamentally different from life.
Bureaucratic views, the third major position, claim that the body functions
like a sociopolitical system. This view also parallels classical Chinese
medicine and became central to Daoism beginning at least as early as the

Later Han dynasty (25–220 CE). Here, as Kohn points out,27 the body is
an administrative system that resembles the Chinese imperial bureaucracy.
For example, the heart is the ruler/king, while the other yin-organs (liver,
spleen, lungs, and kidneys) are high officials. The ideal is harmony and
benefit throughout the country that is the body. Death might be seen as
geopolitical restructuring and/or as reappointment of ministers and reloca-
tion of inhabitants to other lands.
In terms of theological views, which are most clearly first expressed in
early medieval Daoist movements such as Shangqing (Highest Clarity) and
discussed below, the body consists of sacred realms inhabited by a diverse
pantheon. The most distinctive dimension of theological views of the body
involves the identification of body-gods. The body is populated by sacred
presences. For example, each of the five yin-organs contains a specific spirit,
based on correlative cosmological associations. We also find claims concern-
ing gods who inhabit the brain and hair. Here religious practice, especially
visualization and rarification, seems to contain the promise of some form
of postmortem existence. The fifth major view, the ascetic view, emerged in
early medieval Daoism as well, though more within the framework of
external alchemy.28 In contrast to mainstream Daoist tendencies, this per-
spective sees the mundane body in a negative light, as a source of dissipation
and death. The ascetic view includes a demonological and exorcistic ele-
ment. The body contains parasites, both spiritual and material in nature,
which attempt to bring about premature death. The most famous of these
are the Three Death-bringers (sanshi), Seven Po (qipo), and Nine Worms
(jiuchong). From an ascetic perspective, the adept must expel these malevo-
lent entities from the body in order to increase longevity and potentially
attain immortality. As a development of cosmological, theological, and, to
a lesser extent, ascetic views, the alchemical standpoint identifies the body
as an alchemical crucible, a vessel in which radical transformation and self-
divinization occurs. As discussed below, I am specifically thinking of late-
medieval forms of Daoist internal alchemy. Through complex physiological,
energetic, and often stage-based training, one refines the base aspects of self
into their celestial counterparts. One endeavors to create a transcendent
spirit that can survive death. Alchemical views tend to utilize complex maps
of corporeal constituents and physiological patterns. Specifically, the body
consists of a series of energetic networks, referred to as “meridians,”
“vessels,” or “channels” (jing/luo/mai), through which qi, or subtle breath,
flows. One endeavors to activate a subtle body, a divine or spiritual body
beyond the mundane body of flesh, bones, materiality, and emotionality.
Finally, the mystical body, the central subject of the present chapter,
includes dimensions from theological and alchemical views.29 Here the

body consists of hidden or invisible dimensions that can be discovered
and/or actualized. It is “mystical” for a number of reasons. First, the body
is seen as a manifestation of the Dao and a locale in which the Dao as
numinous presence becomes directly experienced. Second, there are “divine”
and nonspatial dimensions of corporeal embodiment. Daoist adepts utiliz-
ing this view and engaging in the corresponding practices might disappear
into openings into infinitude in the body. However, the mystical view
would claim that the experience of corporeality and subtle physiology is
itself mystical, a direct encounter with the Dao. Coupled with a qi-based
worldview, this view problematizes the modern Western mind-body /
spiritual-material distinction. Qi bridges the gap between apparently “mate-
rial” and apparently “immaterial” aspects of existence, and “materiality” or
“corporeality” is itself understood as “divine” or “sacred.”
With respect to the emphasis of the present volume, namely, “mystical
sensuality” and the place of the senses in religious traditions and mystical
experience, Daoist views are complex and diverse.30 Daoists frequently empha-
size the importance of “matching” (he), “harmonization” (he), “attunement”
(tiaoyin), and “resonance” (ganying). As these terms indicate, there is a strong
emphasis on listening and musicality, on sound and tone. Here I would draw
attention to another centrally important Daoist principle, namely, observation
(guan). The character guan 觀 consists of “egret” (guan 雚) and “to perceive”
(jian 見). Guan is the quality of an egret observing barely visible or unseen
presences. On some level, egrets are a model for observation. Such observation
is rooted in stillness, attentiveness, and presence. Interestingly, the character
guan has been used to designate both Daoist monasteries and a specific type
of Daoist meditation called “inner observation.”
One way of understanding religions involves giving attention to the way
in which the senses are conceptualized and which sense receives primacy. In
the case of Daoism, there is a tendency to privilege listening. This parallels
the foundational Daoist emphasis on receptivity, on “guarding the feminine”
(shouci).31 Thus we find the classical Daoist ideal of the sage (shengren),
a concept also used in classical Confucianism with different characterizations.
The character sheng 聖 (“sacred”) contains the radicals for “ear” (er 耳) and
“mouth” (kou 口). The sage is the “receptive one,” the one who listens to
the sonorous patterns of the cosmos and its varied subtle layers. This capac-
ity for listening also leads to an additional ability: one’s speaking expresses
such a sacred connection, and such expression then resonates with others.
The sage is one who is listened to by others.
At the same time, Daoists have had reservations about the dissipation
that occurs through sensory engagement. This view is already present in
classical Daoism (from the fourth to the second century BCE), in the inner
cultivation lineages of the Warring States (480–222 BCE) and Early
Han (206 BCE–9 CE).32 For example, according to Chapter 12 of the
Zhuangzi,
There are five conditions under which innate nature is lost. First, the five
colors confuse the eyes and cause vision to be unclear. Second, the five sounds
confuse the ears and cause hearing to be unclear. Third, the five smells stimu-
late the nose and produce weariness and congestion in the forehead. Fourth,
the five flavors dull the mouth and cause taste to be impaired and lifeless. Fifth,
likes and dislikes unsettle the heart-mind and cause the innate nature to
become unstable and disturbed. These five are all a danger to life.33
The senses, in turn, receive a variety of technical designations in the

Daoist tradition. These include the Seven Apertures (qiqiao), namely, the
eyes (2), ears (2), nose (2), and mouth (1); and the Six Thieves (liuzei),
namely, the eyes (seeing), ears (listening), nose (smelling), mouth (tasting),
body (feeling), and mind (thinking). Such views inform the standard Daoist
psychology, which emphasizes four primary dimensions of experience: exter-
nal things, sense perception, intellectual and emotional activity, and con-
sciousness or spirit. Such a psychology has a direct application in terms of
Daoist contemplative practice and soteriology, which involves a movement
inward. First, one withdraws one’s concern from phenomenal appearances
and disengages sensory perception. Then one stills and empties the heart-
mind, the seat of emotional and intellectual activity from a traditional
Chinese perspective. One gradually enters a state of clarity and stillness.
This is returning to innate nature, the ground of one’s being and innate
connection with the Dao.
Thus, generally speaking, the senses, at least in their habituated state of
hyper-engagement, tend to be deemphasized in Daoism. However, like
emotionality and rationality, the senses have an appropriate application and
expression in human life. In terms of mystical experience, one may make a
distinction between a mundane expression and a soteriological application
of the senses. While the senses may be a source of dissipation and disori-
entation, they also may be utilized in religious praxis. In that context, they
take on a “spiritual” or “mystical quality”; they become a means to orient
oneself toward and experience the sacred. As will become clear in the pages
that follow, the senses, especially vision and aurality, have a place in Daoist
mystical experience and mystical experiencing. With respect to vision,
Shangqing (Highest Clarity) emphasizes both visualization and the impor-
tance of light.34 There is a parallel use in Daoist introspection, often referred
to as “inner vision” (neishi ).35 This practice involves turning the light of the
eyes, the corporeal sun and moon, inward. The combined “spirit radiance”
(shenguang) of the eyes then illuminates the body as inner landscape. In
terms of aurality, internal alchemy emphasizes the activation of the subtle
body. Here one listens to a deeper layer of one’s being, specifically the sub-
tle movement of qi throughout the organ-meridian system and throughout
the world and cosmos. This is the “Daoist mystical body” that forms the
centerpiece of the present chapter.
There is thus a more esoteric and mystical Daoist view that centers on
subtle listening, a listening that does not involve actual aurality. This subtle
and deep listening, sometimes referred to with technical terms like “mysteri-
ous perception” (xuanlan), involves qi as the deeper layer of one’s being and
of all existence. It is a listening to the subtle dimensions of life, being atten-
tive to the energetic qualities of each being and situation. In terms of the
later Daoist tradition, it involves the activation of the subtle body, and liv-
ing through spirit. Interestingly, this mystical being and energetic attentive-
ness is described as “listening to the inaudible,” “teaching without words,”
and “listening to the stringless music.” There is an invisible composition
and sonata occurring each moment, and one can train oneself to hear it.
One can thus exist in greater degrees of dissonance or consonance, of distor-
tion or harmonization. Such a condition may occur on the level of innate
nature, interpersonal relationships, community, society, world, and cosmos.
From a Daoist perspective, this is ultimately about the degree to which one
is in attunement with the Dao as sacred. It is about one’s being and pres-
ence, about one’s connection with the Dao and the Daoist tradition. For
Daoists, such a connection and commitment may allow one to transmit the
Dao (chuandao): “As for one who can awaken to this [clarity and stillness],
that one is able to transmit the sacred Dao.”36
Before moving on to specific examples of Daoist somatic mysticism, of
experiences of the Daoist mystical body, I would like to point out one addi-
tional characteristic of the Daoist tradition that may be unfamiliar to readers
of the present book. This is the Daoist practice of mapping the Daoist body
through diagrams and illustrations. Specifically, the Daoist religious tradition
includes a variety of fascinating body maps. As contained in the Ming-
dynasty Daoist Canon, Daoists began documenting the above-mentioned
views of the body through diagrams and illustrations. Tentatively speaking,
the earliest of these “Daoist body maps” were composed in the early medieval
period (the third to seventh CE), in the context of Highest Clarity commu-
nities. However, Daoists continued to create and commission such corporeal
diagrams throughout Chinese history, and many of the illustrations were
used as prompts or visual aides for Daoist meditation practice.37
Daoist Somatic Theology and Mystical Experience

As a comparative category, “theology” refers to discourse on or theories
about the sacred, with “sacred” being another comparative term referring to
that which a given individual or community identifies as ultimately real. To
speak of “the sacred” may also be misleading because individuals may
assume a singular or unitary reality; however, careful study reveals pluralistic
conceptions of the sacred. From the perspective of religious adherents, the
“sacred” is that which determines the ultimate meaning and purpose of
human existence.
Although there is a tendency to conflate “theology” with Christian theol-
ogy38 and to privilege theistic views, there are, in fact, many forms of theo-
logical discourse and many types of theology. Theological discourse may be
descriptive, historical, normative, and/or comparative. Bracketing truth-
claims, one may simply provide a phenomenological account: “From the
perspective of Hindu renunciants, Brahman refers to a unitary, impersonal,
transcendent, and incomprehensible reality.” In terms of historical theology,
one may document the emergence of specific theological views in specific
contexts: “Before contact with Catholic missionaries, the Kumeyaay Indians
of San Diego practiced a form of animism that recognized the landscape as
alive with spiritual presences.” Finally, and most often, theology is a form of
normative discourse, in which one claims knowledge concerning what is
ultimately real: “There is no god but Allah.” Normative theological discourse
most often privileges the speaker’s own inherited tradition and/or ingrained
opinions; alternatively, it may engage other, “non-such-and-such” views to
clarify the speaker’s own theological commitments. However, from a com-
parative theological perspective, there are mutually exclusive, equally con-
vincing accounts of “reality.” Comparative theology may thus involve
descriptive, historical, and/or normative approaches. If practicing normative,
comparative theology, one must begin with openness to the views and claims
of multiple theological traditions. The question inevitably emerges concern-
ing which one is most accurate or viable. One possible response would
appeal to experience, but mystical experiences provide evidential support and
experiential confirmation of alternative theologies (see below).
Considering types of theology, we may identify at least the following:
animistic, atheistic, monistic, monotheistic, panenhenic, pantheistic,
panentheistic, polytheistic, and somatic. In the present chapter, these are
used as comparative categories, with some deviation from a strict definition
(e.g., theism). Animistic theology suggests that nature is populated by gods,
spirits, or spiritual forces; the landscape is alive with unseen presences that
have the potential to influence human life, both positively and negatively.
Examples include Japanese Shinto and many Native American religions.

Atheistic theology, which is technically a-theological, is a form of secular
materialism and reductionism; atheism denies the existence of God. It is
expressed from various social locations, including economics, politics, psy-
chology, sociology, and so forth. Influential “atheistic theologians” include
Emile Durkheim (1858–1917; the sacred as idealization of society, with
social functions), Sigmund Freud (1856–1939; the sacred as psychological
projection and wish-fulfillment, with pathological dimensions), Karl Marx
(1818–1883; the sacred as opiate for socioeconomic oppression), and so
forth. More often than not, atheism assumes a normative Abrahamic theol-
ogy and expresses a radical anti-monotheistic view of “reality.” Monistic
theology suggests that the sacred is unitary in nature, but that “it” is imper-
sonal, transcendent, and ultimately incomprehensible. Certain forms of
Hinduism (e.g., Advaita Vedanta) and classical Daoism would be examples.
Monotheistic theology argues that there is a single, personal, and transcen-
dent god (“God”); this god is most often taken to have awareness, intention,
agency, and personal concern for human beings. Monotheism is associated
with Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, though careful reflection might prob-
lematize such a reading, including the question of complementarity. Are
polytheistic and perhaps alternative monotheistic (contradictory conceptions
of “God”) views expressed in the Hebrew Bible? Is the Catholic conception
of the Trinity monotheistic? Panenhenic theology identifies Nature, seen in
a quasi-monistic but immanent way, as the sacred; here Nature is an imper-
sonal, unitary reality that includes apparent diversity (species and individual
ecosystems). At times, Japanese Shinto, certain forms of Japanese Zen (e.g.,
Dogen’s writings), and more modern movements (e.g., American
Transcendentalism) seem to advocate panenhenic views. Pantheism considers
the sacred to be within the world (world-affirming), while panentheism
considers the sacred to be simultaneously within and beyond the world (both
world-affirming and world-negating). Panentheism may be seen as an
attempt to address a fundamental theological problem in pantheism: If the
sacred is within all things, is its nature altered with loss and destruction?
Polytheistic theologies identify “reality” as consisting of multiple gods in
multiple sacred realms; there are alternative pantheons and maps of the cos-
mos. More often than not, these are not the spirits of animism (gods living
in landscape), but more transcendent and cosmic deities. Examples of poly-
theistic theologies include mainstream Hinduism and organized Daoism.
Finally, as explored in the present chapter, we may identify a new form of
theology and mystical experience: somatic theology and mysticism. These
terms do not simply refer to embodied experience; rather, I suggest that
somatic theology and mystical experience locates the sacred in and as the
body. The sacred may be experienced in/as/through one’s own anatomy and
physiology, though the Daoist corporeal landscape includes hidden water-
courses and nonspatial caverns.
Before moving on to the specific Daoist content of this chapter, two
additional points should be made. First, some theological positions are
complementary (e.g., panenhenism and somaticism), while others are con-
tradictory or oppositional (e.g., atheism and monotheism). Second, outside
of tradition-specific theologies, the dominant assumed theology is monistic,
especially in the form of Perennial Philosophy or New Age spirituality. This
is often the case in academic discourse about religion as well as in scientific
discourse concerning the universe. That is, reality is assumed to be singular,
rather than pluralistic, in nature.
For Daoists throughout Chinese history, the Dao, translatable as “the
Way” and “a way,” has been identified as the sacred and ultimate concern. As
expressed in classical Daoism, in the inner cultivation lineages of the Warring
States period (480–222 BCE), and from a foundational Daoist theological
perspective, the Dao has four primary characteristics: (1) Source; (2) Unnamable
mystery; (3) All-pervading sacred presence (qi); and (4) Cosmological process
that is the universe (“Nature”).39 The primary Daoist theology is, in turn,
monistic, panentheistic, and panenhenic; the secondary Daoist theology is
animistic and polytheistic. Conventionally speaking, earlier inquires into
Daoism, influenced by Christian views, have often unknowingly privileged
the monistic side, while denigrating the polytheistic side.40 This has been
expressed in the Western construction and historical fiction of so-called philo-
sophical Daoism and religious Daoism (sometimes appearing as “magical” or
“folk Daoism”), the use of which should be taken ipso facto as evidence of
inaccuracy and misunderstanding.41 In fact, as discussed briefly below, classi-
cal Daoist monistic theological views entail and frequently identify polythe-
istic elements. In any case, knowledge of foundational Daoist theological
views is essential for our inquiry into the Daoist mystical body and somatic
mystical experience.
According to the fourth-century BCE Daode jing (Scripture on the Dao
and Inner Power),42
There was something formed in chaos—43

It existed before the heavens and earth.
Silent and formless,
It remained secluded and unchanging.
Circulating and moving without diminishment,
It then became the mother of the world.
We do not know its name.
Forced to name it, we call it “Dao.”

Forced to name it further, we call it “great.”44
(Daode jing, ch. 25)
And
The Dao produced the One;45

The One produced the two;
The two produced the three;
The three produced the myriad things.
The myriad beings carry yin and embrace yang.
It is empty qi (chongqi) that harmonizes these.
(Ibid., chap 42; see also Zhuangzi, ch. 2)
For present purposes, these lines provide evidence that foundational

Daoist cosmogonic, cosmological and theological views are based on ema-
nation and immanence. They add support for my claim that “Daoist theol-
ogy” is primarily monistic, panentheistic, and panenhenic. A world-affirming
religious commitment is expressed. This means that the phenomenal
world, including its various inhabitants, are emanations or manifestations
of the Dao. Less problematic for humanistically inclined moderns would
be the belief that human beings have the capacity to reunite with the Dao.
However, and this must be emphasized, classical and foundational Daoist
views also encompass polytheistic theology. From a Daoist perspective, the
invisible world is as diverse and complex as the visible one. There are
multiple sacred realms inhabited by multiple gods. Although this type of
Daoist theology is most prominent and well documented in the later
organized religious tradition, there is also evidence from the Warring States
period.46
As though in clarification, Chapter 22 of the Outer Chapters (chs. 8–22)
of the Zhuangzi (Book of Master Zhuang), which is associated with the
Zhuangist school of classical Daoism,47 explains,
Master Dongguo asked Zhuangzi, “Where does one find the Dao?”
Zhuangzi said, “There’s no place it doesn’t exist.”
“Come on,” said Master Dongguo, “Be more specific!”
“It’s in these ants.”
“As low as that?”
“It’s in the grasses.”
“But that’s even lower.”
“It’s in those tiles and shards.”
“How can it be that low?”

“It’s in piss and shit!”
While this passage might be read as hyperbole, as an attempt of Zhuang

Zhou to subvert his fellow adept’s attachment to conventional ideas about
a hierarchy of being, I would suggest that it is consistent with classical and
foundational Daoist views based on emanation and immanence. Viewed
from “the perspective” of the Dao, everything contains and represents some
aspect of its unfolding and manifestation. This, of course, must be qualified
to some extent, as Daoists tend to utilize a qi-based worldview, wherein
different things have different energetic qualities (the chongqi mentioned
above). Some such qualities are enlivening and beneficial, while others are
not. Although Daoists tend to identify degrees of human connection and
actualization, there is, nonetheless, a clear vision of the cosmos and world
as expressions of the Dao. This includes the human body in its myriad lay-
ers and transformations.
Early Medieval Daoist Somatic Mysticism

The early Daoist community that most thoroughly explored and mapped
the Daoist mystical body was Shangqing (Highest Clarity). These Daoist
somatic mystical experiences, which again refer to experiences of the Dao
in/as/through one’s own body, occurred during the early medieval period,
specifically during the so-called Period of Disunion (220–581). They are
described in the texts of the early Highest Clarity movement. In terms
of “mystical sensuality,” Highest Clarity emphasizes the soteriological
application of vision, with a strong emphasis on visualization and “light
mysticism.”
Originating in a southern Chinese aristocratic context in what is present-
day Jiangsu province, Highest Clarity began with a series of revelations. In
the 360s, members of the aristocratic Xu family, Xu Mai (b. 301), Xu Mi
(303–373), and his son Xu Hui (341–ca. 370) hired the spirit medium
Yang Xi (330–386) to establish contact with Xu Mi’s deceased wife Tao
Kedou. Through a series of revelations from underworld rulers, divine offi-
cers, denizens of Huayang dong (Grotto of Brilliant Yang), and former
leaders of the early Tianshi (Celestial Masters) community, Yang Xi
described the organization and population of the subtle realms of the cos-
mos, particularly the heaven of Highest Clarity. Also deserving note is the
presence of the deceased female Celestial Master libationer Wei Huacun
(251–334) as a central figure in the early Highest Clarity revelations. These
various celestial communications included specific methods for spirit travel
and ecstatic excursions, visualizations, and alchemical concoctions. A wide

variety of texts are important for understanding the religious world of
Highest Clarity, with two of the most important being the Dadong zhenjing
(Perfected Scripture of Great Profundity; DZ 6) and the Huangting jing
(Scripture on the Yellow Court; DZ 331; 332), a pre-Shangqing text that
became canonical. The revelations were, in turn, written down by the Yang
Xi and the Xu brothers in a calligraphic style that seemed divine. After some
generations, the texts were inherited by Xu Huangmin (361–429) who dis-
seminated them throughout the region. Then, Tao Hongjing (456–536), a
descendent of Tao Kedou and an advanced Highest Clarity adept, came
across an original manuscript and became inspired to collect them. Tao
Hongjing had established a religious center on Maoshan (Mount Mao;
present-day Nanjing, Jiangsu),48 where he pursued alchemical and pharma-
cological studies. From there he traveled throughout southern China in
search of the original Highest Clarity manuscripts. In the process, he devel-
oped a critical analysis of calligraphic styles for determining textual authen-
ticity. His collection efforts resulted in the Zhen’gao 真誥 (Declarations of
the Perfected; DZ 1016).49
For the purposes of the present chapter, three Highest Clarity techniques
and corresponding mystical experiences are most relevant: (1) visualization
of body-gods; (2) absorption of astral effulgences, also known as qi-
ingestion; and (3) accessing mystical cranial locations. The locus classicus for
the human body as a residence of body-gods is the fourth-century Huangting
neijing jing (Scripture on the Internal View of the Yellow Court; DZ 331),
but one also finds reference to various body-gods throughout the early
Highest Clarity textual corpus, specifically in the Dadong zhenjing (Perfect
Scripture of Great Profundity; DZ 6). In the case of the Scripture on the
Yellow Court, this text is particularly interesting in its description of the
gods or spirits of the five yin-orbs, namely, liver (Wood), heart (Fire), spleen
(Earth), lungs (Metal), and kidneys (Water). Here the Daoist adept is
informed of the gods’ specific names50 as well as of the color and appearance
of their ritual vestments. For example, “[The youth of the lungs] wears
white brocade robes with sashes of yellow clouds . . . [The youth of the
heart] wears flowing cinnabar brocade robes with a jade shawl, gold bells
and vermilion sashes . . .,” and so forth.51 The corresponding visualization
method thus incorporates Five Phase cosmology, wherein the yin-orbs are
associated with specific colors, directions, seasons, and sometimes moun-
tains and planets.52 Similarly, the Perfect Scripture of Great Profundity pro-
vides names and associations for the yin-orbs. As Isabelle Robinet has
pointed out, “The whole corpus of the Mao-shan [Shangqing] texts empha-
sizes the divinization of the body even more strongly than the Huang-t’ing
Figure 4.1 Spirits of the five yin-orbs
ching. Almost every bodily point or location is inhabited and animated by

a god” (1993, 100).
Through the cross-pollination of classical Chinese medicine and Highest
Clarity visualization techniques, the yin-orbs eventually became illustrated
according to indwelling spirits or numinous presences associated with the
five directions.
In this illustration from the Huangting yuanshen jing (Scripture on the
Original Spirits of the Yellow Court; as appearing in the eleventh-century
Yunji qiqian, DZ 1032, 14.4b–11a), the yin-orbs have the following asso-
ciations: lungs/white tiger (left); heart/vermilion bird (bottom); liver/azure
dragon (right); spleen/golden phoenix (center); and kidneys/two-headed
black deer (top). In later texts, the spleen is more commonly taken as the
center, without symbolic or emblematic associations, while the kidneys are

associated with the Mysterious Warrior (snake-turtle). For present purposes,
these texts reveal the body as a residence of gods, and the boundaries
between internal and external become porous or interpenetrating. It is a
cosmicized vision of the human body, wherein one’s organs contain numi-
nous presences that correspond to various dimensions of the larger cosmos.
These numinous presences are in turn encountered as one’s own internal
structure. Here the mystical body becomes actualized through an interior
descent that reveals a new body and a new cosmos.
The early Highest Clarity community also emphasized the ingestion of
astral effulgences (jing). There are various absorption techniques, including
ingesting the luminous essences of the sun and moon, stars, mists, and so
forth. These methods often focus on the five yin-orbs, but there are also
examples in which the “brain” occupies a central position. In summary of
various early Highest Clarity visualization methods, the twelfth-century
compilation Yuyi jielin tu (Diagrams of the Sun and Moon; DZ 435)53
describes a specific method of ingesting solar essences. Here the adept is
informed, “Make the light of the sun envelop your entire body, reaching
inside as far as the corners of the stomach and evoking a sensation of being
completely illuminated inside and out.”54
In another practice known as the “Method of Mist Absorption,” men-
tioned in Tao Hongjing’s fifth-century Zhen’gao (Declarations of Perfected;
DZ 1016, 10.1b–2a, 13.5ab) and paralleling the fourth-century Lingbao
Figure 4.2 Ingestion of solar effulgences

wufu xu (Explanations on the Five Talismans of Numinous Treasure;

DZ 388) and the fourth- or fifth-century Mingtang xuandan zhenjing
(Perfect Scripture on the Mysterious Elixir and the Hall of Light; DZ
1381), the Highest Clarity adept is advised to absorb the luminous essences
of the Five Qi, that is, the subtle essences of the five directions and cosmic
poles. One is supposed to engage in this practice just before dawn, when
the Five Qi are in their purest form. In some texts, the mists are also
identified as the numinous presences of the Five Emperors of the five
directions.
With respect to the ingestion of astral effulgences, Highest Clarity texts
contain methods that also focus on the Big Dipper.
Figure 4.3 Locating the Northern Dipper in the body

These illustrations come from the twelfth-century Yutang neijing yushu

(Jade Text on the Inner Luminosities of the Jade Hall; DZ 221, 2.13a–17b),
which follows a method described in the fourth- or fifth-century Dongfang
jing (Scripture on the Grotto Chamber; DZ 405, 13b). According to the
“Instructions on Returning to the Origin” (huiyuan jue), the adept visualizes
each star of the Northern Dipper in order (heart, lungs, liver, spleen, stom-
ach, kidneys, and eyes), and locates its numinous qi in a corresponding
corporeal location.55 At the completion of this practice, the whole body
becomes pure luminosity. As documented in this and similar Highest
Clarity practices, the Big Dipper is simultaneously in the inner landscape
and external cosmos. One may discover and actualize this by exploring the
body or by observing the stars and constellations. Complete cosmic integra-
tion involves fusion and interpenetration.
In these various absorption practices, the mystical body is encountered as
cosmic radiances. The Highest Clarity adept not only discovers the Dipper
stars in his or her own body, but also looks outside to see aspects of the body
visible in the nighttime sky. Here the body also becomes pervaded by astral
effulgences, by luminous mists and cosmic vapors. These in turn circulate
through the subtle corporeal networks; according to early Highest Clarity,
the adept literally circulates primordial and numinous energies throughout the
body. These are the essences of the Dao in a purer and more ancient manifesta-
tion.56 In terms of mystical sensory experience, one might read Daoist
ingestion practice as a form of dietetics. Here a spiritual sense of taste would
be primary, assuming that one can not only absorb, but also taste light.
The final relevant Highest Clarity aspect of the Daoist mystical body
centers on subtle brain cavities. Referred to as the Nine Palaces (jiugong),
these are mystical cranial locations. One of the earliest appearances of these
brain cavities occurs in the Suling jing (Scripture on the Pure Numen; DZ
1314; cf. Yuandan shangjing, DZ 1345, 2b–8a), a text containing material
from the third to sixth centuries.57 According to the second method in the
Scripture on the Pure Numen, called “Guarding the Original Elixir” (shou
yuandan), the Highest Clarity adept must explore the nine mystical brain
cavities, which are identified as follows:
1. Palace of the Hall of Light (mingtang gong), located above the area
between the two eyebrows and one inch (cun) in.
2. Palace of the Grotto Chamber (dongfang gong), located two inches in.
3. Palace of the Elixir Field (dantian gong), located three inches in. This
palace is sometimes also called Niwan, literally meaning “mud-ball,”
but possibly a transliteration of nirvana.
4. Palace of the Flowing Pearl (liuzhu gong), located four inches in.
5. Palace of the Jade Thearch (yudi gong), located five inches in.
6. Palace of the Celestial Court (tianting gong), located one inch above
the Hall of Light.
7. Palace of Secret Perfection (jizhen gong), located one inch above the
Grotto Chamber.
8. Palace of the Mysterious Elixir (xuandan gong), located one inch above
the Elixir Field. This palace is sometimes also called Niwan.
9. Palace of the Great Sovereign (taihuang gong), located one inch above
the Flowing Pearl.58
Each palace is also associated with a specific god, and each god also occupies
a corresponding external sacred realm in the complex, multidimensional
Highest Clarity cosmology. The first four palaces are inhabited by male dei-
ties, while the last five are inhabited by female ones. For example, the Palace
of the Celestial Court is inhabited by the Perfect Mother of Highest Clarity
(shangqing zhenmu). Other texts also provide details on the color and style of
their clothing as well as their specific appearance. As Isabelle Robinet has
commented, “These nine cavities or palaces are only inhabited by deities if
one practices the visualization exercise. Otherwise they remain vacant. The
implication of this is that the visualization of these deities is, at the same time,
their actualization” (1993, 127). Before stepping away from the mystical body
in early Highest Clarity Daoism, I would note that the accessing of these
cranial locations also leads to a mystical encounter with various deities in the
Highest Clarity pantheon. One way of reading the Nine Palaces is that they
are actual portals into the cosmos, into Daoist sacred realms. Such gods and
their corresponding sacred realms simultaneously exist in the larger cosmos
and the adept’s own body. They can, in turn, be accessed in/as/through one’s
own corporeality. Here the brain contains a nonspatial or hyperspatial dimen-
sion—by assessing the Nine Palaces, which extend progressively inward,
deeper, and beyond, one opens mystical spaces within the body.
Late-Medieval Daoist Somatic Mysticism

The early medieval Daoist concern with accessing and actualizing the mystical
dimensions of the human body continued to occupy a central position in
late-medieval Daoist communities. Here I am specifically thinking of the Tang-
dynasty practice of inner observation (neiguan) and late-Tang and early
Song lineages of internal alchemy (neidan). With respect to the former, one
finds a vision of the body as cosmos in the eighth-century Neiguan jing
(Scripture on Inner Observation; DZ 641). This is an anonymous text that
also relates to a variety of Tang-dynasty meditation manuals, and specifically
to the religio-cultural milieu of Sun Simiao (581–672), Sima Chengzhen

(647–735), and Wu Yun (d. 778), among other prominent Daoists.59
Developed through the influence of Buddhist insight meditation (Pali:
vipassanā; Skt.: vipaśyanā), the Daoist practice of inner observation emphasizes
conscious introspection of one’s entire psychosomatic experience. Like practi-
tioners of Buddhist insight meditation, the Daoist adept engaging in inner
observation focuses on stilling and stabilizing the heart-mind. This involves
quieting emotional and intellectual activity, and realizing a state of serenity and
equanimity. However, while Buddhist insight meditation most often involves
maintaining an open awareness of all stimuli in an undiscriminating fashion
or the confirmation of Buddhist doctrine through meditative praxis,60 Daoist
inner observation incorporates more specifically Daoist concerns. In particular,
inner observation, sometimes also referred to as “inner vision” (neishi), inte-
grates Daoist cosmological and mystical views of self. As expressed in Tang-
dynasty manuals, the practice of inner observation involves a systematic
exploration of the multidimensional layers of the Daoist body, including the
various energies and divinities in the body. According to the Neiguan jing, the
Daoist meditator must identify and explore the body’s cosmological correspon-
dences: the Five Phases with the five yin-orbs, the six pitches with the six
yang-orbs, the seven essential stars (the five plants [Mars, Venus, Jupiter,
Mercury, and Saturn] plus the sun and moon) with the Seven Cavities (qiqiao)
[seven openings in the body], and so forth (Neiguan jing, DZ 641, 1b).61
Patterned on heaven and symbolizing earth, inhaling yin and exhaling yang,
your body shares in the Five Phases and accords with the four seasons. The
eyes are the sun and moon. The hair is the stars and the planets. The eye-
brows are the Flowery Canopy (huagai) [Cassiopeia]. The head is Mount
Kunlun. A network of palaces and passes, the body serves to keep essence
and spirit at peace.
Among the myriad beings, humans have the most numinosity. With
innate nature and life-destiny merged with the Dao, humans can preserve
[this numinosity] by internally observing (neiguan) the body.
(Ibid., 3a–3b)62
Here one notes the body as microcosm and internal landscape. Through
the practice of inner observation, closely associated with visualization meth-
ods, the Daoist adept becomes a cosmologically infused and mystically trans-
formed being. Paralleling the above-mentioned Highest Clarity encounter
with the multiple layers of somatic numinosity, the Daoist adept practicing
neiguan emerges from the practice to discover cosmic interpenetration—one’s
body contains the landscape and universe, and the landscape and universe is
one’s body.63 In terms of the place of the senses in religious traditions and
mystical experience, Daoist inner observation places primary emphasis on
vision, and specifically the eyes as vessels of light. As the corporeal sun and
moon, the combined light of the eyes, referred to as “spirit radiance”
(shenguang) or “divine illumination” (shenming), can be turned inward to
illumine the inner landscape of the human body.
The final aspect of the Daoist mystical body that I would like to mention
is the place of vital substances and physiology in Song-dynasty internal
alchemy lineages. In order to complete alchemical transformation, late-
medieval Daoists sought to refine the various aspects of self into a pure or
transcendent spirit. Here it is noteworthy that alchemical transformation
focuses on the conservation of fluids and actual physiological processes: the
internal alchemist needs the body’s vital substances (vital essence, fluids, blood,
and so forth) to create the elixir of immortality. One can actually chart this
process in terms of classical Chinese medical theory.64 Alchemical transforma-
tion takes place inside the body; the body is required for internal alchemy;
and the completion of neidan praxis incorporates every somatic aspect.
Titled “Neijing tu” (Inner Landscape Map), this diagram is contained in
the Nanjing zuantu jujie (Phrase-by-Phrase Glosses of the Classic of
Difficulties; DZ 1024) by a certain Li Jiong (fl. 1269). Although conven-
tionally categorized as a “medical text,”65 this text is preserved in the Daoist
Canon, incorporates earlier Daoist materials, and clearly influenced later
Figure 4.4 Inner landscape map

Daoist body maps (see Needham et. al 1983; Despeux 1994; Komjathy
2008; 2009). As documented in this diagram, there is substantial overlap
between “medical” and “alchemical” views. Most importantly for the pres-
ent discussion, this “Inner Landscape Map” identifies the Nine Palaces in
the head, the Three Passes along the spine, as well as the movement of vital
essence (jing) and qi from the base of the spine to the head. The latter
practice is referred to as “reverting essence to repair the brain” (huanjing
bunao), and it is often combined in a larger, stage-based process of alchemi-
cal transformation. In such systems, the Daoist adept transforms vital
essence into qi. This qi is then circulated through the Waterwheel (heche),
also known as the Lesser Celestial Cycle (xiao zhoutian; a.k.a. Microcosmic
Orbit),66 during which one connects the Governing and Conception
Vessels, the meridians on the back and front centerlines of the body, respec-
tively. Here one finds a clear depiction of the activation of the subtle,
energetic dimensions of the human body.
There are various late-medieval neidan texts relevant for studying the
Daoist mystical body, many of which incorporate the earlier Highest Clarity
visualization and Daoist neiguan practices already discussed. Here I will be
content to focus on the tenth-century Chuandao ji (Anthology of
Transmitting the Dao; DZ 263, j. 14–16), one of the most influential early
Zhong-Lü texts.67 The last section of the text, titled “Lun zhengyan” (On
Experiential Confirmation/Signs of Proof ), informs the Daoist adept that
specific training regimens may result in specific types of experiences. After
one conserves vital essence, opens the body’s meridians, and generates saliva,
one begins a process of self-rarification and self-divinization. At the most
advanced stages of alchemical transformation, one becomes free of karmic
obstructions and entanglements, and one’s name becomes registered in the
records of the Three Purities. The embryo of immortality (taixian) matures,
which includes the ability to manifest as the body-beyond-the-body
(shenwai shen) and have greater communion with celestial realms. After the
adept’s bones begin to disappear and become infused with golden light
(jinguang), he or she may receive visitations from divine beings. This process
of experiential confirmation is said to culminate as follows:
In a solemn and grand ceremony, you will be given the purple writ of the
celestial books and immortal regalia. Immortals will appear on your left and
right, and you will be escorted to Penglai. You will have audience with the
Perfect Lord of Great Tenuity in the Purple Palace. Here your name and place
of birth will be entered into the registers. According to your level of accom-
plishment, you will be given a dwelling-place on the Three Islands. Then you
may be called a Perfected (zhenren) or immortal (xianzi).”68
In terms of the present discussion, I would emphasize a number of spe-

cific features of alchemical transformation. The adept opens the Three Elixir
Fields (head, heart, and abdominal regions), the Three Passes (lower, middle,
and upper spine), and the subtle corporeal networks (“meridians”). By refin-
ing the various yin aspects of self, the adept activates the perfect qi (zhenqi),
which circulates as numinous currents throughout the body. This is so much
the case that the Chuandao ji suggests that practitioners gain experiences in
which the bones disappear and golden light infuses the body. In neidan lin-
eages, this transcendent spirit is often referred to as the “immortal embryo”
(taixian), “perfect form” (zhenxing), “body-beyond-the-body” (shenwai shen),
“perfect numen” (zhenling), “yang-spirit” (yangshen), and so forth.
Through alchemical praxis, the mystical body becomes actualized—one
feels the Dao pulsing through one’s body as a numinous presence, and one’s
entry into the Daoist sacred realms as a pure yang-spirit is assured. With
respect to the emphasis of the present volume, namely, “mystical sensuality”
and the place of the senses in religious traditions and mystical experience,
Figure 4.5 Diagram of the emergence of the yang-spirit

This diagram comes from the anonymous, early seventeenth century Xingming guizhi (Authoritative Decrees
on Innate Nature and Life-destiny; JHL 67; ZW 314). This is a late–Ming dynasty (1368-1644) encyclo-
pedia of “nourishing life” and internal alchemy lore. It summarizes various earlier methods and elucidates
many neidan technical terms.
alchemical praxis appears to deemphasize the senses in a way that parallels

classical Daoist approaches to a certain extent (see above). Alchemical texts
frequently emphasize the importance of attaining a state of “non-dissipa-
tion” (wulou). The precondition and foundation of such a state is sexual
abstinence (sometimes temporary, sometimes permanent), sensory with-
drawal, and the transformation of emotional reactivity. It involves conserva-
tion of one’s foundational vitality and actualization of energetic integrity.
However, interestingly, the language of Daoist internal alchemy texts seems
to indicate that there is a subtle aurality. This is a more esoteric and mystical
Daoist view that centers on subtle listening, a listening that does not involve
actual aurality. This subtle and deep listening involves qi as the deeper layer
of one’s being and of all existence. Through the practice of Daoist internal
alchemy, one discovers a subtle body within the physical body. At the same
time, because the “material” and the “spiritual” are simply different expres-
sions of qi, which may be charted along a spectrum from the most concen-
trated (e.g., rocks) to the most rarified (e.g., gods), the “physical body” may
be transformed into the “mystical body.” This involves sublimation, refine-
ment, rarification, and in certain cases, self-divinization. One trains oneself
to listen to the subtle movements of qi throughout the organ-meridian
system. This deep listening may then extend to every dimension of being
and existence.
Sacred Embodiment and Anatomical Geography

These various dimensions of the Daoist mystical body, or Daoist mystical
bodies, draw one’s attention to a number of things. First, in the Daoist
communities discussed in the present chapter, mystical experiences of the
Dao, whether as body-gods, numinous presences, corporeal spaces, inter-
penetrating landscapes, or transcendent spirit, take place in/as/through the
body. One’s body is a manifestation of the Dao, and the Dao becomes
manifested through one’s body. On the one hand, “the body” is one’s actual
physicality or corporeality (fluids, organs, etc.), which creates the context
or space required for mystical communion. On the other hand, “the body”
has mystical dimensions that become actualized through Daoist religious
praxis. That is, the body is the locus of mystical experience, the place where
the Dao as sacrality becomes manifest. Such is what I am referring to as
the “Daoist mystical body,” and its characteristics challenge dominant con-
ceptions of “the body.”
Second, in terms of comparative mysticism, the forms of Daoist mystical
experience (or experiencing) discussed in the present chapter represent a
previously unidentified form of mysticism, which I would label “somatic
mysticism.” Here the sacred becomes experienced in/as/through one’s own

body. While on some level every experience labeled “mystical” is “embodied”
(are there any experiences where one actually does not have a body?), in
somatic mysticism one encounters or actualizes the body as mystical space.
With respect to other religious traditions, I also see parallels in certain forms
of Tantra and classical Indian Yoga,69 that is “somatic mysticism” is not only
found in the Daoist tradition. However, scholars of mysticism, as this volume
indicates, should give more attention to the place and conceptions of the body
in mystical experience. This includes the relative degree to which mystics and
mystical communities have body-affirming or body-negating worldviews, and
the place of the senses in mystical experience and human existence.
Finally, the fact that Daoist cosmology is based on emanation and imma-
nence, and that certain Daoist adherents and communities encounter the
Dao in their actual corporeality and physiology, problematizes assumed
dichotomies between “materiality” and “sacrality,” “body” and “mind,” and
so forth. If physiology is itself “sacred,” then attempts to reduce mystical
experience to brain chemistry (“neuroscientific reductionism”) may not prove
so serious after all. Instead, they may rather force us to broaden our under-
standing of mystical experience, specifically by focusing on the relationship
among the trigger (source), the actual experience (not reducible to physiol-
ogy), its interpretation, and the context. This would include attentiveness to
a given mystic as experiencing subject.70 We need deeper reflection on the
possible contributions and limitations of neuroscience to the study of mysti-
cism and on the ways in which “physiology” is defined and interpreted.
In conclusion, I would return to classical Daoism, specifically Chapter 22
of the Zhuangzi, wherein one is informed that the Dao can even be discovered
in excrement. More than urging us to become scatologists, this insight,
viewed from a contemplative perspective, reveals the way in which the Dao
as transformative process and cyclical pattern is manifested in the human
body. From a Daoist perspective, our own digestion, absorption, and elimina-
tion patterns express the fundamental mystery and subtlety of the Dao.
Notes
1. While the Warring States period (475–221 BCE) is often read as a time of
proto-rationalism (e.g., by A. C. Graham and Benjamin Schwartz), more work
needs to be done on its religio-cultural characteristics. See, for example, Harold
Roth, Original Tao: Inward Training (Nei-yeh) and the Foundations of Taoist
Mysticism (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999).
2. On this distinction, see Roland Fisher, “A Cartography of the Ecstatic and
Meditative States,” in Understanding Mysticism, ed. Richard Woods (Garden City,
NY: Doubleday Image Books, 1980), 286–305. My historicist and comparativist

views aim at inclusivity and stand in contrast to recent attempts to limit the
category to trophotropic types of experiences (e.g., Robert Forman, Jordan Paper).
I see such scholarly movements as unjustified and protective in intent. They
presuppose a specific theology and soteriology, and there are political and ethical
consequences involved. As the above definition indicates and as I have previously
argued, examining the entire spectrum of mystical experiences does not involve
uncritically grouping any and every religious or ecstatic experience under the
category “mysticism.” See Louis Komjathy, Cultivating Perfection: Mysticism and
Self-transformation in Early Quanzhen Daoism (Leiden: Brill, 2007). There are
various “anomalous experiences” that are distinguishable from mystical experi-
ences, including shamanic and mediumistic experiences, hallucinatory experi-
ences, synesthesia, lucid dreaming, out-of-body experiences, psi-related experiences,
alien abduction experiences, past-life experiences, possession, channeling, near-
death experiences, and anomalous healing experiences. See, for example, Etzel
Cardeña, Steven Jay Lynn, and Stanley Krippner, eds., Varieties of Anomalous
Experience (Washington, D.C.: American Psychological Association, 2004).
Mystical experiences specifically refer to experiences of that which a given indi-
vidual or religious community identifies as sacred or ultimate.
3. This section parallels the one provided in Komjathy, Cultivating Perfection.
4. See Michel Feher et al. (eds.), Fragments for a History of the Human Body
(New York: Zone Books, 1989, 3 vols.); Shigehisa Kuriyama, The Expressiveness
of the Body and the Divergence of Greek and Chinese Medicine (New York: Zone
Books, 1999).
5. See Leroy Rouner, ed., Selves, People, and Persons (South Bend, IN: University
of Notre Dame Press, 1992); Thomas P. Kasulis, with Roger T. Ames and
Wimal Dissanayake, eds., Self as Body in Asian Theory and Practice (Albany:
State University of New York Press, 1993); Sarah Coakley, ed., Religion and the
Body (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997); José Luis Bermúdez,
Anthony Marcel, and Naomi Eilan, eds., The Body and the Self (Cambridge,
MA: MIT Press. 1998); Shaun Gallagher, and Jonathan Shear, eds., Models of
the Self (Bowling Green, OH: Imprint Academic, 1999).
6. Thomas Csordas, ed., Embodiment and Experience: The Existential Ground of
Culture and Self (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 1–2. See also
Feher et al., Fragments, 1.11–13.
7. Such considerations may lead to radical doubt concerning “the body” as an
abiding and integrated entity. This is brought into sharper focus when one
realizes that the cells that make up one’s body, and one’s bones themselves,
perhaps the seemingly most solid aspect of the body, are completely different
every seven years. See, for example, L. F. C. Mees, Secrets of the Skeleton: Form
in Metamorphosis (Spring Valley, NY: Anthroposophic Press, 1984).
8. See, for example, Elaine Scarry, The Body in Pain: The Making and Un-Making
of the World (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 1985); Mary-Jo
Good, Paul Brodwin, Byron Good, and Arthur Kleinman, eds., Pain as Human
Experience: An Anthropological Perspective (Berkeley: University of California

Press, 1992).
9. Kasulis et al., Self as Body in Asian Theory and Practice, xi.
10. This “anatomical view” of the body is, on a certain level, based in the Western
practice of dissection. The cultural theorist or medical anthropologist is left to
wonder if a dead body on a dissection table has any relationship to a living/lived
body. That is, does an organ removed from the body tell us anything about the
condition/vitality of that same body/person prior to death? On the “divergence”
between Western and Chinese medical traditions see Kuriyama, The Expressiveness
of the Body.
11. On the ways in which metaphors condition perception and consciousness see,
for example, George Lakoff, and Mark Johnson, Metaphors We Live By (Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1980); George Lakoff, Women, Fire, and Dangerous
Things: What Categories Reveal about the Mind (Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 1987); Eliot Deutsch, “The Concept of the Body,” in Self as Body in
Asian Theory and Practice, 5–19; Julian Jaynes, The Origin of Consciousness in
the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind (Boston and New York: Houghton Mifflin
Company, 2000 [1982]), 48–66. Specific ways of acting (practice) follow from
specific ways of perceiving (worldviews). Seeing the world as “natural resources,”
in contrast to a “sacred vessel,” leads to radical restructuring and exploitative
patterns of interaction.
12. This insight comes from reading and reflecting on humanistic and transpersonal
psychology.
13. See, for example, Kasulis et al., Self as Body in Asian Theory and Practice;
Douglas Allen, ed., Culture and Self: Philosophical and Religious Perspectives, East
and West (Boulder, CO: Westview, 1997); Coakley, Religion and the Body.
14. See Allen, Culture and Self, 7–9. Recently, the concept of “embodiment” has
become central in various studies of self. “For Merleau-Ponty, as for us, embodi-
ment has this double sense: it encompasses the body as a lived, experiential
structure and the body as the context or milieu of cognitive mechanisms.”
Francisco Varela, Evan Thompson, and Eleanor Rosch, The Embodied Mind:
Cognitive Science and Human Experience (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1993),
xvi. Compare Csordas, Embodiment and Experience, 12. However, embodiment
presupposes some distinction between my “self ” (here meant as “conscious
subjectivity”) and my body. There is some thing that is “embodied.” Thus, the
claim that “[o]ne escapable fact of human existence is that it is experienced in
a body” (Jane Marie Law, ed., Religious Reflections on the Human Body
[Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1995], ix; emphasis added) is by no
means clear. Perhaps each human existence is experienced as or through the body
that is oneself. Arguably, the construction of a “divided self ” is, psychologically
speaking, a pathological condition. See Gallagher and Shear, Models of the Self,
section 4. This insight may, in turn, justify the claim that unity of mind and
body is not to be discovered, but achieved. Kasulis, Self as Body in Asian Theory
and Practice, xx. See also Deutsch, “The Concept of the Body.”
15. Roger T. Ames, “The Meaning of Body in Classical Chinese Philosophy,” in

Self as Body in Asian Theory and Practice, ed. Thomas P. Kasulis, 157–77.
16. Ibid., 159.
17. Ibid., 163.
18. Ibid., 165.
19. Ibid.
20. Livia Kohn, Living with the Dao: Conceptual Issues in Daoist Practice (Cambridge,
MA: Three Pines Press, 2002 [1991]), 74–75. Ames, “The Meaning of Body,”
168–70. In the former (76–77), Kohn details technical connotations of the
terms shen-self and xing-form in terms of Tang-dynasty (618–907) Daoist mys-
tical literature: “[One] may come to understand shen as the ‘personal body’ or
the ‘extended self.’ The term in this context obviously implies much more than
the physical body . . . The personal body with its afflictions is evaluated criti-
cally by the Daoists. Xing, on the other hand, the shape one’s body takes in the
world, is understood very positively. It is an exact replica of the universe.”
21. See, for example, Coakley, Religion and the Body, 1.
22. A number of publications have appeared on the “Daoist body.” These include
Kristofer Schipper, “The Taoist Body,” History of Religions 17.3/4 (1978):
355–86; Schipper, The Taoist Body, trans. Karen C. Duval (Berkeley: University
of California Press, 1993 [1982]; Joseph Needham et al., Science and Civilisation
in China, vol. V.: Chemistry and Chemical Technology, part 5: Spagyrical Discovery
and Invention: Physiological Alchemy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1983); Jean Lévi, “The Body: The Daoists’ Coat of Arms,” in Fragments for a
History of the Body, 1: 105–26; Catherine Despeux, Taoïsme et corps humain. Le
Xiuzhen tu (Paris: Guy Trédaniel, 1994); Despeux, “Le corps, champ spatio-
temporel, souche d’identité.” L’Homme 137 (1996): 87–118; Poul Anderson,
“The Transformation of the Body in Taoist Ritual,” in Religious Reflections on the
Human Body, 186–208; Muriel Baryosher-Chemouny, La quete de l’immortalité
en Chine: Alchimie et payasage intérieur sous les Song (Paris: Editions Dervy,
1996); Michael Saso, “The Taoist Body and Cosmic Prayer,” in Religion and the
body, 231–47; Komjathy, Cultivating Perfection; Komjathy, “Mapping the Daoist
Body: Part I: The Neijing tu in History,” Journal of Daoist Studies 1 (2008),
67–92; Komjathy, “Mapping the Daoist Body: Part II: The Text of the Neijing
tu,” Journal of Daoist Studies 2 (2009), 64–108. The discussions by Despeux,
Kohn, Schipper, and Komjathy are the most nuanced and germane.
23. Kohn, Living with the Dao, 68–69. See also Kohn, The Taoist Experience
(Albany: State University of New York Press, 1993), 161–88.
24. The naturalistic and alchemical views of self have received the most research with
respect to Daoism. That is, emphasis is placed on two primary Daoist claims
concerning death: death as dissolution into the cosmos or the possibility of
postmortem survival through the creation of a transcendent spirit. Here
I attempt to provide some initial thoughts, as I believe that perspectives on dying
and death as well as funeral practices are intricately connected with views of self.
The matter is complicated by two factors. First, traditional Chinese culture
recognizes the existence of ancestors (deceased relatives). Second, after Indian

Buddhism became more influential from the fourth century CE onward, Daoists
began using a Buddhist quasi-docetic view that included reincarnation.
25. See Paul Unschuld, Medicine in China: A History of Ideas (Berkeley: University
of California Press, 1985); Unschuld, Huang Di Nei Jing Su Wen: Nature,
Knowledge, Imagery in an Ancient Chinese Medical Text (Berkeley: University of
California Press, 2003).
26. See Schipper, “The Taoist Body”; Schipper, The Taoist Body; Livia Kohn, “Taoist
Visions of the Body,” Journal of Chinese Philosophy 18 (1991): 227–52.
27. Kohn, The Taoist Experience. See also Unschuld, Medicine in China.
28. See Stephen Eskildsen, Asceticism in Early Taoist Religion (Albany: State
University of New York Press, 1998); Ursula-Angelika Cedzich, “Corpse
Deliverance, Substitute Bodies, Name Change, and Feigned Death: Aspects of
Metamorphosis and Immortality in Early Medieval China,” Journal of Chinese
Religions 29 (2001): 1–68; Robert F. Campany, To Live as Long as Heaven and
Earth: A Translation and Study of Ge Hong’s Traditions of Divine Transcendents
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002).
29. See Komjathy, Cultivating Perfection; Komjathy, “Mapping the Daoist Body.”
30. Unfortunately, to date very little research on the senses in Daoism has been
undertaken. The present account must thus be understood as preliminary and
tentative.
31. See Daode jing, chap. 28. Shouci (“guarding the feminine”) refers to maintaining
a state of open receptivity. It is not, as so often misinterpreted, a rigidly gen-
dered category. Here ci, technically designating a female bird or animal, refers
to the cosmological principle of yin and its various associations such as dark,
quiet, inward, flexible, and so forth. “Guarding the feminine” is thus a Daoist
principle and practice. The character shou (“to guard”), like its cognates such as
bao (“to embrace”) and bao (“to protect”), is a classical Daoist technical term
designating meditation, as in the phrase shouyi (“guarding the One”). See Daode
jing, chaps. 5, 10, 15, 16, 19, 22, 42, 52; Zhuangzi, chaps. 3, 4, 5, 6, 10, 11,
12, 13, 14, 15, 17, 19, 22, 23, 31, 33. The earliest reference to shouyi, a phrase
that becomes a more general designation for meditation in the organized tradi-
tion, appears in the fourth century BCE “Neiye” (Inward Training) chapter of
the Guanzi (Book of Master Guan). See Roth, Original Tao.
32. Classical Daoism is referred to as philosophical Daoism in outdated and inac-
curate accounts of Daoism. Like references to religious Daoism, the use of
philosophical Daoism, even in scare quotation marks (i.e., “philosophical
Daoism”), should be taken ipso facto as ignorance and misunderstanding con-
cerning the religious tradition that is Daoism. See Louis Komjathy, Daoism:
A Guide for the Perplexed (London and New York: Continuum, forthcoming).
33. See also Zhuangzi, chap. 7; Daode jing, chap. 12.
34. See James Miller, Daoism: A Short Introduction (London and New York:
Oneworld, 2003), 93–106; Miller, The Way of Highest Clarity (Magdalena, NM:
Three Pines Press, 2008).
35. See Livia Kohn, “Taoist Insight Meditation: The Tang Practice of Neiguan,” in
Taoist Meditation and Longevity Techniques (Ann Arbor: Center for Chinese
Studies, University of Michigan, 1989), ed. Livia Kohn, 191–222.
36. Qingjing jing, DZ 620, 2a.
37. For some examples of these various illustrations, see Needham et al., Science
and Civilisation; Despeux, Taoïsme et corps humain; Komjathy, “Mapping the
Daoist Body.”
38. Of course, historically speaking, Catholic theologies are probably the most
developed and systematic, though that is changing in the contemporary period
with a more transdenominational Christian theology and with the emergence
of comparative theology. See, for example, David Tracy, “Comparative Theology,”
in The Encyclopedia of Religion, ed. Lindsay Jones (Detroit, MI: Macmillan,
2005), 9125–34.
39. A close reading of classical Daoist texts such as the Daode jing, Zhuangzi, as
well as sections of the Guanzi, Huainanzi, and Lüshi chunqiu provides evidence
for each of these characteristics.
40. This is generally true of most scholarship before the emergence of Daoist
Studies from the 1960s onward. It is intricately tied to traditional Confucian
prejudices, European and Japanese colonialism, Christian missionization, and
Orientalism, which is the heir of the previous three. Such interpretations of
Daoism generally privilege and provide selective readings of classical Daoist
texts and mischaracterize classical Daoism as a “proto-rationalistic” or
“philosophical” tradition. More recently, one finds appropriative agendas within
American hybrid spirituality to identify classical Daoism as “spiritual” or part
of some “universal wisdom tradition.”
41. For more recent revisionist work, see Roth, Original Tao; Russell Kirkland,
Taoism: The Enduring Tradition (London and New York: Routledge, 2004).
42. Unless otherwise indicated, all translations are my own. Catalogue numbers for
Daoist textual collections follow Louis Komjathy, Title Index to Daoist Collections
(Cambridge, MA: Three Pines Press, 2002). Numbers for the Ming-dynasty
canon parallel Kristofer Schipper et al.’s earlier index. For a survey of its contents,
see Kristofer Schipper and Franciscus Verellen, ed., The Taoist Canon: A Historical
Companion to the Daozang (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004).
43. I have rendered this line and the subsequent ones as referring to a cosmogonic
process. They may also be read as a description of the present cosmological
epoch. That is, they simultaneously refer to an unrepresentable and irretrievable
before and an immediately accessible dimension of the present.
44. These lines are noteworthy for using different Chinese characters that refer to
types of names. They contain ming, one’s personal name given by one’s parents,
and zi, one’s nickname given by oneself or one’s associates. Read from a more
technical perspective, the passage suggests that no one can know the former
with respect to what is ultimately real. Instead, Chinese Daoists provided a
provisional designation of dao, a Chinese character referring to “way” or “path.”
That is, ultimately dao is a placeholder for ——, which is formless, unnamable,
and unknowable. Also noteworthy is the fact that, etymologically speaking, da

(“great” or “big”) depicts a human being with outstretched arms. Read poeti-
cally, the Dao extends beyond the reach of human beings.
45. In terms of Daoist emanationist cosmogony, these lines are read as the movement
from primordial undifferentiation (wuji) to differentiation (taiji) as expressed in
the manifest world. Through a spontaneous, impersonal shift, the Dao, as unrep-
resentable before (wu wuji), transformed into an impersonal cosmological process
characterized by yin-yang interaction. Here “oneness” or “unity” refers to the
earliest cosmogonic moment, and the most theologically true and mystically
accessible dimension of human existence. Thus, one finds frequent reference to
“embracing the One” (baoyi), “guarding the One” (shouyi), and similar Daoist
technical meditative terms in classical Daoism. See also Livia Kohn, ed., Taoist
Meditation and Longevity Techniques (Ann Arbor: Center for Chinese Studies,
University of Michigan, 1989); Isabelle Robinet, Taoist Meditation: The Mao-shan
Tradition of Great Clarity, trans. Julian Pas and Norman Girardot (Albany: State
University of New York Press, 1993), 119–27.
46. It is beyond the confines of the present discussion to demonstrate this.
However, for example, one finds reference to Di (the high Shang god) and
earth-shrines (Daode jing; chaps. 4 and 78) as well as to various ritual practices
(e.g., Tailao sacrifice; ibid., chap. 20; see also Zhuangzi, chaps. 18 and 19).
Moreover, the Zhuangzi contains reference to various gods and spirits, while the
“Neiye” (Inward Training) chapter of the Guanzi mentions “ghosts and spirits.”
These various details are, more often than not, either glossed over, ignored, and
explained away or actually expunged from translations. The latter is especially
evident in popular and general audience “translations” of the Daode jing by the
likes of Wayne Dyer, Stephen Mitchell, and Ursula LeGuin.
47. See, for example, Victor Mair, “The Zhuangzi and Its Impact,” in Daoism
Handbook, ed. Livia Kohn (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 30–52.
48. Because of Tao Hongjing’s centrality in Daoist history and his residence on
Maoshan, Shangqing is sometimes incorrectly referred to as the “Maoshan
sect.”
49. My knowledge of Highest Clarity is deeply indebted to Isabelle Robinet’s
scholarship. See Isabelle Robinet, “Visualization and Ecstatic Flight in
Shangqing Taoism,” in Taoist Meditation and Longevity Techniques, ed. Livia Kohn,
159–91; Robinet, Taoist Meditation; Robinet, “Shangqing—Highest Clarity,” in
Daoism Handbook, ed. Livia Kohn, 196–224. For a more recent study, from a
Religious Studies perspective and including translations of three important
Highest Clarity texts, see Miller, The Way of Highest Clarity.
50. The spirit of the heart is [called] Elixir Origin, given name Guarding the
Numinous.
The spirit of the lungs is [called] Brilliant Splendor, given name Emptiness
Completed.
The spirit of the liver is [called] Dragon Mist, given name Containing
Illumination.
The spirit of the kidneys is [called] Mysterious Obscurity, given name

Nourishing the Child.
The spirit of the spleen is [called] Continually Existing, given name
Ethereal Soul Pavilion.
The spirit of the gall bladder is [called] Dragon Glory, given name
Majestic Illumination.
51. DZ 331, 9.1b–14.1a.
52. A standardized discussion of correlative cosmology may be found in the
Huangdi neijing (Yellow Thearch’s Inner Classics), a series of texts related to
classical Chinese medicine. Almost any foundational textbook of Chinese
medicine also includes correspondence charts.
53. Yuyi (lit., “robust appearance”) and Jielin (lit., “coalesced phosphorescence”) are
esoteric names of the sun and moon, respectively.
54. See Robinet, “Visualization and Ecstatic Flight,” 171–72; Robinet, Taoist
Meditation, 190–91 Interestingly, in her contribution to Taoist Meditation and
Longevity Techniques, Robinet shows the ways in which this Highest Clarity prac-
tice develops parallel concerns in the Zhuangzi, Huainanzi, and Shanhai jing.
55. Robinet, “Visualization and Ecstatic Flight,” 172–75; Robinet, Taoist Meditation,
208–25. A similar practice is found in the Jinque dijun sanyuan zhenyi jing (DZ
253) wherein the stars have the following names: (1) Yang Brightness; (2) Yin
Essence; (3) True One; (4) Mystery Darkness; (5) Cinnabar Prime; (6) North
Culmen; (7) Heavenly Pass. See Kohn, The Taoist Experience, 213.
56. The fact that modern astrophysics has found that energies from various
moments in the formation of the cosmos continue to bombard the earth may
add support for the efficacy of Highest Clarity ingestion practices. One actually
can access these primordial energies.
57. Robinet, Taoist Meditation, 127–31.
58. DZ 1314, 12b–22a. See also Jiugong zifang tu, DZ 156.
59. See Livia Kohn, Seven Steps to the Tao: Sima Chengzhen’s Zuowanglun
(St. Augustin/Nettetal: Monumenta Serica Monograph 20, 1987); Kohn,
“Taoist Insight Meditation.”
60. See, for example, the Satipatthāna Sutta (Scripture on the Foundations of
Mindfulness), which is available in various English translations. For insights
into the practice in China, see Neal Donner and Daniel Stevenson. The Great
Calming and Contemplation: A Study and Annotated Translation of the First
Chapter of Chih-I’s Mo-Ho Chih-Kuan. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press,
1993. Michael Saso. Zen Is for Everyone: The Xiao Zhi Guan Text by Zhi Yi.
Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2001.
61. Kohn, “Taoist Insight Meditation,” 203–5.
62. Adapted from Kohn, “Taoist Insight Meditation, 210–11.
63. See Schipper, “The Taoist Body”; Schipper, The Taoist Body; Kohn, “Taoist
Visions of the Body.”
64. See Komjathy, Cultivating Perfection.
65. See, for example, Schipper and Verellen, The Taoist Canon, 772.
66. See Chuandao ji, DZ 263, 15.19b–23b.

67. See Farzeen Baldrian-Hussein, Procédés secrets du joyau magique (Paris: Les Deux
Océans, 1984); Judith Boltz, A Survey of Taoist Literature, Tenth to Seventh
Centuries. (Berkeley: Institute of East Asian Studies, 1987).
68. DZ 263, 16.30a.
69. See, for example, David White, The Alchemical Body: Siddha Traditions in
Medieval India (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998).
70. Religious adherents have mystical experiences within a sociohistorical context and
religious community. Theologically conceived, such mystical experiences are simul-
taneously initiated by or derive from that which a given religious tradition identi-
fies as sacred. The influencing pattern here is complex: mystical experiences are
determined by one’s subjective constitution, by the worldviews, practices, goals and
ideals of one’s community or other cultural influences, and by some source beyond
egoistic identity and social construction. It is, of course, the latter, the “trigger”,
that is most controversial. If “mystical experiences” can be induced by certain drugs
(e.g., Ketamine, Peyote, etc.) or “brain manipulation” (e.g., Persinger’s “God
Helmet”), then it would appear that such “experiences” are only occurring in the
“mind” of the “mystic.” In a traditional context, in contrast to a scientific labora-
tory, such physiological changes are interpreted by religious adherents and com-
munities as being theologically and soteriologically significant. This interpretation
is to reduce mystical experiences to physiology or neurochemistry. If, however, the
context and trigger are as significant as the subjective indicators, then it may be
that mystical experiences require first a transcendental source and second a religious
community, a community that orients itself toward and remembers some sacred
reality. That is, the transformational effect of mystical experiences may rest more
in nonsubjective influences than in physiological changes.
Bibliography
Allen, Douglas, ed. 1997. Culture and Self: Philosophical and Religious Perspectives,
East and West. Boulder, CO: Westview.
Ames, Roger T. 1993. “The Meaning of Body in Classical Chinese Philosophy.” In
Self as Body in Asian Theory and Practice, edited by Thomas P. Kasulis, 157–77.
Albany: State University of New York Press.
Andersen, Poul. 1995. “The Transformation of the Body in Taoist Ritual.” In
Religious Reflections on the Human Body, edited by Jane Marie Law, 186–208.
Bloomington: Indiana University Press.
Baldrian-Hussein, Farzeen. 1984. Procédés secrets du joyau magique. Paris: Les Deux
Océans.
Baryosher-Chemouny, Muriel. 1996. La quete de l’immortalité en Chine: Alchimie et
payasage intérieur sous les Song. Paris: Editions Dervy.
Bermúdez, José Luis, Anthony Marcel, and Naomi Eilan, eds. 1998. The Body and
the Self. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
Boltz, Judith. 1987. A Survey of Taoist Literature, Tenth to Seventh Centuries.

Berkeley: Institute of East Asian Studies.
Campany, Robert F. 2002. To Live as Long as Heaven and Earth: A Translation and
Study of Ge Hong’s Traditions of Divine Transcendents. Berkeley: University of
California Press.
Cedzich, Ursula-Angelika. 2001. “Corpse Deliverance, Substitute Bodies, Name
Change, and Feigned Death: Aspects of Metamorphosis and Immortality in
Early Medieval China.” Journal of Chinese Religions 29: 1–68.
Coakley, Sarah, ed. 1997. Religion and the Body. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
Csordas, Thomas J., ed. 1994. Embodiment and Experience: The Existential Ground
of Culture and Self. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Despeux, Catherine. 1994. Taoïsme et corps humain. Le Xiuzhen tu. Paris: Guy
Trédaniel.
———. 1996. “Le corps, champ spatio-temporel, souche d’identité.” L’Homme 137:
87–118.
———. 2000. “Talismans and Sacred Diagrams.” In Daoism Handbook, edited by
Livia Kohn, 498–540. Leiden: Brill.
Deutsch, Eliot. 1993. “The Concept of the Body.” In Self as Body in Asian Theory
and Practice, edited by Thomas P. Kasulis, 5–19. Albany: State University of
New York Press.
Eskildsen, Stephen. 1998. Asceticism in Early Taoist Religion. Albany: State University
of New York Press.
Feher, Michel, with Ramona Naddaff and Nadia Tazi, eds. 1989. Fragments for a
History of the Human Body. 3 vols. New York: Zone Books.
Fischer, Roland. 1980. “A Cartography of the Ecstatic and Meditative States.” In
Understanding Mysticism, edited by Richard Woods, 286–305. Garden City, NY:
Doubleday Image Books.
Gallagher, Shaun, and Jonathan Shear, eds. 1999. Models of the Self. Bowling Green,
OH: Imprint Academic.
Good, Mary-Jo, Paul Brodwin, Byron Good, and Arthur Kleinman, eds. 1992. Pain
as Human Experience: An Anthropological Perspective. Berkeley: University of
California Press.
Jaynes, Julian. 2000 (1982). The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the
Bicameral Mind. Boston and New York: Houghton Mifflin Company.
Kasulis, Thomas P., with Roger T. Ames and Wimal Dissanayake, eds. 1993. Self as
Body in Asian Theory and Practice. Albany: State University of New York Press.
Kirkland, Russell. 2004. Taoism: The Enduring Tradition. London and New York:
Routledge.
Kohn, Livia. 1987. Seven Steps to the Tao: Sima Chengzhen’s Zuowanglun. St.
Augustin/Nettetal: Monumenta Serica Monograph 20.
———, ed. 1989a. Taoist Meditation and Longevity Techniques. Ann Arbor: Center
for Chinese Studies, University of Michigan.
———. 1989b. “Taoist Insight Meditation: The Tang Practice of Neiguan.” In

Taoist Meditation and Longevity Techniques, edited by Livia Kohn, 191–222. Ann
Arbor: Center for Chinese Studies, University of Michigan.
———. 1991. “Taoist Visions of the Body.” Journal of Chinese Philosophy 18:
227–52.
———. 1993. The Taoist Experience. Albany: State University of New York Press.
———. 2002. Living with the Dao: Conceptual Issues in Daoist Practice. E-dao
Publication. Cambridge, MA: Three Pines Press.
Komjathy, Louis. 2002. Title Index to Daoist Collections. Cambridge, MA: Three
Pines Press.
———. 2007. Cultivating Perfection: Mysticism and Self-transformation in Early
Quanzhen Daoism. Leiden: Brill.
———. “Mapping the Daoist Body: Part I: The Neijing tu in History.” Journal of
Daoist Studies 1 (2008): 67–92.
———. “Mapping the Daoist Body: Part II: The Text of the Neijing tu.” Journal
of Daoist Studies 2 (2009): 64–108.
Kuriyama, Shigehisa. 1999. The Expressiveness of the Body and the Divergence of Greek
and Chinese Medicine. New York: Zone Books.
Lakoff, George, and Mark Johnson. 1980. Metaphors We Live By. Chicago:
University of Chicago Press.
———. 1999. Philosophy in the Flesh: The Embodied Mind and Its Challenge to
Western Thought. New York: Basic Books.
Lakoff, George. 1987. Women, Fire, and Dangerous Things: What Categories Reveal
about the Mind. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Law, Jane Marie, ed. 1995. Religious Reflections on the Human Body. Bloomington:
Indiana University Press.
Lévi, Jean. 1989. “The Body: The Daoists’ Coat of Arms.” In Fragments for a History
of the Body, edited by Michel Feher, Ramona Naddaff, and Nadia Tazi, 1: 105–26.
New York: Zone Books.
Mair, Victor. 2000. “The Zhuangzi and Its Impact.” In Daoism Handbook, edited
by Livia Kohn, 30–52. Leiden: Brill.
Major, John, Sarah Queen, Andrew Meyer, and Harold Roth. Forthcoming. The
Huainanzi: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Government in Early Han China
by Liu An, King of Huainan. New York: Columbia University Press.
Mees, L. F. C. 1984. Secrets of the Skeleton: Form in Metamorphosis. Spring Valley,
NY: Anthroposophic Press.
Miller, James. 2008. The Way of Highest Clarity: Nature, Vision and Revelation in
Medieval China. Magdalena, NM: Three Pines Press.
Needham, Joseph, et al. 1983. Science and Civilisation in China, vol. V.: Chemistry
and Chemical Technology, part 5: Spagyrical Discovery and Invention: Physiological
Alchemy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Robinet, Isabelle. 1989. “Visualization and Ecstatic Flight in Shangqing Taoism.”
In Taoist Meditation and Longevity Techniques, edited by Livia Kohn, 159–91.
Ann Arbor: Center for Chinese Studies, University of Michigan.
———. 1993. Taoist Meditation: The Mao-shan Tradition of Great Clarity. Translated
by Julian Pas and Norman Girardot. Albany: State University of New York
Press.
———. 2000. “Shangqing—Highest Clarity.” In Daoism Handbook, edited by Livia
Kohn, 196–224. Leiden: Brill.
Roth, Harold D. 1999. Original Tao: Inward Training (Nei-yeh) and the Foundations
of Taoist Mysticism. New York: Columbia University Press.
Rouner, Leroy S., ed. 1992. Selves, People, and Persons. South Bend, IN: University
of Notre Dame Press.
Saso, Michael. 1997. “The Taoist Body and Cosmic Prayer.” In Religion and the
body, edited by Sarah Coakley, 231–47. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
Scarry, Elaine. 1985. The Body in Pain: The Making and Un-Making of the World.
Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press.
Schipper, Kristofer. 1978. “The Taoist Body.” History of Religions 17.3/4: 355–86.
———. 1993 (1982). The Taoist Body. Translated by Karen C. Duval. Berkeley:
University of California Press.
Schipper, Kristofer, and FranciscusVerellen, eds. 2004. The Taoist Canon: A Historical
Comparison to the Daozang. 3 vols. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Unschuld, Paul. 1985. Medicine in China: A History of Ideas. Berkeley: University
of California Press.
———. 2003. Huang Di Nei Jing Su Wen: Nature, Knowledge, Imagery in an Ancient
Chinese Medical Text. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Varela, Francisco, Evan Thompson, and Eleanor Rosch. 1993. The Embodied Mind:
Cognitive Science and Human Experience. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
Verela, Francisco, and Jonathan Shear, eds. 1999. The View from Within: First-Person
Approaches to the Study of Consciousness. Bowling Green, OH: Imprint
Academic.
White, David. 1998. The Alchemical Body: Siddha Traditions in Medieval India.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
CHAPTER 5
Daoist Mysticism: Embodiment,

Eudaimonia, and Flow
Laura E. Weed
G
iven the contentiousness of the hermeneutics debate among
sinologists, I will begin my analysis of Daoist embodied mysticism
with a brief discussion of methodology. As J. J. Clarke has pointed
out, the traditional interpretation of Daoism for the West was established
by scholars who stressed a false dichotomy between philosophical and reli-
gious Daoism. Clarke accuses James Legge, for example, of
dismiss[ing] popular and religious Daoism as “superstitious,” “unreasonable,”

“fantastic” and “grotesque,” by comparison with the philosophical depth of
the teachings of Laozi and Zhuangzi.1
Russell Kirkland2 and Livia Kohn3 have also pointed out the degree to
which Western scholars have misunderstood Daoism by focusing on too few
texts of the Tao-tsang, by using Western interpretive lenses that considered
Laozi and Zhuangzi as individual philosophers who authored individual
texts rather than as possibly mythological spokespersons for anthologies that
embodied the wisdom of long-standing traditions, and by ignoring the
practices of common people to focus on a disrespectful Confucian analysis
of those traditions. So, I hardly need to argue, at this point, for the inac-
curacy of an interpretation of Daoism that contrasts the wisdom of Laozi
and Zhuangzi with the superstition of the Daoist religious tradition.
Instead, I will argue in this chapter for an understanding of the nature of
the embodied mysticism that was advocated by the Daoist tradition in
China. I will still make comparisons with Western philosophers, but I hope
that the Western comparisons that I make will more accurately reflect the
106 ● Laura E. Weed
thinking and practices of the Daoist sages and will avoid some of the pitfalls
for which Clarke, Kohn, Kirkland and others have faulted most twentieth-
century sinologists.
In my comparisons I will adopt a hermeneutic of the type used by Jon
Herman to elucidate the roots of Martin Buber’s “proto-dialogical unity,”4
through analyzing Buber’s encounter with Zhuangzi. Although there is prob-
ably no historical connection between the authors that I am comparing,
Daoist forms of self-cultivation and embodied practice bear a close enough
psychological parallel to procedures advocated and studied by Aristotle,
Maslow, and Csikszentmihalyi, for the comparisons to be fruitful and infor-
mative on two levels. First, in terms of what Herman calls an aesthetic or
romantic hermeneutic,5 the Chinese and Western advocates of embodied self-
cultivation are following similar procedures to achieve similar goals. Just as
one would expect that another human culture, no matter how different from
ours, would have some procedures of food production or waste disposal, one
can expect that some manner of analysis of self-cultivation is present in most,
if not all human cultures, and in cultures in which we find such practices we
can fruitfully compare the manner in which this is done for similarities and
differences that emerge in the local contexts. Of course, care must be taken
to respect the local contexts, but humanity consists of only one biological
species, so one need not throw one’s hands up in despair of any cross-cultural
comparison, as Steven Katz6 and other social constructivists do, because the
ethnic, linguistic, and cultural contexts in which people live differ. Second,
my analysis describes embodied practices. In discussing what people do with
their physical bodies, and the psychological consequences of the embodied
practices, one is approaching a scientific analysis of the situation and moving
away from a cultural or hermeneutic analysis, in any case. As one would not
expect incommensurably different reactions to SARs or the Bird Flu when
the virus crosses cultural, linguistic, or ethnic boundaries, and one would
expect regular exercise to improve the health of most humans, whatever their
cultural contexts, one would expect that these religious embodied practices of
self-cultivation will exhibit at least some similar effects cross-culturally. In this
sense, postulated cross-cultural similarities in practice might even be con-
strued as scientific hypotheses for sociological or anthropological research.
Self-Cultivation: Daoist Teachings and Practices

I will now first outline some of the salient teachings and practices of Daoism
as identified by recent Daoist scholarship. Second, I will show how Daoism
reflects a conception of embodied ethical mysticism, reminiscent of Aristotle’s
conception of eudaimonia, in the Nichomachean Ethics. Third, I will show
Daoist Mysticism ● 107
how Daoist practices that I identified in the first section of the chapter reflect
a conception of self-actualization, as expressed by Abraham Maslow, and of
flow, as described by Mihaly Csikszentmihaly. From this comparison I will
conclude that Daoist practice has traditionally embraced an embodied form
of mysticism, that is, at once, philosophical and religious, although its reli-
gious expression differs from traditional Western forms of religious
expression.
Self-Cultivation, or cheng was an important traditional Chinese goal, what-
ever school of thought one belonged to, but for Daoists there was a stronger
stress on maximizing the natural expression of de, perfecting embodied
energy as qi, incorporating or relating oneself to Dao, and co-relating health
in body to proper function in society, nature, and Tian, than there was in
other Chinese traditions. Some of the teachings and practices concerning the
self and its cultivation were the following.
Daoist teachings regarding de, or self, variously interpret the ambiguous
Chinese conception of a human self as at once physiological, cosmological,
psychological, and transcendent. Livia Kohn argues that there are at least
two senses in the Xisheng jing7 (Scripture of Western Ascension) in which the
physiological body is understood to be the self. One’s de is born with one’s
body (xing) and is part of the functioning of one’s body in everyday life.
Kohn explains:
Throughout Chinese intellectual history xing is a complex and much inter-

preted term. The ancient dictionary Shuowen jiezi zhu defines it as xiang,
“simulacra,” “symbol,” “replica.” . . . This original notion corresponds to our
translation of xing as “form” or “shape.” It means the body of the material
appearance of things as an abstract conception, as an entity quite distinct and
yet wholly integrated.8
Xing is thus, not “matter” in the Greek sense of hyle but it does contrast
as the Chinese nonphysical functional equivalent of Western matter against
qi, spirit, in some contexts, and against shēn, the personal body or self, in
other contexts.9 Shēn is also understood as the conglomeration of the
senses,10 and the psychological ego-identity.11 Jung Yeup Kim translates shēn
as “creative indeterminacy” signifying that the self is a particular but inde-
terminate space of transformation, which of course is not separate from the
body, because there is no matter/spirit dualism in Chinese philosophy.12 The
physical form of a person (xing) is responsible for emotions and desires and
can distract from the Dao, but it must be intact for the self to come to the
body and reside as part of it.13 Kohn summarizes the role of the body in the
cosmology of the Xisheng jing as being at once individual and cosmic.
Within the cosmological system, the body takes on a particularly remarkable

position. Divided into the xing, the cosmic body that is part of creation, and
the shēn, the personal body that is part of the man-made world and thus
opposed to the Tao, the body is on the borderline between true realization
and complete loss of naturalness; a bulwark of primordiality and a fortress of
egoism at the very same time.14
Since both physical form and personality are ultimately aspects of Dao
in Daoist cosmology, disciplining the shēn aspects of body to prevent the
blocking of qi while enhancing the health and primordial qualities of xing
to make it a smooth vehicle for presenting Dao, which is ultimately its own
nature as well as the nature of the universe, is the goal of religious practice
in the Xisheng jing.
Russell Kirkland traces the specific steps used to achieve the Daoist ideal
of self-cultivation “within a cosmos comprised of subtly linked forces”15
across many centuries of Daoist practice in China. Kirkland summarizes
Ssu-mo Sun’s Chen-chung Chi (Pillow Book Records) as listing five instruc-
tions for achieving integration of the whole person with Dao.
They are:
1. “prudence,” i.e. self control and moderation in consumption and sensual
pleasures;
2. “prohibitions” regarding improper activities in those regards;
3. self-massage
4. guiding the ch’i by visualizational meditation
5. “guarding the One” to achieve apotropatic powers.16
Kirkland explains that these practices were expanded and elaborated over
many centuries of Daoist practice, during which complex analyses of bal-
anced diet and moderation in physical activity at the early stages of Daoist
practice, and instructions for achieving calmness or equilibrium in both
body and mind at the intermediate stages of development, were added to
advanced stage meditative analyses of “sitting in forgetfulness” and forget-
ting ordinary distinctions between self and other, which would lead to
“entering into suchness”17 and achieving wu-wei (doing without doing).18
Kirkland also points out that ritual aspects of Daoism, such as focusing on
sounds of words (chen-yen)19 interacted productively with a variety of East
Asian tantric practices, such as reciting of mantras.
Kirkland points out how eclectic Daoist practice became during the sec-
ond to sixth centuries, intertwining the philosophical, upper class, Huainanzi
texts and practices with practices advocated in less well-known texts emerg-
ing from the Heavenly Masters’ traditions, such as the Tai p’ing ching,
the Hsiang-erh, and the Nei-yeh. Kirkland summarizes the moral precepts in
some of these texts as follows.
Related texts in the Tao-tsang preserve thirty-six moral precepts said to have
been part of the original Hsiang-erh. Nine consist of “prescriptive precepts”
pegged squarely to the Tao te ching (e.g., “practice clarity and stillness” and
“practice desirelessness”). The others consist of “proscriptive precepts.” Some
of those go back to the Tao te Ching (e.g., “Do not delight in arms”) or the
Nei-yeh (e.g., “Do not waste your vital essence and life energy”), and others
preserve the wider social framework of the T’ai-p’ing ching (e.g., “Do not pray
or sacrifice to spirits and gods”).20
These lists of practices specify a method of self-discipline that is two-

fold. The first goal, which might, on the one hand, be characterized as
largely negative, is aimed at attuning one’s body (xing) to a healthy state of
equilibrium, while curtailing equilibrium disturbing psychological or men-
tal propensities (shēn). Qi, energy or vitality, is optimized, and attunement
of the body to smooth interaction with the environment (both physiologi-
cally and psychologically) is practiced. Discipline is directed at suppressing
any propensity, whether physical, mental, or otherwise that would cause
friction either intrapersonally or interpersonally. A general recognition that
friction causes disease, decay, stress, and ultimately, death seems to inform
these practices. I have called this method of self-discipline negative because
it is aimed at eliminating sources of disturbance, although, of course, it is
also promoting health and equilibrium.
The more positive goal of these Daoist practices, on the other hand, aims
at achieving a very high level of functioning and self-expression, and open-
ing the door for what contemporary psychologists call peak experiences.
Optimal physiological, psychological, and mental functioning will enable a
person to achieve states of transcendent harmony with his or her environ-
ment, and ecstatic expression of the qualities or talents most central to one’s
nature and personality. It is this mystical goal of Daoism that unites all of
the varied Daoist texts into what can be called a single tradition, despite
the differences in outlook of the various texts. Kirkland points out,
What all three texts, the Tao te Ching, the Nei-yeh, and the Chuang-tzu share.
is the idea that one can live one’s life wisely only if one learns to live in accord
with life’s unseen forces and subtle processes, not on the basis of society’s
more prosaic concerns.21
Examples of this type of mystical achievement abound in Daoist sources.

I’ll illustrate this sense of transcendence as attunement to the unseen forces
of nature with just a few examples.
In Jon Herman’s account of the Zhuangzi, as translated by Martin Buber,

Section 34, entitled “The String Music of the Yellow Emperor,” tells
the story of Pei-men Ch’eng, who claims that when the emperor played the
Hsien-ch’ih, “I was at the first part shocked, at the second, stunned, at the
third, enraptured, speechless, flabbergasted.”22 The emperor explains that it
is the skillfulness of his play that has had this profound effect on Pei-men
Ch’eng, for he began with mere human skill, but ended “animated by the
primordial purity.”23 The music establishes a basic attunement or harmony
among the disciplined music playing of the emperor, the disciplined senses
of Pei-men Ch’eng, the instrument, and the sound so profound that, as the
emperor explains,
My play first aroused fear, and you were afflicted as if by an apparition. Then
I joined stupor to that and you were separated. But finally came enrapture;
for enrapture means turned out from sense, turned out from sense means
Dao, and Dao means the great absorption.24
This profound sense of absorption in music is perhaps one of the most

common types of experience of mystical absorption on record. It is not
specifically religious, and is clearly cross-cultural. One must be at least open
to it in the ways that one would be opened by following the Daoist prac-
tices of self-cultivation. Hunger, illness, mental or psychological distur-
bance, or poor levels of concentration would impede one’s ability to become
absorbed in the music. Lack of disciplined playing skill on the part of the
Emperor would destroy the experience. But when all is in harmony, the
music stuns and enraptures both the Emperor, for whom it is also a maxi-
mal expression of his de as personality, talent, energy, and creativity, and the
hearer, who cannot help being overcome by the primordial purity of the
music achieving perfection and revealing Dao in his presence.
In a sense the playing of the music is very physical and ordinary. Physical
fingers, strings, and instrument, ears and air are all the elements that are
contained in the musical event. But when they are perfectly harmonized to
one another, Dao reveals the ultimate oneness of all of them. “Guarding
the One” accomplishes perfect self-expression leading to self-transcendence
of a clearly mystical nature.
Livia Kohn explains how the path of the sage, leading to the Tao, is tied
to virtue and self-development in the Xisheng jing. She quotes the text, as
follows.
The Tao does not desire emptiness, yet emptiness naturally returns there.
Virtue does not desire spirit, yet spirit naturally returns there. . . .
If human beings are empty, latent and free from action, they may not
desire the Tao, yet the Tao naturally returns to them. Seen from this angle,
how could the individual nature of beings not be natural?25
Kohn explains that the return to the Dao may be either an enstatic
absorption in the darkness of the Tao, or an ecstatic state of liberation into
a sense of spiritual freedom.26 In either case, it is the self-development of
the virtues already cited that leads to the natural and embodied, yet mysti-
cally transcendent state of the accomplished Sage.
There is yet another sense in which ethics is embodied for Daoists, as
well. Dan Lusthaus points out how closely the epistemological perspective
of seeing reality from the location of one’s body is connected to the ethical
evaluating system in which we judge some things better than others. It is
from the perspective of being embodied within a body and a community
that we judge some things as “good” and others as “bad”; but we universal-
ize the judgments falsely, forgetting their sources. In his analysis of the
ethics of the Zhuangzi, Lusthaus claims,
[O]ur claim to objective standards is a self-deception in which we indulge in

order to disguise the fact that we are merely clinging to our prejudices . . .
whether those are central or communal. In either case, objective standards
mask self-justification and self confirmation.27
In other words, a disembodied ethics, or one lacking in awareness of the

perspective of the speaker, or lacking in the self-development outlined
above, represents not an ethics, properly understood, but rather, an ego or
personality that is not properly developed and has run amok.
Someone might object that my treatment of Daoist ethics secularizes the
Celestial Masters’ traditions to an exaggerated degree. I have discounted the
rich ritual iconography of the inner landscape as featuring the Ocean of
Energies, K’un-lun Mountain, the Cinnabar field, the Queen Mother of the
West, and the virtual pantheon of gods and sacred spaces that populated the
meditation practices of the Daoist priesthood. Kristofer Schipper points out
several roles that the rituals played in traditional Daoism. On one level, the
sages and adepts were skeptical of the worship of gods by common people
but participated in them to engage the people in practices that would
ultimately prove beneficial for the participants. But Daoist sages also sym-
bolically invoked the inner deities, especially the ones included in their reg-
isters, while breathing rhythmically, as described in the Book of the Yellow
Court.28 The breathing, in turn, is closely linked to the anatomical organs as
identified in Chinese medicine and the exercises of T’ai–chi ch’uan.29 In the
symbolic sense, the body was conceived of as an inner chaos of competing

interests that had to be unified through many difficult processes of self-
cultivation for “Keeping the One”.30 So achieving inner order was at once a
physiological and a religious task. It featured the making of the indetermi-
nate particularity of shēn determinate and de coming into attunement with
Dao. While one cannot ignore or discount the iconography and rituals of
religious Daoism, the connections of these practices to the body are also
more immediate than those of most Western religions. Schipper points out
that the word “religion” has no direct Chinese counterpart.31 It may also be
the case that the notion of a secular practice had no pre-communist coun-
terpart, either, and so, the Western distinction between religious and philo-
sophical Daoism is simply misplaced. In this sense, I have been focusing on
the ethical rather than the ritual aspects of Daoism, without implying pri-
macy or exclusivity for the aspects of practice that I am discussing.
So far I have been describing the interconnections between self-development,
virtue, and embodied mysticism in Daoism. I have shown how a psychological
attitude of detachment from the ego, attention to care for the health and
vitality of the body, and preservation of vital energy produces the state of
character in which the primordial Dao will enlighten and envivify a sage.
Everyday practices involving self-discipline and self-cultivation lead to tran-
scendence, which ultimately consists of a profound form of harmony with
the primordial source of all of nature, the Dao. For the rest of the chapter
I will show some interesting parallels between this Daoist conception of
sagely achievement and some Western conceptions of ‘the good for man,’ as
Aristotle characterizes the ethical quest.
Aristotle and Eudaimonia

In the Nichomachean Ethics, Aristotle is out to describe happiness, which is
as he says, the best and highest good, for it is the ultimate goal for which
all other goals are pursued.32 In turns of phrase that freshman philosophy
students regularly find quite odd, Aristotle defines happiness as “an activity
of soul implying a rational principle”33 and “an activity of soul in accor-
dance with perfect virtue.”34
Virtue, for Aristotle, is proper function, in the mundane sense that a
virtuous knife cuts well, and a virtuous lyre-player plays the lyre well.35 So,
his goal is to seek the proper function of a human being, again, in the
mundane sense of seeking the certain type of life, lived in activities that
reflect the excellence of human nature. So far, so Daoist.
Of course, Aristotle also stresses some rather un-Daoist points in 1098a
of the Nichomachean Ethics. For he dismisses nutrition and growth as having
anything to do with ethics, and he isolates the rational principle as the

identifying human characteristic that will select the virtuous activities. For
Daoists, of course, the intellect does not bear any special insight into the
nature of the Dao, and is more likely to reflect the inclinations of the delu-
sive ego. These differences will seem less pernicious, in context, however.
Self-development is obviously very high on Aristotle’s list of ethical pri-
orities. Since virtue is a state of character,36 and character is largely a matter
of habit,37 virtue and a potentially happy character are direct results of
doing virtuous acts, developing one’s habits for a properly functioning
character to the highest degree possible, and living a lifestyle that exhibits
activities in accordance with these habits. His faculty-psychology distin-
guishes between intellectual and moral virtues, in a way that can be seen as
reflecting similar sensibilities to those of Daoist authors.
Aristotle’s intellectual virtues are actually not rational principles, but rather,
practices that parallel what I called the positive ethical practices of Daoism.
They are the fulfillments of talents, which might be regarded as the self-
expression of one’s de in Chinese terms. Intellectual virtues consist of learned
arts and skills, and are products of education,38 and for them there is no ques-
tion of “seeking a mean between excess and defect,” as there is for moral vir-
tues. Indeed, for the intellectual virtues, one should “go for the gold,” aiming
for the highest level of achievement possible. The aim of the carpenter is to
be an excellently skilled carpenter, of the lyre-player to be the best in skill, and
of the philosopher to be the best thinker. The highest of the intellectually vir-
tuous activities is, according to Aristotle, contemplation, of which he says:
If happiness is activity in accordance with virtue, it is reasonable that it should

be in accordance with the highest virtue; and this will be that of the best thing
in us. Whether it be reason or something else that is this element which is
thought to be our natural ruler and guide and to take thought of things noble
and divine, whether it be itself also divine or only the most divine element in
us, the activity of this in accordance with its proper virtue will be perfect
happiness. That this activity is contemplative, we have already said.39
I will not debate here whether Aristotle’s notion of contemplation is

intended to refer to a more “rational” or a more “divine” activity. I think it
is sufficient for my argument to point out that his conception of contem-
plation is probably not Kant’s “pure reason,” or Descartes’ thinking thing
in a disembodied soul doing mathematics. Rather, Aristotle’s eudaimonia
state involves the enjoyment of maximal self-expression in harmony with
one’s well developed talents. Indeed, Cohen, Curd, and Reeve point out
that the term eudaimonia is derived from eu, which means “well,” and
daimon, which means “divine being,”40 So, even in the choice of his word-
ing, Aristotle may have seen perfect order in a human life and perfect order
in the universe as harmoniously resonant qualities; in which the well-being
of the gods and the well-being of a human are united in happiness.
Thus, despite some obvious differences, Aristotle’s analysis of the intellec-
tual virtues exhibits some very Daoist themes. Skill and talent development
in harmony with one’s nature and inherent talents will bring one to perform
activities that bring about the highest level of happiness. Practicing these
activities to the point at which they become a form of contemplation is the
best of which a human is capable. Achieving that level of accomplishment is
reflective of the divine element in a human, and the closest one can come to
attunement to divinity. It is also the achievement of human happiness.
Aristotle’s moral virtues parallel what I called the negative directives of
Daoist practice. These involve a rational principle from the intellectual part
of the soul, in his faculty-psychology, dominating over the desirous portion
of the nutritive part of the soul,41 to seek a mean between excess and defect.42
Virtues such as temperance, moderation in eating, courage, the reasonable use
of money in a way that is neither miserly nor ostentatious, and the like, reflect
forms of self-discipline reminiscent of the Daoist injunctions to suppress or
ignore the shēn desires while satisfying the xing desires. For Aristotelian defects
of moral virtue would arise from too little attention being paid to the basic
needs of the body, while the Aristotelian excesses would be results of too
much emphasis on the shēn or psychological and egotistical propensity to
greed and grasping.
Indeed, there are some verbal parallels between the Aristotelian concepts of
psyche and the composite of matter and spirit that forms a substantial self, and
the Chinese concepts of shēn and xing. The soul, or psyche, for Aristotle, is the
form of the body, it is “the actuality of some form of body,”43 it is the symbolic
rendering of the organism, connected to Plato’s ideos.44 The substance, in con-
trast, is the principle that unites with the matter as a composite, making the
matter into a specific differentiated individual.45 In Daoism, the composite
might more properly be represented as ““cultivation of the mind/heart” hsiu-hsin
as in Nei-yeh V.13 and VI.5)”46 So although there is no direct parallel,one might
say that in Greek as well as in Chinese, the particular, psychological, and ego-
centric is to be suppressed, while the symbolic, organic, and highest sense of self
is the psyche, the soul, and it is to be cultivated. Both are the phusis or nature of
the person, just as both xing and shēn are the nature or de of a person in Daoist
texts. Both can be said to be ways in which the body is organized, in both lan-
guages. And both Aristotle and Daoists show a preference for the organic, the
natural, that connects to the divine over the egotistical and grasping aspects of
self, which represent individual and isolated manners of self-organization.
I think I have identified enough parallels between the Daoist and

Aristotelian conceptions of the good life to claim that the processes of self-
development and goals for ethical success bear some striking similarities.
Aristotle’s developed conception of eudaimonia as a state of virtuous character
featuring high levels of skills and accomplished states of contemplation repre-
sents a form of transcendence that like Daoism’s conception of transcendence,
may be ecstatic or enstatic. Aristotle would be likely to consider the Emperor’s
music playing a case of achieving eudaimoia. Similar paths are used to achieve
these goals in both Daoist and Aristotelian cases, as well; suppression of egotisti-
cal desires coupled with rigorous self-discipline directed at skill development.
In what follows, I will tie two more authors into the embodied conception of
mysticism that I have so far identified in Daoism and Aristotle.
Maslow’s Peak Experiences and Csikszentmihalyi’s Notion of Flow

A half-century ago, Abraham Maslow argued that there was a deep connection
between knowledge of human health and well-being and knowledge of human
values. Self-development, according to Maslow, is the pressure of innate ten-
dencies toward self-actualization. Maslow agrees with my methodological
observation that psychological science can study human self-development
cross-culturally, arguing that “all organisms are more self-governing, self-
regulating and autonomous”47 than the social constructivists would allow. Con-
curring with Aristotle, Maslow argued that self-actualization is a process of
developing a state of character, or a state of mental health and well-being, in
which an integrated personality delights in virtuous activities. The eudaimonia
resulting from successes in growth and self-development is described by
Maslow as follows.
We are again and again rewarded for good Becoming by transient states of
absolute Being, which I have summarized as peak experiences. Achieving
basic needs gratifications gives us many peak experiences, each of which are
absolute delights, perfect in themselves, and needing no more than them-
selves to validate life. . . . Heaven, so to speak, lies waiting for us throughout
life, ready to step into for a time and to enjoy before we have to come back
to our ordinary life of striving.48
Maslow points out, however, that despite innate yearnings for self-
development, very few humans in fact achieve this level of human excel-
lence. The reasons for the high level of failure to thrive are of two types,
which, once again, correspond to failures of the negative and positive virtues
that I identified in both Daoist ethics and Aristotle’s Nichomachean Ethics.
On the negative side, as Maslow points out, people are fearful, crave safety,
self-indulgent, have poor habits, embrace counterproductive cultural atti-
tudes, are injured by traumatic episodes, or are poorly educated.49 Failures
of the negative or moral virtues result in people who lack the self-discipline
for self-actualization. Failures of the positive, or Aristotelian intellectual
virtues result in poor health, both physically and mentally, absence of self-
identity and responsibility, boredom, and lack of direction, spontaneity,
creativity, or zest. The process of self-development advocated for Daoist
sages clearly bears important parallels with Maslow’s instructions for the
achievement of peak experiences.
Like the Daoist sages, and unlike Aristotle, Maslow stresses the safety
and health of the physical body. He points out that failure to meet basic
needs, such as needs for nutrition, exercise, and safety, or falling victim to
physiological trauma will disrupt one’s capacity to advance in a course of
self-actualization. Aristotle acknowledges the role of the nutritive part of the
soul in self-development only in the negative sense that moral virtue
requires moderation.
Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi has continued Maslow’s project by studying
happiness and the activities that produce it directly. He has found that the
most happy people are the ones that he describes as having an “autotelic”
personality. Autotelic activities, according to Csikszentmihalyi, are activities
that people engage in for their own sakes, in opposition to activities that
someone might engage in because they have to or cannot avoid doing them,
or to earn a living, or to please someone else. Applied to personalities, the
word “autotelic” designates “an individual who generally does things for their
own sake, rather than in order to achieve some later, external goal.”50
Csikszentmihalyi has found, in reverse of common opinion on the mat-
ter, that the happiest people are the ones who embrace the most challenging
tasks, who work very hard at jobs that they find productive and on which
they focus high levels of energy and interest. He observes,
As one focuses on any segment of reality, a potentially infinite range of

opportunities for action—physical, mental or emotional—is revealed for our
skills to engage with. . . .
The important thing is to enjoy the activity for its own sake, and to know
that what matters is not the result, but the control one is acquiring over one’s
attention.51
The activities most destructive of happiness are ones related to passive

leisure: watching TV or in other ways becoming a consumer of the entertain-
ment industry. Active leisure activities such as pursuing hobbies or participating
in activities that require skills development and high levels of concentration

such as sports, gardening, and the arts, in contrast are autotelic and produce
happiness. Isolating activities also produce unhappiness, while social activities
tend to produce more happiness. Csikszentmihalyi points out that what all
of the positive happiness producing activities have in common is that they
produce flow. He describes this condition as follows.
A typical day is full of anxiety and boredom. Flow experiences provide the
flashes of intense living against this dull background. . . . [A] person in flow
is completely focused. There is no space in consciousness for distracting
thoughts, irrelevant feelings. Self-consciousness disappears, yet one feels
stronger than usual. A sense of time is distorted: hours seem to pass by in
minutes. When a person’s entire being is stretched in the full functioning of
body and mind, whatever one does becomes worth doing for it own sake;
living becomes its own justification.52
This type of experience is also closely connected, in Csikszentmihalyi’s

studies, to feelings of energy. Flow produces high levels of energy and excite-
ment, while passive acceptance of biological or cultural fate, boredom, or
doing nothing results in “psychic entropy” which, Csikszentmihalyi reports,
is highest when people report that “what they do is motivated by not having
anything else to do.”53 He sounds downright Daoist, and almost to be dis-
cussing qi when he claims that the most important life activity, for any
person is to learn to “control psychic energy.”54
It might seem that Csikszentmihalyi’s claim that the social life produces
more happiness than the solitary life contrasts with Aristotle’s stress on
contemplation as the best of human achievements and the Daoist stress on
meditation as an important process for achieving an advanced energetic
state. But Csikszentmihalyi argues that the via activa of politics and the via
passiva of divine solitude actually coalesce in the most autotelic people, who
enjoy both solitude and social stimulation.55 He points out that advanced
level scientists and artists and other extremely creative people usually enjoy
both the solitude of their work and thoughts, and the company and con-
versation of others. After all, Aristotle called his study of intellectual and
moral virtue “politics,” and Daoists formed societies of Holy Immortals and
initiated their members into social ranks in the societies.
Conclusion
I have argued in this chapter that Daoism promotes an embodied form
of mysticism, which bears intriguing parallels to Aristotle’s conception of
eudaimonia, Maslow’s conception of peak experience, and Csikszentmihalyi’s

conception of flow. Western psychology has just begun to study the promo-
tion of health and happiness, as opposed to the identification and cure of
disease and disability. I am suggesting that Daoism has been studying this
topic for ages. While the Daoist sages clearly took some wrong turns, such
as the ingestion of mercury, in their explorations, they also learned a lot about
the psychological, ethical, social, and health habits that promote long-term
happiness and self-transcendence. Western distinctions between secular and
religious practice or philosophical vs. religious texts have turned out to be
false dichotomies when discussing these Daoist practices, in which religion,
ethics, and good health, in both the physical and mental senses are united.
Perhaps the Western distinctions also obscure our ability to see happiness
clearly, as the expression of both good health and spiritual self-development.
Notes
1. J. J. Clarke, The Tao of the West (London: Routledge Press, 2000), 44.
2. Russell Kirkland, Taoism, the Enduring Tradition (London: Routledge Press,
2004), 3.
3. Livia Kohn, Taoist Mystical Philosophy (Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 1991)
4. Jon Herman, I and Tao (Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 1996), 162.
5. Ibid., 133–35.
6. Steven Katz, Mysticism and Religious Traditions (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 1983).
7. Xisheng jing (The Scripture of Western Ascension) is a Daoist scripture that dates
to about the fifth century, and there were at least nine editions of it during the
Song Dynasty. It presents itself as instruction given to the guardian of the pass,
Yin Xi, by Laozi and parallels the Dao de Jing in structure. But it is of sufficiently
late origin to incorporate some Buddhist influence, and it combines insights of
the elite intellectual Song version of Daoism, as it existed in Huizong’s Dynastic
court, with practices of southern Daoists.
8. Kohn, Taoist Mystical Philosophy, 96.
9. Ibid., 97.
10. Ibid., 101.
11. Ibid.
12. Jung Yeup Kim, from discussion of his paper, “Zhang Zai’s Qi Qua Field,” at
the APA in New York City, Dec, 2009.
13. Ibid.
15. Kirkland, Taoism, the Enduring Tradition, 192.
16. Ibid., 200.
17. Ibid., 204 While the reference to “suchness” in the tradition shows Buddhist
influence, Kirkland points out that Daoist conceptions of transcendence were
never as other-worldly as Buddhist conceptions. The Daoist goal of transcen-

dence is a realized or perfected person who lives a very long life, understands
“life’s deepest and most rarified realities” and practices daily renewal of qi, far
more often than it is a Buddhist escape into nothingness or avoidance of
rebirth.
18. Ibid., 201.
19. Ibid., 205.
20. Ibid., 84.
21. Ibid., 59.
22. Herman, I and Tao, 48.
23. Ibid.
24. Ibid., 50.
26. Ibid., 151–52.
27. Dan Lusthaus, “Aporetic Ethics in the Zhaungzi,” in Hiding the World in the
World, ed. Scott Cook (Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 2003), 194.
28. Kristofer Schipper, The Daoist Body, trans. Karen C. Duval (Berkeley, CA:
University of California Press, 1993), 136.
29. Ibid., 137–38.
30. Ibid., 130.
31. Ibid., 3.
32. Aristotle, Nichomachean Ethics, Bk. 1, chap. 7, 1097b 1–8, in Introduction to
Aristotle, ed. Richard McKeon (New York, NY: Random House, 1947), 317.
33. Nichomachean Ethics, 1098a, 13–14, 318.
34. Ibid., 1098a 16–17, 319.
35. Ibid., 198a 8–10, 318.
36 Ibid., 1099b, 30–35, 323.
37 Ibid., 1103b, 20–26, 332.
38. Ibid., Bk. 2, chap. 4, 1105a, 20–27, 336.
39. Ibid., Bk.10, chap. 7, 1177a, 12–19, 532.
40. S. Mark Cohen, Patricia Curd, and C. D. C. Reeve, eds., Readings in Ancient
Greek Philosophy (Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Publishing, 1995), 774.
41. Nichomachean Ethics, Bk. 1, chap.13, 1102b, 22–35, 330.
42. Ibid., Bk. 2, chap. 9, 1109a, 19–31, 346.
43. Cohen, Curd, and Reeve, De Anima, 414a 15–30, 644.
44. Ibid., 414a, 28.
45. Ibid., 783–84.
46. Kirkland, p.42
47. Abraham Maslow, “Psychological Data and Value Theory,” in New Knowledge
of Human Values, ed. A. Maslow (Chicago, IL: Henry Regnery, Gateway
edition, 1970), 120.
48. Abraham Maslow, “Psychological Data and Value Theory,” in New Knowledge
of Human Values, 124.
49. Ibid., 133, 127.
50. Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, Finding Flow, the Psychology of Engagement with

Everyday Life (NewYork: Basic Books, Harper-Collins, 1997), 117.
51. Ibid., 128–29.
52. Ibid., 30–32.
53. Ibid., 23.
54. Ibid., p. 127.
55. Ibid., p. 93–96.
Bibliography
Clarke, J. J. The Tao of the West. London: Routledge Press, 2000.
Cohen, S. Mark, Patricia Curd, and C. D. C. Reeve (eds.). Readings in Ancient Greek
Philosophy. Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Publishing, 1995.
Csikszentmihalyi, Mihaly. Finding Flow, the Psychology of Engagement with Everyday
Life. New York: Basic Books, Harper-Collins, 1997.
Herman, Jon. I and Tao. Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 1996.
Katz, Steven. Mysticism and Religious Traditions. Oxford, UK: Oxford University
Press, 1983.
Kirkland, Russell. Taoism, the Enduring Tradition. London: Routledge Press, 2004.
Kohn, Livia. Taoist Mystical Philosophy. Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 1991.
Lusthaus, Dan. “Aporetic Ethics in the Zhaungzi.” In Hiding the World in the World,
ed. Scott Cook. Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 2003.
Maslow, Abraham. “Psychological Data and Value Theory.” In Abraham Maslow
(ed.) New Knowledge of Human Values, pp. 120–32. Chicago, IL: Henry Regnery,
Gateway edition, 1970.
McKeon, Richard (ed.). Introduction to Aristotle. New York: Random House,
1947.
Schipper, Kristopher. The Daoist Body, trans. Karen C. Duval. Berkeley: University
of California Press, 1993.
CHAPTER 6
Liminality and Ambiguity: Christina

the Astonishing as Co-Redemptrix
and Alternative Model of Authority
Charlotte Radler
Christina the Astonishing / Was the most astonishing of all / She prayed
balanced on a hurdle / Or curled up into a ball / She fled to remote places /
Climbed towers and trees and walls / To escape the stench of human corrup-
tion / Into an oven she did crawl / Christina the Astonishing / Behaved in a
terrifying way.
Nick Cave, “Christina the Astonishing,” Henry’s Dream (1992)
I
n his hagiography on Christina the Astonishing from 1232, Dominican
Thomas of Cantimpré (ca. 1200–1270)1 sketches an audacious and
original apostolate in which Christina as a living dead helps to effectu-
ate salvation. However, Christina’s excessive and self-inflicted physical
anguish has been met with great unease and skepticism2 and has been
pathologized3 by both her medieval contemporaries and her present-day
interpreters. This apprehension about Christina’s life prevents us, in my
view, from appreciating the full complexity of her life-world. In particular,
I want to challenge modern readings of Christina’s vita that sever her
incomprehensible and “unreal” bodily agony from her comprehensible and
“real” mendicancy. There has been a tendency to privilege Christina’s men-
dicancy as the factual, intelligible, and emancipatory dimension of her life
and to discount her physical suffering as fictional, unintelligible, and mar-
ginalizing, especially since the former can be translated into more palatable
postmodern terms and categories of agency (e.g., the subversion of patriarchy
and ecclesial structures). In this article, I argue that Christina’s extravagant

122 ● Charlotte Radler
bodily affliction as well as her mendicancy constitute for Thomas a synthetic

apostolate. Christina’s physical anguish becomes meaningful in the context
of her broader ministry, and hence, cannot be disengaged from her mendi-
cancy, as some contemporary scholars have attempted to do. As a liminal
living dead who is “neither this nor that, and yet is both,”4 Christina serves
as a co-redemptrix and represents an alternative model of authority through
her purgatorial suffering and mendicant preaching, teaching, begging, and
prophesizing. It is this multivalent composite that renders her vita a potentially
subversive counterscript, which dissents from the cultural roles prescribed for
medieval women both in the Middle Ages and today.
I present this argument in three primary sections. In the first section,
I analyze the main features of the vita as they pertain to my broader argument
about the integrated character of Christina’s apostolate. In the second sec-
tion, I focus on Christina’s liminal, undead body as a vehicle for redemption.
My reading here is informed by Victor Turner’s theories of liminality and
Caroline Walker Bynum’s critique of liminality as a lens for understanding
medieval women’s spirituality. In the third section, I problematize modern
reductions of Christina’s apostolate. While I acknowledge that a reading of
Thomas’ Life of Christina certainly demands a hermeneutic of suspicion
against formulaic and delimiting (male) hagiographical constructions of
women’s spirituality as somatic, my primary concern here is to engage in a
critical discourse about contemporary interpretations of Christina’s mystical
suffering that unmasks an anachronistic privileging of our hermeneutical
situatedness. Drawing on Dipesh Chakrabarty’s critical conversation about
the role allotted to the divine and spiritual in subaltern studies and Amy
Hollywood’s appropriation of Chakrabarty in her reading of divine agency
in medieval women’s writings, I advocate for the epistemological, ethical, and
political necessity of the heterogeneity and heterotemporality of the interpre-
tative moment.5 Such a dialogical reading, which exists in the fruitful yet
complicated tension of irreducible plurality, invites a more comprehensive
understanding of Christina’s and our own life-worlds.
Marvelous in Life and Death: Purgatorial

Suffering and Mendicancy
According to her hagiography, Christina (ca. 1150–1224), an orphaned
laywoman from the Low Countries, becomes ill after contemplating God
to the point of exhaustion and dies the first of her three deaths.6 She is led
to purgatory and hell where she witnesses horrific torments.7 Overcome by
compassion she arrives before Christ, who provides her with two choices:
she can either stay with Christ or return to earth and through her example
Liminality and Ambiguity ● 123
and suffering as “an immortal soul with a mortal body without damage to
it” help deliver souls from the misery of purgatory.8 She chooses the latter
option and here,9 following the first of two resurrections of her liminal
body, she (like “a female Lazarus”)10 commences her apostolate that was as
confounding to her contemporaries as it is to readers today.11 Many of her
contemporaries (including her own family) suspected her to be possessed
by demons. They doubted her mental sanity and subjected her to the
“mental care” of the time, that is, breaking her legs and binding her with
iron chains and a heavy wooden yoke in a dungeon.12 As part of her active
ministry, Christina adopts a mendicant lifestyle, preaches, teaches, hears
confessions, interprets Scripture, prophesizes, self-baptizes, and saves through
excruciating self-inflicted and public agony, which includes, among many
things, jumping into roaring fires, baking ovens, cauldrons of boiling water,
and rivers with freezing water.13 Bynum characterizes the Life of Christina
as containing “the most remarkable somatic miracles of any thirteenth-
century woman’s vita.”14 As Barbara Newman and Jo Ann McNamara
argue, many devout women in the Middle Ages engage in spiritual almsgiv-
ing for the spiritually disadvantaged (both living and dead) through—for
example—prayer, tears, fasting, and physical suffering, and their purgatorial
piety is highlighted by their hagiographers as a safe, fitting, and accepted
form of apostolic life for women.15 Nevertheless, Christina’s corporal afflic-
tions heighten this form of piety to an extent that it is radical even among
medieval constructions of women’s spirituality that center on suffering.
In Christina’s apostolate to the living and dead, her body is no longer
subjected to the constrictions of ordinary bodies. Seemingly at every given
opportunity, Christina leaps into burning-hot ovens, immerses herself in
boiling cauldrons, rolls around in roaring fires, remains submerged like a
fish for days in the freezing waters of the river Meuse, stands on a water-
wheel in the winter, is chased by dogs through woods thick with thorn,
lashes herself with brambles until she is completely covered in blood, stands
erect on fence palings—like a female Flemish Symeon the Stylite—as she
sings all the Psalms, stretches her arms and legs on the rack, and suspends
herself on the gallows between the hanged thieves, howling loudly as if from
the pangs of childbirth.16 She also engages in more traditional forms of
penitential activities, such as walking barefoot in all kinds of weather, weep-
ing, fasting for days between meals, and eating only vile and loathsome
foods.17 Through her lived purgatorial punishments—her excruciating
physical pain and her boundless tears—Christina attempts to dissuade her
audience from continuing their sinful lives and carries part of their purga-
torial torments in her body, hence shortening their stint in purgatory.18
She acts out her anguish in a spectacular performance, where her visual
representation portrays the incomprehensible and ineffable, yet also the

“real.” Her fantastical bodily reenactments of purgatory become dramatic
and tangible images or snapshots that etch themselves in the memory and
heart of the onlooker, hearer, and reader, and therefore, as living sermons,
constitute efficient exempla, furthering the spiritual edification of the audi-
ence.19 Robert Sweetman suggests that “these sufferings may then have been
conceptualized . . . as mirabilia which were to provoke in the observer those
salubrious shudders which save.”20
Although Christina truly experiences the pain of her injuries, her resur-
rected, undead body remains miraculously unscathed and intact;21 when she
washes off the blood, there is no trace of wounds as her body now resists
injury.22 Christina’s vita in many ways defies the “standard” account accord-
ing to which the holy person is dismembered and fragmented, but is seem-
ingly impervious to pain.23 Instead, Christina’s body remains unmarked and
unbroken, while she suffers horrendous agony illustrated by her ghastly
screams. While her body is closed off to mutilation, it is, similar to Christ’s
body, open in terms of being a vehicle of salvation and healing for all.
Throughout the hagiography, Thomas references the postresurrection
lightness of Christina’s being: she performs her miraculous acts and physical
feats in her body, but she looks like a phantasm.24 Also, as she first resurrects
from the dead during the Agnus Dei at her own Requiem Mass, her light
body floats to the rafters of the Church like a bird.25 She continues her flight
from human beings to lofty heights, such as to trees, tops of castles, towers,
or churches, or any elevated structure where her spirit might find rest so that
she can pray.26 The spirit so controls and permeates her corporeal body that
she hovers above the ground “and scarcely could it be discerned whether a
spirit was passing by or a body.”27 Her liminality provides her body with a
certain transparency and ethereal quality. Thus, her ghostly and liminal
postresurrection body reflects the borderline reality of purgatory. As an apo-
ria, her mystical experiences suspend and transcend the physical, while they
are necessarily visibly manifested in the physical. According to Thomas,
when Christina prayed and “the divine grace of contemplation descended
upon her,” she attained a state of mystical ecstasy, an experience that shaped
her supple body. Thomas writes: “[A]ll her limbs were joined together into
one single ball, just like heated wax, and nothing could be perceived of them
except only a spherical body. And when her spiritual inebriation had dissi-
pated and her normal senses had taken back their proper place in her limbs,
like a hedgehog her rolled up body returned to its shape and her limbs,
which earlier had been enclosed in a formless mass, extended outwards.”28
Christina’s spiritual senses are located both in her body and in her soul,
as demonstrated by the vivid physical impact of her mystical experiences.
Her immortal soul suffuses her undead body and her spiritual senses her
earthly senses, rendering her body a phantasmal being and her sensory
experiences more intense. Her spirit and its senses transfigure her corporeal
body and earthly senses, yet her spirit and its senses cannot be conflated
with her corporeal body and earthly senses. Consequently, her body and
earthly senses are no longer constrained, but breach the boundaries of
ordinary bodies and senses in terms of malleability and capacity to endure
pain. While Thomas’ hagiography considers all of the senses, it especially
expounds on Christina’s heightened and transformed sense of touch in her
experiences of redemptive suffering (as she carries purgatorial torments in
her body) and her altered bodily shape during her mystical experiences (as
her body adopts spherical shapes).
Christina’s body takes on (even for a medieval context) bold sacramental
qualities in the text’s two mammary miracles, which establish another link
between her and Christ’s bodies. Just like Christ is eaten, Christina is
“eaten” and saves herself from starvation through her own emaciated body
as she nurses herself in the wilderness for nine weeks with the milk flowing
from her fruitful, virginal breasts.29 Thomas notes: “Without delay she
turned her eyes upon herself and saw the dry breasts of her virgin bosom
dripping with the sweetness of milk contrary to the very laws of nature.
A miracle! Unheard of for all the centuries after the incomparable virgin
mother of Christ.”30 Later, when she sits chained in a dungeon, her breasts
exude the clearest oil with which she seasons dry bread and cures her putre-
fying sores.31 In Thomas’ description of the miracles, Christina, like Christ,
becomes food, mirroring the more ontological understanding of the
Eucharist implicit in the emerging doctrine of transubstantiation.32 She
nourishes herself by feeding on her own breasts and not, as was more com-
mon, on Christ’s body. In this way, she transgresses the limits of her virginal
body and marks its extraordinary restorative qualities.33
Christina’s public mendicancy is multifaceted and complex, and consti-
tutes a form of spiritual activity that was neither officially sanctioned nor
viewed as suitable for laywomen.34 Like her bodily suffering, Christina’s
mendicancy becomes a forum for Thomas’ propagation of purgatorial doc-
trine and piety, and he construes her as an effective counterpoint to
Waldensian and Cathar teachings.35 Thomas describes how Christina begs
daily from door to door “in order to carry the sins of those whose alms fed
her.”36 As an itinerant beggar, she is an agent of redemption since God
renders her an opportunity for mercy, contrition, and penance that will
expedite the time her clientele serves in purgatory.37 Consequently, Christina
begs with intrepid zeal: if a person gives willingly to her, she gives thanks;
if a person refuses, she forcefully seizes her begging, since she knows that
it will ultimately be profitable for the person.38 She graciously assists the
dying (from the Christian community as well as the large Jewish commu-
nity of St. Trond), exhorting them to confession of their sins. Christina
preaches repentance and conversion, the “hope of perpetual joy” and the
“horror of the destructive fire,” and she is “filled with the wondrous grace
of speech.”39 “And what else did Christina proclaim during her whole life
except to do penance and be human beings prepared at every hour?” Thomas
asks. “With many words, wails, lamentations, endless cries, she taught and
proclaimed this with the example of her life more than we have learned from
any writing or account of those before or since to the praise and glory of
Christ. . . .”40 She, moreover, rebuked many privately because of their secret
sins, and prophesied publicly and foretold many events, such as the recapture
of Jerusalem by Saladin in 1187, the calamitous local battle of Steppes in
Brabant in 1213, and a local famine in 1170.41 She also becomes the spiri-
tual counselor and confessor of the Count of Looz, and shares his purgatorial
punishments.42 Furthermore, Thomas maintains that although Christina was
completely illiterate from birth, she comprehends Latin and knows so fully
the meaning of Scripture that she—though heedful not to encroach on the
sacerdotal domain—interprets it publily and rivals the most subtle thinker
in parsing intricate theological questions.43
Liminality and Ambiguity: A Living Dead as Co-Redemptrix

These perplexing phenomena and activities become, in part, intelligible
when viewed through the lens of her liminality as living dead. Thomas’ vita
provides a remarkable perspective on medieval Christian purgatorial piety,
according to which the dead can be helped and liberated from their agony
beyond the grave by the living through intercessions, sacrifices, prayers, and
alms.44 However, in the purgatorial piety articulated in Christina’s vita, it is
a living dead or undead person that serves as the transformative agent who
intercedes and mediates between interconnected yet distinct domains on
behalf of both the living and the already dead in purgatory.
As neither living nor dead and—paradoxically—both living and dead,
Christina’s border existence between this and the next world, in and out of
time, results in the unsettling ambiguity of her transfigured body.45 Her
both-and or this-and-that-worldly status—a dual nature that mirrors
Christ’s dual nature—creates the possibility for the redemptive function of
her body. At the threshold of this world and the next, Christina transcends
the limits of her gender and lowly social status and becomes integrated into
a salvation historical narrative as a co-redemptrix. Thomas’ hagiography con-
figures a bold atonement theory in which Christina is the main protagonist.
Similar to Anselm’s atonement theory, Thomas indicates that each new sin
establishes a new debt that humanity ought to reimburse, but, unlike the
logic of Anselm’s model, he firmly believes that the liminal Christina can
pay it off through her participation in Christ’s kenotic suffering. Between
worlds and bodies, the undead Christina—who has not yet attained her
fully glorified and transfigured eschatological body—mediates between the
living and dead, in a sense, even more effectively than Christ. In the text,
the liminal, ambiguous Christina becomes a treasure trove of generosity and
love, which wrests meaning out of otherwise pointless suffering and realizes
the “opportunity of physicality.”46
A transient between worlds, Christina bridges the topography between
life and death. The boundaries between the heterotemporal realms are
porous and plastic, and the activities of the living and dead reciprocally
break through each other’s realities.47 Purgatory becomes, as Jacques Le Goff
observes, “an annex of the earth and extend[s] the time of life and of
memory.”48 Thus, while purgatory is a world of horrific suffering, it also,
paradoxically, constitutes hope and illuminates the solidarity and commu-
nity between the living and the dead.49 It, moreover, points to the open-
ended and dynamic nature of human communities, which are not limited
by time and space. For Thomas and his audience, purgatory, as a liminal
interstructural space between the fixed points of life and afterlife, is
grounded in historical reality, yet points beyond itself and signifies a
dynamic process of transition, transformation, and potentiality, whence
“novel configurations of ideas and relations may arise.”50 Thomas’ purgatorial
theology articulated through Christina’s apostolate of pain, hence expresses the
heterotemporality of the world that he configures and Christina inhabits.
As an interstructural, ambiguous person, Christina represents an alterna-
tive authority to clerical authority, which is by no means a secondary
authority. Thomas construes Christina’s authority as containing simultane-
ously two contrasting aspects of critique of and deference to sacerdotal
powers.51 On the one hand, as a lay woman, she reveres and acquiesces to
clerical authority; on the other hand, as a mendicant co-redemptrix, she is
a mouthpiece of the divine and thus, possesses a certain independence from
and superiority over the clergy.52 Even though Thomas’ configuration voices
his ambivalence about the clergy, he does not attempt to depict her as a
substitute or rival to clerical authority and office. Instead, through Christina
he explores an alternative and complementary realm of authority based on
preaching, teaching, visions, prophesy, ecstasy, and redemptive suffering.53
Her multifaceted apostolate proposes an alternative spiritual model that
may appear disjointed to modern readers. However, Thomas’ construction
of Christina’s apostolate and authority calls for a multivocal and dialogic
historical method that imagines the life-worlds of the text, the medieval
contexts, and the contemporary contexts as heterogeneous.54 Such a meth-
odology necessarily exists in a tension, since it does not remove or assimilate
ambiguity.
Heterogeneity and Heterotemporality: The

Disjuncture of the Present
The notion of liminality—especially Turner’s configuration of liminality—
has been criticized for contributing to women’s marginalization and for
removing women’s agency. Bynum critiques Turner’s understanding of lim-
inality as applied to medieval women’s religious experiences, arguing that
Turner “looks at women; he stands with the dominant group (males) and
sees women (both as symbol and as fact) as liminal to men. . . . [L]iminality
itself . . . may be less a universal moment of meaning needed by human
beings as they move through social dramas than an escape for those who
bear the burdens and reap the benefits of a high place in the social struc-
ture.”55 Bynum further posits that “women’s images and symbols . . . con-
tinue or enhance in image . . . what the woman’s ordinary experience is, so
that one has to see the women’s religious stance as permanently liminal or
as never quite becoming so.”56 While Turner’s concept of liminality needs
to be critically assessed as a potentially problematic lens for reading medi-
eval women mystics and for understanding women’s agency, Bynum’s criti-
cism of Turner’s universalizing is also problematic since it seems to
presuppose a certain uniformity and homogeneity of women’s experiences,
images, and symbols.
In her article “The Life of Christina Mirabilis: Miracles and the
Construction of Marginality,” Anke Passenier implicitly builds on Bynum’s
critique of Turner and extends it to Christina’s agonizing suffering. Passenier
contends that Thomas’ construction of Christina’s miraculous suffering
obscures and marginalizes the “real” Christina as well as her politically sub-
versive “extra-regular” apostolate; it authenticates her mission as a gift of
God and as divinely endorsed, but at the cost of a limiting and stereotypical
construction of female spirituality that reinforces women’s subalterneity.57
The upshot for Passenier is that the extraordinary suffering in the vita con-
sistently conceals the historical, politically “real” and consequential woman.58
Passenier writes: “In the Vita of Christina [her miraculous suffering] proves
to be Janus-faced. Its other side is the construction of female marginality,
the elevation to an other-worldly realm at the cost of a place in ‘real’ his-
tory.”59 Although Passenier’s critique highlights poignantly the complexity
of the hagiographical construction of Christina, it is too simplistic in its
dismissal of her physical suffering as a mere textual distraction from

Christina’s “real” practice of the vita apostolica. In my judgment, it is reduc-
tive to argue that her male hagiographer obfuscates Christina’s mendicancy
and activism with liminality and supernatural activities, hence rendering her
more passive and less subversive. Instead, it is noteworthy that Thomas
overtly incorporates the diverse scope of activities that sustains Christina’s
ministry into the text, which means that for her hagiographer, Christina’s
fantastical anguish as much as her mendicancy make up the fabric of her
apostolate. I argue that Passenier forges oppositionalities between “real” and
“unreal” that reflect and privilege her own heuristic configuration of agency
and fail to perceive that Thomas’ depiction of Christina’s ministry is also
“subversive, representing radical critiques of the central structures and pro-
posing utopian alternative models.”60 While Christina is at times an isolated
and alienating person, it would be too facile to translate her liminality and
ambiguity into her marginality as a laywoman. Rather, Thomas presents us
with a complex picture of an astonishing laywoman who, as a liminal
co-redemptrix, brings together her community (in purgatory and on earth)
and realigns and reconciles it.61 The putative disjointedness of the text
reflects a postmodern reading that finds contradiction and oppositionality
in Christina’s politically subversive mendicancy and her extravagant salvific
suffering. Yet, it is precisely in this configuration of Christina’s apostolate,
which includes both mendicancy and spectacular bodily anguish, that
Thomas construes agency. We must, therefore, be mindful about too easily
coopting and translating his construction into our own universalized and
generalized paradigms of agency, emancipation, and women’s flourishing.
Present-day readers of the Life of Christina must then be willing to risk
a dialogue with the text that pays critical attention to the text’s construction
of agency. Such a dialogue demands a radical openness that compels one—
as Chakrabarty notes—“to hear that which one does not already under-
stand” since it opens one up to disruptive narratives and histories.62 Such
a reading of Christina’s vita stems from a twofold gesture of breaking into
the text and letting the text and its reality break into the reader’s world. It
is in the tension between transcending alterity and letting it stand that
heterogeneity and heterotemporality—“different kinds of life worlds”—
compose the present epistemological, hermeneutical, and existential
moment.63 As the narrative portrays the synthetic interplay between
Christina’s purgatorial suffering and her mendicancy as a textured whole, a
process of reading the text must also contain the synthetic interplay
between, as Hollywood puts it, “the emancipatory and critical categories of
modern historiographical analysis and the alterity of voices, bodies, and
practices rendered visible through alternative histories, histories sensitive to
precisely that which does not fit within modern, secularizing, and natural-
izing narratives.”64 Such a reading—which contains the double movements
of translating and refusing to translate in an aporia—demonstrates polyva-
lent and plural ways of being human and, as Chakrabarty writes, “help[s]
bring to view the disjointed nature of any particular ‘now’ one may inhabit.
. . . Thus the writing of history must implicitly assume a plurality of times
existing together, a disjuncture of the present with itself.”65 Thus, in sum,
I argue that the resistance to homogenizing “translations” of Christina’s
affliction invites a more comprehensive understanding of Christina’s apos-
tolate that appreciates radical heterogeneity across times, cultures, and sys-
tems of thought.66 It is only in this way that we can, as Nick Cave observes,
realize the truly astonishing nature of Christina’s life-world.
Notes
1. Among the vitae composed in the Low Countries, Thomas of Cantimpré’s Life of
Christina the Astonishing was second only to Jacques of Vitry’s Life of Marie of
Oignies in popularity. According to Barbara Newman twenty-three mss are known
(compared to the twenty-eight extant and three lost mss of Jacques of Vitry’s Life
of Marie of Oignies). In terms of extant manuscripts, twelve Latin mss exist, as well
as three Dutch and one English; seven additional mss were available to the seven-
teenth century Bollandists that are now lost. Newman, “Possessed by the Spirit:
Devout Women, Demoniacs, and the Apostolic Life in the Thirteenth Century,”
Speculum 73 (1998): 768, ft. 138; also published in an abridged and adapted form
as “Devout Women and Demoniacs in the World of Thomas of Cantimpré,” in
New Trends in Feminine Spirituality: The Holy Women of Liège and Their Impact,
ed. Juliette Dor, Lesley Johnson, and Jocelyn Wogan-Browne (Turnhout, Belgium:
Brepols, 1999), 35–60. See further “Hildegard and Her Hagiographers: The
Remaking of Female Sainthood,” in Gendered Voices: Medieval Saints and Their
Interpreters, ed. Catherine M. Mooney (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania
Press, 1999), 32. See also Simone Roisin, “La méthode hagiographique de Thomas
de Cantimpré,” in Miscellanea historica in honorem Alberti de Meyer, vol. 1
(Louvain: Bibliothèque de l’Université, 1946), 548, 551–52; L’Hagiographie
Cistercienne dans le Diocèse de Liège au XIIIe Siècle (Louvain: Bibliothèque de
l’Université, 1947), 220–21; Walter Simons, Cities of Ladies: Beguine Communities
in the Medieval Low Countries, 1200–1565 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania
Press, 2001), 38–39, 42–43, 171, ft. 17.
2. In his work Surprising Mystics (Chicago: Henry Regnery, 1955), Herbert
Thurston refers to Christina’s Life as a “preposterous narrative” (149). He
criticizes the Bollandists for a conspicuous “lapse of judgment” in their credu-
lous analysis of Christina’s vita (147) and characterizes Thomas of Cantrimpré
as “all agape for miracles and the most uncritical of chroniclers” (149). Roisin,
who sees an evolution in Thomas’s hagiographies in the movement from an

emphasis on exterior deeds to interior deeds (epitomized by the vita of Lutgard
of Aywières), views Christina’s Life as an excess in exteriority and characterizes
it as “un tissue d’extravagances.” “La méthode hagiographique de Thomas de
Cantimpré,” in Miscellanea historica in honorem Alberti de Meyer, 552–54.
While Jocelyn Wogan-Browne and Marie-Élisabeth Henneau describe Christina’s
Life as the “most resistant and difficult to understand in modern study,” they
caution us “that we have not yet developed a sufficient vocabulary for women’s
holy lives, and that we try to assimilate the many heuristic attempts of medieval
women to gain access and resources for their religious lives to too limited a
range of models.” “Liège, the Medieval ‘Woman Question,’ and the Question
of Medieval Women,” in New Trends in Feminine Spirituality, 18, 20.
3. See, for example, Newman, “Possessed by the Spirit,” esp. 737, 766–69. Amy
Hollywood questions whether the employment of “hysteria” is an apposite cat-
egory for understanding Christina’s vita, arguing that there exists no evidence
indicating that Christina herself did not interpret her experiences and actions
theologically; Thomas of Cantrimpré and Jacques of Vitry did not simply ven-
triloquize a theological reading of them. Sensible Ecstasy: Mysticism, Sexual
Difference, and the Demands of History (Chicago: University of Chicago Press,
2002), 241–47, 253–56. Hollywood contends that “Newman participates in the
hystericization of Christina’s body by arguing that its theological reinterpretation
comes from the outside” (253). See further Thurston, Surprising Mystics, 149–50,
152, 155. Jerome Kroll and Bernard Bachrach, The Mystic Mind: The Psychology
of Medieval Mystics and Ascetics (New York: Routledge, 2005), 189–90.
4. Victor Turner, The Forest of Symbols: Aspects of Ndembu Ritual (Ithaca: Cornell
5. Dipesh Chakrabarty, Provincializing Europe: Postcolonial Thought and Historical
Difference (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2000), 45–46, 108–9;
Amy Hollywood, “Gender, Agency, and the Divine in Religious Historiography,”
The Journal of Religion 84 (2004): 521.
6. Thomas of Cantimpré, Vita S. Christinae Mirabilis Virgine (VCM), in Acta
Sanctorum, ed. J.-B. Sollerius et al., vol. 5 (July 24) (Venice: Coleti & Albrizzi,
1748), 1.5, 651; 5.53, 659. All translations of this text are my own.
7. Ibid., 1.6, 651: “Tormenta, quæ in ipso loco videbam, tanta et tam crudelia
erant, ut nulla lingua hæc loqui sufficeret.” [“The tortures, which I saw in that
very place, were so great and so cruel that no tongue would suffice to speak of
them.”]
8. Ibid., 1.7, 652: “‘Et Dominus statim respondit desiderio meo. Revera, inquit,
dulcissima mea, hic mecum eris; sed nunc tibi duorum optionem propono; aut
nunc scilicet permanere mecum; aut ad corpus reverti, ibique (agere pœnas)
immortalis animæ per mortale corpus sine detrimento sui, omnesque illas ani-
mas, quas in illo purgatorii loco miserata es, ipsis tuis pœnis eripere: homines
vero viventes exemplo pœnæ et vitæ tuæ converti ad me, et a sceleribus resilire,
peractisque omnibus, ad me tandem multorum præmiorum mercede te cumu-
latam reverti.’” [“And at once the Lord responded to my request and said: ‘In
truth, my dearest, you will be with me here; but now I offer you the choice of
two things, namely either to remain with me now, or to return to the body and
there pay the penalty of an immortal soul with a mortal body without damage
to it, and by your very punishment to free all those souls on whom you took
pity in that place of purgatory, and, indeed, through the example of your pun-
ishment and life to convert living human beings to me, and to recoil from their
sins, and, after all things have been completed, to return to me at last laden
with the profit of many rewards.’”]
9. Ibid., 1.7, 652.
10. Newman, “Possessed by the Spirit,” 766. The youngest of three sisters,
Christina seems to be configured as a female Lazarus in the sibling triad, while
her oldest contemplative sister was modeled as a Mary and her middle home-
maker sister as a Martha. See also Brian S. Lee, “Keeping Body and Spirit
Together: The Volatile Life of St Christina the Marvelous,” Southern African
Journal of Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 11 (2001): 42.
11. While admitting that his narrative exceeds all human understanding, Thomas
scrupulously appeals to Cardinal Jacques of Vitry and other anonymous yet
reliable witnesses to lend credence to Christina’s problematic apostolate in his
prologue. Thomas of Cantimpré, VCM, Prologue 1.1–3, 650; 1.8, 652 (“‘Nunc
ergo non conturbent vos illa, quæ visuri estis in me, quia super intellectum sunt
illa, quæ Deus ordinabit mecum.’” [“‘Now then let those things that you will
see in me not disturb you, since those things, which God will ordain through
me, are above understanding.’”]); Jacques of Vitry, “Vita Mariæ Oigniacensis,”
in Acta Sanctorum, ed. D. Papebroeck et al., vol. 4 ( June 23) (Venice: Coleti &
Albrizzi, 1743), Prologue 8, 638. Robert Sweetman writes: “Her story demanded
apologia and [Thomas] constructed his prologue in response to this demand. . . .
James, whose official capacities as archbishop of Acre and cardinal of the Roman
curia Thomas underlines, provides a weight and ballast to Christine’s story
which Thomas himself could not. . . .” “Christine of Saint-Trond’s Preaching
Apostolate,” Vox Benedictina 9 (1992): 67.
12. Thomas of Cantimpré, VCM, 1.9, 652; 2.17, 653; 2.19, 654. Four times,
they chase, capture, and shackle her, and once her shin bone is broken with
a cudgel in an attempt to contain her. See also André Vauchez, “Lay People’s
Sanctity in Western Europe: Evolution of a Pattern (Twelfth and Thirteenth
Centuries),” in Images of Sainthood in Medieval Europe, ed. Renate
Blumenfeld-Kosinski and Timea Szell (Ithaca: Cornell University Press,
1991), 31; Nancy Caciola, “Mystics, Demoniacs, and the Physiology of
Spirit Possession in Medieval Europe,” Comparative Studies in Society and
History, 42 (2000): especially 270–75, 278–79, 289; Newman, “Possessed
by the Spirit,” 763; Peter Dinzelbacher, Heilige oder Hexen? Schicksale auffäl-
liger Frauen in Mittelalter und Frühneuzeit (Zürich: Artemis & Winkler,
1995), 172.
13. Thomas of Cantimpré, VCM, 1.11, 652; 2.21, 654.
14. Caroline Walker Bynum, Fragmentation and Redemption: Essays on Gender and
the Human Body in Medieval Religion (New York: Zone Books, 1992), 388, ft.
130. Carolyn Muessig describes Christina’s vita as “full of miracles, extraordi-
nary even for a saint.” “Prophecy and Song: Teaching and Preaching by
Medieval Women,” in Women Preachers and Prophets through Two Millennia of
Christianity, ed. Beverly Mayne Kienzle and Pamela J. Walker (Berkeley:
University of California Press, 1998), 150.
15. Newman, From Virile Woman to Womanchrist: Studies in Medieval Religion and
Literature (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1995), 111; “Possessed
by the Spirit,” 742. Jo Ann McNamara, “The Need to Give: Suffering and
Female Sanctity in the Middle Ages,” in Images of Sainthood in Medieval Europe,
212–14, 221. However, McNamara also highlights the potentially subversive
dimension of purgatorial piety as it seemed to give medieval women mystics
“a direct channel to God, thus challenging clerical powers of mediation.” “The
Rhetoric of Orthodoxy: Clerical Authority and Female Innovation in the
Struggle with Heresy,” in Maps of Flesh and Light: The Religious Experience of
Medieval Women Mystics, ed. Ulrike Wiethaus (New York: Syracuse University
Press, 1993), 21.
16. Thomas of Cantimpré, VCM, 1.11–2.14, 652–53; 2.16, 653; 2.20, 654.
Newman argues that since purgatorial punishments supposedly entail altering
fire and cold, Christina’s propensity to jump into baking ovens, boiling caul-
drons, and icy waters suggests a homeopathic remedy. From Virile Woman to
Womanchrist, 120–21.
17. Thomas of Cantimpré, VCM, 3.25–26, 655.
18. Ibid., 4.45, 657–58.
19. Ibid., 1.2, 650; 5.56, 659. Sweetman, “Christine of Saint-Trond’s Preaching
Apostolate,” 71, 82–84; Margot King, “The Sacramental Witness of Christina
Mirabilis: The Mystic Growth of a Fool for Christ’s Sake,” in Peaceweavers:
Medieval Religious Women, ed. John A. Nichols and Lillian Thomas Shank
(Kalamazoo: Cistercian Publications, 1987), 147–48. See further Jane Tibbetts
Schulenburg, Forgetful of Their Sex: Female Sanctity and Society ca. 500–1100
(Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1998), 22; Anke Passenier, “The
Life of Christina Mirabilis: Miracles and the Construction of Marginality,” in
Women and Miracle Stories: A Multidisciplinary Exploration, ed. Anne-Marie
Korte (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 160–61.
20. Sweetman, “Christine of Saint-Trond’s Preaching Apostolate,” 97.
21. Thomas of Cantimpré, VCM, 1.11, 652.
22. Ibid., 2.14, 653.
23. Christina’s continuous intactness yet intense sensation of pain during her ordeals
marks a contrast with several of the martyrdom accounts in Jacobus of Voragine’s
The Golden Legend, which detail the saint’s miraculously painless dismember-
ment (and ultimate reassembling in the resurrection). See Bynum, The Resurrection
of the Body in Western Christianity, 200–1336 (New York: Columbia University
Press, 1995), 309–10, 313; Ellen Ross, “She Wept and Cried Right Loud for
Sorrow and for Pain: Suffering, the Spiritual Journey, and Women’s Experience
in Late Medieval Mysticism,” in Maps of Flesh and Light, 45.
24. Thomas of Cantimpré, VCM, 1.10, 652; 4.46, 658.
25. Ibid., 1.5, 651; 1.8, 652; 2.20, 654.
26. Ibid., 1.5, 651; 1.9, 652; 2.16, 653.
27. Ibid., 4.46, 658: “vixque discerni poterat si spiritus transibat aut corpus. . . .”
28. Ibid., 2.16, 653: “Iterum cum oraret, et contemplationis in ea gratia divina
descenderet, velut calefacta cera, omnia membra ejus in unum globum conclude-
bantur, nec poterat in eis nisi tantum corpus sphæricum deprehendi. Cumque
spiritali ebrietate digesta actuales sensus propria membrorum loca reciperent,
instar ericei conglobatum corpus redibat ad formam, et extendebantur membra,
quæ sub informi prius materia claudebantur.” See also 3.35–36, 656.
29. Ibid., 1.9, 652. On the function of food and nourishment in the Life of
Christina the Astonishing, see Bynum, Holy Feast and Holy Fast: The Religious
Significance of Food to Medieval Women (Berkeley: University of California Press,
1987), 115, 120, 192–93, 234; Alexandra Barratt, “Undutiful Daughters and
Metaphorical Mothers Among the Beguines,” in New Trends in Feminine
Spirituality, 96–97.
30. Thomas of Cantimpré, VCM, 1.9, 652: “Nec mora: ad se reflectens oculos,
videt aridas mammas virginei pectoris sui contra ipsa naturae jura lactis stillare
dulcedinem. Mira res, et post incomparabilem Christi Virginem Matrem cunc-
tis seculis inaudita.”
31. Ibid., 2.19, 654: “Virginea enim ubera ejus clarissimi olei liquorem cœperunt
effluere. Quem illa in condimentum sicci panis assumens pro pulmento habe-
bat, et pro unguento; liniebatque ex eo vulnera membrorum suorum putrescen-
tium.” [“Indeed, her virginal breasts began to flow with a liquid of clearest oil,
which she had as seasoning of her dry bread, using it as sauce and as ointment,
and with it she smeared the wounds of her putrefying limbs.”]
32. The Eucharistic overtones are especially overt when considering the assumption
that breast milk constituted transmuted blood. See Bynum, Holy Feast and Holy
Fast, 270–71; Fragmentation and Redemption, 100, 114, 214, 220.
33. Thomas of Cantimpré, VCM, 1.9, 652.
34. See Elizabeth Alvilda Petroff, Body and Soul: Essays on Medieval Women and
Mysticism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), 176–77: “[T]he two most
dangerous activities for a woman are literacy and public teaching—to possess
the word and to move in public space. Yet, because of the requirements of
sainthood, in particular the need to demonstrate exceptional heroic power to
transform the world, women saints had to be literate, and they had to have a
public voice. Since these were disturbing traits in ‘good’ women, biographers
found themselves using a rhetoric that denied transgression at the same time
that it depicted women saints in fact transgressing the limits of proper female
behavior.” See further Francine Cardman, “The Medieval Question of Women
and Orders,” The Thomist 42 (1978): 593, 596; John Hilary Martin, “The
Injustice of not Ordaining Women: A Problem for Medieval Theologians,”
Theological Studies 48 (1987): 305–6; Sweetman, “Christine of Saint-Trond’s

Preaching Apostolate,” 73; Passenier, “The Life of Christina Mirabilis,” in
Women and Miracle Stories, 155–56, 158–59; McNamara, “The Rhetoric of
Orthodoxy,” in Maps of Flesh and Light, 9–10; Alcuin Blamires, “Women and
Preaching in Medieval Orthodoxy, Heresy, and Saints’ Lives,” Viator 26 (1995):
135–52. In addition to the prohibition of women’s public preaching and teach-
ing (activities ascribed to women in heretical groups), John Coakley also
observes a reluctance among thirteenth and fourteenth century hagiographers
to attribute doctrinal revelations to female saints, thereby maintaining “the firm
distinction between their own sphere of authority and that of the women.”
Women, Men, & Spiritual Power: Female Saints and Their Male Collaborators
(New York: Columbia University Press, 2006), 16.
35. See Jacques Le Goff, The Birth of Purgatory, trans. Arthur Goldhammer
(Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1984), 167–70, 278. See also
Michael E. Goodich, “The Contours of Female Piety in Later Medieval
Hagiography,” Church History 50 (1981): 20–21, 26–28, 32. Goodich writes:
“In order to achieve recognition of their cults, the female saints had to prove
their loyalty to Rome by participation in the struggle against the church’s
political and ideological foes, be they Jew, Tartar, Saracen, heretic or Ghibelline.
. . . Such observers as James of Vitry and Thomas of Cantimpré noted the value
of the women’s movement in Southern France and the Low Countries in
attracting women away from the snares of the heretics, many of whose views,
including belief in the right of women to preach and administer the sacraments,
were dangerously attractive to well-educated and wealthy women in these
regions” (26). It is, thus, significant to note that Christina conducts similar
activities as those of the feared heretics (e.g., she prophesizes, preaches, teaches,
and receives a deathbed confession). See also Hollywood, Sensible Ecstasy,
254–57; Dyan Elliott, Proving Woman: Female Spirituality and Inquisitional
Culture in the Later Middle Ages (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2004),
58–59; 72–74. Regarding the powerful anti-Cathar rhetoric contained in a
theology centered on salvific bodily suffering and Eucharistic devotion, see also
Bynum, Holy Feast and Holy Fast, 64, 252–53; Fragmentation and Redemption,
196–97; Brenda M. Bolton, “Vitae Matrum: A Further Aspect of the
Frauenfrage,” in Medieval Women, ed. Derek Baker (Oxford: Basil Blackwell,
1978), 269; McNamara, “The Rhetoric of Orthodoxy,” in Maps of Flesh and
Light, 16–17; Patricia Deery Kurtz, “Mary of Oignies, Christine the Marvelous,
and Medieval Heresy,” Mystics Quarterly 14 (1988): 186–96.
36. Thomas of Cantimpré, VCM, 2.22, 654: “ostiatim quotidie mendicabat, ut
eorum peccata portaret, quorum eleemosynis pascebatur.”
37. Ibid., 2.22–23, 654.
38. Ibid., 3.24–25, 654–55.
39. Thomas of Cantimpré, VCM, 3.27, 655: “Libentissime ac benignissime mori-
entibus assistebat, exhortans . . . ad spem perennis gaudii, et horrorem exitialis
incendii. . . . Et perfundebatur mira oris gratia. . . .”
40. Ibid., 5.56, 659: “Et quid aliud in omni vita sua Christina clamavit, nisi pœni-
tentiam agere, et paratos esse homines omni hora? Hoc verbis multis, hoc fle-
tibus, hoc ejulatibus, hoc clamoribus infinitis; hoc exemplo vitæ plus docuit,
plus clamavit, quam de aliquo præcedentium vel subsequentium scripto vel
relatione percepimus, in laudem et gloriam Christi. . . .” See also 5.55, 659.
41. Ibid., 3.29–30, 655; 3.32–34, 655–56.
42. Ibid., 4.41–42, 657; 4.44–45, 657–58. The Count of Looz elects to give his
deathbed confession to Christina rather than to a priest. However, as not to
render Christina too seditious, Thomas adds: “et hoc non pro indulgentia,
quam dare non potuit, sed ut magis ad orandum pro eo, hoc piaculo movere-
tur” (4.44, 657). [“And this [he did] not for absolution, which she could not
offer, but so that by this atonement she would be moved all the more to pray
for him.”]
43. Ibid., 4.40, 657.
44. See Le Goff, The Birth of Purgatory, 134–35, 141, 167–70, 278. See also
Donald Weinstein and Rudolph M. Bell, Saints & Society: The Two Worlds of
Western Christendom, 1000–1700 (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press,
1982), 153–54.
45. Turner explains the ambiguity of liminality: “The attributes of liminality or
of liminal personae (‘threshold people’) are necessarily ambiguous, since this
condition and these persons elude or slip through the network of classifica-
tions that normally locate states and positions in cultural space. Liminal
entities are neither here nor there: they are betwixt and between the positions
assigned and arranged by law, custom, convention, and ceremonial” (The
Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-structure [Chicago: Aldine Publishing
Company, 1969], 95). See further Turner, The Forest of Symbols, 97; Dramas,
Fields, and Metaphors: Symbolic Action in Human Society (Ithaca, NY: Cornell
University Press, 1974), 232, 273–74; Blazing the Trail: Way Marks in the
Exploration of Symbols, ed. Edith Turner (Tucson: The University of Arizona
Press, 1992), 32, 49; Victor Turner and Edith Turner, Images and Pilgrimage
in Christian Culture: Anthropological Perspectives (New York: Columbia
46. Bynum, Holy Feast and Holy Fast, 246 (original emphasis).
47. Paul Binski writes: “The doctrine of the intercession of the saints was based upon
the capacity of the saints to break the ancient boundaries between the living and
the dead. But the notion of intercession could be widened into a form of two-
way traffic, whereby not only the saints but also the living could act, by prayers
or other actions, on behalf of the dead. . . . This promiscuity between the quick
and the dead . . . was thus more profound than a merely physical or topo-
graphical relationship; it was at once spiritual and economic.” Medieval Death:
Ritual and Representation (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1996), 24–25.
48. Le Goff, The Birth of Purgatory, 233. Le Goff charts a “dual geography:
a geography of this world coupled with a geography of the next” (177). See also
Vauchez. The Laity in the Middle Ages: Religious Beliefs and Devotional Practices,
trans. Margery J. Schneider (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press,

1993), 86.
49. Ibid., 187, 305–6, 357.
50. Turner, The Forest of Symbols, 97. See further 93. See also The Ritual Process,
182; Dramas, Fields, and Metaphors, 273–74; Blazing the Trail, 50.
51. Thomas of Cantimpré, VCM, 4.40, 657; 4.44, 657. Coakley, “Gender and the
Authority of the Friars: The Significance of Holy Women for Thirteenth-
Century Franciscans and Dominicans,” Church History 60 (1991): 455;
“Thomas of Cantimpré and Female Sanctity,” in History in the Comic Mode:
Medieval Communities & the Matter of Person, ed. Rachel Fulton and Bruce W.
Holsinger (New York: Columbia University Press, 2007), 49.
52. See Coakley, “Thomas of Cantimpré and Female Sanctity,” 55. See also Women,
Men, & Spiritual Power, 22, 86–88, 221.
53. On the two spheres of power, see especially Coakley, Women, Men, & Spiritual
Power, 213–20.
54. Chakrabarty, Provincializing Europe, 45–46.
55. Bynum, Fragmentation and Redemption, 33–34 (original emphasis).
56. Ibid., 32–33; see also 47–51; see further Holy Feast and Holy Fast, 279–80.
57. Passenier, “The Life of Christina Mirabilis,” in Women and Miracle Stories,
149–50, 161, 163–64, 177. Brigitte Cazelles distinguishes between male lim-
inality and female marginality in hagiography. She argues that male holy her-
mits are “‘liminal heroes’” who return to society after their desert experience as
active witnesses to the truth of Christianity, while eremitic women are confined
as marginal people, since they never come back to the world and, hence, never
act as spiritual counselors and agents. However, as we have seen, Christina’s vita
subverts such a distinction. The Lady as Saint: A Collection of French Hagiographic
Romances of the Thirteenth Century (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania
Press, 1991), 35–36, 42, ft. 55.
58. Ibid., 161. See also 149, 163–64.
59. Ibid., 178.
60. Turner, Blazing the Trail, 57.
61. Thomas of Cantimpré, VCM, 5.53, 659. King holds that “[Christina’s] vocation
was to serve humanity within society.” “The Sacramental Witness of Christina
Mirabilis,” in Peaceweavers, 150. See also 153, 155–57. On the socially integrat-
ing and disintegrating nature of the saint’s cult, see, for example, Goodich, Lives
and Miracles of the Saints: Studies in Medieval Latin Hagiography (Burlington,
VT: Ashgate, 2004), 28.
62. Chakrabarty, Habitations of Modernity: Essays in the Wake of Subaltern Studies
(Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2002), 36.
63. Chakrabarty, Provincializing Europe, 108; Hollywood, “Gender, Agency, and the
Divine in Religious Historiography,” 521–22, 526.
64. Hollywood, “Gender, Agency, and the Divine in Religious Historiography,” 526.
65. Chakrabarty, Provincializing Europe, 108–9, 241.
66. Ibid., 45–46.
Bibliography
Primary Sources
Jacques of Vitry. “Vita Mariæ Oigniacensis.” In Acta Sanctorum, edited by
D. Papebroeck, G. Henschenius, F. Baert, C. Janning, and N. Rayé. Vol. 4 ( June
23). Venice: Coleti & Albrizzi, 1743, 636–66.
Thomas of Cantimpré. “Vita S. Christinae Mirabilis Virgine.” In Acta Sanctorum,
edited by J.-B. Sollerius, J. Pinius, G. Cuperus, and P. Boschius. Vol. 5 ( July
24). Venice: Coleti & Albrizzi, 1748, 637–60.
Secondary Sources
Binski, Paul. Medieval Death: Ritual and Representation. Ithaca: Cornell University
Press, 1996.
Blamires, Alcuin. “Women and Preaching in Medieval Orthodoxy, Heresy, and
Saints’ Lives.” Viator 26 (1995): 135–52.
Blumenfeld-Kosinski, Renate, and Timea Szell. Images of Sainthood in Medieval
Europe. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1991.
Bolton, Brenda M. “Vitae Matrum: A Further Aspect of the Frauenfrage.” In Medieval
Women, edited by Derek Baker, 253–73. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1978.
Bynum, Caroline Walker. Holy Feast and Holy Fast: The Religious Significance of Food
to Medieval Women. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987.
———. Fragmentation and Redemption: Essays on Gender and the Human Body in
Medieval Religion. New York: Zone Books, 1992.
———. The Resurrection of the Body in Western Christianity, 200–1336. New York:
Columbia University Press, 1995.
Caciola, Nancy. “Mystics, Demoniacs, and the Physiology of Spirit Possession in Medieval
Europe.” Comparative Studies in Society and History, 42 (2000): 268–306.
Cardman, Francine. “The Medieval Question of Women and Orders.” The Thomist
42 (1978): 582–99.
Cazelles, Brigitte. The Lady as Saint: A Collection of French Hagiographic Romances
of the Thirteenth Century. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1991.
Chakrabarty, Dipesh. Provincializing Europe: Postcolonial Thought and Historical
Difference. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2000.
———. Habitations of Modernity: Essays in the Wake of Subaltern Studies. Chicago:
The University of Chicago Press, 2002.
Coakley, John. “Gender and the Authority of the Friars: The Significance of Holy
Women for Thirteenth-Century Franciscans and Dominicans.” Church History
60 (1991): 445–60.
———. Women, Men, & Spiritual Power: Female Saints and Their Male Collaborators.
New York: Columbia University Press, 2006.
———. “Thomas of Cantimpré and Female Sanctity.” In History in the Comic
Mode: Medieval Communities & the Matter of Person, edited by Rachel Fulton
and Bruce W. Holsinger, 45–55. New York: Columbia University Press, 2007.
Dinzelbacher, Peter. Heilige oder Hexen? Schicksale auffälliger Frauen in Mittelalter

und Frühneuzeit. Zürich: Artemis & Winkler, 1995.
Dor, Juliette, Lesley Johnson, and Jocelyn Wogan-Browne, ed. New Trends in
Feminine Spirituality: The Holy Women of Liège and Their Impact. Turnhout,
Belgium: Brepols, 1999.
Elliott, Dyan. Proving Woman: Female Spirituality and Inquisitional Culture in the
Later Middle Ages. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2004.
Goodich, Michael E. “The Contours of Female Piety in Later Medieval Hagiography.”
Church History 50 (1981): 20–32.
———. Lives and Miracles of the Saints: Studies in Medieval Latin Hagiography.
Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2004.
Hollywood, Amy. Sensible Ecstasy: Mysticism, Sexual Difference, and the Demands of
History. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2002.
———. “Gender, Agency, and the Divine in Religious Historiography.” The Journal
of Religion 84 (2004): 514–28.
King, Margot. “The Sacramental Witness of Christina Mirabilis: The Mystic
Growth of a Fool for Christ’s Sake.” In Peaceweavers: Medieval Religious Women,
edited by John A. Nichols and Lillian Thomas Shank, 145–64. Kalamazoo:
Cistercian Publications, 1987.
Kroll, Jerome, and Bernard Bachrach. The Mystic Mind: The Psychology of Medieval
Mystics and Ascetics. New York: Routledge, 2005.
Kurtz, Patricia Deery. “Mary of Oignies, Christine the Marvelous, and Medieval
Heresy.” Mystics Quarterly 14 (1988): 186–96.
Lee, Brian S. “Keeping Body and Spirit Together: The Volatile Life of St Christina
the Marvelous.” Southern African Journal of Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 11
(2001): 39–50.
Le Goff, Jacques. The Birth of Purgatory. Translated by Arthur Goldhammer.
Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1984.
Martin, John Hilary. “The Injustice of not Ordaining Women: A Problem for
Medieval Theologians.” Theological Studies 48 (1987): 303–16.
Muessig, Carolyn. “Prophecy and Song: Teaching and Preaching by Medieval
Women.” In Women Preachers and Prophets through Two Millennia of Christianity,
edited by Beverly Mayne Kienzle and Pamela J. Walker, 146–58. Berkeley:
University of California Press, 1998.
Newman, Barbara. From Virile Woman to WomanChrist: Studies in Medieval Religion
and Literature. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1995.
———. “Possessed by the Spirit: Devout Women, Demoniacs, and the Apostolic
Life in the Thirteenth Century.” Speculum 73 (1998): 733–70.
———. “Hildegard and Her Hagiographers: The Remaking of Female Sainthood.”
In Gendered Voices: Medieval Saints and Their Interpreters, edited by Catherine
M. Mooney, 16–34. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1999.
Passenier, Anke. “The Life of Christina Mirabilis: Miracles and the Construction of
Marginality.” In Women and Miracle Stories: A Multidisciplinary Exploration,
edited by Anne-Marie Korte, 145–78. Leiden: Brill, 2004.
Petroff, Elizabeth Alvilda. Body and Soul: Essays on Medieval Women and Mysticism.
Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994.
Roisin, Simone. “La méthode hagiographique de Thomas de Cantimpré.” In Miscellanea
historica in honorem Alberti de Meyer. Vol. 1, 546–57. Louvain: Bibliothèque de
l’Université, 1946.
———. L’Hagiographie Cistercienne dans le Diocèse de Liège au XIIIe Siècle. Louvain:
Bibliothèque de l’Université, 1947.
Schulenburg, Jane Tibbetts. Forgetful of Their Sex: Female Sanctity and Society ca.
500–1100. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1998.
Simons, Walter. Cities of Ladies: Beguine Communities in the Medieval Low Countries,
1200–1565. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2001.
Sweetman, Robert. “Christine of Saint-Trond’s Preaching Apostolate: Thomas of
Cantimpré’s Hagiographical Method Revisited.” Vox Benedictina 9 (1992): 66–107.
Thurston, Herbert. Surprising Mystics. Chicago: Henry Regnery Company, 1955.
Turner, Victor. The Forest of Symbols: Aspects of Ndembu Ritual. Ithaca: Cornell
———. The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-structure. Chicago: Aldine Publishing
Company, 1969.
———. Dramas, Fields, and Metaphors: Symbolic Action in Human Society. Ithaca,
NY: Cornell University Press, 1974.
———. Blazing the Trail: Way Marks in the Exploration of Symbols, edited by Edith
Turner. Tucson: The University of Arizona Press, 1992.
Turner, Victor, and Edith Turner. Images and Pilgrimage in Christian Culture:
Anthropological Perspectives. New York: Columbia University Press, 1978.
Vauchez, André. The Laity in the Middle Ages: Religious Beliefs and Devotional
Practices, translated by Margery J. Schneider. Notre Dame: University of Notre
Dame Press, 1993.
Weinstein, Donald, and Rudolph M. Bell. Saints & Society: The Two Worlds of
Western Christendom, 1000–1700. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press,
1982.
Wiethaus, Ulrike, ed. Maps of Flesh and Light: The Religious Experience of Medieval
Women Mystics. New York: Syracuse University Press, 1993.
CHAPTER 7
The Patristic Roots of John Smith’s

True Way or Method of Attaining
to Divine Knowledge
Derek Michaud
Introduction
In the chapel at Emmanuel College, Cambridge, among the more unusual
sights in an otherwise properly plain, “Puritan” space, whose only images
are of opened books, are a series of stained glass windows. Like St. Paul’s
in London, this Wren church, too, did not survive the Victorian love of
interior decoration. Along the north wall, a series of panels depict great
ecclesial and educational organizers and systematic theologians, ranging
from St. Augustine to John Harvard. Along the south wall, one finds a series
of panels representing great figures in spirituality and mystical theology. The
series begins with Origen of Alexandria, and the second to the last is John
Smith, the Cambridge Platonist. Origen and Smith, the windows tell us,
have a connection. The Emmanuel College Chapel windows present ves-
tiges in light and glass of an insight from a more romantic age, when reso-
nance and intuition were important tools for the scholar.1 And the windows
are correct; there is a deep bond between Origen and Smith, a tradition
unbroken by the fall of empires and the discovery of new worlds.
This chapter explores a key aspect of that tradition. It provides an analy-
sis of the reception and modification of Origen of Alexandria’s (185–252)
doctrine of the spiritual senses in the “Discourse on the True Way or
Method of Attaining to Divine Knowledge,” by John Smith (1616/
8–1652).2 Broadly speaking, and this is a matter of serious contention,3 the
concept of the spiritual senses may be thought of as the idea that in

142 ● Derek Michaud
addition to the physical senses the soul or mind has additional faculties or
powers for experiencing or encountering spiritual realities in a way that is
analogous to the ordinary functioning of the physical senses.
The analysis offered here is twofold. First, an argument about the exe-
getical and hermeneutical roots of Origen’s presentation of the spiritual
senses is compared to the closely analogous approach found in Smith.
Second, Origen is shown to have supplied an important source for Smith’s
conception and employment of the spiritual senses.
While the literature on the Cambridge Platonists always notes indebtedness
on their part to Neoplatonism and the Alexandrian Fathers, little discussion
is to be found of the long theological tradition of the spiritual senses with the
exception of J. C. English’s article on “John Wesley’s Indebtedness to John
Norris.”4 Such language is usually explained as merely evidence of the
“Platonism” of the group without drawing out the way in which this concept
has a long and fruitful life in Christian theology. Thus, attention is paid to
the influence of Plotinus and the Florentine Academy but not to Origen,
Augustine, Bonaventure, and other important theological figures that form an
important part of the tradition the Cambridge Platonists find irresistible.5
John Smith
While Origen needs no introduction in the context of a discussion of the
spiritual senses, and certainly no apology, some explanation for drawing our
attention to the work of the relatively unknown Smith is in order. Smith’s
significance lies in at least two areas. First, he offers an excellent window
into the dynamics of early seventeenth century thought in science, philoso-
phy, and religion.6 Second, while Smith’s memory continues today mostly
as an ancillary curiosity or source of contextual (or rhetorical) leverage for
the study of the more famous Cambridge Platonists—Ralph Cudworth and
Henry More, especially—in the more immediate aftermath of his brief
career, Smith exerted a significant influence on many divines including
Jonathan Edwards and possibly John Wesley.
Smith was an important source for the doctrine of the “sense of the
heart” as developed by Jonathan Edwards. As Brad Walton has said, “[A]ll
commentators since John E. Smith have recognized that John Smith’s own
discussion of the ‘spiritual sensation,’ presented in the first chapter of the
Select Discourses, constitutes a clear anticipation of Edwards, and probably
exercised a direct influence on his own thinking.”7 References to the influ-
ence of Smith on Edwards abound in the literature on Edwards. Smith is
connected to both the content of Edwards’ views on the sense of the heart
and to his rhetorical style.8
Patristic Roots ● 143
In addition to his connection to the first great American theologian,

Smith’s influence can be traced to John Wesley, the founder of Methodism
as well. John C. English tells us that Wesley’s own doctrine of the spiritual
senses owes much to his reading of John Norris, an “Oxford (Cambridge)
Platonist,” who was deeply influenced by Smith’s circle, especially Henry
More, in addition to Malebranche.9 Finally, one may note Brantley’s con-
tention of an affinity between Edwards and Wesley on the issue of the
“spiritual senses.”10
While Brantley and others are certainly correct about the influence of
Lockean psychology on both Edwards and Wesley, the tendency within the
literature to ignore the length and richness of the tradition of the spiritual
senses, a tradition obviously known by both men, not the least through
their mutual appreciation of Smith, has clouded understanding of the con-
tinuity of this ancient tradition well into the modern period. However, all
of this marks out a more distant horizon that must elude for now. This
chapter can only address a very selective portion of Smith’s appropriation
of the past.11
As will be demonstrated below, Smith accepted important elements of
the doctrine of the spiritual senses as he found it in Origen but was too
modern to take the doctrine on authority. Instead, Smith offers his own
case for the spiritual senses, at once mimicking Origen’s interpretive syn-
thesis of (Middle/Neo-)Platonism and Scripture (as model), and echoing
Origen’s own words (as source). Smith used this twofold influence as the
basis for his distinctly modern theological method that seeks to base all
other theological work on immediately self-evident principles encountered
through spiritual sensation. The chapter thus presents a moment in the
historical development of the spiritual senses that begins to bridge the
scholarship on the Patristic, Medieval, and Enlightenment periods.12
The discourse on the “True Way,” Smith’s first “Discourse” appears at
the beginning of his only remaining work, the posthumously published
Select Discourses (1660), selected and edited together by John Worthington
in 1659 from various pieces, some given as sermons and some intended for
publication in an unfinished volume. The bulk of the discourses were
crafted as Smith exercised his duties as catechist at Queens’ College. In the
Select Discourses Smith presents his Christian Platonism on various topics,
ranging from method to the immortality of the soul, to prophecy and to
several discourses on the nature of the Christian life, among others.
Smith’s first “Discourse” begins by making his intentions and his methods
clear. Just as all other arts and sciences have as their basis and starting point
some precondition or principle(s) upon which everything else depends, so
too with divinity.13 Divinity rests on and in fact is “a divine life” rather than
a “divine science.”14 The principle for the intelligibility of divinity is

“Spiritual Sensation,” which unites the will, intellect, and the affections, says
Smith, and this is the basis of his theological method.15 Smith’s intent here
is to establish a firm foundation upon which all his later work can stand. In
this, his deep admiration for Descartes shines through.16 However, much of
what Smith has to say about this method echoes from Origen.17
Origen as Model
Origen affirmed the existence of a set of five spiritual senses analogous to
the physical senses located in the mind or soul, what Origen calls the “inner
man,” which is distinct from the physical body and thus also from the
physical senses. Origen largely developed his view based on biblical evidence
and as a way of interpreting passages where the clearly nonsensible (i.e.,
spiritual, conceptual, or intellectual) is said to be sensed.18
For I do not suppose that the visible heaven was actually opened, and its
physical structure divided, in order that Ezekiel might be able to record such
an occurrence. . . . [A]lthough such an occurrence may be a stumbling-block
to the simple, who in their simplicity would set the whole world in move-
ment, and split in sunder the compact and mighty body of the whole heav-
ens. But he who examines such matters more profoundly will say, that there
being, as the Scripture calls it, a kind of general divine perception which the
blessed man alone knows how to discover, according to the saying of
Solomon, You shall find a divine sense; and as there are various forms of this
perceptive power, such as a faculty of vision which can naturally see things
that are better than bodies, among which are ranked the cherubim and sera-
phim; and a faculty of hearing which can perceive voices which have not
their being in the air; and a sense of taste which can make use of living bread
that has come down from heaven, and that gives life unto the world; and so
also a sense of smelling, which scents such things as leads Paul to say that he
is a sweet savour of Christ unto God; and a sense of touch, by which John
says that he handled with his hands of the Word of life;—the blessed proph-
ets having discovered this divine perception, and seeing and hearing in this
divine manner, and tasting likewise, and smelling, so to speak, with no sen-
sible organs of perception, and laying hold on the Logos by faith, so that a
healing effluence from it comes upon them, saw in this manner what they
record as having seen, and heard what they say they heard. . . .19
Thus, for Origen the spiritual or allegorical reading of scripture suggests

that references to sensing the divine are not literal accounts. In this way,
Origen counters the ridicule of Celsus and other critics of Christian doc-
trine. At the same time, however, Origen is convinced that references to
spiritual senses are not without literal meaning of some kind. That is, rather
than reading these passages as mere metaphorical references to knowledge,
or comprehension, Origen takes a sudden and unexpected turn by suggest-
ing such passages refer to literal spiritual senses, actual spiritual capacities
for perceiving the nonsensory.20
While Karl Rahner is certainly correct about the exegetical provenance
of Origen’s doctrine, his claim that it is a conclusion based solely on scrip-
ture fails to convince.21 Beyond the possible incarnational or sacramental
reasons for such a reading lies the possibility, suggested by Dillon, that
Origen is drawing on previous and contemporaneous speculation about
“a noetic correlate of sense-perception” found in Plato, Albinus, a Gnostic
treatise (Zostrianos), Plotinus (Enneads VI.7), and Philo.22 Only if the spiri-
tual senses have an initial air of plausibility can the move to read biblical
passages allegorically, but not totally so, be justified.23
Without some reason to suggest that such a thing is even possible,
Origen should be expected simply to allegorize the language of sensing the
divine out of the picture entirely. Since Origen does not do that, and
instead affirms literally spiritual senses, and given that there was ample
non-Christian speculation about spiritual sensibility in Origen’s intellectual
milieu, it seems likely that he asserts his view of the spiritual senses with
a basically platonic philosophical and a Christian scriptural background in
mind. Origen finds the spiritual senses in his reading of the Bible but he
was able to find them because he already had access to the philosophic
tools needed to “see” them. Origen’s interpretation was thus likely given
additional, and necessary, philosophical credence by a common tradition
within the intellectual context he shared with Plotinus and others who also
suggest similar intellectual senses.24 Regardless of the specific methods
employed, Origen’s concerns are exegetical and, to that extent, Rahner is
correct.25
As we have seen, Origen draws on scripture and, if our argument based
on Dillon’s suggestion is correct, elements in the prevailing philosophical
speculations of his day to advance the reality of the spiritual senses of the
soul. In much the same manner, Smith appeals directly to scripture and the
Neoplatonism of Plotinus as his “evidence” for the spiritual sensation upon
which all theological understanding rests. Spiritual concepts are understood
by being perceived, and this spiritual sensibility is thoroughly intellectual
and therefore not physical, and yet, somehow, still best described by way
of perceptual language. For both Smith and Origen, the spiritual senses are
capacities of mind and are both conceptual and perceptual. Perceptual in
the sense that it is by means of these senses that purely noetic (purely
spiritual) objects are perceived and conceptual in the sense that they have
to do with realities that are by their very nature concepts or ideas, not
physically sensible things.
Smith is notable for his insistence that divinity is a practical, living
enterprise.26 Divinity is a “Divine life,” rather than a “science” conveyed by
mere “Verbal description” because it has to do with things of “Sense & Life”
and thus requires “Sentient and Vital faculties.” Smith here makes explicit
his employment of Neoplatonism in the service of scriptural exegesis, and
both in spiritual guidance, by combining Plotinus’ affirmation that, in
Smith’s words, “Every thing is best known by that which bears a just resem-
blance and analogie with it,” with the biblical principle, derived specifically
from Proverbs Chapter 10, that a good life is the prolepsis for coming to
an understanding of divine things.27
A little later, Smith introduces the sixth Beatitude from the Sermon on
the Mount (Matthew 5:8) with a reference to Plotinus; “Divinity is indeed
a true enflux from that eternal light,” but this light does not merely
enlighten, but also enlivens. While the framework for intelligibility here is
borrowed from the light mysticism common to Plotinus and Origen (and
others),28 the authority for Smith’s point lies with Christ, who connects
“purity of heart with the beatific vision.” In this way, Smith offers support
for his claim that what is essential in theology is a practical, existential, and
spiritually sensitive approach and not the study or composition of dry
treatises.29 In nearly the same breath, he returns to Plotinus and the imagery
of light for the idea that just “as the eye cannot behold the sun . . . unless
it hath the form and resemblance of the sun drawn in it,” so too for the
soul to “behold God . . . unless it be Godlike.” This touchstone on the
landscape of platonic intelligibility leads back again to scripture immedi-
ately, “and the apostle St. Paul, when he would lay open the right way of
attaining to divine truth, saith, that ‘knowledge puffeth up,’ but it is ‘love
that edifieth.’”30
For Smith, no less than Origen, emotion and the will, especially love,
play a central role in the directedness of our attention. When we strive after
physical things, we are drawn by our love (or “lust) away from the inner
spiritual realities and therefore we fail to love rightly that which is more
valuable in itself (i.e., spirit not matter). When we direct our wills toward
inner spiritual things, love plays a positive role in spiritual sensation. The
spiritual senses are partly activated by, and partly cause and deepen, love of
God possible through God’s grace in creation and salvation. It is within the
inner realm of the heart that the spiritual senses operate for Smith. In this,
Smith differs slightly from Origen who stresses intellect with respect to the
spiritual senses, but for both it is the inner person, the mind or soul, which
is the locus of spiritual sensation. However, like Origen, Smith finds his
basis for spiritual sensibility in the Bible with the aid of a (neo-)platonic
framework that helps to make it noticeable and plausible.
Three additional passages form the heart of Smith’s affirmation of the
reality and necessity of spiritual sensation. The first comes from Plotinus.
After pointing out the uselessness of seeking divinity in books alone where it
is “entombed” more often than “enshrined,” Smith gives Plotinus as his
source for the sentiment that one is to “seek God within” our “own soul” for
God “is best discerned by an intellectual touch.”31 This is not allowed to stand
on its own however, and is buoyed within the same sentence by reference to
the First Epistle of John (1:1); “[W]e must ‘see with our eyes, and hear with
our ears, and our hands must handle the word of life.” Smith adds to this
that, “the soul itself hath its sense, as well as the body,” and again within the
same sentence goes on to say that it is for this reason that David recommends
in the Psalm “not speculation but sensation” as the means of arriving at an
understanding of divine goodness; “Taste and see how good the Lord is.”32
In this way, Smith follows Origen’s hermeneutical approach (as suggested
by Dillon) but as a late Renaissance Neoplatonist, Smith sees no reason to
keep his reliance on a pagan philosopher implicit. Plotinus is for Smith a
great teacher whose limits are overcome by the revelations of scripture but
whom nonetheless supplies a sure and steady guide by supplying the context
within which scriptural passages can be read in their most literal way pos-
sible.33 Like Origen, Smith denies that there is biblical warrant for a vision
of divine things with physical eyes but his allegiance to a Neoplatonism
open to the possibility of noetic sensibility allows him to affirm that these
passages are not merely poetic devices.
Smith’s initial presentation of the reality of spiritual sensation rests on
much the same combination of philosophical plausibility and scriptural war-
rant that Origen relies on. The most significant difference in this regard
seems to be the added level of expressly methodical concern in Smith. As an
early, and in some respects uncritical, admirer of Descartes, Smith seeks to
offer foundations for his theological work in ways that Origen does not, but
Smith finds his foundations not in modernity, but in Origen’s era. In other
words, Smith was urged by his present to recover a past within the tradition
of Christian Platonism, because this is a living tradition for him.34
Origen as Source
As has been demonstrated, Smith seems to follow the example of Origen’s
creative combination of platonic plausibility and allegorical scriptural exege-
sis. This move on its own, however, only demonstrates that Smith is a
Christian Platonist. His specific indebtedness to Origen is seen when one
considers the way in which Origen acts not only as a model but also as a
source for Smith’s presentation of the spiritual senses. This indebtedness to
Origen as source will in turn offer support for the preceding argument
about Origen as model.
Several specific elements in the theories of both figures might be dis-
cussed in this regard. For example, both Origen and Smith suggest that all
human beings have a natural capacity for spiritual sensation as part of our
original makeup as rational beings. However in our earthly, sinful, fallen
life most people do not realize this potential. To actualize one’s spiritual
senses requires God’s grace as well as personal effort and practice, essentially,
moral behavior, philosophical training, reflection, prayer, scriptural study,
and other spiritual practices.35 Likewise, both ascribe to the spiritual senses
the ability to perceive spiritual life and spiritual death.36 Both Origen and
Smith describe particular spiritual senses as taking for their objects various
delightful manifestations of the Divine Logos.37 Finally, both locate the
spiritual senses within an inner person as opposed to the outer, and both
suggest that one’s attention to the external senses must decrease in order for
the spiritual senses to increase.38 All of these similarities are suggestive of
Smith’s debt to Origen; however, discussion here will be limited to their
common apologetic use of the spiritual senses where Smith makes explicit
reference to Origen.
From the very start of his first Discourse, Smith is eager to show that
theology has a kind of demonstration that is different from the pure ratio-
cination of the intellect, or the dry presentations of doctrines and proofs in
books. For example, Smith tells us, “They are not alwaies the best skill’d in
Divinity, that are most studied in those Pandects which it is sometimes
digested into, or that have erected the greatest Monopolies of Art and
Science.”39 A little later Smith adds, “We must not think we have attained
to the right knowledge of Truth, when we have broke through the outward
shell of words & phrases that house it up; or when by a Logical Analysis we
have found out the dependencies and coherences of them with one
another.”40 Smith is here framing his presentation of the “True Way” in
apologetic terms against a merely logical or intellectual approach to philoso-
phy and theology. His opponents in this apologetic are the early modern
Skeptics, various types of materialists, other “atheists,” and especially
Christian scholastics.
In the midst of this apologetic, Smith repeatedly points to the true
method as that of a purified life and the awakening of a capacity for spiri-
tual sensation that grants knowledge more akin to personal encounter than
logical inference. This is the different kind of demonstration that Christianity
has for Smith, proven not in the unaffected intellect calmly accessing the
evidence but felt in a direct experience of God by the soul. It is in the midst
of this apology that Smith makes his only direct appeal to Origen. “It is
but a thin, aiery knowledge that is got by meer Speculation, which is usher’d
in by Syllogisms and Demonstrations; but that which springs forth from
true Goodness, is θειο′τερο′ντι πασης α′ποδει′ξεως, [theioteron ti pases
apodeixeos, “an entirely divine proof ” or “a more divine demonstration”] as
Origen speaks, it brings such a Divine Light into the Soul, as is more clear
and convincing than any Demonstration.”41 Examination of Origen’s
works, and the editions of Origen known to have been available to Smith,
reveals that the “quote” here is most likely a paraphrase taken from Contra
Celsum I.2.42 That Smith intends this passage specifically is indicated most
strongly by the parallel intensions at work in both texts.
In Contra Celsum I.2, Celsus is critiqued for trying to apply the criterion
of a “Greek proof ” to Christianity, and then Origen says, “Moreover, we
have to say this, that the gospel has a proof which is particular to itself, and
which is more divine than a Greek proof based on dialectical argument. This
more divine demonstration the apostle calls a ‘demonstration of the Spirit
and of power’—of the spirit because of the prophecies and especially those
which refer to Christ, which are capable of convincing anyone who reads
them; of power because of the prodigious miracles which may be proved to
have happened by this argument among many others, that traces of them
still remain among those who live according to the will of the Logos.”43
Likewise, Smith appeals to Origen in his own apologetic use of spiritual
sensation. Immediately after his reference to Origen, Smith continues his
attack on the “thin speculations” of logicians (both believers and nonbeliev-
ers).44 In addition, Origen suggests that the prophets employ the spiritual
senses and that there is a single spiritual sensibility that takes five forms
later in Book I at Chapter 48.45 Just as Origen relates the spiritual senses
to prophecy as the means by which revelation is received by human beings,
so too does Smith. Chapters 2 and 48 are thus closely related for Origen
and both play a role in defending the sensible language of scripture from
outside attack.
While it would seem from these considerations that the spiritual senses
are not merely metaphorical for Origen, it remains to be seen if they are
rightly understood to be five in number or if they are merely so many ways
of speaking of a single spiritual capacity or “intellectual sense” as Smith puts
it.46 In light of what Origen says about the inner and outer person, however,
it would seem that he indeed does intend to maintain that there are five
distinct spiritual senses. This is important because it implies that there is
something about the divine objects of these senses that could not be cap-
tured by a single noetic sense.
There is however no reason to affirm a strict opposition between one spiri-

tual sensibility and five spiritual senses. Indeed, in Contra Celsum I.48 Origen
suggests, in the midst of his discussion of the connection between the demon-
stration of the Spirit in prophecy and its connection to the five spiritual senses,
that there is a single “general divine perception,” but that this single spiritual
sensibility takes many forms, which Origen gives as the five spiritual senses.
Smith seems to be in basic agreement on this point. However, he is far
less interested in speaking of a full set of five spiritual senses than is Origen.
Smith moves easily from talking about spiritual sight, hearing, touch, taste,
and smell, to speaking of a single spiritual sensibility, often called an “intel-
lectual touch” and occasionally referred to as a sense of the heart.47 Unlike
Origen, Smith does not put forward a clear theory of five distinct spiritual
senses with anything approaching consistency in regards to their objects or
other particulars, but he does consistently speak of the spiritual senses as
more than simply one. Divinity is best known through a spiritual sensation
for Smith that may take a form analogous to any of the physical senses, in
keeping with Origen’s statement in Contra Celsum I.48.
It seems probable, therefore, that Smith has in mind an arrangement
very much like the one suggested by Origen where a “general divine percep-
tion” takes many different forms in order that the plentitude of the divine
nature be more fully expressed. This would help account for the ease with
which Smith can go from speaking of a single noetic sense, using sensory
language as an analogy for knowledge, to multiple senses akin to the physi-
cal senses with different sensory objects within the spiritual realm.
Therefore, it is reasonable to conclude that Smith is drawing on Origen’s
discussion in the first book of Contra Celsum.
Conclusion
This chapter has shown that the Cambridge Platonist John Smith was
influenced by the doctrine of the spiritual senses as expressed by its first
systematic Christian exponent, Origen of Alexandria. Smith has been
shown to follow Origen’s practice as the basis for his own presentation of
spiritual sensibility. Whereas Origen relied on Middle Platonism and scrip-
ture, Smith relied on Neoplatonism (especially Plotinus) as well as scripture.
It has also been argued that Smith is indebted to Origen for important
elements in the content of his doctrine. Both employ spiritual sensibility in
a presentation of the means by which one comes to a proper theological
understanding and Smith makes explicit reference to Origen’s apologetics
as support for his own. Together this twofold influence is suggestive of a
conscious appropriation of Origen’s thought by Smith.
Although other lines of influence cannot be ruled out with absolute

confidence, the cumulative case is strong. While Smith follows Origen’s lead
only briefly by the letter, and even then only as a paraphrase, in spirit
Smith’s debt to the Alexandrian is clear. Therefore, the Emmanuel College
Chapel windows are correct. Smith is rightfully thought of as an heir to the
legacy of Origen, and much of this inheritance is manifest in Smith’s discus-
sion of spiritual sensation.
Notes
1. For images, see “College Chapel Windows,” Emmanuel College Website,
http://www.emma.cam.ac.uk/collegelife/chapel/windows/, accessed November
1, 2008. I gratefully acknowledge the assistance of Dr. David Trobisch and the
helpful comments of Professors Douglas Hedley and Sarah Coakley of
Cambridge University. Mark McInroy, of Harvard University and more recently
Cambridge, read and contributed clarifying comments on drafts of the chapter.
Finally, the Head Librarian of Queens’ College, Cambridge, Karen Begg was
instrumental in the research that made this chapter possible. Any errors or
infelicities that remain are, of course, mine.
2. The best recent introduction to the Cambridge Platonists as religious thinkers
is the volume in the Classics of Western Spirituality series by C. Taliaferro and
A. Teply, Cambridge Platonist Spirituality (New York: Paulist Press, 2004). The
first section of Smith’s first discourse in particular will be the focus of my treat-
ment. This owes more to time and space limitations than limits in the potentially
fruitful material, which can be found throughout the Select Discourses. The first
few pages are noteworthy, however, for what J. Worthington, the editor of the
collection, describes as a wealth of “excellent Sense and solid matter well beaten
and compacted and lying close together in a little room.” J. Worthington, “To
the Reader,” in John Smith, Select Discourses . . . By John Smith, late Fellow of
Queen’s College in Cambridge. As also a Sermon preached by Simon Patrick . . . At
the Author’s Funeral. . . . (London: F. Flesher, for W. Morden Bookseller in
Cambridge, 1660), xii. A more complete discussion will be found in my dis-
sertation, “Reason Turned into Sense: John Smith on Spiritual Sensation,” PhD
Diss., Boston University, forthcoming.
3. For a fuller discussion of the complex and multivariate Christian tradition of
speculation on the “spiritual senses,” see the forthcoming collection of essays,
Perceiving God: The Spiritual Senses in the Western Christian Tradition, edited by
Paul Gavrilyuk and Sarah Coakley (Cambridge University Press).
4. J. C. English, “John Wesley’s Indebtedness to John Norris,” Church History 60,
no.1 (1991): 55–69.
5. See Taliaferro and Teply, Cambridge Platonist Spirituality, for a typical account
of this relationship.
6. On the extraordinarily broad interests of Smith, see J. E. Saveson, “Some Aspects
of the Thought and Style of John Smith the Cambridge Platonist,” PhD thesis,
Fitzwilliam House, Cambridge University, 1956; and “The Library of John

Smith, the Cambridge Platonist,” Notes and Queries 203 (1958): 215–16.
7. B. Walton, Jonathan Edwards, Religious Affections and the Puritan Analysis of
True Piety, Spiritual Sensation and Heart Religion (Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellon
Press, 2002), 121. See also pp. 137–38, 200, and 203.
8. See throughout the introductions and apparatus in the Yale edition of Edwards
works as well as M. J. McClymond, “Spiritual Sensation in Jonathan Edwards,”
The Journal of Religion 77, no. 2 (1997): 195–216.
9. J. C. English, “John Wesley’s Indebtedness to John Norris,” 55–69.
10. E. Brantley, “The Common Ground of Wesley and Edwards,” The Harvard
Theological Review 83, no. 3 (1990): 271–303.
11. Some studies have looked in detail at aspects of the patristic influence on the
Cambridge Platonists but they have not addressed the spiritual senses tradition.
My dissertation will be the first to place Smith within this tradition and a
projected second volume will seek to describe the continuation of the doctrine
after the Cambridge Platonists. D. W. Dockrill’s “The Fathers and the Theology
of the Cambridge Platonists” (StudiaPatristica 17:1 [1982]: 427–39) addresses
the implications of Origen for Trinitarian thought in Cudworth. R. Lewis’ “Of
‘Origenian Platonisme: Joseph Glanvill on the Pre-existence of Souls” (The
Huntington Library Quarterly 69/2 [2006]: 267–302) addresses the circulation
of Origen’s thoughts on the soul especially preexistence in the thought of
Glanvill, More, Worthington, and others, but Smith is not mentioned. In fact,
while More may be an important source of Origen’s ideas for Glanvill it is
possible that More became attracted to Origen through Smith and other like-
minded scholars.
12. The case offered here is suggestive of Smith’s place in a tradition that stretches
back to at least Origen of Alexandria but which cannot be limited to him. Smith
is heir not only to Origen but also to Augustine, Bonaventure, the humanistic
and “platonic” climate of the Renaissance, the pieties of the Reformations, and
the dawn of modern philosophy and science. It is difficult, if not impossible, to
tease apart fully the influence of Origen and his associated traditions from
Smith’s own combination of Neoplatonism and the Bible. Furthermore, the
readings of Origen and Smith offered do not pretend to be complete or to
engage the full range of scholarship in this area. What is offered here is not a
proof of the influence of Origen on Smith. Rather, what is offered is a highly
suggestive double pattern. Origen as source and Origen as model are thus mutu-
ally reinforcing and only together can a case be made for the patristic, or spe-
cifically Origenist, roots of Smith’s doctrine of the spiritual senses.
13. Smith, Select Discourses, 1–2.
14. Ibid., 2.
15. Ibid., 2.
16. On the relationship between Smith and Descartes, see J. E. Saveson, “Descartes’
Influence on John Smith, Cambridge Platonist,” Journal of the History of Ideas
20 (1959): 258–62, and “Differing Reactions to Descartes among the Cambridge
Platonists,” Journal of the History of Ideas 31 (1960): 560–67.
17. While it is not usually possible to demonstrate a clear line of influence directly
to Origen (Smith makes very few direct references to Origen, for example)
Smith’s understanding of the sensible nature of spiritual understanding never-
theless echoes the Alexandrian in important ways and in at least one critical
case makes direct appeal to the Father of the spiritual senses.
18. Andrew Louth, The Origins of the Christian Mystical Tradition From Plato to
Denys (Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press, 2007), 66–67. This point is
not without contention, however. Several scholars have suggested that Origen’s
language about the spiritual senses is best understood as metaphorical either
throughout his corpus or in one supposed stage or another in his developing
thoughts on the matter. The received scholarly opinion on the issue is, however,
that notwithstanding elements of metaphor here and there, Origen, by and large,
does intend to speak of five spiritual senses that function analogously to the
physical senses. See the work of Dillon, Rudy, and McInroy on this topic.
19. Origen, Contra Celsum, I.48 (Crombie, trans.). This translation is taken from
the Ante Nicene Fathers translation with corrections to match Chadwick in the
reference to Proverbs 2:5. “Knowledge” has been changed to the misreading of
the LXX that Origen actually gives, “sense.”
20. Some passages related to spiritual sensation do seem to be simply metaphorical
for Origen but clearly not all. Some of Origen’s reading of scripture seems to
indicate an analogy between spiritual sense and physical sense. For a sample of
the debate on this point, see Louth, Origins of the Christian Mystical Tradition,
66–67; J. M. Dillon, “Aisthesis Noete: A Doctrine of the Spiritual Senses in
Origen and in Plotinus,” in Hellenica et Judaica, edited by A. Caquot et al.
(Leuven; Paris: Peeters, 1986), 443–55; and G. Rudy, Mystical Language of
Sensation in the Later Middle Ages (New York: Routledge, 2002).
21. K. Rahner, «Le debut d’une doctrine des cinqsens spirituals chez Origene,»
Revue d’ascetiqueet de mystique 13 (1932): 112–45; English translation, “The
‘Spiritual Senses’ According to Origen,” in Theological Investigations, XVI (New
York: Seabury Press, 1979), 89–103. The claim about the exclusively biblical
source of Origen’s doctrine is made on p. 83 in the ET.
22. Dillon, “Aisthesis Noete,” 455; 454–55. To Dillon’s suggestive, albeit specula-
tive, list could be added the much more ancient tradition of the postmortem
opening of the senses in order to interact with the gods found in the Egyptian
Book of the Dead and numerous additional passages in Plato that speak of “intel-
lectual vision” and inner “eyes” (e.g., Republic 519A, Symposium 219A, etc.) as
well as other passages from Plotinus of particular interest to John Smith such
as Enneads I.8.1, I.6.9, I.3.4, and VI.7.13.
23. Dillon is far more nuanced in his discussion but I argue that he need not be
in this area. This same kind of plausible warrant seems to be at work in other
decisions of Origen to limit his allegorizing. For example, his numerous appeals
to Old Testament signs for Christ only makes sense in light of a knowledge of
Christ as that to which the allegory refers.
24. The apologetic impulse in Contra Celsum is made more clear by this suggestion
as well.
25. As Mark McInroy has pointed out, in following the suggestion of Dillon against
the position articulated by Rahner, I am parting company with most observers
since Rahner’s influential treatment of Origen’s doctrine of spiritual sense.
While Rahner’s approach makes Origen’s thoughts on these matters seem more
clearly “Christian,” mine makes what Origen says more clearly intelligible.
26. See, in the first instance, Smith, Select Discourses, p. 2, but the point is made
repeatedly throughout the First Discourse and the whole of the Select
Discourses.
27. Ibid., 2. Smith’s plotinian reference is to Ennead I.8.1. The biblical allusion is
to Proverbs 10 (“the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom”).
28. See Louth, Origins of the Christian Mystical Tradition, 35–72.
29. Smith, Select Discourses, 2.
30. Ibid., 3. The Pauline reference is to I Cor. 8:1. The reference to Plotinus appears
to be Ennead I.2.4.
31. Enneads I.2.6 and V.3.17 seem to be the inspiration for Smith’s reference here
but as is often the case, his reference is not exact and does not match the words
of the passage so much as the likely meaning of it. This tendency will be
important later in our discussion of Smith’s use of Origen as a source. The
phrase, “intellectual touch,” is key to the way in which spiritual sensation is
concerned with a blending of the conceptual and the (in some sense) percep-
tual.
32. Smith, Select Discourses, 3; Psalm 34:8.
33. A good place to begin on the relationship between the Cambridge Platonists
with the Italian Renaissance in general is Sarah Hutton, “The Cambridge
Platonists,” The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Fall 2008 Edition), edited
by Edward N. Zalta, http://plato.stanford.edu/archives/fall2008/entries/
cambridge-platonists/, accessed October 30, 2008.
34. Saveson (1955; 1959) points to the way Smith seems to think of the French
Oratory, Descartes and Copernican astronomy as manifestations of a generally
platonic philosophy. Smith owed copies of Descartes’ Principles of Philosophy,
Meditations on First Philosophy, and The Passions of the Soul in addition to
works on geometry and music (Saveson 1955, Appendix, 17). I gratefully
acknowledge Dr. Saveson’s permission to take a copy and cite his dissertation
held by the Manuscripts Department in the University Library, Cambridge
University.
35. Smith, 3, 8, 10–11, 12, 16, 21; Hans Urs von Balthasar, ed. Spirit and Fire,
trans. Robert J. Daly (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2001), nos. 637–658, 674.
36. Smith, Select Discourses, 4–5, 7; Origen, Cant. Co. 1, in Balthasar, nos. 545,
547.
37. Smith, Select Discourses, 3, 7, 15, etc.; Balthasar, nos. 539–40, 604–93.
38. Smith, Select Discourses, 3, etc.; Balthasar, nos. 519–21, and 536. Origen follows
St. Paul and platonic convention, and Smith follows Descartes and what he
takes to be the Christian tradition.
40. Ibid., 8. To these quotations can be added: “The knowledge of Divinity that
appears in systems and models is but a poor wan light” (Ibid., 3). “All Light
and Knowledge that may seem sometimes to rise up in unhallowed minds, is
but like those fuliginous flames that arise up from our culinary fire, that are
soon quench’d in their own smoke; or like those foolish fires that fetch their
birth from terrene exudations, that doe but hop up & down, and flit to and
fro upon the surface of this earth where they were first brought forth; and serve
not so much to enlighten, as to delude us; nor to direct the wandering traveler
into his way, but to lead him farther out of it” (Ibid., 3–4). Others like this
can be found throughout the first “Discourse” and indeed throughout the entire
Select Discourses.
41. Ibid., 4.
42. In keeping with Smith’s general practice, the phrase is not attributed to a spe-
cific passage in Origen. Unlike most other quotations from Greek and Hebrew,
this phrase has not been “Englished” by Smith’s editor (Worthington, iv–v).
Apparently, Worthington judged a translation of this passage “was less needful”
because of the surrounding text. C. A. Patrides translates the phrase “more
sacred than any evidence” (The Cambridge Platonists [London: Edward Arnold,
1969], 130). No edition of the Discourses has offered a specific citation for this
phrase and the most recent abridged edition of the first “Discourse” offers only
the suggestion that Smith may have in mind Origen’s Commentary on the Gospel
of John, Book X, 25, in which Origen “discourses on the Divine light”
(Taliaferro and Teply, Cambridge Platonist Spirituality, 218n.378). This sugges-
tion however seems to have more to do with the English phrases that follow
Smith’s quotation from Origen and not the quotation itself.
According to the online Thesaurus Linguae Graecae, θειο′τερο′ν occurs
twenty-seven times in Origen’s corpus but this phrase is never given (http://
www.tlg.uci.edu/, accessed March 11, 2010). A review of Origen’s works in the
Patrolgia Graeca (Migne) edition also reveals that the phrase in fact does not
occur in exactly this form in Origen. Furthermore, according to Origenes, Opera
Omnia, Lexicum Propriumseu ‘Concordances,’ (http://www.documentacatholi-
caomnia.eu/1004/1001/local_general_index.html, accessed October 30, 2008),
the word θειο′τερο′ν (theioteron) occurs only once (Contra Celsum, col. 00336
[1.31]), and this phrase is not there. Chadwick’s edition has, “something divine
about him” (p. 30) in this place. Similar forms of Smith’s Greek for “divine”
and “proof/demonstration” do occur in Contra Celsum I.2, however, where the
same sentiment, though not the exact phrase, is found. Apparently, Smith has
paraphrased Origen from memory or less-than-exact notes. This is not at all
unusual for Smith; the majority of his references in the first “Discourse,” except
for the Bible, are of this sort.
It should also be noted that although the seventeenth-century manuscript list
of books from Smith’s library donated to Queens’ College Library upon his death
in 1652 does not include Origen’s Contra Celsum, both Emmanuel (where he
was a student) and Queens’ (where he was a fellow) had copies in a 1605 Greek
and Latin edition. For Emmanuel College, see S. Bush, Jr., and C. J. Rasmussen,
The Library of Emmanuel College Cambridge 1584–1637 (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 2005 [1986]), 146. The Emmanuel volume was removed
sometime before 1693 when the current copy was donated by Sancroft. The
volume was in the collection for the first year of Smith’s undergraduate studies
in the College, however. There was also most likely a copy, of the same edition,
at Queens’ College when he became a fellow in 1644. See T. H. Horne,
A Catalogue of the Library of The College of St. Margaret and St. Bernard, Commonly
Called Queen’s College in the University of Cambridge . . . (London, 1827), 122.
The edition in both cases was that of David Hoeschelius, published in 1605 in
both Greek and Latin (sequentially but with common pagination) and copious
notes and apparatus. The Queens’ copy remains in the Old Library.
Additionally, Smith seems not to have owned a copy of Plotinus but the sheer
amount of references to him suggest that Smith worked with College Library
copies or those of others to a significant extent. I gratefully acknowledge the
assistance of Karen Begg, Librarian of Queens’ College, Cambridge, in working
with the remains of Smith’s personal library as well as the edition of Contra
Celsum most likely used by him.
43. Origen, Contra Celsum, I.2 (Chadwick, ed.), emphasis added to show Chadwick’s
English for the similar forms of the Greek offered by Smith as a “quotation”
from Origen.
44. What I am calling Smith’s “apology” runs the full length of the first numbered
section of the first discourse (Smith, Select Discourses, 1–13).
45. Smith’s treatment of prophecy occurs in his discourse number six, “Of
Prophesie” (ibid., 169–281). While in this chapter the details of the discourse
cannot be discussed, it can be said in passing that Smith’s theory of prophecy
seems to operate via spiritual sensation in ways that parallel many Patristic
sources including Origen and Gregory the Great in his Homilies on Ezekiel.
I owe the observation about Gregory to George Demacopoulos.
47. B. T. Coolman has shown a very similar arrangement in William of Auxerre
who also poses both a single noetic sense and five spiritual senses as parts of
this whole (Knowing God by Experience: The Spiritual Senses in the Theology of
William of Auxerre [Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press,
2004]). Thus, it is not at all unprecedented within the tradition to speak this
way. It should be noted, however, that I am not aware of any direct connection
between William and Smith.
Bibliography
Balthasar, Hans Urs von, ed. Spirit and Fire. Translated by Robert J. Daly.
Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2001.
Brantley, E. “The Common Ground of Wesley and Edwards.” The Harvard
Theological Review 83 no. 3 (1990): 271–303.
Bush, S., and C. J. Rasmussen, eds. The Library of Emmanuel College Cambridge
1584–1637 . Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005 [1986].
Coolman, Boyd T. Knowing God by Experience: The Spiritual Senses in the Theology
of William of Auxerre. Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press,
2004.
Dillon, J. M. “Aisthesis Noete: A Doctrine of the Spiritual Senses in Origen and in
Plotinus.” In Hellenica et Judaica:Hommage a Valentin Nikiprowetzky, ed. A. Caquot,
M. Hadas-Lebel and J. Riaud. 443–55. Leuven; Paris: Peeters, 1986.
Dockrill, D. W. “The Fathers and the Theology of the Cambridge Platonists.”
StudiaPatristica 17:1 (1982): 427–39.
Emmanuel College, Cambridge University.“College Chapel Windows.” http://www.
emma.cam.ac.uk/collegelife/chapel/windows/, accessed November 1, 2008.
English, J. C. “John Wesley’s Indebtedness to John Norris.” Church History 60 no.1
(1991): 55–69.
Horne, T. H. A Catalogue of the Library of the College of St. Margaret and St. Bernard,
Commonly Called Queen’s College in the University of Cambridge. . . . London,
1827.
Hutton, Sarah. “The Cambridge Platonists.” In The Stanford Encyclopedia of
Philosophy (Fall 2008 Edition), ed. Edward N. Zalta, http://plato.stanford.edu/
archives/fall2008/entries/cambridge-platonists/, accessed October 30, 2008.
Gavrilyuk, Paul, and Sarah Coakley, eds. Perceiving God: The Spiritual Senses in the
Western Christian Tradition. Cambridge University Press, forthcoming.
Lewis, R. “Of ‘Origenian Platonisme: Joseph Glanvill on the Pre-existence of Souls.”
The Huntington Library Quarterly 69/2 (2006): 267–302.
Louth, Andrew. The Origins of the Christian Mystical Tradition from Plato to Denys.
Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press, 2007.
McClymond, M. J. “Spiritual Sensation in Jonathan Edwards.” The Journal of
Religion 77, no. 2 (1997): 195–216.
Michaud, Derek. “Reason Turned into Sense: John Smith on Spiritual Sensation.”
PhD Diss. Boston University, forthcoming.
Origen. Contra Celsum. In Patrologie Cursuscompletus, Series graeca, ed. J.-P. Migne,
vol. 11; Frederick Crombie, trans. Contra Celsum. In Ante Nicene Fathers v. 4.
Christian Literature Publishing Company, 1885, reprint, Peabody, MA:
Hendrickson Publishers, 1999; Henry Chadwick, trans. Contra Celsum.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003 [1953].
Patrides, C. A. The Cambridge Platonists. London: Edward Arnold, 1969.
Plotinus. Enneads. Trans., A. H. Armstrong. Loeb Classical Library, vols. 440–5, 468
[Greek and English]. Cambridge, MA; London: Harvard University Press,
1966–1988.
Rahner, K. «Le debut d’une doctrine des cinqsens spirituals chez Origene» Revue
d’ascetiqueet de mystique 13 (1932): 112–45; English translation, “The ‘Spiritual
Senses’ According to Origen.” In Theological Investigations, XVI: 89–103.
New York: Seabury Press, 1979.
Rudy, G. Mystical Language of Sensation in the Later Middle Ages. New York:
Routledge, 2002.
Saveson, J. E. “Some Aspects of the Thought and Style of John Smith the
Cambridge Platonist,” PhD thesis, Fitzwilliam House, Cambridge University,
1956.
———, “The Library of John Smith, the Cambridge Platonist.” Notes and Queries
203 (1958): 215–16.
———, “Descartes’ Influence on John Smith, Cambridge Platonist.” Journal of the
History of Ideas 20 (1959): 258–62.
———, “Differing Reactions to Descartes among the Cambridge Platonists.”
Journal of the History of Ideas 31 (1960): 560–67.
Smith, John. Select Discourses . . . By John Smith, late Fellow of Queen’s College in
Cambridge. As also a Sermon preached by Simon Patrick . . . At the Author’s Funeral
. . . . London: F. Flesher, for W. Morden Bookseller in Cambridge, 1660.
Walton, B. Jonathan Edwards, Religious Affections and the Puritan Analysis of True
Piety, Spiritual Sensation and Heart Religion. Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellon Press,
2002.
Worthington, John. “To the Reader.” In John Smith, Select Discourses. London:
F. Flesher, for W. Morden Bookseller in Cambridge, 1660.
CHAPTER 8
“The Body Gains Its Share”:

The Asceticism of Mechthild
of Magdeburg
Michelle Voss Roberts
When I entered religious life and took leave of the world, I looked at my
body. It was fully armed against my poor soul. . . . I saw full well that it was
my enemy, and I also saw if I were going to escape eternal death, I would
have to strike it down; conflict was inevitable.
The Flowing Light of the Godhead, IV.21
W
ith these words, Mechthild of Magdeburg draws upon a long
rhetorical tradition pitting body against soul, flesh against
spirit. This rhetoric helped to authorize her rather unconven-
tional lay religious lifestyle as a single woman outside the cloister. As a
beguine in the thirteenth century, Mechthild was devoted to ideals of chas-
tity, poverty, and service; but because she was outside any of the approved
religious orders, her acceptance by the contemporary Church depended to
a large degree upon her ability to demonstrate her holiness. The account of
Mechthild’s war with her body occurs in just such an authorizing context.
The passage, which demonstrates her skills of spiritual discernment accord-
ing to contemporary wariness of women’s attachment to the flesh, culmi-
nates in her confessor’s blessing upon her writing.2
Numerous passages in Mechthild’s book, The Flowing Light of the
Godhead, join the anti-body chorus. Early chapters feature domestic disputes
between the trysting soul and the earthbound body. Soul calls body a “mur-
derer” (I.2), and Mechthild later refers to the body as a “beast of burden”
(I.46), a “dead mongrel” (III.5) and her “prison” (VII.65). Why? We get a
160 ● Michelle Voss Roberts
clue when she describes the bodies of Adam and Eve as “poisoned”: the body
falls from its created state of wholeness and purity when humans drink from
the tainted well of sin (III.9). Mechthild nevertheless clings to the confidence
that something within her can still access her divine source. The visions and
ecstasies that initially draw her to God suggest that this something tran-
scends the corporeal realm; she personifies that aspect of herself as Lady Soul,
the “Mistress and Queen” of all the faculties (I.1).
Alongside her oppositional rhetoric, the ascetical prescriptions in
Mechthild’s work can be read as punishment of the body. Some of her
readers, assuming a simplistic equation of body with evil, elide the crucial
difference between the empirical body and the multivalent significance of
the “flesh” in the Christian tradition. James Franklin writes that “Mechthild
considered man [sic] to be a being composed of two completely antithetical
essences, spirit and flesh” and that Christ exemplifies for her “the means of
subjugating the flesh.”3 Before accepting this assessment, however, we must
take into account the full range of Mechthild’s sensory language, in which
she calls not for the punishment of the body but the purification of body,
soul, and senses through an ascesis of desire.
For Mechthild, the link between body and soul benefits the soul, and it
also divinizes the body. After explicating Mechthild’s ascetic practices vis-à-
vis her construction of the three “sorrows” in the Christian life, I demon-
strate that she develops a single set of physico-spiritual senses, a unified
“sensorium.” The place of the senses in her vision of divinized humanity
challenges both the lingering contemporary assumptions about medieval
antipathy to the body and a continued reluctance within Christianity to
embrace all created aspects of embodied experience.
Body and Soul in the Three Ascetical Sorrows

Mechthild’s theology provides alternatives to the strict dualism of mind and
body represented in certain heretical sects of her day, even as it reflects the
ambivalence and complexity of her milieu. Caroline Walker Bynum persua-
sively locates the body-soul relation in the context of medieval debates on
subjects including “the Eucharist [and] the transmission of original sin . . .
in which bodies are the mediators between earth and heaven.”4 Though
Mechthild and her contemporaries affirm a distinction between soul and
body, they do not think of humans as spirits merely using bodies. They see
the human being as a psychosomatic unity. Body and soul are mutually
implicated in sin, and they are mingled in redemption. Corporeal goodness
does not end at the fall. Created to be pure and holy, embodied persons on
Earth may strive to regain the wholeness awaiting them in paradise. The
“The Body Gains Its Share” ● 161
body is essential in this process, for without it one can neither imitate the
incarnate Christ nor unite with the Trinity in the sacraments. Mechthild
describes the Eucharist as a process of divine indwelling: God’s divinity
unites with the soul, as God’s humanity unites with the body (IV.8).
Divinity meets humanity in the body through physical means.
Asceticism, too, employs the body integrally in the process of diviniza-
tion. Amy Hollywood emphasizes that, in contrast to many male-authored
beguine hagiographies, Mechthild “emphasizes the will, not the body as
central to human sinfulness” and “reject[s] bodily suffering as a primary
means to sanctity.”5 In this vein, Mechthild encapsulates her return to
divinity via ascetic practice in three “sorrows”: sorrow for guilt, penance,
and sorrowful love of God (V.1). Each aspect of this process transcends the
physical, and each has both spiritual and physical effects.
The first, sorrow for guilt, is an ascesis of the emotions. Its three defining
characteristics are a feeling of bitterness in the heart that sinned, a sense of
shame for the senses that enjoyed the sin, and an understanding of how one’s
life became enmeshed in sin. One must clearly recognize one’s failure to par-
ticipate fully in the divine life and note the extent to which the heart and the
physical senses are dishonored therein. As a result of this sorrow, Mechthild
teaches, the soul reconciles with God and is released from the punishments
of hell. The body, though complicit in the soul’s guilt, is spared the pain of
judgment in the world to come because it weeps in regret during this life.
In order for the human soul to return to its source in God, the obstacles
to this return must be removed; therefore, penance is the second sorrow.
Like the sorrow from guilt, penance presents three qualities: effort, desire,
and victory over the temptations. It, too, has effects for the life to come:
as it works to purify both physical and spiritual desires, it releases the sinner
from future purgatory. We shall investigate this process shortly as it is the
most concrete of the three aspects of Mechthild’s asceticism.
The third sorrow, caused by love of God, perfects the human being and
ultimately elevates her to heaven. In Mechthild’s metaphor, the fire of divin-
ity illuminates the soul so it shines like a golden shield in the sun; but this
elevating love of God, which has through the three sorrows lifted the soul
from hell, through purgatory, to heaven, is also a source of suffering. The
body suffers mightily during spiritual ecstasies, for (she says) “The body
cannot endure/The soul’s being there for an hour” (II.21). God tells
Mechthild, “No matter how softly I caress you, I inflict immeasurable pain
on your poor body” (II.25). The third sorrow also afflicts the soul with
periods of unquenched longing and divine absence (III.10, VII.8).
Mechthild’s ascetic practice incorporates all three types of sorrow.
Asceticism therefore amounts to much more than the atonement for guilt
through penance (the first and second sorrows). The third sorrow, caused
by the love of God, envelops and subsumes the others. Divine love impels,
supports, and rewards the redirection of human desire. With this coopera-
tive relationship in mind, Mechthild is not shy about elaborating the second
sorrow (penance) for practical application. For example, the Christian dons
a variety of “everyday work clothes,” including “fasting, keeping vigils,
scourging oneself, going to confession, sighing, weeping, praying, fearing
sin, severely curbing the senses and the body . . ., sweet hoping and ceaseless
loving desire and a constantly praying heart in all one’s works” (VII.65).
The important thing about this list is that prayers of desire and hope
envelop all other practices in the soul’s love relationship with God.
Ascetic practices, then, comprise a larger set of dispositions than the
physical deprivations often associated with the term. Inner and outer activi-
ties join in the single project of divinization, the conforming of the self to
the divine nature. Many physical and spiritual obstacles distract from the
love of God. Not only the body’s demands, but also excessive attachment to
relatives, friends, and self-will impede the flow of grace. Anger, for example,
“consume[s] our strength and drie[s] out our flesh, and . . . waste[s] our
valuable time when we should have been serving God.” It blinds the soul
and prevents it from enjoying good things (VII.3). So intractable are some
unholy attitudes (the desert monastic tradition calls them passions), that it
becomes necessary to “do violence to yourself ” (VII.3) in order to drive them
out. For Mechthild, this means that in order extract these dispositions, we
must struggle inwardly and discipline our outward demeanor not to display
our anger and other imperfections. Refusal to let the passions take root in
action withers their hold on the heart. It feels like violence to wrench away
from the anger that consumes us, yet it is the remedy that heals the soul.
The framework afforded by Mechthild’s three sorrows encourages us to
revisit the narration of her entrance into the beguine life with which this
chapter began. She employs images of violence for the initial strife she
experiences between body and soul; but as the passage continues, attention
shifts to the ways in which this training employs both body and soul in the
imitation of Christ’s passion. In lists of her “great defensive blows” against
the body, most (with the exception of scourging) are metaphorical. Except
for fasting, the rest (confession, prayers, and the like) do not deprive or
injure the corporeal self at all (IV.2). Although Mechthild sees her long
physical illness as evidence of her victory in her efforts in these spiritual
activities, most of the “weapons” consist of embodied practices that train
the body to cooperate with soul in a concerted effort to unite with God.
Ascetic disciplines and spiritual desire combine with the weakness of her
body to exercise her in Christlike virtues.
If, despite this contextualization of this passage, we are still put off by
positive allusions to self-flagellation, we need not simply chalk it up to a
pattern of hatred and punishment of the body. The tenor of her advice to
others points not to the body as needing punishment but to a concern with
the body’s well-being and with practices that purify the whole person.
Although she may have held herself to a harsher standard than other reli-
gious people (see VI.4), when writing to others, Mechthild habitually pre-
scribes a greater degree of physical moderation than we witness in the vitae
of many other medieval women (VI.1–2).6 For example, Mechthild directs
religious superiors to make sure the community has plenty of good food,
“For a starving cleric does not sing well. Also, a hungry man cannot study
with concentration” (VI.1).
Elsewhere, Mechthild responds to a request for advice from a cleric on
how to cultivate the virtue of humility. She prescribes daily penances such
as wearing a coarse garment under his regular dress and keeping “two
switches next to his bed to chastise himself upon awakening.” Other than
this, however, he should enjoy moderate comforts. He should make up his
bed with a straw mattress, two woolen blankets, two pillows, and a fine
quilt; and he should wear “simple, comfortable clothes” over his coarse shirt
and even keep servants to help him meet his “rightful needs” (VI.2).7
Mechthild’s intent is discipline, not punishment; moderate bodily disci-
plines are meant to redirect desire and purify the soul.
Mechthild’s Sensorium: The Transformation of the Body

We have seen that for Mechthild the soul’s connection to body, which she
sometimes perceives as a hindrance, ultimately benefits the soul. The con-
nection works in reverse as well: the body-soul relationship also benefits the
body.
In a passage that illustrates the vast range of experience available to the
human soul, Mechthild imagines that the soul rises to the heights and sinks
to the depths of the cosmos for the love of God. The soul ascends on the
wings of its longing to experience intimacy with its divine lover, but eventu-
ally it becomes exhausted and the heat of its desire begins to cool. The soul
returns to earth and again becomes conscious of its body. In her yearning
for reunion, she becomes willing to sink to the most abject place imaginable
and come to rest in the pit of hell beneath Lucifer’s tail. This mystical itin-
erary is not the exclusive privilege of a soul that has temporarily slipped the
grasp of its corporeal form. Mechthild emphasizes that the body, too, par-
ticipates in the process of divinization. She explains that “the body gain[s]
its share as love dissolves through the soul into the senses . . . so that it is
refined with respect to all things” (V.4). The physical senses become benefi-
ciaries of mystical experiences. Their refinement renders them better able
to choose appropriate objects and to reject excesses that impede the human
being’s growth in love.
Although some read Mechthild as delaying the body’s participation in
union with the Trinity until the eschatological “last day,”8 the development
of her thought regarding the body creates space for its refinement even in
this life. Bodily refinement toward all things results from the ascesis of
desire. As love permeates the human person, it trains even the physical body
to respond positively to what first feels like deprivation. Thus, Mechthild
can write toward the end of her book of a fear that she might even experi-
ence too much pleasure when God touches her with his “sublime sweetness
that permeates my body and my soul utterly” (VII.50). As a result of the
disciplines, even the body comes to share in the experience of divinity.
Mechthild’s rhetoric of antagonism between body and soul in the early
parts of her book certainly reflect something of her experience, but it is not
her final stance.9 In contrast to the enmity she saw in her body at the
beginning of her religious life, Mechthild summarizes near the end of her
work a way to unite with God in which the body is integral. Union with
God comes through well-intentioned effort in the world: one must perform
every action with longing, careful examination, and the intent to be useful.
Such activity unites with God’s actions on our behalf, and it also illuminates
the true goodness of body and creation. Mechthild views such activity as a
mode of worship. Human beings are to thank God and praise him with
everything we have, including the body. The body is a gift of grace with
which to praise God in return. In expressing our humble gratitude, “our
senses are opened . . . [so] that we look into divine knowledge like someone
who sees his own countenance in a bright mirror” (VII.7). We see ourselves
most clearly in the divine image when our body is fully engaged in the
service of God.
The temptation to slip back into old habits of relating to the body is
strong. When this temptation comes to Mechthild, she identifies the nega-
tive attitude toward the body, rather than the body itself, as the true enemy.
She sees this demon with her “spiritual eyes,” and she hears his voice with
her “fleshly ears.” But she also finds that she is not afraid, for “[w]henever
God’s grace is present in the soul and occupies the senses, the body cannot
be afraid in [the enemy’s] presence” (VII.7). Physical and spiritual disci-
plines that occupy the senses with divine things guard against the tempta-
tion to blame the body.
Bernard McGinn explains that many male and female contemplatives of
Mechthild’s time
stressed the necessity for full human experience, both carnal and spiritual, in
the path to union with God [so that] . . . the sensual language of the Song
[of Songs] begins to be used more as the referent for what eventually appears
as a single “set” of senses, a sensorium, or general activity of sensation, which
was to be progressively spiritualized in the mystical life.10
In effect, Mechthild’s disciplines develop a spiritual sensorium in which not

just the eyes and ears of the soul but the physical senses as well become
attuned to God.
The divinization of the senses is a process, a development with at least
three distinct stages. Initially Mechthild struggles with the physical incapac-
ity she experiences in God’s presence. At an elementary level, the external
senses know only deprivation in the presence of God, and the soul “guides
the senses as one with sight guides a blind person” (I.26). Mechthild writes
of eyes made to weep, a mouth made mute, and senses rendered confused
during the stage in which she learns to direct them toward God (II.25). On
another level, the senses do allow access to God’s love. In this second stage,
the senses (sinne) offer their aid in perceiving the divine presence and in
developing the virtues. The senses access the divine presence only indirectly,
however, so that the Soul as God’s Bride longs to pass “beyond all human
sensations [allemoenschlichesinne]” (I.44, cf. II.24 and III.3). Mechthild
draws upon the Pauline language of the “third heaven” (2 Corinthians 12:2)
to describe the direct contemplation the soul ultimately desires. For her,
sensory visions and orations are only the “second heaven, . . . created by
the longing of the senses and by the first stage of love” (II.19). In the second
heaven, she cannot yet see; but she both hears a sublime voice and “tastes
an indescribable sweetness/That permeates all her members” (II.19). The
soul knows, however, that there is more beyond these sweet sensations. One
proceeds to the third and highest heaven, where one begins to see the light
of God; but this happens only when the senses attain humility and relin-
quish their attachment to the physical delights of ecstasy.
Although this progression could be read as transcending the body after
perfecting its capacities, we must note that even after the transition to the
heaven of direct contemplation, Mechthild continues to employ the vocab-
ulary of the senses. In her vision of the heavenly mass, her poor clothing is
replaced with a beautiful mantle of love that shines with “the ardor of her
faculties [sinne] for God” (II.4). The senses, enflamed with the love of God,
transform into conduits for more than the empirical plane. Her visions
constantly evoke sensory experience, describing the appearance, fragrance,
and sound of what she encounters therein. All of the senses become spiritual
senses. Her preference for sight to express the purified sensorium is evident
in a number of passages (e.g., VI.31); but she also enjoys God in terms of
taste or smell (smeken) (IV.12, VI.1, VI.2, VII.47) and invokes all the five
senses together (IV.13, VII.15, VII.18, VII.38). God praises the soul in
sensory terms as well, saying, “You taste like a grape. Your fragrance is like
balsam” (I.16); “You are a light to my eyes; You are a lyre to my ears”
(III.2).
Admittedly, Mechthild’s blanket employment of aesthetic vocabulary
created confusion in some of her readers. In response to opponents, she
applies a traditional way of reading scripture to the interpretation of her
visions. Following a Christian exegetical tradition dating at least as far back
as Origen in the second century, she acknowledges “physical” and “spiritual”
ways to view revelation. Mechthild and her contemporaries would have
been familiar with the use of this distinction as a way to negotiate potential
objections to the eroticism of the bridal mysticism through Bernard of
Clairvaux’s well-known sermons on the Song of Songs. Mechthild applies
this principle in response to criticism of a vision in which John the Baptist
(who, her critic points out, was no priest) presides at mass. She chastises
her “blind” critic in terms of fleshly and spiritual senses. She distinguishes
the import of her vision from what a person can “see with the eyes of the
flesh, hear with the ears of the flesh, and say with one’s fleshly mouth.” Her
experience “was not of the flesh; it was so spiritual that only the soul saw
it, understood it, and enjoyed it” (VI.36). Like many theologians in her
tradition, Mechthild interprets revelation on multiple levels; and this strat-
egy enables her to defend her writing, when necessary, as moral or spiritual
in nature rather than literal or fleshly.
When pressed, then, Mechthild resorts to the distinction between the
flesh and the spirit. She declares of her vision that the “body had nothing
from it except what it could grasp in its human senses through the nobility
of the soul. And this is why the words had to be expressed in human terms”
(VI.36).11 Notice the caveat in how she makes this point, however: despite
their final inadequacy, human terms and bodily senses can and do express
something of the soul’s experience. The spiritual meaning becomes word;
but word also becomes flesh, for the senses are not finally insensate to the
spirit.
Rather than trying to gain certainty about when Mechthild is speaking
on the spiritual or physical level, we do better to comprehend a single sen-
sorium that can develop, expand, and focus on various objects. This senso-
rium can be discerned in numerous passages throughout her text. She
writes, “The five senses have the power to determine which way they turn”
(VII.46). This is because God and the devil have equal access to the senses
(VI.23). We can, therefore, “lose or win” by means of “our natural faculties”

(IV.3). The senses can attune themselves to the things of the flesh and shut
out spiritual realities, or they can participate in the spirit. The former
option renders the faculties impure, crass, and lazy (IV.2, cf. VI.2, VI.13),
and one can actually lose the taste for God’s sweetness (VI.4). On the path
of purification, however, God’s love permeates through the soul to the
senses and refines them with respect to all things (V.4).
Although Mechthild does not directly name the “spiritual senses” or
“sensorium” as such, she evokes a human capacity, actualized fully in the
incarnation, to see, hear, taste, smell, and touch the divine reality. All of
the sinne (mind/senses) can be directed to experience and contemplate God.
When she tells her critic that she did not see the things in her vision accord-
ing to the flesh, she does not exclude the body but uses “flesh” in a con-
ventional way as a symbol for a whole way of being that is oriented away
from God’s will. Ordinary physical senses, if untrained to perceive spiritual
things, are more “fleshly” than their divinized counterparts. The mind,
emotions, and physical senses, which are not treated as distinct or dichoto-
mous faculties, can be trained to become more perceptive to divine revela-
tion. They suffer when not fully trained but can enjoy the love of God
through a process of development that culminates in the afterlife.
In Mechthild’s visions, the blessed mother Mary best exemplifies the
eschatological embodiment of this sensorium. Mary embodies the physical
divinization promised to all the saints. She bore sinless divinity in her body
as no other. When the angel appeared to her, “her senses became full”; and
the eternal fire of the Trinity “so pervaded [her] nature that it did not dare,
nor could it, experience all-too-human stirrings” (III.4). As Mechthild
describes the Immaculate Conception, the whole Trinity so permeated her
body, heart, and will that it “united itself with all that it found in her, so
that her flesh became its flesh” (V.23). Mary’s entire being—soul, body,
senses, and even “flesh”—participates visibly and palpably in the growth of
the divine within her.
The Trinity enters the world through the radiant body of a woman. This
birth transcends the nativity of the incarnate Jesus, for it continues in the
bodies of all God’s lovers. Mechthild attests that her whole being, with all
of its capacities, participates in God. Divine knowledge comes to her only
when she is fully attentive—when, as she puts it, “I see with the eyes of my
soul and hear with the ears of my eternal spirit and feel in all the parts of
my body the power of the Holy Spirit” (IV.13). In the end, Mechthild
overcomes the allegorical rivalry of body and soul. Her sensory language
inscribes divinity in the body as the body gains its share.
Bridging the Eschatological Gap

The important works of Peter Brown, Carolyn Walker Bynum, and others
have demonstrated that Christian asceticism is not necessarily antiphysical
and misogynistic.12 Ascetic practices employ the body in directing one’s
desire for God; and insofar as they are embodied means to mystical experi-
ence, they helped to establish women’s religious authority in the Middle
Ages. Practitioners do not abandon the body once such means have reached
their end. Physicality is essential to the goal of Christian praxis, which aims
to unite humanity with the incarnate Christ. It is central to the union with
God that takes place in the Eucharist. Christians look forward to the ulti-
mate perfection of the body with its resurrection in the eschaton.
Nevertheless, the rhetorical thrust of much of the discourse on the spiritual
senses implies a transcendence of the physical. In the case of the erotic, in
general, and women’s piety, in particular, the wariness of the body lies barely
concealed beneath the surface.
The issue of the physicality of the spiritual senses has been intimately
tied to the relation of the spiritual and the bodily (literal) senses of scripture
in Christian exegesis. Friedrich Ohly traces the evolution of this connection.
His discussion of the twelfth-century formulation of the spiritual senses
stresses the continuity between the meaning of words in scripture and their
referents in the world. Richard of St. Victor, for example, says that every-
thing that “has been created . . . persons, numbers, places, times, and the
facts of history” speaks of God.13 According to Ohly, the medieval vision
of the whole “makes what has been created transparent to the eternal.”14
This description certainly accords with Mechthild’s treatment of her mysti-
cal experiences: she is confident that her sensory experiences, whether of
deprivation or of ecstasy, are genuine conduits of revelation. She shares the
medieval perspective in which the physical points to the spiritual, without
thereby ceasing to be rooted in the material plane.
Despite this confluence of the literal-bodily with the spiritual, however,
medieval treatments of the eroticism of scripture and of women’s spirituality
reveal a gap in the principle of continuity. Time and again in Bernard of
Clairvaux’s sermons on the Song of Songs, the “bodily” meaning of the love
poetry is glossed as a mere dramatic frame for the higher signification of
Christ’s relation to the Church. Kisses stand for repentance, wisdom, and
knowledge. Breasts become divine attributes of patience and mercy, the
doctrine and means of grace dispensed by the Church, or the virtues of
compassion and sympathy. The bedroom symbolizes the mystery of con-
templation.15 Monastic squeamishness and general distrust of women’s sexu-
ality led to wariness of the enthusiasm with which women, especially
laywomen like Mechthild, appropriated the role of Christ’s Bride. The

posthumous transmission of Mechthild’s poetry may have been curtailed
because of the proximity of (real or imagined) antinomian heretical groups.
Rumors circulated of female heretics in the Swabian Ries who fancied their
union with God to pass well beyond allegory into claims of literal, physical
consummation and pregnancy. As a result, “the Latin editors of her mem-
oirs found it necessary to weaken her erotic, immediate experiences into
mere spiritual encounters.”16 Worries that women would be tempted away
from chastity led the translators, like other medieval preachers and exegetes,
to limit erotic themes to the metaphorical realm. Sensations of sexual plea-
sure are thus excluded from the “transparency to the eternal” enjoyed by
other aspects of somatic reality.
Mechthild’s use of sensory language for religious experience reflects the
body’s participation in the processes of divinization. As a result of the trans-
formation of the senses through asceticism and contemplation, the body
gains its share, and Mechthild tastes divinity in the flesh. Putting her work
in a larger medieval Christian context, the single, purified, and divinized
sensorium in Mechthild’s thought challenges mainstream uses of allegory in
which the spiritual sense of scripture explains away the bodily or literal
meaning when seemingly impossible or unworthy. She employs without
apology the eroticism of the Song of Songs that many of her contemporaries
translated into a strict allegory for Christ and the Church or God and the
(disembodied) soul. Her descriptions of the courtship of the Lady Soul and
her Lover explore a full range of emotion; and the consummation of this
union makes ample use of imagery from the bedroom (see I.44). Mechthild
does not need to assure the reader of the metaphorical nature of these poetic
tropes; it was surely understood. Instead, she emphasizes that the body is
not a mere vehicle for the metaphor but truly participates in the bliss
of union.
The case of the erotic in exegetes like Bernard points to a gap between the
discipline of the body in this life and the purified sensorium in the eschaton.
Mechthild helps to fill this gap insofar as she places the divinized senses on
a continuum that merges more seamlessly from this life to the next. She her-
self does not seem to have received criticism for her appropriation of the
conventions of love poetry, even though she describes encounters with her
divine lover of the most intimate variety. She neither apologizes for these
fancies nor clarifies that they are purely spiritual in nature, as she does with
her vision of John the Baptist’s mass (VI.36). In fact, she places pleasure along
with other aspects of the Christian life that must observe proper order. Her
third ascetical sorrow, after all, derives from the alternately present and absent
love of God. She advises that one must attend carefully to the bliss of ecstasy
in order to know how intensely to pursue it (VI.13). She learns to discern

“just that amount of pleasure in my flesh that my meager needs require” so
that she does not become greedy (VI.4). Mechthild’s disciplined discernment
closes the gap between the prohibitions of this life and the bliss of the next.
For her, experiences of the erotic retain a place in the purified sensorium and
in the ascetic practices that develop it.17
That the body gains a share of mystical experience should not be entirely
surprising, given the emphasis on strange psychosomatic phenomena in stud-
ies of mysticism. From a sociological and phenomenological point of view,
mysticism is a language of the body.18 Theologically, however, Christian
theologians have been reluctant to accept the full implications of their own
foundational assumptions. The body is central to doctrines of the incarnation,
the Eucharist, and the resurrection of the body. The divinized state of the
redeemed body is an important component of visions of the afterlife, and the
testimony of the saints points to the beginning of this process in the current
life; yet the discomfort medieval and modern readers have expressed over the
erotic sensibility in Mechthild and many of her counterparts reveals an
antipathy to full embodiment. This lingering aversion awaits conversion in a
Christian theology that will fully and finally embrace the goodness of the
entire body. Mechthild’s third sorrow, the sorrow caused by the love of God,
unites desire in an erotic mode with the ascetic training of the senses. Her
longing, experienced initially as deprivation of the senses, is increasingly satis-
fied through the discipline of body together with soul as both participate to
ever greater degrees in the divine life. Insofar as it unites the literal with the
spiritual sense, Mechthild’s erotic asceticism may serve as one source and
possible template for a vision of the fully redeemed human faculties.
Notes
1. In this chapter, translations of Mechthild’s work follow Mechthild of Magdeburg,
The Flowing Light of the Godhead, trans. Frank J. Tobin (New York: Paulist
Press, 1998). Citations from the Middle High German follow the critical edi-
tion: Hans Neumann, ed., Mechthild von Magdeburg: “Das fließende Licht der
Gottheit,” 2 vols. (Munich: Artemis Verlag, 1990, 1993).
2. For a comprehensive survey of issues of gender and authority surrounding
Mechthild’s text, see Sara S. Poor, Mechthild of Magdeburg and Her Book: Gender
and the Making of Textual Authority (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania
Press, 2004).
3. James C. Franklin, Mystical Transformations: The Imagery of Liquids in the Work of
Mechthild von Magdeburg (London: Associated University Presses, 1978), 25, 52.
4. Caroline Walker Bynum, Fragmentation and Redemption: Essays on Gender and
the Human Body in Medieval Religion (New York: Zone Books, 1991), 13.
These debates provided orthodox alternatives to the Cathars’ heretical body-

soul dualism and denial of the resurrection. Whether or not women like
Mechthild had direct access to the rulings of councils or the speculation of the
schools, they “nonetheless evinced in their visions this general anti-dualist
stance” (144).
5. Amy Hollywood, The Soul as Virgin Wife: Mechthild of Magdeburg, Marguerite
Porete, and Meister Eckhart (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press,
1995), 177.
6. Caroline Walker Bynum adduces many such examples of extreme asceticism in
medieval holy women in Holy Feast and Holy Fast: The Religious Significance of
Food to Medieval Women (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987).
7. I read this passage contrary to commentators who adduce it as evidence of the
severity of Mechthild’s asceticism and the harshness of her criticism of the
clergy, such as Frances Beer, Women and Mystical Experience in the Middle Ages
(Woodbridge, UK: Boydell Press, 1992), 83.
8. Hollywood, The Soul as Virgin Wife, 78.
9. As Bernard McGinn puts it, “soul and body may not be quite so opposed, as
Mechthild was to re-emphasize strongly in her later books.” Bernard McGinn,
The Flowering of Mysticism: Men and Women in the New Mysticism (1200–1350)
(New York: Crossroad, 1998), 228.
10. Ibid., 156.
11. For other applications of this exegetical tradition to women’s visions, see Oliver
Davies, “Transformational Processes in the Work of Julian of Norwich and
Mechthild of Magdeburg,” in The Medieval Mystical Tradition in England, ed.
Marion Glasscoe (London: D. S. Brewer, 1992), 44–45.
12. For a classic review of early Christian asceticism along these lines, see Peter
Brown, The Body and Society: Men, Women, and Sexual Renunciation in Early
Christianity (New York: Columbia University Press, 1986).
13. Friedrich Ohly, Sensus Spiritualis: Studies in Medieval Significs and the Philology
of Culture, trans. Kenneth J. Northcott, ed. Samuel P. Jaffe (Chicago: University
of Chicago Press, 2006), 8.
14. Ibid., 17.
15. See, for example, “On the Breasts of the Bride and the Bridegroom,” “The
Breasts and their Perfumes,” and “In the Rooms of the King,” in Bernard of
Clairvaux, Sermons on the Song of Songs, vols. 1 and 2, trans. Kilian Walsh
(Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 2005), sermons 9, 10, and 24. Such
passages challenge Denys Turner’s defense of Bernard’s treatment of the erotic
in Denys Turner, Eros and Allegory: Medieval Exegesis of the Song of Songs
(Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 1995).
16. Herbert Grundmann, Religious Movements in the Middle Ages: The Historical
Links between Heresy, the Mendicant Orders, and the Women’s Religious Movement
in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries, with the Historical Foundations of
German Mysticism, trans. Steven Rowan (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre
Dame Press, 1995), 175.
17. For more on Mechthild’s combination of eroticism and asceticism, see Emily
Hunter McGowin, “Eroticism and Pain in Mechthild of Magdeburg’s The Flowing
Light,” New Blackfriars 92, no. 3 (2011), doi:10.1111/j.1741-2005.2010.01392.
x (accessed February 13, 2011). In the scope of the world’s religions, this combi-
nation is not unique. See, for example, Wendy Doniger, Siva: the Erotic Ascetic
(New York: Oxford University Press, 1981).
18. See Michel de Certeau, “Mysticism,” trans. Marsanne Brammer, Diacritics 22,
no. 2 (1992 [1968]): 11–25.
Bibliography
Beer, Frances. Women and Mystical Experience in the Middle Ages. Woodbridge, UK:
Boydell Press, 1992.
Brown, Peter. The Body and Society: Men, Women, and Sexual Renunciation in Early
Christianity. New York: Columbia University Press, 1986.
Bynum, Caroline Walker. Fragmentation and Redemption: Essays on Gender and the
Human Body in Medieval Religion. New York: Zone Books, 1991.
———. Holy Feast and Holy Fast: The Religious Significance of Food to Medieval
Women. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987.
Clairvaux, Bernard of. Sermons on the Song of Songs.4 volumes. Translated by Kilian
Walsh. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 2005.
Colledge, Edmund, and Bernard McGinn. Meister Eckhart: The Essential Sermons,
Commentaries, Treatises, and Defense. New York: Paulist Press, 1981.
Davies, Oliver. “Transformational Processes in the Work of Julian of Norwich and
Mechthild of Magdeburg.” In The Medieval Mystical Tradition in England, edited
by Marion Glasscoe, 39–52. London: D. S. Brewer, 1992.
deCerteau, Michel. “Mysticism.” Translated by Marsanne Brammer. Diacritics 22,
no. 2 (1992 [1968]): 11–25.
Doniger, Wendy. Siva: the Erotic Ascetic. New York: Oxford University Press, 1981.
Franklin, James C. Mystical Transformations: The Imagery of Liquids in the Work
of Mechthild von Magdeburg. London: Associated University Presses, 1978.
Grundmann, Herbert. Religious Movements in the Middle Ages: The Historical Links
between Heresy, the Mendicant Orders, and the Women’s Religious Movement in the
Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries, with the Historical Foundations of German
Mysticism. Translated by Steven Rowan. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre
Dame Press, 1995.
Hollywood, Amy. The Soul as Virgin Wife: Mechthild of Magdeburg, Marguerite Porete,
and Meister Eckhart. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1995.
Magdeburg, Mechthild of. The Flowing Light of the Godhead. Translated by Frank
J. Tobin. New York: Paulist Press, 1998.
McGinn, Bernard. The Flowering of Mysticism: Men and Women in the New
Mysticism (1200–1350). New York: Crossroad, 1998.
McGinn, Bernard, ed. Meister Eckhart and the Beguine Mystics: Hadewijch of Brabant,
Mechthild of Magdeburg, and Marguerite Porete. New York: Continuum, 1994.
McGowin, Emily Hunter. “Eroticism and Pain in Mechthild of Magdeburg’s The Flowing
Light.” New Blackfriars 92, no. 3 (2011). doi:10.1111/j.1741-2005.2010.01392.x
(accessed February 13, 2011).
Neumann, Hans, ed. Mechthild von Magdeburg: “Das fließendeLicht der Gottheit.”
2 vols. Munich: Artemis Verlag, 1990, 1993.
Ohly, Friedrich. Sensus Spiritualis: Studies in Medieval Significs and the Philology of
Culture. Translated by Kenneth J. Northcott. Edited by Samuel P. Jaffe. Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 2006.
Poor, Sara S. Mechthild of Magdeburg and Her Book: Gender and the Making of
Textual Authority. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004.
Turner, Denys. Eros and Allegory: Medieval Exegesis of the Song of Songs. Kalamazoo,
MI: Cistercian Publications, 1995.
CHAPTER 9
The Enlightened Body in

A. H. Almaas’s Diamond Approach
Ann Gleig
This path is not about rising above or transcending. It is about moving

through what is.1
I
n his recent unabashed homage to Esalen, the Californian epicenter of
East-West integralism, Jeffrey J. Kripal enthuses that we are witnessing
the emergence of a new American mysticism. Such a mysticism operates
with democratic principles, individualist values, secular notions of religion,
and socially liberal agendas, all of which in turn attempt to liberalize the
otherwise hierarchical, authoritarian, and essentialist limitations of Asian
spiritualities. Kripal proposes that these modern American mystical traditions,
suspended between the revelations of Asian religious traditions and the demo-
cratic, pluralistic, and scientific revolutions of modernity, drew on, but are
fundamentally distinct from, their premodern Asian precursors. Recognizing,
with and after Freud, that religious experience is always related to unconscious
forces that speak with and through the body, these traditions also psycholo-
gize spirituality, respect the body as the site of spiritual experience, and aim
for more embodied and integral forms of spirituality that embrace mind and
body, psyche and spirit, transcendence and immanence.2
This chapter follows Kripal by offering A. H. Almaas’s Diamond
Approach as a contemporary American mystical movement that includes
something of both the European Enlightenment and the Asian enlighten-
ment traditions. I argue that the Diamond Approach reflects contemporary
integrative and embodied American mysticism on three accounts. First, it
reconciles American concerns with individual development with Asian
mystical goals of self-transcendence through a sophisticated incorporation
176 ● Ann Gleig
of Asian and Western mystical and secular models of subjectivity. Second,

it utilizes psychoanalytic theory—ranging from classical Freudian to recent
intersubjectivist perspectives—to elucidate and elaborate on premodern,
particularly nondual Asian, mysticism. Third, the Diamond Approach’s
ontology, telos, anthropology, and practices all reflect an embodied spiritu-
ality. I will explore these related issues through a close examination of
Almaas’s recent move to incorporate the personal embodied self into a
nondual impersonal ontology.
The first section of this chapter focus specifically on the Diamond
Approach: I provide some biographical details of its founder, A. Hameed
Ali, and a brief description of the organizational context of the Ridhwan
School that he established to promote the Diamond Approach. Next,
I sketch the Diamond Approach’s metaphysics and anthropology. I then
analyze in more detail how the Diamond Approach theoretically and expe-
rientially integrates the personal embodied self into a nondual impersonal
ontology, paying particular attention to how “essential” or mystical states
arise in and through the body and senses.
In the conclusion, I situate the Diamond Approach within a current
debate over the integration of the embodied personal self into Asian imper-
sonal spiritualities. I discuss the major critiques of individualism, psycholo-
gization, and appropriation that have been leveled against the new East-West
integrative traditions. I ask whether they are to be rejected as examples of
“divine individualism,” a corruption of Asian traditions by Western human-
istic values as critiques such as that of Jeremy Carrette and Richard King
suggest; or whether they should be celebrated as providing what Kripal
insists that our present historic and cultural moment demands: a more
integral spirituality, a “mystical humanism,” which respects both the onto-
logical truth of nondualism and affirms the integrity and value of the
embodied individual.3
Almaas, the Diamond Approach, and the Ridhwan School

A. H. Almaas is the pseudonym of A. Hameed Ali who, born in 1944 into
Muslim family in Kuwait, came to Berkeley in 1964 to study for a Ph.D.
in Physics at the University of California. Exposed to the proliferating
growth therapies of the human potential movement and the explosion of
alternative and Asian spiritualities, Ali was attending workshops in various
disciplines at Esalen, by the late 1960s. In 1971 he joined a psychospiritual
group named SAT (Seekers after Truth) led by a teacher at Esalen, a Chilean
psychoanalyst turned gestalt psychologist Claudio Naranjo. In addition to
working with Naranjo, whose pioneering forays into the relationship
The Enlightened Body ● 177
between psychoanalysis and spirituality he considerably developed, Ali also

trained in a wide variety of spiritual and psychological growth traditions.
The Diamond Approach draws considerably on Asian and Western mysti-
cal traditions, particularly Sufism, the Gurdjieff work, and Tibetan Buddhism,
and extensively utilizes classic and contemporary psychoanalytic theory. Ali
stresses, however, that it is not an integration of preexisting systems but
rather a revealed teaching primarily experientially based. Supported in his
spiritual development by two friends, Karen Johnson and Faisal Muqaddam,
Ali began to have experiences that could not be accounted for by any prevail-
ing religious tradition or hermeneutics. Beginning in 1975 and continuing
to the present, he realized that a new unique teaching or “logos,” named the
Diamond Approach, was manifesting itself through him.4
In order to disseminate the Diamond Approach, Ali established the
Ridhwan School in 1977, in Boulder, Colorado, and in Berkeley, California,
in 1978. These two locations remain the primary centers for the Diamond
Approach and are home to the majority of Diamond Approach teachers
many of whom travel nationally and internationally to lead groups. The
Ridhwan School is a loosely knit affiliation of groups that is legally struc-
tured as two nonprofit organizations: a church with over one hundred
teachers recognized as ordained ministers and an educational corporation,
the Diamond Heart and Training Institute (DHAT). Amongst other things,
DHAT directs a teacher training program and conducts events for the gen-
eral public.
Official students in the Ridhwan School participate in what is com-
monly referred to as “the work” in three main ways: large group retreats,
small group sessions, and private sessions. The large group retreats last
between two and ten days and typically involve a detailed exploration of
one particular aspect of the Diamond Approach. The small group sessions
enable students to work individually with a teacher silently supported by a
group of between twelve to eighteen students. Finally, private teaching ses-
sions consist of a one-to-one encounter between a teacher and student and
can be conducted in person or over the telephone. The school is presently
flourishing with just under one hundred teachers and well-established
groups in North America, Europe, and Australia.
The Diamond Approach’s Metaphysics and Anthropology

Metaphysically, the Diamond Approach describes ultimate reality, called
“Being” or “true nature,” as having both an unmanifest and manifest aspect.
From the unmanifest, an undifferentiated impersonal absolute, unfold a
number of differentiated dimensions. The most fundamental of these are
178 ● Ann Gleig
the five boundless dimensions that function as the ontological ground of

all phenomena: absolute emptiness, pure nonconceptual awareness, pure
presence, pure universal love, and the dynamic logos.5 In addition to the
“vertical” unfolding of the boundless dimensions, there is a “horizontal”
manifestation of what are known as the “essential aspects.”6 Understood as
a distinct subset of Platonic forms, these are differentiated perfections or
qualities of true nature and include such aspects as truth, clarity, intelli-
gence, will, strength, love, compassion, and value.7 Accessed through the
awakening of the inner senses, which are capacities of the soul that corre-
spond to the physical senses, the essential aspects can be directly experi-
enced in a number of ways—as a color, texture, smell, taste, sound, or
affect—or through their effect on the soul. For example, the pink essence
appears in the inner olfactory sense as the scent of rose or jasmine and gives
the soul a capacity for personal love and appreciation. The essential aspects
are understood as the manifestation of true nature in the precise quality
necessary for the person at that particular moment in terms of both spiritual
maturation and everyday functioning. Recognition of the differentiated
essential aspects is seen as unique to the Diamond Approach and offered as
one of its major contributions to spiritual awakening.8
True nature also differentiates into individual human consciousnesses,
one’s personal sense of “I.” Ali refers to the latter as the soul and describes
the human being as an embodied soul that is the agent, site, and content
of all experience9 While the relationship between soul and body can be
experienced differently, any perspective that retains a duality between the
two is incomplete because ultimately the body and Being form an insepa-
rable union with physicality simply one specific form that Being takes.
Signified with the traditional feminine pronoun, the soul is functionally
distinct from Being although the latter is her true nature and ontological
ground.10 Whereas Being is perfect and complete, the soul must develop
and mature in order to consciously realize and embody true nature in all
its aspects.
The recognition of both undifferentiated and differentiated dimensions
of true nature is crucial to the Diamond Approach. It allows the school to
distinguish itself from Asian nondual mystical traditions, such as Advaita
Vedanta, which focus exclusively on pure undifferentiated consciousness. In
order to balance what it sees as an excessively transcendent focus within
much of traditional mysticism with a more immanent perspective, the
Diamond Approach promotes a dual telos. One is self-realization, the rec-
ognition of the unmanifest as the ultimate nature of reality and self. The
other is self-development, the personal embodiment of true nature in all its
differentiated and undifferentiated aspects. The fully realized self or “true
human being” is one who achieves both these goals through the soul’s
individuation and maturation process, an essential stage of which is ego
development as outlined by psychoanalytic theory.
Different cultural, religious, and secular forms of subjectivity are implic-
itly accommodated, therefore, within a model of identity that stretches
primarily over three categories: the personal ego-self of depth psychology,
an individual soul aligned with the Socratic and Western gnostic traditions,
and an impersonal nondual absolute identified with Asian liberation tradi-
tions. The individual soul is the connecting link between impersonal Being
and the personal ego. The integration of the three—ego, soul, and Being—
is achieved in the realization of a unique differentiated aspect, the personal
essence or “pearl beyond price.” Ali describes this process as “how Being,
impersonal and eternal, becomes a person, a human being on earth.” He
privileges it over the Asian-aligned spiritual aim of identifying exclusively
as an impersonal consciousness.11
Theoretical Integrations: Ego Development

in the Individuation Process
According to the Diamond Approach, the soul begins life as a formless
organism of consciousness that is infused with true nature but also domi-
nated by the instinctual drives of the body. In order for her to be able to
individually personify Being, the soul has to develop stable psychological
structures, which, although required for her maturation and functioning as
a human being, move her away from her ontological ground. It is here that
the insights of psychoanalytic developmental theory prove essential.
Psychoanalysis has provided an unprecedented detailed map of the con-
struction and constitution of the ego-self (including the personal uncon-
scious), which Ali utilizes to explain both how Being is lost and how it can
be recovered.
The soul’s initial period of growth is what is referred to psychoanalyti-
cally as ego development. The term ego necessitates some clarification. Ali
uses it both technically (in a psychologically specific manner) and nontech-
nically (in a more spiritual, colloquial sense) with different nuances. At this
juncture, ego development refers to the specific process, delineated by object
relations and self-psychology, through which a sense of self and other is
formed and maintained. According to this body of psychoanalytic theory,
the self is composed of the progressive internalization of the infant’s earliest
relationships, particularly with his or her primary caretakers, which are
referred to as “object relations.” Following this theory, Ali states that
these early object relations structure the soul by forming a self-image that
180 ● Ann Gleig
constitutes the sense of being an individual person with a distinct character.

As the infant develops, therefore, there is a shift in identity: the soul’s iden-
tification with nondual Being is replaced by an identification with the
dualistic self-image.12 However, Ali claims that the sense of being a separate
self is merely a mental construct: “It is a feeling that results from identifying
with a certain structure in the mind, the self-image.”13 This identification
with a set of internalized self-images is distinct from the ego apparatus
needed for daily functioning. While there is some overlap, the self-image is
not equivalent to the functional Freudian ego. Moreover, whereas develop-
mental theory assumes that adaptive functions are inextricably linked with
a unified self-image, Ali differentiates between the two. This is essential to
his account of the transcendence of ego—as self-image—without the loss
of autonomous functional capacities.
Surveying a number of mystical traditions, Ali identifies different under-
standings of the ego but concludes that it is always viewed as the primary
obstacle to spiritual realization. He asks, however, “If the ultimate goal of
the human being is the universal impersonal truths of Spirit, why is it that
all humans end up with an ego, with a self and a personality?”14 Departing
from traditional spiritual perspectives, Ali argues that ego development is
an essential stage of the soul’s individuation process. It enables both the
development of apparatus necessary for daily functioning and the develop-
ment of cognitive facilities of the soul required for full spiritual realization.
The problem, therefore, is not ego development per se, but rather that
development gets arrested here. There is a rupture in essential identity as
the soul progressively dissociates from Being and becomes increasingly
identified with ego structures.
To elucidate how and why this process occurs, Ali turns to the insights
of psychoanalytic theory. He argues that the gaining of identity through
self-images, which, as we have seen, is derived from past object relations,
necessitates a loss of Being that is always direct and immediate. Furthermore,
Ali claims that Being has to be recognized and valued if it is to be able to
arise in the infant’s consciousness. He also extends Donald Winnicott’s
concept of the holding environment to claim that Being has to be recog-
nized and valued or it is unable to arise. Due to the almost universal
absence of caretakers who can “mirror” the essential aspects, however, the
conditions for its manifestation are rarely provided. This results in the loss
of essential identity and the creation of a substitute ego-self.15
Drawing on an extensive knowledge of psychological development the-
ory, Ali details the progressive loss of this ontological ground.16 His analysis
establishes a correlation of different essential aspects with specific develop-
mental stages, such as essential will with the Oedipus complex. He argues
that during these developmental stages the insufficient mirroring of the

corresponding aspects results in their progressive alienation. This causes a
deficient emptiness that is literally felt in the body as a “hole.” The soul
cannot tolerate feeling this sense of deficiency or lack so she attempts to
cover the hole with an ego structure designed to act as a surrogate for the
particular differentiated aspect that is absent. The ego characteristic, there-
fore, both substitutes for and mimics the essential aspect it attempts to
replace. Hence, the Diamond Approach aims to work through rather than
transcend ego structures. Being patterned on essential aspects, they are
transitional stages to essential embodiment that both conceal and reveal true
nature.
Experiential Integration: The Practice of Inquiry

Framing the personality as an imitation of Being and connecting psycho-
dynamic issues to essential aspects allow Ali to theoretically relate the per-
sonal ego to impersonal Being. It also allows him to treat one’s immediate
embodied personal experience as the practical departure point for accessing
essential states. Students explore their ego structures and psychodynamic
history in order to uncover the deficient emptiness they conceal. This is
because it is only through fully experiencing the underlying hole that the
essential aspect can (re)emerge. The school utilizes a number of eclectic
practices ranging from meditation to chanting to aid in the recovery of
essence. However, the investigation into and disidentification from multiple
layers of ego structures in order to recover essence is chiefly achieved
through “inquiry,” the central practice of the Diamond Approach. Inquiry
is described by Ali as a unique contemplative technique and an inherent
capacity of consciousness.17
The aim of inquiry is to fully experience without exclusively identifying
with whatever is arising in one’s immediate experience: thoughts, emotions,
images, body sensations, breathing, energetic qualities, and such. Unlike
traditional meditative practices, inquiry directly engages the personal
content of experience, cultivating a discriminatory awareness in order to
penetrate into deeper layers of one’s experience. Because of the inseparabil-
ity of the spiritual and psychophysical, following the thread of present
experience rather than attempting to transcend it makes possible the recov-
ery of essential aspects. As Ali puts it:
Inquiry is not a mental exercise, disconnected from ordinary reality. We have

to be rooted in our everyday personal experience and in touch with our own
thoughts, feelings, body and behavior. Inquiry does not require us to leave
182 ● Ann Gleig
our body or try to reach unusual transcended heights of perception. . . .

Instead we need to become more concrete, more down to earth, by delving
into our own everyday experience. It is the embodied soul that is the entry
to all the treasures of Being.18
Inquiry is most commonly pursued with a teacher or other students as

a spoken monologue. If a teacher guides inquiry, he or she will help facili-
tate the process by directing the student’s attention to any defense or trans-
ference that is triggered by the material. Also, because the loss of essence
often results in “body-armor” or somatic blockages, teachers will employ
Reichian breathing and body-centered techniques to further the inquiry.19
With other students, inquiry is undertaken either as a spoken monologue
or a repeating question. As a monologue, inquiry is generally undertaken
in triads with each student respectively exploring a given topic or their
present experience while the others sit silently present. The body is central
to the process of inquiry:
While you are inquiring, it is important to keep sensing your body—to stay
in touch with its movements and sensations. This includes the numbness, the
dullness, or the tensions you may feel. To ground your awareness in your
bodily experience is important because your essential qualities are going to
arise in the same place where you experience your feelings, emotions, and
reactions. They are not going to appear above your head, they are going to
arise within you. So your body is actually your entry into the mystery.20
As evident, then, a major part of the awakening process is the sensitiza-

tion of the body. The first stage of recovering essential aspects is to become
aware of the repressed emotions and thoughts that are covering up the hole
of an essential aspect. These unconscious emotions manifest mainly through
blocks and tension patterns in the body. Here the Diamond Approach draws
heavily on Wilhelm Reich and his theory of character armor in which the
defensive functions of the ego are identical with muscular rigidities in the
body.21 Through developing awareness of and within the body, one can dis-
solve the muscular armor and the repressed emotions that it expresses.22
The working through of unconscious psychodynamic structures is the
first part of the process of refining awareness. As body awareness and sensi-
tivity develops, the deeper and subtler inner “organs of perception” or what
might be though of as “spiritual senses” are activated. These subtle capacities
for perception are needed for awareness of essence because they allow one
to access and discriminate between the different essential aspects, each of
which has subtle characteristics such as a specific form, smell, texture,
sound, and taste.
The inner senses are organized by various subtle energetic centers, which
are found in specific locations in the body. Ali utilizes Sufism and the
Gurdjieff work to describe these subtle capacities or spiritual senses, which
are coexistent with yet much more subtle than the ordinary gross five senses.
He states that the most important subtle sense is that of touch, which is
located in the belly center or what Gurdjieff called the “physical center.”
The deepest function of this center is the sensing of subtle presence or what
Sufism calls the organ for touch. Described by Ali as “seeing essence by
being essence,” subtle touch is the most direct and immediate way of expe-
riencing essence.
The sensitization of the body also awakens the capacity of subtle taste,
which is located in the heart center. Ali quotes from Henry Corbin to
describe subtle taste: “The heart (qualb) is the organ, which produces true
knowledge. . . . It is the organ of a perception which is both experience
and intimate taste (dhowq).” This dhowq or inner taste is distinct from
physical taste but operates similar to it in enabling one to literally taste the
different dimensions of essence each of which has its own specific flavor.
Essential love, for example, can be experienced as a sweet taste similar to
honey and essential compassion can manifest as the taste of mint.
The inner sense of sight or subtle perception is located in the head center
in the forehead. It allows a capacity for seeing that is not bound by the
limitations of time and space. Ali states, for example, that it enables one to
see inside of the body, even as precisely as viewing atoms and molecules,
and it allows one to see the particular color of an aspect, such as the silver
of the essential will.23 There are also capacities for inner sound and smell
but Ali does not go into any specific details with these, and when I asked
him in a personal correspondence to elucidate further he declined on the
grounds that such knowledge was meant primarily for students in the
school.24 One might reasonably assume, however, that as with the other
inner senses, he draws on Sufi sources to expand upon what he claims is
knowledge derived primarily from his and his students’ experience.
In summary then, mystical perception in the Diamond Approach is a
fully embodied process that unfolds through an increasing refinement of
awareness, an uncovering of unconscious psychodynamic structures, and an
activation of the five inner or subtle senses. It is a process that is different
for each student depending upon his or her specific developmental history,
as this will determine the extent to which certain aspects of essence are
available and the order in which they arise. Moreover, Ali stresses, that this
is what fundamentally differentiates the Diamond Approach from traditional
mystical schools such as Sufism; while the latter have knowledge of the
inner senses and contemplative methods to refine awareness, the Diamond
184 ● Ann Gleig
Approach is unique in utilizing psychodynamic knowledge to aid in the

awakening of the subtle senses and recovery of the essential aspects.
According to Ali, it is only by working precisely through the psychody-
namic conflicts of the personality that essence can be fully recovered.25
The Lataif: Recovering the Essential Aspects

in and through the Body
The most fundamental of the essential aspects are what Ali, borrowing from
Sufi terminology, denotes as the five lataif.26 The five lataif are the essential
aspects of strength, will, compassion, joy, and peace. According to Ali, the
lataif are the first essential aspects that are encountered in transformation
of ego to Being. As is the case in Sufism, Ali associates each latifa with a
particular color, affective tone, body location, and a quality or capacity of
the soul. They can also manifest as a specific texture, taste, and smell.
Developing Idries Shah’s definition of the lataif, Ali furthers correlates each
latifa with a particular psychodynamic issue or stage.
A specific example is useful. The white latifa or essential will is located
in the solar plexus and manifests in the qualities of confidence, clarity, and
determination. Ali connects this essential aspect with the classical Freudian
Oedipal complex. It is recovered through working on that sector of the
personality, in this case “false will,” which both acts as a substitute for
essential will and contains the memory of the developmental situation that
led to its obscuration. On a weekend retreat, the teacher connected the
essential will to the Oedipal complex and stated that it is abandoned if one’s
primary caretakers fail to hold appropriately the sexual and aggressive
instincts arising during the Oedipal stage.27 In order to explore their per-
sonal experience of the Oedipal situation, students were asked to inquire
into the following topic: “Explore your specific experience of the Oedipal
situation. How did it shape your personal confidence and will? Do you feel
real or false confidence?”
These exercises are designed to expose the false form of the essential
aspect and to illuminate successive layers of psychodynamic issues that are
the barriers to its reemergence. In the case of the essential will, through
inquiry a person will begin to be aware of and investigate further into the
absence of authentic will in their life. Ideally this inquiry will eventually
lead to the experience of an emptiness, literally the feeling of a hole in the
solar plexus. If the person is able to fully comprehend the source of the
hole through precise insight of the psychodynamic issues that led to it, and
fully tolerate the sensation of lack, the hole will spontaneously transform
into a deep spaciousness and the specific lost essence will emerge. The
recovery of essential will is specifically experienced as a full round silver

moon filling the solar plexus and the simultaneously arising of its associated
qualities, such as confidence, solidity, and groundedness.28
The Personal Essence: The Personal is Spiritual

Moreover, just as the different ego structures mimic and substitute for the
essential aspects, so the conventional individual and autonomous sense of
self is patterned on a unique essential aspect, called the personal essence.
The personal essence is unique because it is the only personal aspect among
the impersonal essential aspects. In order for the soul to complete fully the
individuation process she must realize the personal essence by integrating
the ego’s achievements into Being through what Ali refers to as the “metabo-
lism” of ego structures. This is a complicated procedure that basically aims
at the disidentification of self-images while retaining functioning capacities.
According to Ali, each time a constellation of identifications is understood
objectively it dissolves and an essential aspect arises that performs the func-
tion of the ego structure it replaces. This process ideally climaxes in the
transmutation of the ego individuality into the personal essence or “pearl
beyond price”: “The sense of being an individual with unique qualities and
skills does not disappear, but appears in the soul now as an essential pres-
ence that has a personal quality.”29
The personal essence, therefore, ontologizes a personal sense of individu-
ality enabling a simultaneous experience of self as an ontological spiritual
presence and as a unique human person. Ali describes it as having four
primary characteristics: autonomy, beingness, personhood, and contact. It
is autonomous because all self and object images are absent. It thus does
not depend on past experience for its identity. Rather, it is constituted by
a constant sense of beingness that is completely independent of ego struc-
tures. Personhood refers to a sense of intimacy experienced both with one-
self and as a concern for others that bridges separate egos. It enables an
ability to make true contact, a capacity for authentic relationship that is
unavailable from both impersonal Being and the inherently narcissistic
ego.30
Enabling individuality without individualism, the pearl, in effect, allows
one to be a unique individual, the normative Anglo-American self with its
dual Protestant and Romantic heritage, but without the defensive, separat-
ing boundaries of the ego. Its realization is one of the ultimate concerns
of the Diamond Approach. It bridges the disjuncture between traditional
Asian spiritual traditions that declare absolute reality as impersonal and the
reality of the personal embodied self. As such, the pearl is viewed as
186 ● Ann Gleig
resolving a series of conflicts including those between spirit and psyche,

soul and body, immanence and transcendence, and the “man of spirit” and
the “man of the world.” Although hinted at in Sufism, in Ali’s judgment
the pearl’s detailed explication is only possible now because of the avail-
ability of psychological developmental knowledge, pioneered by Freud and
developed in later psychoanalytic theory. Ali believes that the Diamond
Approach could only have manifested itself in a democratic and pluralistic
society such as the United States. He locates it, further, in a historic cur-
rent that he predicts will culminate in an integrative psychospiritual
Western tradition navigated by individuals who are able to translate tradi-
tional spiritualities into new forms that take into account Western scien-
tific knowledge.
Toward an Embodied Enlightenment: Legitimating

the Incorporation of the Personal Self
Before considering the different readings of the new integrative psychospiri-
tual traditions, such as the Diamond Approach, a word on the legitimacy of
the terms of the impersonal/personal debate is necessary. Claiming that Asian
religions are impersonal clearly ignores theistic and devotional traditions.
Kalidas Bhattacharyya, among others, has also opposed the view that the
individual is absent in Indian religious traditions. He blames this misconcep-
tion on the dominance of Advaita Vedanta and points out that its denial of
the individual is contested by other Indian traditions.31 Ali, however, does
acknowledge differences in Asian traditions and clarifies that he is addressing
those traditions, such as Buddhism, Advaita Vedanta, and Taoism, that deny
the ultimate existence of the individual. While Ali’s employment of the
general rubric of “impersonal” risks a problematic perennialism that such
traditions undermine the individual is a sound claim. Furthermore, a num-
ber of ethno-sociological studies and cultural psychological studies have
concluded that Asian models of subjectivity differ from Western ones in being
more collectively orientated and less concerned with individuality.32 Noting
this, Anne Klein recognizes that Western Buddhists encounter unprecedented
concerns because the important modern understanding of the self as a unique
individual is foreign to traditional Asian cultures.33 Janet Gyatso’s presenta-
tion of the Tibetan visionary Jigme Lingpa’s autobiography tempers claims
that a sense of personal individuality is a unique marker of modern Western
identity; I, however, remain convinced that the modern psychological sub-
ject, whose appearance was influentially documented by Philip Rieff, is not
sufficiently addressed by Asian traditions.34 The number of testimonies of
Western practitioners and teachers of Asian traditions still struggling with
personal issues despite extensive spiritual practice is one indication of this

disregard. The reports of Asian teachers, such as Mahasi Sayadaw and the
current Dalai Lama, who confess to being bewildered at the psychological
problems they encounter in their Western students is another.35
The same shortcoming is also more troublingly revealed in the now
well-documented “fall of the Western guru,” the series of sexual and
financial scandals that rocked a number of North American Asian spiritual
communities in the 1980s.36 One after another, prominent enlightened
gurus were exposed for destructive, delusionary, and what appeared to be,
extremely egocentric behavior. Swami Muktananda was alleged to have had
sex with a number of women, some of them teenage girls; the married
Amrit Desai was forced to leave his own ashram after he admitted to sleep-
ing with female students; Chogyam Trungpa died of alcohol related liver
damage and the American he appointed as his successor, Osel Tendzin, had
unprotected sex with his students, infecting one with the HIV virus that
would cost them both their lives. Many of the teachers incriminated in
these scandals had claimed to be celibate. All of them were believed, and
had been complicit in perpetuating the belief, to have mastered the “lower”
bodily instincts. However, their bodies and the bodies of those victimized
refused to be erased or denied. These bodies disrupting transcendental
narratives, seriously dented claims of psychophysical immunity, and
revealed what seemed like human, all too human, messy unworked-
through relationships to sexuality, aggression, and power. Whatever else
was at work, it appeared that the complex relationship between transcen-
dence and psychophysical embodiment was not being sufficiently addressed
in these traditions, at least not in a manner acceptable to Western cultural
expectations.
I consider contemporary efforts to integrate the personal embodied self
into impersonal spiritualities as reflecting a legitimate ethical and pragmatic
engagement with these issues. Hence, I am skeptical of critiques that reduce
such attempts to the infiltration of Western individualism and late-capitalist
agendas. For example, Jeremy Carrette and Richard King argue that the new
integrative psychospiritual traditions are to be rejected as the corruption of
Asian religious ideals by Western individualistic and psychological values.
According to Carrette and King, the slow assimilation of the religious into
the psychological has distilled the social and political aspects of religion to
form a privatized religion amenable to the demands of neoliberal ideology.
They claim that psychologized spirituality privatizes and commodifies Asian
wisdom traditions, reducing them to techniques aimed solely at the produc-
tion of individual enlightenment. Asian religious perspectives are repack-
aged to suit and enhance the modern psychological subject. Rather than
188 ● Ann Gleig
pursuing the transcendence of the ego, they reify it in a form of divine

individualism. Carrette and King locate this psychological dilution within
the long and shameful history of the European colonialist appropriation of
Asian culture.37
In bemoaning the invasion of Western psychology within Asian reli-
gions, Carrette and King join a long chorus of dissent at what is claimed
as the corruption of authentic Asian religious practice by Western Romantic,
humanistic, and individualistic values.38 Similarly, new Western psychospiri-
tual traditions, such as the Diamond Approach, that draw liberally on Asian
mystical traditions have been consistently accused of narcissism, individual-
ism, and superficial appropriation.39 It is undisputable that modern Western
concerns with the individual self have been a constant feature of the
Western encounter with and appropriation of Asian mysticism. However,
while having clear historic precedents, contemporary attempts to incorpo-
rate the personal embodied self differ from their predecessors. To begin
with, the wider dialogical context between Western psychology and Asian
religions has markedly improved. Early encounters were hindered by limited
access to the traditions, poor and incomplete translations of Asian religious
texts, naïve perennialism, liberal protestant agendas, and orientalism. As
William Parsons notes, however, from 1970 to the present, there have been
a number of impactful sociocultural shifts and intellectual developments.
These include the continuing waves of Asian immigration, unprecedented
access to a plurality of Asian religious communities and an increased aware-
ness of cultural differences and their impact on healing enterprises.
Alongside this is the growth of departments of religious and comparative
studies, significant improvements in translations and increased scholarly
specialization.40
Most significant, perhaps, is that over the last forty years many
Westerners have been participating not just as serious students but as teach-
ers across the Asian traditions.41 Labeled by Parsons as “cultural insiders,”
these individuals constitute a new cadre of participants, a significant num-
ber of whom are familiar personally and professionally with depth psychol-
ogy and have firsthand experiential knowledge of the different maps of
subjectivity the Asian traditions have produced. I view one of the results of
this Western immersion in the Asian traditions as a maturing of early ide-
alistic and romantic approaches to Asian mysticism. The increasing plethora
of contemporary narratives to which such social actors give voice share
several related themes.42 First, they articulate a more pragmatic evalua-
tion of the scope of Asian contemplative practice. Central to this evaluation
is their acknowledgement that psychodynamic issues are not necessarily
addressed and, in fact, might even be accentuated, by Asian practices. That
acknowledgement comes with the coining of the term “spiritual bypassing”

to denote how spiritual experiences or philosophy are misused to circum-
vent personal developmental issues. Second, such narratives evince a more
nuanced understanding of how cultural differences, particularly in subjec-
tivity, affect practice. Third, they recognize a common need for Western
practitioners to supplement spiritual work with psychotherapy. Finally, they
call for a mature and embodied approach to spirituality that balances tran-
scendence and individuation.
Granted, there are traditions, such as classical Jungian positions, within
the encounter between Western depth psychology and Asian religions that
problematically reduce the latter to psychological narratives.43 The alterna-
tive, more dialogical traditions that I am highlighting here, however,
attempt rather to integrate psychological and spiritual perspectives within
an overarching spiritual framework. Moreover, charges of individualism,
falling into the error of equating individuation with individualism, fail to
recognize that these integrative attempts are fundamentally relationally
motivated. Common to these narratives is the realization that Asian con-
templative practices often prove of little service in addressing interpersonal
dynamics in modern Western settings. This emerges through the experi-
ences of individual practitioners in their romantic, family, and working
relationships and when crises in spiritual communities reveal the replication
of dysfunctional family relational patterns.44
In general, therefore, critiques do not appreciate the pragmatic nature of
these psychospiritual endeavors that, to a large degree, can be accounted for
as attempts to adapt traditional Asian renunciative spiritualities to the con-
ditions of living in the modern Western world. Given the particular socio-
cultural construction of contemporary Western subjectivities, the turn to
the personal is for many practitioners a necessary move. Such sentiments
found frequent expression during interviews with students of the Diamond
Approach who are also long-term practitioners and teachers in Asian imper-
sonal spiritual traditions. Interviewees frequently stressed that the teaching
on the personal essence and psychodynamic issues provided them with the
“missing piece” that was absent in traditional Asian contemplative tradi-
tions. These teachings and practices enabled them to work through their
personal psychodynamic history in the service of their spiritual development
and provided them with a way to integrate spiritual experiences with every-
day life in the world.45
I suggest, therefore, that Jeffrey Kripal offers a more convincing herme-
neutic of the new psychospiritual traditions, and one that certainly reso-
nates with Ali’s understanding. Kripal argues that Western humanism and
Asian mysticisms have much to learn from one another and calls for
190 ● Ann Gleig
a “mystical humanism,” an integration of Western critical thought with

Asian nondual ontologies and contemplative techniques. In his recent
cultural-history of Esalen, a pioneering force in East-West integralism,
Kripal celebrates it for successfully wedding the human values of the
European Enlightenment with the ontological insights of the Asian enlight-
enment traditions. Rather than this resulting in a dilution of Asian tradi-
tions, Kripal argues that the encounter between Western modernity and
Asian mysticism has resulted in the emergence of genuinely new, psycho-
logically sophisticated, embodied, and democratic forms of spirituality. He
celebrates these new Western psychospiritual traditions as providing what
our cultural moment demands—a more integral spirituality, which respects
both the ontological truth of nondualism and affirms the value of the indi-
vidual embodied self.46
While I have concerns about the economic accessibility and lack of racial
and social diversity of these new integrative traditions, I generally share
Kripal’s optimistic hermeneutic that they are pointing toward an authentic
embodied and democratic spirituality that affirms the value of all bodies.
Furthermore, in light of the particular sociohistoric construction and con-
cern of contemporary Western subjectivities, the turn to the personal might
not only be a legitimate move, but, for many, a necessary one. In the words
of one practitioner:
Back then I wondered how I could give up “ego” when I was still struggling
so hard, especially as a woman, to claim one in the first place. I kept feeling
that as a woman I needed more skilful means of transporting my psyche,
such as it was, into more enlightened states. I kept struggling with my sense
that the only way out is through.47
Notes
1. Diamond Approach senior teacher Sandra Maitri quoted in Tony Schwartz,
What Really Matters: Searching for Wisdom in America (New York: Bantam
Books, 1995), 419.
2. Jeffrey J. Kripal, Esalen: America and the Religion of No Religion (Chicago:
The University of Chicago Press, 2007).
3. For critiques of the new psychospiritual traditions on the grounds of individu-
alism, commodification, and appropriation, see Jeremy Carrette and Richard
King, Selling Spirituality (London & New York: Routledge, 2005). For Kripal’s
counterdefense, see Kripal, Esalen, 399–403.
4. Biographical details are drawn from the website http://www.ahalmaas.com/. See
also A. H. Almaas, Luminous Night’s Journey (Boston & London: Shambhala,
2000), xiv–xvii, for an autobiographical account of the unfolding of the

Diamond Approach.
5. For a description of the boundless dimensions, see A. H. Almaas, The Inner
Journey Home (Boston & London: Shambhala, 2001), 271–409.
6. The terms vertical and horizontal have entered psychologized spirituality
nomenclature as common ways to differentiate between transcendent and
immanent planes of awakening.
7. The Diamond Approach uses the term essence or essential aspects to denote
the differentiated aspect of Being or True Nature as it arises in the human soul.
See A. H. Almaas, Spacecruiser Inquiry: True Guidance for the Inner Journey
Home (Boston & London: Shambhala, 2002), 8.
8. Almaas, The Inner Journey Home, 133–40.
9. Ibid., 45–128.
10. Ali states that he is following mystical tradition by using the female pronoun
because the soul is a manifestation of the generative dimensions of true nature
and her relationship to essence is one of receptivity. See Almaas, Spacecruiser
Inquiry, 8. Although Ali states he uses the female pronoun as a metaphor and
does not see anything essentially female about the soul, the unreflexive use of
gender imagery and the heterosexist underpinnings of segments of the Diamond
Approach is problematic.
11. A. H. Almaas, The Pearl Beyond Price: Integration of Personality into Being: An
Object Relations Approach (Boston & London: Shambhala, 1988), 161.
12. Almaas summarizes Mahler as showing that the sense of being a separate indi-
vidual is a developmental attainment achieved by the establishment of a cohe-
sive self-image and the internalization of a positively regarded image of the
mother. See Almaas, The Pearl Beyond Price, 25.
13. Ibid.
14. Ibid.,12.
15. Ibid., 45–56.
16. For example, see A. H. Almaas, Essence: The Diamond Approach to Inner
Realization (Boston: Weiser Books, 1998), 83–101.
17. For a detailed description of the practice of inquiry, see Almaas, Spacecruiser
Inquiry.
18. Ibid., 294.
19. Wilhelm Reich was a psychoanalysis who claimed that unreleased psychosexual
energy caused somatic blockages or “body armor” within the muscles or the
organs. Ali has a PhD. in Reichian psychology and Diamond Approach teachers
are trained in Reichian techniques.
20. Almaas, Spacecruiser Inquiry, 294.
21. Wilhelm Reich, Character Analysis (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1972), 338–39.
22. A. H. Almaas, Essence with the Elixir of Enlightenment (Boston: Weiser Books,
1998), 129–30.
23. Ibid., 130–33.
24. Hameed Ali, personal communication, May 14, 2010.
192 ● Ann Gleig
25. Almaas, Essence with the Elixir of Enlightenment, 123.

26. Ali claims that the Diamond Approach has independently discovered the
five lataif and that while there are some similarities, his understanding dif-
fers from Sufism, but that he uses Sufi terminology because it is helpful.
Ibid., 249–57.
27. Although the teaching utilizes the classical Freudian account of the Oedipal
complex, the concept was adjusted so that the desire may be directed at either
parent. Such adjustments have come out of the direct experience of hetero-
sexual and homosexual students in the Diamond Approach who have reexperi-
enced desire toward the parent of the same sex during this stage.
28. This material comes from participant-observation fieldwork with the Gulf Coast
Diamond Heart Group White Latifa retreat in Houston, May 17–19, 2008.
29. Almaas, The Pearl Beyond Price, 181.
30. Ibid., 33–89.
31. Kalidas Bhattacharyya, “The Status of the Individual in Indian Metaphysics,”
in The Indian Mind: Essentials of Indian Philosophy and Culture, ed. Charles A.
Moore (Honolulu: University of Hawaii, 1967), 299–319.
32. See, for example, Miles Mines, “Conceptualizing the Person: Hierarchical
Society and Individual Autonomy in India,” in Self As Person In Asian Theory
and Practice, eds. Roger T. Ames, Wimal Dissanayake, and Thomas P. Kasulis
(Albany: State University of New York Press, 1994), 279–95, and Alan Roland,
In Search of Self in India and Japan: Towards a Cross-Cultural Psychology
(New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1988).
33. Anne Carolyn Klein, Meeting the Great Bliss Queen: Feminists, Buddhists and the
Art of the Self (Boston: Beacon Press, 1995).
34. Janet Gyatso, Apparitions of the Self (New Jersey: Princeton University Press,
1998) and Philip Rieff, The Triumph of the Therapeutic (Chicago: The University
of Chicago Press, 1966).
35. Jack Engler, “Being Somebody and Being Nobody: A Reexamination of the
Understanding of Self in Psychoanalysis and Buddhism,” in Psychoanalysis and
Buddhism: An Unfolding Dialogue, ed. Jeremy Safran (Boston: Wisdom
Publications, 2003), 45.
36. For a thoughtful account of the “fall of the western guru,” see Jeffrey J. Kripal,
“Debating the Mystical as the Ethical: An Indological Map,” in Boundaries:
Essays on the Ethical Status of Mysticism, eds. Jeffrey J. Kripal and William G.
Barnard (New York: Seven Bridges Press/Chatham House, 2002), 15–69.
37. See Carrette and King, Selling Spirituality, 54–122.
38. See for example, Stephen Prothero, The White Buddhist: The Asian Odyssey of
Henry Steel Olcott (Indiana University Press, 1996) and Arthur Versluis, American
Transcendentalism & Asian Religions (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993).
39. See Christopher. Lasch, The Culture of Narcissism (New York: W. W. Norton
and Company, 1979), Paul Vitz, Psychology As Religion: The Cult Of Self-Worship
(William B. Eerdmans, 1977) and Robert N. Bellah, Richard Madsen, William
M. Sullivan, Ann Swidler, and Steven M. Tipton, eds. Habits of the
Heart: Individualism and Commitments in American Life (Los Angeles: University

of California Press, 1985).
40. See William B. Parsons “The Psychology-Comparativist Dialogue,” in Religion
and Psychology: Mapping the Terrain, eds. William B Parsons and Diane Jonte-Pace
(London and New York: Routledge, 2001), 229–53.
41. For a fascinating and comprehensive account of this phenomenon, see Andrew
Rawlinson, The Book Of Enlightened Masters: Western Teachers in Eastern
Traditions (Chicago: Open Court 1997).
42. See Jack Kornfield, After the Ecstasy, the Laundry: How the Heart Grows Wise on
the Spiritual Path (New York: Bantham Books, 2000); John Tarrant, The Light
Inside The Dark: Zen, Soul and the Spiritual Life (New York: HarperPerennial,
1998); John Welwood, Toward A Psychology Of Awakening: Buddhism, Psychotherapy,
And the Personal and Spiritual Transformation (Boston & London: Shambhala,
2002); and Rob Preece, The Wisdom of Imperfection: The Challenge of Individuation
in Buddhist Life (Ithaca, New York: Snow Lion Publications, 2006).
43. For an example of a problematic reductive approach, see Jung’s reading of Asian
traditions. J. J. Clarke, G.C. Jung on the East (London: Routledge, 1995).
44. Kathy Butler, “Encountering the Shadow In Buddhist America,” in Meeting
the Shadow, eds. Connie Zweig and Jeremiah Abrams (New York: Jeremy P.
Tarcher /Putnam, 1991), 137–47.
45. Interviews were conducted in the San Francisco Bay Area, June–August 2008.
46. See Kripal, Esalen, 8–24 and 449–68.
47. Kate O’Neil “Sounds of Silence,” in Buddhist Women on the Edge, ed. Marianne
Dressner (Berkeley: North Atlantic Books, 1996), 25.
Bibliography
Almaas, A. H. The Inner Journey Home. Boston & London: Shambhala, 2004.
———. Spacecruiser Inquiry: True Guidance for the Inner Journey Home. Boston &
London: Shambhala, 2002.
———. The Point of Existence: Transformations of Narcissism in Self-Realization.
Boston & London: Shambhala, 2001a.
———. The Pearl Beyond Price: Integration of Personality into Being: An Object
Relations Approach. Boston & London: Shambhala, 2001b.
———. Luminous Night’s Journey: An Autobiographical Fragment. Boston & London:
Shambhala, 2000.
———. Essence with The Elixir of Enlightenment. Boston, MA: Weiser Books, 1998
Aronson, Harvey. Buddhist Practice On Western Ground: Reconciling Eastern Ideals
And Western Psychology. Boston & London: Shambhala, 2004.
Bellah, Robert, Richard Madsen, William M. Sullivan, Ann Swidler, and Stephen
M. Tipton, eds. Habits of the Heart: Individualism and Commitments in American
Life. Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1985.
Bhattacharyya, Kalidas. “The Status of the Individual in Indian Metaphysics.”
In The Indian Mind: Essentials of Indian Philosophy and Culture, edited by
194 ● Ann Gleig
Charles A. Moore and Aldyth V. Morris, 229–319. Honolulu: University of

Hawaii, 1967.
Butler, Kathy. “Encountering the Shadow in Buddhist America.” In Meeting the
Shadow, edited by Connie Zweig and Jeremiah Abrams, 137–47. New York:
Jeremy P. Tarcher/Putnam, 1991.
Carrette, Jeremy, and Richard King. Selling Spirituality. London & New York:
Routledge, 2005.
Engler, Jack. “Being Somebody and Being Nobody: A Reexamination of the
Understanding of Self in Psychoanalysis and Buddhism.” In Psychoanalysis and
Buddhism, edited by Jeremy Safran, 35–100. Boston: Wisdom Publications, 2003.
Klein, Anne. Meeting The Great Bliss Queen. Boston: Beacon Press, 1995.
Kripal, Jeffrey J. Esalen: America and the Religion of No Religion. Chicago & London:
The University of Chicago Press, 2007.
———. “Debating the Mystical as the Ethical: An Indological Map.” In Boundaries:
Essays on the Ethical Status of Mysticism, edited by Jeffrey J. Kripal and William
G. Barnard, 15–69. York: Seven Bridges Press/Chatham House, 2002.
Kornfield, Jack. After the Ecstasy, the Laundry: How the Heart Grows Wise on the
Spiritual Path. New York: Bantam Books, 2000.
Lasch, Christopher. The Culture of Narcissism. New York: W. W. Norton and
Company, 1979.
Lee, Harriet, and Helen Marshall. “Divine Individualism: Transcending Psychology.”
Spirituality: International Journal of Critical Psychology, 13–33, 8, 2003.
Mines, Miles. “Conceptualizing the Person: Hierarchical Society and Individual
Autonomy in India.” In Self As Person In Asian Theory and Practice, edited by
Roger T. Ames, Wimal Dissanayake, and Thomas P. Kasulis, 317–34. Albany:
State University of New York Press, 1994.
Parsons, William. B. 2008. “Psychologia Perennis and the Academic Study of
Mysticism.” In Mourning Religion, edited by William B. Parsons, Diane Jonte-
Pace, and Susan Henking, 97–123. Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press,
2008.
———. “Themes and Debates in the Psychology-Comparativist Dialogue.” In
Religion and Psychology: Mapping the Terrain, edited by William B. Parsons and
Diane Jonte-Pace, 229–53. London and New York: Routledge, 2001.
Partridge, Christopher. The Re-Enchantment of the West, Volume 2: Alternative Spirit-
ualities, Sacralization, Popular Culture and Occulture. New York: T & T Clarke
International, 2005.
Preece, Rob. The Wisdom of Imperfection: The Challenge of Individuation in Buddhist
Life. Ithaca: New York; Snow Lion, 2006.
Prothero, Stephen. The White Buddhist: The Asian Odyssey of Henry Steel Olcott.
Indiana University Press, 1996.
Rawlinson, Andrew. The Book of Enlightened Masters: Western Teachers in Eastern
Traditions. Chicago: Open Court, 1997.
Rieff, Philip. The Triumph of the Therapeutic. Chicago: University of Chicago Press,
1966.
Robertson, Richard. Meaning and Change: Explorations in the Cultural Sociology of

Modern Societies. New York: New York University Press, 1978.
Roland, Alan. In Search of Self in India and Japan: Towards a Cross-Cultural
Psychology. New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1988.
Schwartz, Tony. What Really Matters: Searching for Wisdom in America. New York:
Bantam Books, 1995.
Tarrant, John. The Light Inside The Dark: Zen, Soul and the Spiritual Life. New York:
HarperPerennial, 1998.
Welwood, John. Toward A Psychology of Awakening: Buddhism, Psychotherapy, And the
Personal and Spiritual Transformation. Boston & London: Shambhala, 2002.
Urban, Hugh B. Tantra: Sex, Secrecy, Politics, and Power in the Study of Religion.
Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003.
Versluis, Arthur. American Transcendentalism & Asian Religions. Oxford: Oxford
Vitz, Paul. Psychology As Religion: The Cult Of Self-Worship. William B. Eerdmans,
1977.
CHAPTER 10
The “Map of Consciousness”:

A New Paradigm for
Mysticism and Healing
Fran Grace
Introduction
Do mystics and saints heal people? A recent article in the Los Angeles
Times—“The Dalai Lama Has IT, But What Is IT?”—raises this age-old
question. Interviewees described their feelings of joy and serenity when in
the presence of people like the Dalai Lama and Mother Teresa. Dr. Paul
Ekman, a University of California Medical School (San Francisco) professor,
confessed that he experienced a profound healing when the Dalai Lama
held his hands: “He held my hands while we talked, and I was filled with
a sense of goodness and a unique total body sensation that I have no words
to describe.” Though not a religious believer, Dr. Ekman’s lifelong struggle
with anger left in that moment.1
This healing event was so provocative to Dr. Ekman that he conducted
and published a series of dialogues in a book with the Dalai Lama. The
dialogues, however, produced no scientific explanation for his personal
transformation. Ekman concluded that the “radiance of goodness” that had
healed him was scientifically inexplicable, yet true nonetheless: “As a scien-
tist, I do not know how to explain it, but that does not mean it is not sus-
ceptible to scientific explanation; I just do not know where to start, and
I suspect we do not yet have the proper tools to examine this phenomenon
objectively.” In the book, he emphasized the physical sensations connected
to the “radiance of goodness” that he and others felt emanating from the
Dalai Lama: “I think the change that occurred within me started with that

198 ● Fran Grace
physical sensation, whatever it was. I think that what I experienced was—

a nonscientific term—‘goodness.’ Every one of the other eight people
I interviewed said they felt goodness; they felt it radiating and felt the same
kind of warmth that I did. I have no idea what it is or how it happens, but
it is not in my imagination. Though we do not have the tools to understand
it, that does not mean it does not exist.”2
This chapter presents a way to understand what Ekman experienced. It
seeks to answer three basic questions about mysticism and healing. First:
What is the relation of spiritual inner consciousness to physical healing?
Second: What is the benefit to our physical health and overall wellness to
be in the presence of a mystic or spiritually advanced person? Third: How
can individuals cultivate their own “radiance of goodness” and healing
effect? Do spiritual practices facilitate this process? I hope to offer a perspec-
tive that is both theoretically illuminating and practically beneficial.
These questions are fleshed out in a particular framework of mystic
awareness; that is, the “Map of Consciousness” developed by Dr. David R.
Hawkins (b. 1927), a living mystic and medical doctor, whose contribu-
tions to the fields of physical healing and mental health have received
numerous awards in the scientific arena. Most recently, he published
Healing and Recovery (Veritas Publishing, 2009), and his expertise is fea-
tured in the 2010 documentary film, “Voyage to Betterment,” which
explores “what is possible when the knowledge of the medical, scientific and
mystical worlds are combined.”3 The present chapter sheds light on some-
thing that is often ignored by the scientific community in its recognition
of Hawkins’ pioneering achievements in medicine: Hawkins is a mystic and,
in his framework, spiritual awareness (in particular, the state of uncondi-
tional love) is the key that unlocks the energy of healing.
“Mysticism and healing” is not only an academic question for me. I have
faced pressing life circumstances that required investigation into a range of
healing modalities. When my physical and emotional distress reached its
breaking point many years ago, the encounter with David Hawkins and his
writings catalyzed a healing effect that was surprising and dramatic—similar
to Paul Ekman’s account of his encounter with the Dalai Lama. After writing
a biography of an American female mystic (2001), I came across the writings
of David Hawkins quite unexpectedly and have spent the last several years
studying his life and teachings. I have had the opportunity of many hours of
private interviews with Hawkins, now eighty-three, since I am working on a
book about him as a mystic. Devout practitioners from a variety of spiritual
paths regard him as an Enlightened sage. Hindus from India often request to
prostrate in front of him at public lectures, in acknowledgement of the state
of Self-Realization. Buddhists in Korea ceremoniously bestowed the title “Tae
The “Map of Consciousness” ● 199
Ryeong Seon Kak Tosa” (Foremost Teacher of the Way to Enlightenment) in

1999–2000.4 As an author, I am both scholar and student of this mystic.5
I was a skeptic at first. Having explored various spiritual or religious
avenues with unfulfilling results, I approached my study of Hawkins with
the sense that it “probably will turn out like the rest, but what have I got
to lose?” What convinced me, ultimately, were the transformations in my
own physical and nonphysical consciousness. These I could not deny.
Similar to Paul Ekman, I noticed major breakthroughs and healings in
myself that were not exactly describable but very real nonetheless.
When in the presence of his aura, I noticed certain physical sensations
and inner releases. These self-observations were matched by those of over a
hundred people I have interviewed for a forthcoming book of firsthand
accounts from devotees of his teachings. What they describe is not different
from what other devotees describe of the experience of being in the presence
of Sri Ramana Maharshi, the Dalai Lama, or Mother Teresa. Religious par-
ticularities do not seem to matter. As this chapter suggests, the energy fields
(aura) of unconditional love, joy, and inner peace transmit an effect upon
others and the world that transcends religious identity.
At the physical level, I feel a golden warmth pervade my body when
I am with Hawkins. The heart area, in particular, burns with the feeling of
pure love and deep affection. It is extremely pleasant as a physical experi-
ence. The physical body feels renewed after our visits. I have had numerous
times when I started the day feeling sick, very fatigued, or on the verge of
a feverish cold—all of which alleviated within the first hour of our meeting.
I get back in the car and observe a body that feels renewed, energized, and
free of incipient illness. I had been thinking, “Oh I’m coming down with
something”; but afterwards, there’s the inner knowing that “I’m now
immune to the onset of fever or cold.”
I also notice that the mind calms. The worries that are there at the start
of the meeting drop off and are replaced by a mind-field that is not my
own. It is like my mind had been set to a television channel of chatter or
static, and then all of a sudden it has been reset to a different channel—one
of silence and spaciousness and tranquility. For instance, I may walk into
the meeting with a list of questions in my mind, or an agenda for the day.
But within about fifteen minutes, there is a letting go of that mental “To
Do” list. The mind empties. It is like standing at the edge of the Grand
Canyon. What is there to say about it that could possibly capture its utter
majesty?
My mind falls silent in the presence of the mystic. The words that unfold
between us come from a greater “field” than that of my personal thoughts.
At the physical level, I feel a complete release of tension in the cerebral area.
200 ● Fran Grace
The brain relaxes as the rapid beta waves of analytical thinking release into
the slower theta waves of openness and waiting. I can literally sense the
power of his aura as a magnet that pulls even my brain waves into closer
alignment with his state of total inner rest. Correspondingly, there is a
realignment of the emotional state.
It is like being in an airplane flying through pockets of turbulence. Then,
all of a sudden, the plane ride is smooth because the pilot has propelled it
up to at a higher altitude. Being with Hawkins is like that. His irrepressible
love and joyous humor pull me up to a high altitude of happiness so that
(temporarily) I do not experience the usual bumps of emotional turbulence
(insecurity, anxiety, anger, guilt, self-pity, etc.). For those moments, there is
emotional freedom and lightness of being.
As a mystic, Hawkins is intriguing for several reasons. First, his pursuit of
ultimate truth was primarily as a scientist, not as a religionist. Without an
available religious “framework” by which to understand the ego-shattering
mystical experience that spontaneously occurred to him at age thirty-eight, he
was not able to contextualize the radical shift in consciousness—whether to
himself or to others—for thirty years. Second, when he did contextualize the
shift, the explication came through the “Map of Consciousness,” a framework
that is unique in two important ways: (1) the integration of a scientific founda-
tion (quantum physics, nonlinear dynamics, chaos theory, and applied kinesi-
ology) into our understanding of mysticism; (2) the notion that, similar to
electromagnetic energy, spiritual energy has different degrees of power within
the progressive “fields of consciousness,” such that the higher levels of con-
sciousness (those of the mystics and saints) carry with them a frequency that
is innately beneficent, healing, and peace-transmitting. Finally, unlike many
mystics, he does not define his awareness in relation to an existing belief system
or place himself within a specific religion. His understanding of the path of
the mystic is that, ultimately, it is the pathless path, transcends all doctrinal
differences, and is the culmination of all of the various “yogas” or “tariqas.”
The first part of the chapter gives a biographical narrative of Hawkins,
and the second part applies his framework to the practical realm of healing.
Here is his story.
Biographical Narrative: From Medical Doctor To Modern Mystic

David R. Hawkins grew up in Wisconsin during the Depression. Raised by
Episcopalian parents, he served as an altar boy, sang in the choir, and
obeyed the moral precepts of the religion with an unusual level of scrupu-
losity. However, his most profound experience of God occurred completely
outside of the religious realm.
At age twelve, Hawkins melted into a Timeless Oneness and Infinite

Love. He was biking his seventeen-mile paper route in rural Wisconsin
during the winter when a storm hit, gusting with twenty-below-zero winds.
Thrown from his bike in the blizzard, he found refuge in a snow bank along
the road. As his clothes and body began to freeze, Hawkins’ inner spirit
melted into a limitless and gentle “Presence” of overwhelming Love that
silenced the mind:
Time stopped and the awareness of Oneness with eternity replaced all
thought or sense of a personal self. The “I”-ness of the Presence revealed itself
as Allness. It was knowable as being beyond names.
He realized that “what” he ultimately was did not differ from the formless,
timeless Universal Self, an Infinite Love that had no beginning and no end.
The ensuing peace was indescribable and rock-solid. Suddenly he became
aware of his father tugging his leg. The boy David “came back into the
body” only out of love for his father who was terrified of losing his son and
would feel responsible for his death. He returned to the body to save his
father from this suffering.6
Compared to this Infinite Love, the “God” of religion seemed irrelevant,
untenable. His belief in religion, in fact, disappeared at age sixteen. One
day, while walking in the woods, an awareness of human suffering through-
out the ages suddenly overwhelmed him; he could no longer believe in a
God who (it seemed to him at the time) willed such suffering. This revela-
tion marked “the end of belief in God as a belief system.” Yet, there
remained a relentless inner drive to get to the core of Reality:
Up until that time [age 16], religiosity had prevailed, but in shock and dis-
may at the revelation, the belief in a God who would allow or be the cause
of all that suffering was unsustainable. . . . Despite the collapse of religious
belief in God, there persisted a drive to get to the core and source of Truth
itself. That led to searching within during four years of deep classical clinical
psychoanalysis, followed by three more years of depth analysis focused on
uncovering the roots of the ego itself. The inner search then continued reach-
ing the very depths of the ego and the lower levels of Hell that, too, are
experientially beyond the limitations of time. It was from the pits of eternal
spiritual darkness that the call to God was answered, for it took that extreme
of agony and despair to crack the ego’s hold.7
The moment of the “extreme of agony and despair” occurred twenty

years later, in 1965, when Hawkins was thirty-eight years old and working
as the medical director of a large hospital in New York. Despite a successful
202 ● Fran Grace
professional life, he suffered from a fatal disease, which had propelled him
to the edge of physical death and the depths of inner agony.8 He recalled
lying on a hospital bed, aware that physical death approached. Physical
death produced no fear. Far worse was the existential agony that the hope-
lessness and despair would be never-ending. It was as if he had seen, via
inner vision, the signpost: “All ye who enter here—abandon every hope.”
Although an agnostic at the time, a cry of surrender arose from within:
“If there is a God, I ask him to help me now.” What followed was a trans-
formation so dramatic that he did not speak of it for thirty years. It was a
sudden and complete dissolving of his individual personhood:
Oblivion. When consciousness returned, a transformation of such enormity

had taken place that there was only silence and awe. The “person” that had
been, no longer existed. There was no personal “I” or self or ego, only an
Infinite Presence of unlimited power that had replaced what had been “me.”
The body and its actions were controlled solely by the Infinite Will of the
Presence. The world was illuminated by the clarity of an Infinite Oneness.
All things revealed their infinite beauty and perfection as the expression of
Divinity. . . . Where the world saw ugliness, there was only timeless beauty.
This spiritual love suffused all perception and all boundaries between here
and there and then and now, and separation disappeared.9
Other mystics throughout history have described this state of ego dissolu-
tion, when all sense of a personal self dissolves—somewhat like sugar melt-
ing into warm water, or a rain drop falling into the ocean. What remains
is a stunning silence, void of all thoughts, no inner talk, and a rock-solid
awareness that one is not separate from anything or anyone else. The world
has become completely transformed into an “Infinite Oneness” in which
Love and Beauty radiate with a magnificence that defies description.
Many people may have a personal knowledge of a temporary timeless
“flow” or “being in the zone,” a moment in which the constant self-
monitoring of the ego-mind is muted, and the ordinary orientation in time
and space is lost. This happens, for example, when people are engaged in
creative work, lovemaking, athletic or stage performance, the birth of a
child, religious ritual, meditation, or other peak experiences. But few people
exist in this timeless state as a permanent inner reality.
A recent and compelling example of ego dissolution is the experience of
the Harvard University brain scientist Dr. Jill Bolte-Taylor. Her account
gives us a glimpse into the nondual realm of awareness about which the
mystics speak and write as their permanent reality. She, like Hawkins,
emerged from her mystic experience to dedicate herself to the work of
healing in the world.10 As a stroke erupted in her brain and voided her
left-brain functioning, Taylor underwent a spontaneous breakthrough into
the “euphoria” of “Silent Mind” and the “nirvana” of “being one with All.”
In this state, she felt a “connection to the omnipotence and the enormity
of that which is God.” This experiential “oneness” was an indelible noetic
insight that had nothing to do with religion. Like Hawkins, she was not
religious. She realized that the concepts of her thinking, personal mind had
always blocked the splendor of Universal Mind. With left-brain thinking
consciousness gone, the loving consciousness of the right-brain revealed
itself. The experience was so exquisitely beautiful and expansive that she
(i.e., her nonphysical consciousness) did not want to “squeeze” back into
her body, choosing to do so only because she knew that her account of the
experience would be helpful to others. Her mystic experience lasted a few
weeks, but its impact was unforgettable and sustained her during eight long
years of recovery when she had to relearn how to walk, talk, and other basic
human functions.11 Dr. Bolte-Taylor had heard about such experiences, but
it was not until her stroke that she was certain of their validity. Because she
had spent her career researching the brain phenomena of schizophrenia, she
was also certain that her mystic experience differed radically from psychotic
and other pathological states of consciousness.12
Hawkins is unique as a modern mystic because, as a trained M.D., he
has been able to speak self-reflectively and scientifically of mystic states of
consciousness with a clarity that can be of clinical assistance. Still, it took
him a number of years to integrate the nonordinary state of consciousness
into ordinary living. After the breakthrough in consciousness that occurred
in 1965, Hawkins’ experience of life was completely and radically
different.
For one thing, because he no longer saw himself as an individual person,
he felt bewildered when people referred to his body as “David,” and he
himself was not sure what pronouns to use with reference to himself:
“Somebody would ask me a question and I would wonder who they were
talking to. . . . When I look in people’s eyes, there is only one Self. . . .
There isn’t any separate ‘you, there, and me, here.’” It took years to accli-
mate to the inner condition of Enlightenment, with its lack of a personal
self.
His physical body felt very different as well. Not only was there a healing
recovery from the many diseases that had plagued him, but there was also
such a “voltage” of energy that his nervous system felt taxed and frazzled:
“[T]he nervous system felt like it was fried . . . full of holes like Swiss
cheese.”13
204 ● Fran Grace
As his system stabilized, this energy (often called “kundalini energy”)

brought intense pleasure sensations, more pleasant even than orgasm, that
coursed throughout the body, especially running up the spinal cord, into
the brain, and out through the heart area to visibly potentiate a healing
transformation for people who were suffering. For example, he recounts
driving on the freeway and noting the spontaneous outpouring of kundalini
energy from his heart chakra a few minutes before he came upon the scene
of a car accident. He presumed that the loving energy coming through him
was an impersonal response from Divinity (the Source of Life) to the
prayers of those in the car accident who had cried out for help.
Hawkins found the bliss so compelling that he had little interest or
capacity to reactivate normal functioning. The bliss was one’s true “home.”
The only motivation strong enough to pull him back into the body and
the world of form was “love for humankind”:
Each time it is extremely difficult to come back into the body. It is like one
is home and as you come back into the body, you feel homesick . . . like one
has left one’s home for some kind of a task one has agreed to, I guess.
Whenever I go into that state, there is no form. One just dissolves into
infinite, golden love. It is so exquisite that it makes one cry to have to come
back into the body again. The only reason you can leave it is because you
know it is there forever, and that you will return forever.14
One time, for example, he slipped into this bliss state while alone in the
woods. He was aware that vultures were circling his body, poised to descend
as soon as the last bit of life energy was relinquished from the body. But
something in him realized that he might as well stay in the body if it helped
others, because the bliss was forever and always. He surrendered the body
completely to be an instrument of service in the world, allowing it to be
reenergized. As soon as this happened, the vultures flew away. He frequently
refers to the body as a “karmic wind-up toy” that will expire when it is no
longer needed.15
Hawkins gradually became acclimated to the absence of a personal “me”
and returned to his psychiatric practice in the late 1960s. But the mystic,
nondual consciousness prevailed. Indeed, seven years later, there was no
reference to a “me” even in his clinical work. His brilliantly integrative sur-
vey of clinical research on schizophrenia, published in the book he coedited
with double Nobel Laureate chemist Linus Pauling, Orthomolecular
Psychiatry, is notable for the complete absence of the pronoun “I” in over
one hundred pages of writing.16 Readers of his later spiritual works (eight
books to date) often complain that he writes in the third person without
an “I,” as if describing events in life from the standpoint of a witness.17

But, as Hawkins says often, experientially there is no “personal will” or
“personal doer,” and no sense of a separate self that is an agent of his life.
Over time, Hawkins’ clinic became the largest practice in the United
States, including a suite of twenty-five offices, two thousand outpatients,
hospital beds continually in demand, as well as several laboratories. He
served as Medical Director of the North Nassau Mental Health Center
(1956–1980) and Director of Research at Brunswick Hospital (1968–1979)
on Long Island. In this clinical context, his expanded spiritual state led him
to see beyond the limits of conventional treatments to the inner humanness
of his patients. Because of the dramatic healing of hopeless patients, Hawkins
appeared on major network television shows during the 1970s and 1980s.
He also served as a medical consultant to Buddhist and Christian communi-
ties to help them discern whether their residents were in states of catatonia,
hallucination, or authentic mystical ecstasy, union, or samadhi. In the 1970s,
he cofounded and served on the Editorial Board of the Journal of
Schizophrenia, cofounded and directed several psychiatric and medical orga-
nizations, and cofounded the Attitudinal Healing Center in New York.
His pioneering work in these areas resulted in many awards, including
The Huxley Award for the “Inestimable Contribution to the Alleviation of
Human Suffering,” Physicians Recognition Award by the American Medical
Association, 50-Year Distinguished Life Fellow by the American Psychiatric
Association, the Orthomolecular Medicine Hall of Fame, and a nomination
for the prestigious Templeton Prize that honors progress in Science and
Religion. In 1995, in a ceremony officiated by the H. H. Prince Valdemar
of Schaumburg-Lippe, Hawkins became a knight of the Sovereign Order of
the Hospitaliers of St. John of Jerusalem (founded in 1077) in recognition
of his contributions to humanity.
Despite these successes, his “one patient at a time” efforts as a doctor
seemed like a drop in the bucket to him: “There was enormous frustration
in that the human suffering could be countered in only one patient at a
time. It was like bailing out the sea.”18 As he probed the healing effect,
Hawkins noticed that it had little to do with what he actually did or pre-
scribed as a doctor, and more to do with the inner consciousness that radi-
ated love, hope, joy, and peace. He noticed that the patients of certain
doctors tended to improve, while the patients of other doctors mostly
declined or stayed the same—even when the drug and treatment protocol
was the same in all cases. In his address for the Annual Landberg Lecture
at the University of California Health Sciences Center (UCSF) in 1997, he
recollected some observations from his time of clinical practice in New York
when physicians were prescribing various vitamins as part of the treatment
206 ● Fran Grace
for schizophrenia: “[T]he amount of side effects that a doctor’s patients have
depends on the consciousness of the doctor.” The patients of one particular
doctor in New Jersey, for example, all manifested a type of skin discolor-
ation with the use of Vitamin B-3. However, the patients of other doctors
had no side effects at all and, in fact, responded well to the treatment.19
What was the secret of the successful doctors? He intuited that the healing
effect related to an inner state of awareness or level of consciousness, but
he needed to find a way to confirm and measure it.
In pursuit of this question and to live a more contemplative and unencum-
bered life, Hawkins left his expansive clinical practice and multi-million-dollar
life in New York, driving in a pickup truck to a remote area in the Southwest.
In the late 1970s and early 1980s, he lived the life of a hermit, sleeping on a
thrift-store cot, rarely eating, and reading mystical texts. The solitude allowed
for an unrestrained surrender to spiritual ecstasy and bliss. He describes, similar
to accounts by Ramakrishna, being “danced” by the powerful energies of
devotional climax, dancing alone in ecstatic surrender all night at a local
cathedral. Living alone permitted him the freedom to exist solely as formless
consciousness, without having to interact and verbalize. His consciousness was
so accustomed to its formless, nonphysical reality that he was shocked when
suddenly his body hit against a wall he was walking through, or when he
caught a glimpse of a “person” in the mirror and realized it was himself ! 20
The years of solitude allowed for a thorough exploration of advanced
states of consciousness. He experienced that there were several subtle spiri-
tual bodies beyond the gross (physical), emotional, and mental bodies; each
of these spiritual bodies (Atmic, Christic, Buddhic) had seven chakras.
When the third eye of the Buddhic body opens, according to his experience,
the sage is able to discern the essence of all things as they truly are, beyond
perception or mentation. He verified for himself the truth of the experience
of Brother Lawrence, a well-known sixteenth-century Catholic monk and
author of Practicing the Presence of God, that the Presence of God is continu-
ally discernible as a spiritual sense that radiates the felt energy of Love.
Eventually, Hawkins reluctantly agreed to have a public teaching life
because he saw that his physical presence activated an awakening in the subtle
spiritual bodies of spiritual aspirants, a phenomenon often referred to as “silent
transmission” (e.g., Sri Ramana Maharshi). According to Hawkins’ experience,
the aura of an advanced sage can awaken a spiritual sense within a consenting
seeker so that the knowledge, which had been held only in the mental body
as “information,” now is alive in the higher spiritual bodies as “realization.”
Having explored the nature of his transformed consciousness and the
reason for its healing effect on others, Hawkins re-entered ordinary life. In
1987, he wrote a letter to his famous friend in science, Linus Pauling,
exuberant about discoveries in “right-brain consciousness” and the “healing

of 15 different diseases” within himself.21
Over time, people traveled from far-away places to be in his presence,
saying that his “aura” or “radiance” had a healing and awakening effect on
them. He has always insisted that what others witness in him is really their
own true nature, and that he himself is nothing special. He chooses not to
don robes or take on any attire or affect of a “guru.” He says that what he
teaches is not different from the core principles of the world’s religions:
unconditional love, compassion, kindness for all beings: “Make a gift of
your life and lift all mankind by being kind, considerate, forgiving, and
compassionate at all times, in all places, and under all conditions, with
everyone as well as yourself. That is the greatest gift anyone can give.”22
Hawkins agreed to offer public teachings as a response to many requests:
“People asked questions, so a sharing/teaching function began.”23 He made
“an effort to be ordinary, because just being ordinary is itself an expression
of Divinity.” The partnership with his wife, Susan Hawkins, made possible
the public sharing of his inner condition through books and lectures. Her
capacity for organization, joined with keen intuition and heartfelt expres-
sion, facilitated the interfacing of his inner knowledge with the world.
Finally, in 1995, they published Power versus Force: The Hidden Determinants
of Human Behavior. This book communicated Hawkins’ discoveries in a
way that was understandable to ordinary people and compelling to some
scientists. With over a million copies sold, and translations into over
twenty-five languages, the book has had a considerable impact.
Rather than authoring a “new” religion, Hawkins integrates the ground-
ing principles of all religions. He has come to speak of his teachings as
“Devotional Non-duality,” an integration of cataphatic and apophatic mys-
ticism, of heart and mind, Western and Eastern spiritualities. Hawkins’ goal
has been to alleviate human suffering. When asked to define his “function
in the world,” Hawkins responded: “To be that which I am to the world
and explain it as clearly as possible in order to facilitate spiritual awareness
and thus contribute to the relief of the suffering of mankind.”24 The “Map
of Consciousness” emerged as the primary teaching tool to facilitate spiri-
tual awareness and thereby alleviate suffering.
The “Map of Consciousness”: What is the Relation

of Inner Consciousness to Physical Health?
The “Map of Consciousness” offers clinicians, spiritual seekers, theologians,
religious studies scholars, and scientists a roadmap by which to navigate the
inner life and to see the intrinsic link between inner consciousness and
208 ● Fran Grace
outer, physical events. Mystics are those to whom an innermost realm of

ineffable peace has been revealed. Often, they spend the rest of their lives
trying to delineate a “ladder” or “path” as a teaching tool for others who
long to reach that realm. Unlike the spiritual schemas of other mystics,
Hawkins’ “Map of Consciousness” makes a direct connection between inner
development and healing potential.
The “Map of Consciousness” is a single-page chart that lays out a progres-
sion from the lower “fields of consciousness” such as “Shame,” “Guilt,” “Fear,”
“Desire,” “Anger,” “Pride,” (i.e., dominated by ego drives or “emergency” emo-
tions), to the middle fields of “Courage,” “Willingness,” “Acceptance,” “Reason”
(i.e., dominated by personal integrity and “welfare” emotions), to the higher
levels of consciousness such as “Love,” “Unconditional Love/Joy/Healing,”
“Ecstasy,” “Peace,” and “Enlightenment.” These higher levels are increasingly
free of all ego drives and are the domain of saints, mystics, arhats, and
avatars.
Perhaps the most intriguing aspect of the “Map of Consciousness,” which
distinguishes it from the plethora of similar spiritual roadmaps presented by
mystics throughout history, is the idea that, with each progressive level of
consciousness, the “frequency” or “vibration” of spiritual energy or radiance
increases. People in the higher levels of consciousness radiate a healing power.
In other words, the more loving a person becomes, the greater is the healing
impact. Hawkins’ studies of nonlinear dynamics, quantum physics, and
advanced mathematics allowed him to incorporate into his model what other
mystics had not: healing energy can be likened to a step-down transformer in
electrical equipment. There is a limitless supply of healing energy in the uni-
verse; Divinity or Buddha nature can be likened to a limitless electromagnetic
field of infinitely loving power. However, this loving power is transmitted in
amounts suitable to the voltage that each instrument, or level of consciousness,
can handle. Too much electricity can “break” a circumscribed circuit, but a
circuit with wide voltage capacity can handle more electric power.
The Dalai Lama, for example, has an energy field or level of conscious-
ness that is expansive and loving enough to handle immense amounts of
healing energy, and so he radiates out high levels of “healing voltage” we
might say. His inner state of joy and love bubbles over with humor, laugh-
ter, kindness, and compassion. Most people, however, do not have the same
capacity to channel healing energy to others because their inner attention
is routinely focused on their own needs, thoughts, feelings, and agendas.
Their inner “circuitry” is constricted and not capacious of fully unconditional
and impersonal love. Some people, in fact, are almost solely self-absorbed.
Such negative levels of consciousness (e.g., shame, guilt, fear, desire, anger)
drain rather than contribute energy.
This difference is intuitively true. We can often sort through our friends
or family members by asking: Which ones deplete me and which ones uplift
me? Some people in our lives are basically negative; they swirl around in
self-pity, anger, guilt, fear, constant craving, blaming, or arrogance. They
have little concern about how their behaviors affect others. Other people
are basically positive; they are thoughtful and caring of others, can get over
things easily, acknowledge their part in an unpleasant situation rather than
blame everyone else, and they have a basic confidence in themselves that
does not require our constant assurance. Everyone, of course, has a “bad
day.” But as a general rule, the Hawkins research found that people have a
composite orientation or “level of consciousness” that is either uplifting or
draining in its effect.
Harvard brain scientist, Jill Bolte-Taylor, made the same discovery. In
describing her long recovery from the stroke that left her unable to talk, hear
language, or see people, she was “energetically” able to divide the people who
walked into her hospital room into two groups: those who drained her life
energy and those who increased it. She learned to turn away from nurses,
doctors, and visitors who were anxious, self-focused, and preoccupied
because they sapped her fragile life energy. But she would force herself to
rouse for loving, thoughtful, and kind people. She instinctively knew that
the inner energy they radiated would have a healing effect on her recovery.
Hawkins’ work confirms this insight as a measurable fact. While the
“Map of Consciousness” has obvious correlations to the “Great Chain of
Being” and to the classical Christian, Buddhist, Hindu, Jewish, and Sufi
“levels” or “stages” of spiritual mastery or evolution, it is also accessible to
clinical and educational settings because it is mostly free of religious
nominalizations.25
Hawkins brings together findings from many fields in order to strengthen
the explanatory value of the Map of Consciousness. First, from the field of
nonlinear dynamics, he draws the idea that there are hidden patterns or
“attractors” behind apparently random or chaotic natural phenomena. The
most famous example of such a hidden coherence in seemingly random data
is Lorenz’s butterfly based on weather patterns. Instead of viewing all of the
events, thoughts, and feelings of a person’s life as “accidental,” “coinciden-
tal” or random, the attractor field theory suggests that everything one wit-
nesses in one’s life is part of the coherence of the particular “level of
consciousness” or “energy field” that they are “tuned in to,” somewhat like
a television channel.
For example, the person who lives on the level of consciousness “Fear,”
will experience life events as scary, strangers as threatening, the future as
frightening, God as a terrifying judge, and relationships as wrought with
210 ● Fran Grace
fear of loss and fear of rejection. This person will look at a homeless person
and feel afraid, perhaps calling 911. On the other hand, a person who lives
in the more benign energy field of “Willingness,” will see the homeless
person with optimism and may attempt to “help” the person with money
or a kind word. This person in “Willingness” is hopeful about life, con-
sciously intends to be a positive influence in the world, sees God as benevo-
lently supportive, and experiences relationships as offering opportunities for
growth, caring, and loyalty. The “Fear” person may travel to New York City
and conclude that there are muggers everywhere and the streets are uni-
formly unsafe; however, the “Willingness” person may travel to the same
area and conclude that New Yorkers are quite friendly. When we are in the
presence of “Fear,” we feel drained; when we are in the presence of
“Willingness,” we feel uplifted.
Secondly, in addition to attractor field theory, Hawkins draws upon the
metaphysical discussions instigated by quantum mechanics over the last
several decades. There is little agreement among quantum physicists and
philosophers of science as to what quantum mechanics actually “means.”26
Hawkins aligns with the approach of physicist David Bohm because Bohm’s
theories of “wholeness,” “implicate vs. explicate orders,” “holographic uni-
verse,” and “infinite potentiality” correspond so closely to his subjective
awareness as a mystic. Bohm’s metaphysics went beyond the linear causality
of the Newtonian paradigm by postulating a “field” effect in which the
“hidden variable” held within the “implicate order” (i.e., formless conscious-
ness) unfolds into the material, “explicate order” (i.e., world of form).27 Thus,
the physical world that is witnessed by the human eye as linear sequence is
merely a world of effects, not causes. The money I receive every month as
an electronic deposit in my bank account from the University of Redlands
is ultimately not “caused” by any single catalyst in the “objective” world of
form. If this were so, it would be an infinite regress along the lines of: Was
it the contract I signed that “caused” my paycheck? Was it the decision of
the search committee that hired me? Was it my completion of the Ph.D.
that credentialed me for the job? Was it my second grade teacher who told
me I would be a professor one day? One could go on and on, yet never
identify the single “cause” of an event. Rather, all of these factors or seeming
“causes” in the physically visible world actually issue from an invisible
“attractor field” or “level of consciousness,” and it is this “energy field” that
attracts to itself all of the above and everything else that I experience,
including the affirmations by school teachers, the resources and intelligence
required for doctoral work, and being hired by a university.
Hawkins and Bohm would agree with the Dalai Lama that there is the
possibility with quantum physics to move beyond the limited framework
of Newtonian billiard-ball, linear causality to affirm what Buddhist philoso-

phy calls “dependent origination”: everything that comes into existence
originates dependently upon multitudinous interactions of countless condi-
tions and innumerable causes. The Dalai Lama explains: “There seems,
according to quantum mechanics, to be a startling and profound intercon-
nectedness at the heart of physics.”28 This interconnectedness is such that,
according to Hawkins, “everything is what it is as a consequence of the
entire universe’s being what it is in its totality throughout all of time.”
Indeed, “a speck of dust cannot be where it is positioned without air cur-
rents which require a room, which requires a building, a lot, a continent,
a planet, a solar system, a galaxy, and so on.”29
Thirdly, these invisible attractor fields have different levels of power or
frequency, “parallel and corollary to the high and low energy bonds in the
mathematics of the chemical bond.” The precise “critical factor point” that
marks the line between positive and negative fields is what Hawkins has
called the level of consciousness “Courage.”30 Every mechanism has a ful-
crum point. By knowing the exact critical factor point on a locomotive,
we can stop its motion instantly. Hawkins applies the same principle to
spiritual life and consciousness itself. He uses the human body as the
barometer to measure that critical factor point. As an innate mechanism
of survival, protoplasm responds toward that which positively supports
life (muscles remain strong) and moves away from that which destroys life
(muscles weaken).
One can grasp the intuitive truth of this finding in seconds by calling
to mind being yelled at or disparaged by a parent (body muscles go weak,
adrenaline and stress hormones are activated, pupils dilate, thoughts become
anxious and self-defeating, heart rate speeds up) versus calling to mind
being affirmed in a loving and caring manner (body relaxes, endorphins are
activated, pupils constrict, thoughts become self-accepting and positive).
The Healing Presence of Love

Many people are oriented to life in a positive way, yet few are the mystics
and saints who have perfected unconditional love and goodwill. Simply by
being what they are, which is a state of imperturbable joy, unconditional
love, and ineffable peace, such persons emanate an invisible yet discernible
energy frequency that can have a healing effect on those around them and
the world itself. Similar to other mystics, Hawkins emphasizes the power
of Love. A marker point on the “Map of Consciousness” is the field of
Unconditional Love, attained as a permanent inner state by a very small
percentage of the population, according to Hawkins.31 Of course, many
212 ● Fran Grace
people experience the realms of love and unconditional love throughout life,
but few attain to these levels as a permanent inner state. At this level,
a person is loving all the time, no matter what—in thought, speech, and
action (what Gandhi called the “triple purity”). And the Love is not per-
sonal: “There is a desire to use one’s state of consciousness for the benefit
of life itself rather than for particular individuals.”32 Unconditional Love is
obviously different from romantic love, and wholly devoid of the emotion-
ality and sentimentality popularized in Hollywood depictions of passion
and romance. Unconditional Love never falters, no matter what the other
person does or says. This level of love can also characterize certain group
alignments as well, such as the recent decision of the Amish not only to
forgive the gunman who brutally murdered several Amish school children
but also to offer concrete support to his family.
Hawkins uses the word “Ecstasy” to denote the highest level of love, at
the cusp of the state of nonduality, Peace, Union, and Enlightenment. At
the state of Ecstasy, the saint or mystic is vibrating with intense longing to
unite with the One, the Beloved, and is willing to bear personal suffering
for the benefit of other beings. Padre Pio, Franciscan friar and well-known
modern stigmatist, is a good example of this level of consciousness.
The loving radiance of the advanced mystic, saint, or sage is often pic-
tured as a “halo” and described classically as a “transmission.” Paul Ekman
described the Dalai Lama’s transmission as a “radiance of goodness.” Such
a transmission has long been intuitively known in the history of religions,
noted in the arduous trips undertaken by pilgrims to visit saints and sages,
either in person or as relics. In modern times, hundreds of thousands of
seekers have waited in line to be in an auditorium with, be touched by, or
sit in the presence of His Holiness the Dalai Lama, Mother Teresa,
Mahatma Gandhi, Ramana Maharshi, Padre Pio, and others, including
Hawkins himself. Often the trips are made from across the world, and with
great sacrifice. Over 20,000 people will line up in a stadium simply for the
unusual “darshan” of a hug from the “hugging saint” of India, Amma Mata
Amritanandamayi.33 Certainly in the case of some “gurus,” infamous for
sex and money scandals, the positive experience felt by the seeker is a
product of the seeker’s own imagination or projection.34 However, in the
case of truly realized saints and mystics, there is indeed a powerful
transmission.
The healing power of Unconditional Love is confirmable in the body.
Before I became familiar with Hawkins’ work, I observed the effect of
Mother Teresa’s loving energy field on my students’ physiology when
I showed them the documentary film “Mother Teresa” (directed by Ann and
Jeanette Petrie) during class, and the college students reported, “I feel so
much better”—even those who think she is a “fake.” In one recent case,
a student’s migraine headache went away. This response correlates to the
study conducted by Harvard Medical School professor, Dr. David McClellan,
who discovered through a saliva test that students who watched this docu-
mentary about Mother Teresa experienced enhanced levels of immunoglobin-
A, the body’s first order of defense against flu and cold. Dr. McClellan
named this life-enhancing impact the “Mother Teresa Effect.”35 In the pres-
ence of Unconditional Love, not only does the body emit life-supportive
hormones, but also the muscle response is strong rather than weak, even in
the case of involuntary muscles such as the pupil.36
Scientists are beginning to study the “physics of silent transmission” and
finding ways to measure such frequencies. According to this emerging
research, the true mystic, saint, healer, or sage emanates a “field” of “energy
coherence” so that seekers who enter the mystic’s “energy field” (often called
“aura”) benefit from the healing capacities intrinsic to that energy coher-
ence.37 This physics of transmission helps to explain the testimonies of
healings and “miracles” that have been attributed to the saints and avatars
throughout history.
In her lab at UCLA in the 1980s, for example, Valerie Hunt pioneered
a way to measure the auric frequencies of healers using radio-wave signals.
She was measuring the level of coherence within the energy fields of the
healer and the patient. The high-energy fields of the healers catalyzed a
phenomenon of “coherence” in the auric frequencies of the patients, which
facilitated physical healing. Her research demonstrated that the healing
effect came from the high level of energy coherence in the healer and not
from the treatment modality that was used.38
The Healing Power of Spiritual Practices

Do spiritual practices have a healing effect on the body? Hawkins made a
discovery similar to Hunt: the healing effect of a spiritual practice does not
come from the particular form it takes, but from the intention of the prac-
titioners and the level of coherence and love in the energy field of the
practice. Whereas religionists typically see their particular form of practice
to be superior, Hawkins directs attention beyond particularities of form to
the inner intention of the practice. In applying the Map of Consciousness
to thousands of test groups, over the course of three decades, Hawkins
found that healing spontaneously occurred in the presence of an energy
field of “Unconditional Love.” We have already seen how this applies to
being in the presence of holy people, saints, mystics, and sages. But there
is a further application: we can put ourselves in the presence of healing
214 ● Fran Grace
energy simply by being in places and doing things that radiate an energy
that is unconditionally loving, joyful, peaceful, and devoted.
For example, Hawkins found that most spiritual practices—done with
sincerity and devotion—have a healing effect on the body and mind. This
is true for the Native American sweat lodge, Tibetan prayer wheel, Christian
labyrinth walking, Hindu ritual bathing in the Ganges, Jewish prayers at
the Wailing Wall, chanting OM, and most other commonly known spiri-
tual practices. The form is not fundamentally important. Rather the healing
effect comes from the energy field of loving devotion, an energy field that
has often been honed by centuries of practice by devotees. Moreover, certain
places, writings, and pieces of art and music radiate a healing energy field
which has a beneficial effect on the body, for example: Stonehenge, Chartres
Cathedral, Tibetan stupas, the Bhagavad Gita, the Psalms, the Heart Sutra,
the Declaration of Independence, Mozart, Louis Armstrong, “Ave Maria,”
Rembrandt, etc.
Hawkins found that healing and health are activated as soon as a person
or energy field crosses over the “critical factor point” of integrity and hon-
esty, which is the level of consciousness called Courage on the Map of
Consciousness. One enters a healing energy field simply by stating the
truth. For example, the person who suffers from alcoholism or drug addic-
tion immediately shifts the valence of their energy field when they tell the
truth: “I have a problem.” They have moved beyond shame, denial, pride,
and fear; stating the truth now invites in supportive energies that will help
to overcome the problem.
At the level of Courage, according to Hawkins, there is a basic commit-
ment to integrity. The kundalini (“life energy”) begins to move throughout
the acupuncture-meridian system to support health. This energy also begins
to alter the brain so that negative external stimuli are processed through the
amygdale (emotional center) with lesser speed, leading to more even-
tempered responses. The neuro-hormonal response is anabolic, releasing
endorphins rather than stress hormones throughout the system, and releas-
ing oxytocin and vesopressin to the amygdale in particular, a neurochemis-
try that fosters maternal instincts, paternal caring, and bonding.39 As one’s
level of consciousness increases, the “kundalini” energy grows stronger,
magnifies intellectual and creative capacities, and eventually, in crossing
over into the level of Love, it becomes physically detectable by actual sensa-
tion (the energy is felt moving through the acupuncture-meridian lines).
Finally, in the higher levels of Love (Joy, Healing, Unconditional Love,
Ecstasy), the energy has a spontaneously healing effect on those who inter-
act with it. This explains, Hawkins says, the thousands of claims throughout
history of “miraculous” healings that occur in the presence of “saints” (e.g.,
Yogananda, Padre Pio) and the witnessing of seemingly “paranormal” or

“psychic” events, sometimes called siddhis (e.g., distance viewing, bilocation,
clairvoyance, clairaudience, psychometry, telepathy, etc.).40 Such occurrences
are not “supernatural” or mysterious. They are transmissions of healing
energy through the conduits that can handle that level of “voltage,” like a
step-down transformer.
Although harmonious with previous analyses of kundalini energy,41
Hawkins’ work stands out in the literature on kundalini for his relation of
the kundalini process to healing. He gives several accounts not only of the
healing effect the energy had on his own physicality but also on patients,
colleagues, and even strangers unknown to him. He is very emphatic that
whatever healing occurred, it came from the impersonal “field” and not his
personal self; there is no “person,” “doer,” or “decider” of such “miracles.”
He has observed people heal from a variety of physical and mental distur-
bances in his presence, but he says he is simply a witness of the occurrences
rather than the catalyst:
The spiritual energy brings about spontaneous healings of bodily ailments

that may well have been chronic and intractable. This phenomenon also
occurs to various persons who come within the province of the field in an
unpredictable fashion. There appears to be a karmic ripeness associated with
these healing phenomena that again occur spontaneously and independently
of any volition.42
This observation is not different from what the Dalai Lama told Paul
Ekman when the latter recounted his healing experience. As expected, the
Dalai Lama’s response to Ekman’s queries about the reasons for the healing
focused on the “the karmic factor” rather than anything related to his own
“radiance of goodness.”43 Mystics such as the Dalai Lama and Hawkins
deflect attributions of any personal role in healing events. They seem to be
aware that they, like the step-down transformer for electric voltage, are
simply conduits of an energy that is spontaneously coming through them
to those around them whose circumstances are propitious for a healing
event. The healings are not “willed” by the mystic, but the mystic is the
vehicle for them.
According to Hawkins’ work, every person can cultivate this capacity
for healing. We do this by: (1) telling the truth and living with integrity;
(2) exposing ourselves to positive energy fields (e.g., spiritual practices,
uplifting music and art, caring and loving people and animals, inspiring
literature, nature, expressions of gratitude); (3) avoiding negative energy
fields. Integrating the work of John Diamond, M.D., and other applied
216 ● Fran Grace
kinesiologists, Hawkins makes use of the muscle-testing technique to

demonstrate how the body itself “knows” when it is in the presence of a
life-enhancing influence or one that is life-enervating. For example, test
subjects typically go “weak” when looking at fluorescent lights, tasting arti-
ficial sweetener, or looking at a picture of Hitler. Apparently, these objects
are negative energy fields. On the contrary, all test subjects remain “strong”
when holding organic produce, listening to the Beatles or Mozart, or watch-
ing a movie with a positive message (e.g., “Titanic” or “It’s a Wonderful
Life”).44
The thrust of Hawkins’ work is to help people cultivate a “healing”
energy field, an inner process that corresponds to the classical path of the
mystic. In contrast to the teachings of certain religions that require a special
ordination or initiation, his teachings imply the democratization of spiritual
evolution: that every person is able to emanate a healing energy field, begin-
ning with the simple intention to be kind: “Be kind to everything and
everyone, including oneself, all the time, with no exception.”45
Other mystics and spiritual teachers have emphasized the cultivation of
inner peace as the only real solution to collective conflicts such as war:
“Inner disarmament first, then outer disarmament” (The Dalai Lama), “Be
the change you want to see in the world” (Gandhi), “Love your neighbor
as yourself ” (Jesus). The implication is clear. Because we are all part of the
whole, when we heal something in ourselves, we heal it for the world. Each
individual consciousness is connected to the collective consciousness at the
energetic level; therefore, personal healing emerges collective healing.
Hawkins is the first to attempt to understand this principle in light of sci-
entific and clinical applications. His work corresponds to recent findings
that suggest a positive link between a forgiving attitude and reversal of
cancer, as well as a link between meditation and recovery of physical illness
and emotional disorders.46
The crucial point is: by changing ourselves, we change the world. As we
become more loving on the inside, healing occurs on the outside. Much
like the rising of the sea level lifts all ships, so the radiance of unconditional
love within a human heart lifts all humanity.
Notes
1. Louis Sahagun, “The Dalai Lama Has It, But What Is ‘It’?” Los Angeles Times,
December 9, 2006.
2. Paul Ekman, Emotional Awareness: A Conversation Between the Dalai Lama and
Paul Ekman, Ph.D. (New York: Henry Holt, 2008), 231–33.
3. “Voyage to Betterment,” (Toronto: Zenout Media, 2010). http://www.voyage

tobetterment.com/aboutthefilm.php (accessed December 8, 2009).
4. Author’s interview with Dr. Jin-Hee Moon (former assistant to the Dalai Lama
and, recently, the founding teacher of Korea Institute for Spiritual Learning in
S. Korea), December 7, 2008.
5. Other scholar-practitioners have been guides for me in the effort to interact
directly with a living mystic and spiritual teacher, including: Harold Coward,
who organized the Calgary Conference on Mysticism, reported in Mystics and
Scholars, ed. Harold Coward and Terence Penelhum (SR Supplements 3, 1976);
Robert Thurman’s work on his teacher, the Dalai Lama, recently presented in
Why The Dalai Lama Matters (New York: Atria Books, 2008); Richard Mann’s
Light of Consciousness (Albany: SUNY Press, 1984) in which he examines the
inner experience of his teacher, Swami Muktananda.
6. David R. Hawkins, Discovery of the Presence of God (Sedona: Veritas Publishing,
2006), 19–24.
7. Ibid., 236–37.
8. Hawkins mentions many of his health-related autobiographical details in an
audio presentation titled “Giving Up Illness” in the 1980s, available from
Veritas Publishing.
9. David R. Hawkins, I: Reality and Subjectivity (Sedona: Veritas Publishing,
2001), xx–xxi.
10. For the specific attributes of “mystic experience,” which seem to fit Bolte-
Taylor’s event well, see Jordan Paper, The Mystic Experience: A Descriptive and
Comparative Analysis (Albany: SUNY Press, 2004), 3–5.
11. Jill Bolte-Taylor, My Stroke of Insight: A Brain Scientist’s Personal Journey
(New York: Viking Press, 2008), Chapters 4–5; “Interviews: Parts I–IV” with
Oprah Winfrey, Soul Series, May 2008.
12. Her experiential account confirms previous research. Neuroscientist Andrew
Newberg et al. found that the brain images of psychotic or delusional episodes
differ significantly from those of contemplatives having a mystical experience.
See Why God Won’t Go Away: Brain Science and the Biology of Belief (New York:
Ballantine, 2005).
13. Interview with David R. Hawkins by Yun Kyung Huh from Korea, September
1996, Transcript in Dialogues on Consciousness and Spirituality (Sedona: Veritas
Publishing, 1997), 33–34.
14. Interview with Yun Kyung, Huh, 12, 37.
15. Hawkins, personal interview with the author, October 15, 2010.
16. David Hawkins and Linus Pauling, eds., Orthomolecular Psychiatry: Treatment
of Schizophrenia (New York: W. H. Freeman, 1973), xix, 571–673.
17. Hawkins, personal interview with the author, May 8, 2008.
18. Hawkins, I: Reality and Subjectivity, xxiv.
19. David R. Hawkins, Annual Landberg Lecture, UCSF Health Sciences Center,
April 25, 1997, in Dialogues on Consciousness and Spirituality (Sedona: Veritas
Publishing, 1997).
218 ● Fran Grace
20. Personal interview with the author, December 26, 2010.

21. David R. Hawkins, Letter to Linus Pauling, 5 November 1987, Hawkins-
Pauling Correspondence, Folder 1973b.2. Ava Helen and Linus Pauling Papers,
Oregon State University.
22. Hawkins, Eye of the I, 257.
23. Hawkins, Discovery of the Presence of God, 24.
24. Hawkins, Eye of the I, 210.
25. Recent explications of progressive spiritual development: Huston Smith,
“Appendix: A Universal Grammar of Worldviews,” in Tales of Wonder: Adventures
Chasing the Divine (San Francisco: Harper One, 2009), 189–96; Seyyed
Hossein Nasr, “In the Beginning Was Consciousness,” The Essential Seyyed
Hossein Nasr, ed. William C. Chittick (Bloomington: World Wisdom, 2007),
229.
26. P. C. W. Davies and J. R. Brown, eds., The Ghost in the Atom (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press [1986], 1999); Matthieu Ricard and Trinh Xuan
Thuan, The Quantum and the Lotus (New York: Three Rivers Press, 2001).
27. David Bohm, Wholeness and the Implicate Order (New York: Routledge, 1980).
An excellent biography that discusses Bohm’s interest in mysticism and signifi-
cant relationship with Krishnamurti is F. David Peat, Infinite Potential: The Life
and Times of David Bohm (Cambridge, MA: Perseus, 1997). See also the recent
work of physicist Efthimios Harokopos who postulates a new law of motion
based on “power” to replace the old one based on “force”: “Power as the Cause
of Motion and a New Foundation of Classical Mechanics,” Progress in Physics
(July 2005), Vol. 2, 82–91.
28. The Dalai Lama, The Universe in a Single Atom: The Convergence of Science and
Spirituality (New York: Morgan Road Books, 2005), 65.
29. Hawkins, Eye of the I, 108, 183.
30. Hawkins, Power vs. Force, 45–48.
31. Hawkins, Transcending the Levels of Consciousness, 239.
32. Ibid., 256.
33. See the documentary “Darshan: The Embrace” (IFC Films, 2006), directed by
Jan Kuonen.
34. The existence of such “false” gurus raises the importance of how to discern truth
from falsehood, the fake from the real. The discernment of truth from falsity
is another application of the Map of Consciousness developed by Hawkins.
One of the foundations of the Map is that the human body itself registers a
measurably different effect when in the presence of “high energy” truth than
“negative energy” falsity—despite what the conscious mind believes at the time.
So, for example, I might hold a belief in my rational mind or emotional self
that a guru is genuine, yet my body will go completely weak in a muscle-test,
the pupil will dilate, and several body responses will occur that indicate I am
in the presence of negativity and falsity. While not a new idea (the lie detector
test has been around a while), Hawkins has refined physiological response as a
tool of “consciousness research” for spiritual seekers who want to know whether
their favorite guru is “the real McCoy” or a “wolf in sheep’s clothing.” See
Hawkins, Power vs. Force, for a fuller explanation.
35. David C. McClelland, “Some Reflections on the Two Psychologies of Love,”
Journal of Personality 54:2 (1986): 334–53.
36. Carol Davis, M.D., “The Pupillary Response,” unpublished paper, 2007.
37. Russell Targ and Jane Katra, “Close to Grace: The Physics of Silent Mind.”
Spirituality and Health (July/August 2003), http://www.spiritualityhealth.com/
spirit/archives/close-grace-physics-silent-transmission (accessed December 8,
2009).
38. Valerie Hunt. Infinite Mind: Science of the Human Vibrations of Consciousness
(Malibu, CA: Publishing Company, [1989], 1996).
39. Hawkin’s theory of brain changes corresponds well to some of the recent find-
ings by neuroscientists and cognitive psychologists. See, for example, A. Lutz
et al., “Long-Term Meditators Self-Induce High Amplitude Gamma Synchrony
during Mental Practice,” Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 101
(2004): 16369–73; Sarah Lazar et al, “Functional Brain Mapping of the
Relaxation Response and Meditation,” Neuroreport (May 15, 2000): 1–5;
Richard Davidson, “Towards a Biology of Positive Affect and Compassion,” in
Visions of Compassion, ed. Richard Davidson and Anne Harrington (New York:
Oxford University Press, 2002),107–30; Wolf Singer, “Link Between Meditation
and the Synchronization of Oscillatory Activity in Cerebral Cortex” (paper
presented at the Science and Clinical Applications of Meditation, Washington,
D.C., 2005).
40. David R. Hawkins, “Physiology of Truth,” in Truth Vs. Falsehood (Sedona:
Veritas Publishing, 2005), 51–72.
41. Lee Sanella, The Kundalini Experience: Psychosis or Transcendence? (Lower Lake,
CA: Integral Publishing, [1987], 1992); Gopi Krishna, Kundalini: The
Evolutionary Energy in Man (Boston: Shambhala, 1997); ibid., Higher
Consciousness and Kundalini (Kundalini Research Foundation LTD, 1974).
42. Hawkins, Truth vs. Falsehood, 70–71.
43. Ekman, Emotional Awareness, 232.
44. John Diamond, M.D., Your Body Doesn’t Lie (New York: Warner Books,
1979).
45. Hawkins, Transcending Levels of Consciousness, 333.
46. For example, Anna Tacon, “Meditation as a Complementary Therapy in
Cancer,” Family and Community Health 26:1 (January–March 2003): 64–74;
Jon Kabat-Zinn, “Mindfulness-Based Interventions in Context: Past, Present,
Future,” Clinical Psychology: Science and Practice 10:2 (Summer 2003): 144–56;
James Austin, Zen-Brain Reflections: Reviewing Recent Developments in Meditation
and States of Consciousness, (Cambridge: MIT, 2006); “The Science and Clinical
Applications of Meditation” hosted by the Johns Hopkins School of Medicine,
Georgetown University, and Mind and Life Institute (presentations on DVD,
2005); Sharon Begley, Train Your Mind, Change Your Brain (New York:
Ballantine, 2007).
220 ● Fran Grace
Bibliography
Austin, James. Zen-Brain Reflections: Reviewing Recent Developments in Meditation
and States of Consciousness. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2006.
Begley, Sharon. Train Your Mind, Change Your Brain. New York: Ballantine, 2007.
Bohm, David. Wholeness and the Implicate Order. New York: Routledge, 1980.
Coward, Harold, and Terence Penelhum, eds. Mystics and Scholars. Atlanta: SR
Supplements, 1976.
Diamond, John. Your Body Doesn’t Lie. New York: Warner Books, 1979.
The Dalai Lama. The Universe in a Single Atom: The Convergence of Science and
Spirituality. New York: Morgan Road Books, 2005.
Davidson, Richard. “Towards a Biology of Positive Affect and Compassion.” In
Visions of Compassion, edited by Richard Davidson and Anne Harrington,
107–30. New York: Oxford University Press, 2002.
Davies, P. C. W., and J. R. Brown. The Ghost in the Atom. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, [1986], 1999.
Ekman, Paul. Emotional Awareness: A Conversation Between the Dalai Lama and Paul
Ekman, Ph.D. New York: Henry Holt, 2008.
Harokopos, Efthimios. “Power as the Cause of Motion and a New Foundation of
Classical Mechanics.” Progress in Physics 2 (July 2005): 82–91.
Hawkins, David R. Personal Interviews with the Author. May 8, 2008, October 15,
2010.
———. Transcending the Levels of Consciousness: The Stairway to Enlightenment.
Sedona: Veritas Publishing, 2006.
———. Discovery of the Presence of God: Devotional Nonduality. Sedona: Veritas
Publishing, 2006.
———. I: Reality and Subjectivity. Sedona: Veritas Publishing, 2003.
———. The Eye of the I. Sedona: Veritas Publishing, 2001.
———. Interview with Yun Kyung Huh of Dahn Meditation Center, Korea.
September 1996. Transcript in Dialogues on Consciousness and Spirituality.
———. Landberg Lecture. University of California San Francisco Health Sciences
and School of Medicine. Transcript in Dialogues on Consciousness and Spirituality.
———. Power Vs. Force: The Hidden Determinants of Human Behavior. Sedona:
Veritas Publishing, 1995.
———. With Linus Pauling, eds. Orthomolecular Psychiatry: Treatment of
Schizophrenia. New York: W. H. Freeman and Company, 1973.
———. Correspondence with Linus Pauling. Folders 152.8, 1973b.2 of the Ava
Helen and Linus Pauling Papers, Oregon State University.
———. “Giving Up Illness” and “Death and Dying” lectures. No date. Available
in audio from Veritas Publishing.
Hunt, Valerie. Infinite Mind: Science of the Human Vibrations of Consciousness.
Malibu, CA: Malibu Publishing Company, [1989], 1996.
Kabat-Zinn, Jon. “Mindfulness-Based Interventions in Context: Past, Present,

Future.” Clinical Psychology: Science and Practice 10:2 (Summer 2003):
144–56.
Krishna, Gopi. Kundalini: The Evolutionary Energy in Man. Boston: Shambhala,
1997.
Lawrence, Brother. Practice of the Presence of God and the Spiritual Maxims. Revell,
1967.
Lazar, Sara W., George Bush, Randy L. Gollub, Gregory Fricchione, Gurucharan
Khalso, and Herbert Benson “Functional Brain Mapping of the Relaxation
Response and Meditation.” Neuroreport (May 15, 2000): 1–5.
Lutz, Antoine, Lawrence L. Greischar, Nancy B. Rawlings, Matthieu Ricard, and
Richard J. Davidson “Long-Term Meditators Self-Induce High Amplitude
Gamma Synchrony during Mental Practice.” Proceedings of the National Academy
of Sciences 101 (2004): 16369–73.
Mann, Richard. Light of Consciousness. Albany: SUNY Press, 1984.
McClelland, David C. “Some Reflections on the Two Psychologies of Love.” Journal
of Personality 54:2 (1986): 334–53.
Nasr, Seyyed Hossein. “In the Beginning Was Consciousness.” In The Essential
Seyyed Hossein Nasr, edited by William C. Chittick, 221–35. Bloomington, IN:
World Wisdom, 2007.
Newberg, Andrew, Eugene D’Aquili, and Vince Rause Why God Won’t Go Away:
Brain Science and the Biology of Belief. New York: Ballantine, 2005.
Paper, Jordan. The Mystic Experience: A Descriptive and Comparative Analysis.
Albany: State University of New York Press, 2004.
Sahagun, Louis. “The Dalai Lama Has It, But What Is ‘It’?” Los Angeles Times,
December 9, 2006.
Sanella, Lee. The Kundalini Experience: Psychosis or Transcendence? Lower Lake, CA:
Integral Publishing, 1992.
Singer, Wolf. “Link Between Meditation and the Synchronization of Oscillatory
Activity in Cerebral Cortex.” Paper presented at the Science and Clinical
Applications of Meditation, Washington, D.C., 2005.
Smith, Huston. Tales of Wonder: Adventures Chasing the Divine. San Francisco:
Harper One, 2009.
Tacon, Anna. “Meditation as a Complementary Therapy in Cancer.” Family and
Community Health 26:1 (January–March 2003): 64–74.
Targ, Russell, and Jane Katra. “Close to Grace: The Physics of Silent Mind.”
Spirituality and Health. July/August (2003), http://www.spiritualityhealth.com/
spirit/archives/close-grace-physics-silent-transmission (accessed December 8,
2009).
Taylor, Jill Bolte. My Stroke of Insight: A Brain Scientist’s Personal Journey. New York:
Viking Press, 2008.
———. “Interviews: Parts 1- IV” with Oprah Winfrey. Soul Series. May 2008.
Thurman, Robert. Why The Dalai Lama Matters. New York: Atria Books, 2008.
CONCLUSION
The Virtues of Sensuality

Thomas Cattoi
A
t the end of this collection of articles, one should pause to consider
the significance of the ongoing interest in the spiritual senses for the
discipline of religious studies and theology. In recent years, the
notion of embodied spirituality has attracted the growing attention of theo-
logians and scholars of religion, possibly as a reflection of deeper social trends
that increasingly see the body as a pivot of consumerist self-gratification or
as a locus of scientific—medical, biological, psychological—experimentation.
These different tendencies, while operating under a whole variety of assump-
tions, share a tendency to commodify the human body, and, paradoxically,
to strip it of any claim to uniqueness. Turned into one object among many,
beautified, transformed or mutilated at will, the surgically enhanced body
reveals the human resentment toward death by seeking to conceal the aging
process. One seeks refuge in identifying the self with a mind that is less
clearly vulnerable, and deploys every strategy of resistance to protest the
inevitable slippage toward dissolution.1
Bereft of a theological or philosophical interpretation, illness and mortal-
ity become the ultimate paradigm of embarrassment, as they uncover the
appalling truth that one is, after all, one’s own body. The most sophisticated
analyses of the body as a social construct, or as a symbolic system that
channels individual identity, melt like snow in the sun as one is forced to
face the body’s biological rootedness in the impersonal world of nature,
which mocks the claims to absolute control cherished by the Cartesian ego.
As the Narrator of Remembrance of Things Past comments when confronted
by his grandmother’s death, one tends to view the body as a lodger to whom
one gives sustenance, only to discover that the body is actually one’s land-
lord, who, on a day of his choice, will evict us for good, and sometimes

224 ● Thomas Cattoi
without notice. In Proust’s own words, “[W]e each carry our own death
within us, and we feel when it is there”.2
When confronting the human body, contemporary scholars of theology
or religious studies who operate within the context of Western societies find
themselves confronted by a two-fold approach to embodiment and sensual-
ity, one alluring and enticing, the other menacing and merciless. On one
hand, the body promises access to the consumerist paradises of endless
consumption. On the other hand, the very same body threatens exile into
the fallen world of suffering and death. Ascetic practices of fasting and self-
denial are no longer geared toward self-transcendence, nor do they attest
the intention to practice a spiritualizing flight toward a supernatural realm,
but rather promise an extension, or a deferred intensification of the same
material pleasures. All of this unfolds within a self-enclosed horizon, where
one can no longer see beyond material gratification.
Within the terms of this dichotomy, the body is either a source of pleasure,
or alternatively a locus of pain and suffering. What becomes difficult to sus-
tain is the claim that the body—as opposed to the mind, or the soul—can
itself be the locus of spiritual practice, or indeed, that it could become the
portal for knowledge of ultimate reality. Within the Christian tradition, for
instance, the body was problematized from the very inception as a locus of
temptation that had to be subject to harsh discipline. The strenuous penances
of Indian sādhus and the path of monastic renunciation codified by the
Buddhist vinayas attest the same perceived need to discipline the body and
restrained it within certain boundaries. And yet, within each tradition, suspi-
cion toward the embodied condition was always tempered by the awareness
that the incarnation of the Son of God in the person of Christ, the descents
of the Hindu deities in the form of avatars, and the manifestations of the
different Buddhas and bodhisattvas throughout history, had necessitated the
vehicle of a human body. In the Christian case, this body had not even been
exempted from the most harrowing of deaths. In each of these religious cul-
tures, the body of the individual practitioner is called to become a mirror of
the virtues that are embodied in the founder of the respective tradition, or in
some specifically hallowed teaching. In this perspective, the body can acquire
a third possible significance beyond its role as a source of pleasure and pain,
and become the springboard for spiritual progress and ultimately knowledge
of what different traditions would call either ultimate reality—or the divine.
If this is the case, the whole panoply of sensory perception—taste, sight,
smell, touch, hearing—is involved in this process of spiritual transformation
and becomes a channel of divine knowledge.
Among other things, this collection of articles shows how the Christian
mystical tradition, as well as the traditions of the East, have preserved
The Virtues of Sensuality ● 225
(if sometimes only implicitly) the notion that the whole psycho-physical
makeup of the individual plays a central role in his or her own spiritual
life, expanding the boundaries of cognition beyond the merely deductive or
intuitive. The growing popularity and acceptance of this notion is indicated
by the last articles in the collection, which show how the paradigm of the
spiritual senses and embodied spirituality is now being deployed in contem-
porary American discourse on “spirituality,” even without any explicit com-
mitment or reference to particular religious traditions. The virtues of
sensuality are finally being rediscovered.
A fundamental question ought to be raised at this point. How is it that
Western culture, so deeply shaped by Christianity, has been able to let go
of the notion of the spiritual senses for so long and with such apparent ease,
and how is it that the notion is now experiencing a comeback? I would
argue that there are two reasons for this, both of which emerge in different
ways in the articles of this volume. One reflects the fluctuations in the
construction of subjectivity that characterized Western European philoso-
phy in the wake of Descartes, and the other follows the encounter of
Western—European and North American—culture with the religions and
cultures of Asia. Let us spend a few words on each of these two themes,
noting how the legacy of Kantian philosophy contributed to the marginal-
ization of the teaching of the spiritual senses, and how Asian traditions such
as many currents of Mahāyāna Buddhism, on the contrary, preserved a
strong belief in the spiritual potential of our bodily faculties.
How the Christian tradition would finally articulate its understanding
of the body in the context of spiritual practice—or in other words, how a
specifically Christian tradition of asceticism would displace, and eventually
replace, the classical tradition of self-mastery (enkrateia)—was the result of
a protracted struggle between opposing views of the relationship between
individual identity and embodiment. This struggle between the tendency
to identify the individual with her noetic, intellectual dimension, and the
readiness to view the subject as having a spiritual as well as a bodily com-
ponent, is illustrated by the presence during the first centuries of the church
of widely divergent approaches to spiritual practice. The struggle between
these two distinct visions, the victory of the more incarnational approach,
and the eventual marginalization of the latter until its contemporary redis-
covery mirror the importance ascribed to the notion of the spiritual senses
in the context of practice. Let us consider two important figures of the early
Christian period: Evagrios Pontikos (345–399) and Maximos the Confessor
(580–662).
Evagrios’ vision of the spiritual life is characterized by a deep mistrust
for the world of matter, which entangles the monk in its snares like a bird
caught in a trap, and thwarts his efforts to ascend to God. The One
Hundred and Fifty-Three Texts envisages the way of prayer as comprising the
practice of the virtues and contemplation; the soul is purified through
the keeping of the commandments, thereby making the intellect (nous)
“steadfast and able to receive the state needed for prayer.” In the same way
that Moses had to loosen his sandals from his feet to approach the burning
bush, so did the monastic wishing to commune with God have to let go of
all sense-perception and concept, so as to free himself from every impas-
sioned thought. The practice of the virtues enable one to engage ordinary
reality with detachment, but even the condition of apatheia is not the cul-
mination of spiritual progress, because the dispassionate soul may still be
occupied by the contemplation of the created world. The ultimate goal is
to let go of the multiplicity of the created order, so as to ascend to the
undivided divine reality.
It is clear that in such a vision there is no room for a developed teaching
of the spiritual senses, since the goal of the spiritual life is merely to tran-
scend the created order that is grounded in the realm of multiplicity.
Evagrios warns his audience that “the immaterial ought to be approached
in an immaterial manner.” Whenever one tries to pray, one should be on
one’s guard against “the tricks of the demons,” who bring up before the eyes
of your mind “some strange and alien form, making you imagine in your
conceit that the Deity is there.”3
A more Christocentric approach to spiritual practice would of course
object that according to the Christian tradition, in these “last times” God
has freely chosen to assume a human body, and so God now has quantity
and form. If the individual exists from the very beginning as a unity of
body and soul—a unity that is broken by death, but that, according to the
Christian scriptures, will be restored at the end of time—this suggests that
the body and the senses, with all their attendant passions, cannot be con-
sidered obstacles, but rather tools to facilitate one’s ascent to the divine.
This is what we find in the teachings of Maximos the Confessor, where
those individuals who have come after Christ and have conformed their life
to his example are compared to “most transparent mirrors” (eidōla ), as they
possess the very pattern (morphē) of the divine Logos.4 For Maximos, the
senses of touch, of sight, of hearing, even smell and taste are not burdens
that we are to shed to return to an undifferentiated, purely intellectual
unity; rather, they are gifts that we must train so that they may lead us to
discover the divine. Apatheia is not incompatible with a continued “move-
ment” of the passions, but actually presupposes it. A text known as Amb.
38, referring to an apocryphal account of the holy family’s flight into Egypt
to escape the persecution of Herod, tells us that the divine Logos “tramples”
upon “the motions and passions of the flesh” and grants us apatheia as a
reward for “fleeing with him.” Later on, after this initial struggle is over,
the practice of the virtues will guide us back from Egypt to “the Judea of
the virtues,” introducing us to the depths of Christ’s mystery.5 As a result,
one’s own sensory perceptions become channels of the divine reality, accom-
plishing an ontological transformation in the individual that simultaneously
preserves their original ontological makeup. This teaching of theōsis , or
deification, has continued to play a major role in the theology and spiritual-
ity of the Eastern churches until the present.
The reason why the notion of deification, and its more embodied
approach to spirituality eventually faded away from the religious horizon of
Western modernity, is largely due to a shift in the understanding of subjec-
tivity whereby the passions (pathē ) that Evagrios and Maximos posited in
the lower levels of the soul are increasingly located in the body. The ten-
dency of scholastic theology to identify the soul with the mind, in sharp
contrast with the more integrated Platonic vision, would find its paradoxical
culmination in the Cartesian dichotomy between the intellectual realm (res
cogitans) and the sensory realm (res extensa).6 In the third of his Meditations
on First Philosophy, the French philosopher René Descartes (1596–1650)
argues that all ideas belong to one of three categories: innate (coming
directly from God), adventitious (based on our experience of the world), or
factual (invented by our own imagination). As the source of an idea must
have at least as much formal reality as the idea has objective reality, and the
notion of God has infinite objective reality, neither the human mind nor
the created order are able to develop the notion of God, since neither of
them is invested with infinite formal reality. Therefore, Descartes argues,
since we all have a “clear and distinct” idea of God, and this idea, like all
other ideas, must have a cause of its own, God must necessarily exist. The
God of Descartes could not possibly be perceived by the senses, as the
senses can only come to know created reality. Rather, God is the object of
a direct and unmediated intuition.7
The argument is developed further in the Fourth Meditation, where
Descartes tackles the question of how human beings can still make mistakes
if, as he maintains, God is the ultimate source of all knowledge. Descartes’
answer is that God did not invest humanity with the faculty to make mis-
takes, but He did provide every individual with a free will, which cooperates
with the intellect in the formulation of judgments about reality. Thus, when-
ever our understanding of a certain aspect of reality is insufficiently “clear
and distinct,” and yet we choose to pass a judgment about it, the mistaken
result reflects an inappropriate use of free will. Descartes is adamant in stress-
ing that all our errors of judgment are our own responsibility, and there are
no errors that may be traced to God’s own intention. Whenever our

understanding is clear and distinct, however, our assent to the ideas that
present themselves to our mind is a necessary consequence of the cognitive
faculties of our intellect, and no mistake is possible at all.8
If one applies this reasoning to the knowledge of God, the consequences
are obvious. God has implanted in our mind the notion of His existence,
and we are bound to assent to it, certain that this idea is free from all error.
If one were to try to develop a notion of God on the basis of the body and
the senses, thereby relying on the information coming from the external
world, one would necessarily incur into error, as the resulting notion would
not rest on divine assurance. Clearly, there can be no “spiritual senses” giv-
ing us any information about the divine. The self, securely entrenched in
the intellect, comes to know the world by way of a panoply of “clear and
distinct ideas,” which of course include the notion of God. It is thus no
surprise if “spirituality” becomes a flight into interiority, allowing one to
escape from the messiness of the material world in a search for more and
more recherché “inner states.”
The Cartesian understanding of subjectivity and cognition leaves no
room for the spiritual senses. Nevertheless, the real coup de grace that
would metamorphose them into “vestigial organs,” as June McDaniel says
in the introduction to this volume, was the distinction between pure reason
and practical reason in the writings of the German philosopher Immanuel
Kant (1724–1804). For Kant, pure or theoretical reason is concerned with
finding the causes of natural events, whereas practical or applied reason
addresses ethical or religious issues. Kant does not challenge the contention
that all knowledge of the natural order is grounded in sensory perception,
and is convinced that on the basis of the latter, pure reason can discern the
universal laws that sustain the cosmos. Our knowledge, however, cannot go
beyond our experience, or rather, beyond the ideas and concepts that pure
reason develops on the basis of this experience. The problem is that those
individuals who claim to have a direct experience of the divine are claiming
to have knowledge of a reality that is beyond sensory experience. In his
Critique of Pure Reason, Kant claims that pure reason cannot offer any
knowledge of God, and that in fact “all efforts to deploy reason in theology
in any theoretical manner”—which would entail reflection on sensory
data—“are altogether fruitless.” Using pure reason in the study of nature
cannot lead to any theological insight.9
Of course, Kant does not wish to say that God is utterly unknowable,
but while our senses are unable to give us any information about the divine
reality, God may be accessed by way of reason whenever the latter is applied
to the study of morals. Against the background of the distinction between
the phenomenal realm (open to experience) and the noumenal realm (open
merely to intuition), notions such as the immortality of the soul, the exis-
tence of pure spirits, or divine omniscience come under the purview of the
latter, and may only be accessed by practical reason. In this perspective, the
notion of God may be speculatively or theoretically empty, since it is
beyond the reach of experience, but it is not cognitively empty, since our
moral intuition can fill the vacuum left by pure reason, and sustain human
faith in God’s existence. As noted by Allen Wood in his study of Kant’s
rational theology, the resulting notion of God can no longer serve as a
vehicle of empirical knowledge; in fact, there is very little that one may say
about the divine attributes at all. In Wood’s words, “[A]ll the properties of
which we can form any determinate conception are phenomenal realities,
which are necessarily limited in their degree,” whereas, “we have no
acquaintance with any of the realitates nooumena which lie behind these
appearances.”10 There is certainly no way that our sensory apparatus can
reach any knowledge of the divine; the ancient cathedrals of theologia glo-
riae, where the universe reflected the glory of God, and a perfect congru-
ence existed between the natural and the moral orders, have crumbled at
the stroke of Kant’s very pen.
Can there be a theology after Kant? As this volume shows, contemporary
scholarship in the field of religion has grown impatient with philosophical
and theological approaches that radically sever the divine from the sensory
realm, and has rediscovered the inextricably embodied dimension of prac-
tice. This rediscovery of “the body” in theology would come from the ser-
endipitous confluence of a number of different phenomena, both of which
have greatly helped in the retrieval of the earlier tradition. The Heideggerian
deconstruction of Cartesian subjectivity and the existentialist challenge to
the dichotomy between res cogitans and res extensa—such as the worldview
expounded by Merleau-Ponty in his Phenomenology of Perception—have
helped to subvert the Kantian distinction between pure reason and practical
reason, offering a new integrated vision of the subject. Around the mid-
twentieth century, Roman Catholic theology also turned once more to the
writings of the Eastern Church Fathers, finding there an alternative to the
often-barren Scholasticism that was taught in Catholic seminaries. Within
the broader world of scholarship in religious studies, however, a major role
was played by the second of the two themes mentioned at the outset,
namely the “discovery” of Eastern religions in the West, and the ever grow-
ing popularity of practices such as yoga and meditation, which in itself
could be seen as a reaction to the dichotomy between the bodily and the
spiritual—which, for understandable historical reasons, had come to be seen
as a staple characteristic of Christianity.
It would of course be a typical Orientalist error to see “in the East” all
that is lacking in our tradition, but if one were to turn for instance to cer-
tain traditions in Mahāyāna Buddhism—to choose one among the many
Asian traditions—one can find a fully developed theory of the spiritual
senses, albeit one that does not explicitly make use of this term. This
emerges clearly if we consider the divide between the Theravada and the
Mahāyāna tradition (or in other words, between the School of the Elders
and the Great Vehicle), which in many ways mirrors the tension between
the writings of Evagrios and the vision of Maximos the Confessor.
Theravada Buddhism emphasizes how our ordinary existence is inescapably
characterized by imperfection, dissatisfaction, and impermanence. In this
perspective, the goal of spiritual practice is to ensure that the causes and
the conditions that maintain this situation are removed, and thereby sam-
sara gives way to nirvāna . The purpose of attaining conceptual realization
in Theravada is to grasp that there is no such thing as a self, but rather the
self is nothing but a series of impersonal, momentary events (dharmas), even
if what we ordinarily call “ego” continues to manifest itself through the
feelings and perceptions that accompany each moment of experience. In
general, the attitude toward our shared embodied condition is colored by
pessimism and disparagement: the ideal practitioner is the monastic who
flees the world and subjects the body to a strict discipline so as to break
the dominion of the senses.
Mahāyāna Buddhism comprises a whole variety of schools of thought,
some of which—like Pure Land Buddhism—emphasize devotional practices
over philosophical speculation. What sets Mahāyāna apart from Theravada,
however, is the fact that Mahāyāna offers a distinct reading of the relationship
between samsara and nirvāna, and argues that the latter is the true nature of
the former, though its nirvanic reality is often obscured by adventitious defile-
ments. Mahāyāna insists that not only is the individual “I” empty of inherent
existence, but all aspects of reality (including the dharmas) are lacking an
inherent essence. Yet this does not mean that reality is nonexistent; rather, all
elements of conventional reality are manifestations of the enlightened nature
of the Buddha that undergirds all sentient beings. In this perspective, where
every individual is a conventional embodiment of the Buddha, one’s own
embodied condition becomes the starting point whereby one becomes the
channel of the Buddha’s wisdom and compassion. The bodhisattva is the one
who consciously embraces the Mahāyāna path and engages in the practice of
the virtues ( paramitās), thereby shedding any conceptual vision of the self
and taking the flourishing of all sentient beings to heart.
Within the Great Vehicle, speculative reflection on Buddhahood as an
all-encompassing force that sustains the cosmos while becoming more
immediately accessible in specific spatio-temporal circumstances would give

rise to the teaching of the Buddha bodies (kāyas ). In line with the Madhya-
maka distinction between ultimate and conventional reality, the dharmakāya
encompasses the whole cosmos and is one with the emptiness of Buddhahood,
whereas a kaleidoscope of rūpakāyas (bodies of form) fills the universe with
tangible manifestations of wisdom and compassion. It is the bodies of form
that enable sentient beings to acquaint themselves with the teaching of the
dharma, whether the Buddha assumes an exalted sambhogakāya form (body
of enjoyment) in a celestial realm, or a lowly nirmanakāya (ordinary body)
in our conventional world.
In this perspective, all sensory perceptions that one experiences in the
world of form are ultimately expression of the wisdom and compassion of
the Buddha. The dharmakāya represents the cosmic dimension of the uni-
verse, whereas the other bodies are the hermeneutic key to this higher
dimension. In the Vajrayāna or Tibetan tradition of Mahāyāna, every indi-
vidual practitioner may also be considered to be a nirmanakāya of the
Buddha, continuing in his or he own body the Buddha’s own ministry.11
In this perspective, the whole psycho-physical makeup of the individual is
transformed and assimilated to the Buddha nature, so that anyone can
come to see and perceive the world in the pure manner that was proper to
the Buddha. To paraphrase the Pauline metaphor, the Buddha has no other
hands or eyes but our own—and these hands and eyes, while the same as
those belonging to sentient being mired in samsara, are now utterly devoid
of any defilement, and allow one to see reality in its utter nirvanic dimen-
sion. Even in this perspective, the different “spiritual senses” of the practi-
tioner are a necessary channel of spiritual experience, mediating between
the practitioner and the Buddha nature that constitutes the ontological
foundation of the cosmos.
The articles collected in this volume focus on authors or traditions that
postulate the cognitive potentiality of our sensory apparatus, and its ability
to straddle the divide between the ordinary and the ultimate, the conven-
tional and the divine. In this perspective, this volume shows the extent to
which contemporary religious scholarship has moved away from the uncriti-
cal acceptance of what one may call the Cartesian/Kantian paradigm of
subjectivity and cognition, while also attesting the established role that Asian
religions have come to play in the religious imagination of North America,
as well as in the creation of new religious movements and practices. In pre-
senting the body and the senses as a locus of divine knowledge, the volume
offers a “third approach” to the question of embodiment beyond the dichot-
omy mentioned at the outset, where the body can only be a fountain of
pleasure or a source of endless pain. The articles in the third section show
also how contemporary scholarly writing on “spirituality” and the spiritual

senses is no longer limited to the mere Western appropriation of Asian tradi-
tions, or to the retrieval of marginalized Christian practices, but is forging
its way ahead outside denominational or confessional boundaries, searching
for a higher synthesis that directly serves the needs of the practitioners.
Joseph Molleur’s exploration of the Orthodox theology of the spiritual
senses in the article that opens the volume is indicative of the fact that
Eastern Christian theology functions as a sort of “internal other” for many
Westerners, offering them the first encounter with the notion of the spiri-
tual senses, as well as with the practice of mantra-like recitation of prayers.
Molleur is interested in how the senses are transformed by the recitation of
the Jesus Prayer, and compares them with the practice of mantrajapa favored
by Swami Prabhavananda. Charlotte Radler’s paper on Christina the
Astonishing introduces us to the fascinating world of a Medieval woman
mystic whose extravagant mystical practices, involving extraordinary feats
of physical prowess, challenged not only the established model of ecclesiasti-
cal authority, but also the way in which the mystical theology of the time
articulated the relationship between the spiritual and the bodily. Michelle
Voss Roberts’ analysis of the mysticism of Mechthild of Magdeburg simi-
larly engages the legacy of another woman mystic, whose ascetical practice
focused on the transformation of the body and the gradual divinization of
all its sensory perceptions. In both articles, it is a woman mystic who engage
in subversive practices, challenging the established patriarchal order of the
institutions to which she belongs, as well as the rationally systematized
scholasticism of the time. Later in the volume, Derek Michaud’s article
finally explores the notion of the spiritual senses in the writings of the
Cambridge Neoplatonist John Smith, who drew inspiration from the work
of Origen, while also grounding his vision firmly in the narrative of the
Old and the New Testament. While Christina and Mechthild, as well as the
later Orthodox tradition, would identify the spiritual senses with the ordi-
nary senses that have undergone deification, Origen and John Smith assume
the existence of two distinct, and yet interrelated physical and spiritual
bodies. Yet, despite these differences, all the authors examined in these
chapters view the self as straddling the divide between the psyche and the
body, and view the spiritual senses as both an entrée into the divine realm,
and as the supporting structure for their own spiritual progress.
The belief in an ontological transformation of the abilities of the practi-
tioner undergirds a number of papers that deal with what I called the
“external other.” Stuart Sarbacker’s discussion of spiritual marriage in Indo-
Tibetan Buddhism explores how this tradition of tantra envisages the possi-
bility for the practitioner to be transformed into a deity, using sexual activity
as a form of initiation. The practice of pancamakara transforms the senses

of the individual bringing him or her into a direct contact with the divine
reality, indeed ultimately merging the practitioner’s identity with that of the
divine spouse. As in the writings of Christina the Astonishing and Mechthild,
the sense of touch is the one that is most deeply involved. Gray’s sophisti-
cated analysis of Buddhist yogini tantras focuses on traditional practices
where devotees choose a particular deity (much as in the Indian tradition of
selecting an is..tadevatā) and seek to attain a state of union, eventually seeking
to erase the boundaries between the individual and the yogini. In his article
on the Daoist mystical body, Louis Komjathy argues that visualization is also
a central component of Daoist practice, whereby the individual strives to
create an immortal body using the spiritualized senses of sight and sound.
Much as in the writings of Origen and the early church fathers, and in the
mystical reflections of Christina the Astonishing and Mechthild of
Magdeburg, the body becomes a sacred realm that encompasses the whole
cosmos within its reach. Readers familiar with the Stoic teaching of the logoi
spermatikoi—the markers scattered throughout the universe by the eternal
Logos, the intelligence that creates and sustains the universe—will also find
affinities with the notion of flow discussed by Laura Weed in her paper on
Daoist mysticism. Throughout many of these papers, we see how spiritual
practice unfolds as a dialectic between the individual and the natural order,
which comes to be identified with the ultimate or the divine. The Kantian
dichotomy between pure and practical reason is subverted by the conviction
that contemplation of the cosmos may also disclose the paradigm of correct
conduct, since the structure of the universe discloses ethical cues that lead
to happiness. Csikszentmihalyi’s notion of “flow” is of particular interest to
scholars of Christianity as it appears to resonate both with contemporary
process theology and with earlier Christian notions of the purification of the
will, leading to a spiritual level where the individual will spontaneously
“know” how to act in harmony with the cosmos in every specific circum-
stance. Exploration of the external universe is balanced by reconnaissance of
its internal counterpart via the shen, which encompasses all the senses as well
as the faculty of moral intuition, and which is continuously transformed as
the individual attains deeper and deeper insights.
While most authors in this volume explore the role of the body and the
spiritual senses within existent religious traditions, the last two pieces turn
to the appropriation or the reinterpretations of such traditions in the process
of creating a new “Western” form of “spirituality.” The emergence of what
I earlier called “the new other” takes a peculiarly multidisciplinary form,
integrating elements from a variety of disciplines, but especially psycho-
analysis and therapeutic healing. This may be seen clearly from Ann Gleig’s
article on Almaas’ so-called Diamond Approach. Almaas’ integration of

elements from different religious traditions—including Sufism—is geared
toward the release of repressed emotions, which, once they come to the sur-
face, are able to transform the body’s potential to perceive the deeper aspect
of reality. The Sufi concept of “spiritual centers,” or latifas, is analogous to
the notion of spiritual senses as they both endow the individual with the
ability to perceive the ultimate via the more ordinary elements of everyday
experience. Fran Grace’s article on a “new paradigm” for mysticism and
therapy, outlining the spiritual path of David Hawkins, goes even further in
postulating an inner congruence between spiritual practice and healing,
which in this case is radically beyond all belief systems and established reli-
gions. Grounded in the “ego-shattering mystical experiences” of Dr. Hawkins,
this approach postulates the dissolution of the self into an “infinite Oneness,”
a condition that very few practitioners are able to attain on a permanent
basis, but should nonetheless be the goal of every act of practice.
Throughout the articles of this volume, the body—purified, ontologi-
cally transformed, and yet never left behind—becomes the springboard and
the theater for ever new spiritual ventures into the realm of the divine. Yes,
the body may still be a locus of pleasure—especially in the Indo-Tibetan
traditions of Tantra—and yes, awareness of mortality is part and parcel of
spiritual practice—especially in the writings of the Christian mystics. Yet,
going beyond this dichotomy, the body becomes the repository of a panoply
of senses for which the divine is no longer epistemologically inaccessible,
but rather is the very goal of each cognitive act. The spiritual senses are
now understood as portals of transformative knowledge that accomplish the
transfiguration of the individual. They challenge the divide not only
between the soul and the body, the res cogitans and the res extensa, but also
suggest a new construal of individuality, in which the single practitioner is
a pivot of universal transformation. Finally, they gesture toward a new, and
more holistic vision of the cosmos, where natural laws are invested with an
intuitive propaedeutic—perhaps, even sacramental?—significance. While in
the Orthodox teaching of the Jesus Prayer and in the writings of the medi-
eval women mystics the divine reality that the spiritual senses experience
remains ultimately distinct from the practitioner, the traditions of Asia, as
well as the “new” religious traditions, appear to view the boundary between
the individual and the divine—or ultimate reality—as more porous and
fluid. Even in those traditions of Hinduism or Buddhism that ascribe great
importance to devotional practice and where deities of all sorts play a cru-
cial role—such as in the chapters by Stuart Sarbacker and David Gray—the
distinction between practitioner and deity is merely conventional, and the
ultimate goal is an utter elisio alteritatis, the dissolution of the individual in
the bosom of the absolute. Ann Gleig and Fran Grace show that this
tendency, perhaps consistently with the posttheistic character of the “new
other,” is also very much a characteristic of the new religious movements.
At the end of this collection, one might very well conclude that perhaps
the spiritual senses have only been “vestigial organs” for a limited period of
Western history, even if the alleged normativity of Western modernity has
certainly exerted its influence beyond the boundaries of Europe or North
America. The articles in this volume show how the teaching of the spiritual
senses has shaped the spiritual practice of early Christian writers, medieval
women mystics, followers of Daoism in China, and Tantric practitioners in
India and Tibet. In the present day, this notion is being reinterpreted for a
contemporary audience by new spiritual leaders, and its presence in
Scriptural texts is rediscovered using new hermeneutical tools. To para-
phrase David Gray’s conclusion, if spiritual progress is bliss, and bliss is
accomplished through the body by embodied beings, the spiritual senses are
the channels of this bliss, through which the practitioner and the divine are
lured into an eternal game of union.
Notes
1. See Sarah Coakley (ed.), Religion and the Body (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1997), 2–10.
2. Marcel Proust, Remembrance of Things Past, Vol. III, The Guermantes
Way, 3. 1. 3, trans. Mark Treharne (London and New York: Penguin, 2005).
3. Evagrios, One-Hundred Fifty Three Texts on Prayer, 55, in Philokalia, Vol. 1, ed.
G. E. H. Palmer, Philip Sherrard, and Kallistos Ware (London: Faber & Faber,
1979).
4. Maximos, Amb. 10 (PG 91: 1137c). The theme of the mirrors probably comes
from the Pseudo-Denys, De Divinis Nominibus 4, 22 (PG 3: 724–5).
5. Maximos, Amb. 38 (PG 91: 1300bc).
6. See Rene Descartes, Meditations and Other Metaphysical Writings, trans.
Desmond Clarke (London and New York: Penguin, 1999).
7. Ibid., 30–44.
8. Ibid., 44–51.
9. See Immanuel Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, trans. Norman Kemp Smith
(New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1965), A636, B664.
10. See Allen Wood, Kant’s Rational Theology (Ithaca and London: Cornell
11. Of course, even within Vajrayā na, there is a plurality of positions on the ques-
tion on the Buddha bodies: the Gelug and the Nyingma schools, for instance,
will have different theories on the number and the significance of the Buddha
bodies. See Paul Williams, Mahā yā na Buddhism: The Doctrinal Foundations
(London: Routledge, 2008), 172–87.
Bibliography
Descartes, Rene. Meditations and Other Metaphysical Writings. Translated by
Desmond Clarke. London and New York: Penguin, 1999.
Evagrios. One Hundred Fifty Three Texts on Prayer, in Philokalia, Vol. 1. Edited by
G. E. H. Palmer, Philip Sherrard, and Kallistos Ware. London: Faber & Faber,
1979.
Kant, Immanuel. Critique of Pure Reason. Translated by Norman Kemp Smith.
New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1965.
Proust, Marcel. Remembrance of Things Past, Vol. III, The Guermantes Way. Translated
by Mark Treharne. London and New York: Penguin, 2005.
Williams, Paul. Mahā yā na Buddhism: The Doctrinal Foundations. London: Routledge,
2008.
Wood, Allen. Kant’s Rational Theology. Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press,
1978.
Contributors
Thomas Cattoi is Assistant Professor of Christology and Cultures at the Jesuit

School of Theology at Santa Clara University, which is part of the Graduate
Theological Union in Berkeley, California. His research and teaching interests are
in the areas of early Greek theology, Christology, and Vajrayāna Buddhism. He is
the author of Divine Contingency: Theologies of Divine Embodiment in Maximos the
Confessor and Tsong kha pa (Gorgias Press, 2009) and has also published in the fields
of Patristics and Buddhist-Christian studies. He currently serves as cochair of the
Mysticism Group of the American Academy of Religion.
Ann Gleig completed her PhD in the area of Asian Religions in America at Rice
University in December 2010, and is teaching in the Department of Religious Studies
at Millsaps College, Jackson, Mississippi. She is currently working on a book project
called Homegrown Gurus: From Hinduism in America to American Hinduism, which
will trace the emergence of American-born gurus in Hindu lineages. She is also editor
for Religious Studies Review.
Fran Grace is Professor of Religious Studies and Steward of the Meditation Room
at the University of Redlands, California. Her current teaching and writing examine
different methods for spiritual development and healing, as well as the paths to
self-realization taught by the sages and mystics of the world’s mystical traditions.
With Judith Simmer-Brown, she has edited a volume on Meditation and the
Classroom (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2011). She also serves as a
consultant on teaching contemplative-based courses that integrate meditation into
academic learning.
David Gray is Associate Professor in the Religious Studies Department of Santa

Clara University. Dr. Gray’s research focuses on the dissemination of Tantric
Buddhist traditions from South to East Asia, and his teaching interests include Asian
Religions as well as the comparative study of religious traditions. He is the author
of The Cakrasamvara Tantra: A Study and Annotated Translation (New York:
American Institute of Buddhist Studies/Columbia University Press, 2007) and has
238 ● Contributors
published numerous articles in the field of Buddhist Tantra, with particular atten-
tion to Tibet.
Louis Komjathy is Assistant Professor of Chinese Religions and Comparative

Religious Studies at the University of San Diego and Research Associate in the
Institute of Religions, Science and Social Studies of Shandong University in China.
His research and teaching focus on the contemplative traditions of China, with a
special attention to Daoism. He is the author of Cultivating Perfection: Mysticism
and Self-Transformation in Early Quanzhen Daoism (Brill, 2007) and Handbooks for
Daoist Practice (Yuen Yuen Institute, 2008). He also serves as founding codirector
of the Center for Daoist Studies.
June McDaniel is Professor of History of Religions in the Department of Religious

Studies at the College of Charleston, South Carolina. Her publications include
Offering Flowers, Feeding Skulls: Popular Goddess Worship in West Bengal (New York:
Oxford University Press, 2004) Making Virtuous Daughters and Wives: An Introduction
to Women’s Brata Rituals in Bengali Folk Religion (Albany: SUNY Press, 2003), and
The Madness of the Saints: Ecstatic Religion in West Bengal (Chicago: University of
Chicago Press, 1989). From 2003–2009, she was co-chair of the Mysticism Group
of the American Academy of Religion.
Derek Michaud is a PhD candidate in the Division of Religious and Theological

Studies at Boston University. His dissertation research revolves around the intersec-
tion of early modern science, philosophy, and theology in the seventeenth-century
Cambridge Platonist John Smith’s doctrine of the spiritual senses.
Joseph Molleur completed a PhD in Theology at Boston College and is now

Associate Professor of Religion in the Department of Religion at Cornell College,
Iowa. His academic and personal interests lie in the encounter between different
strands of Christian and Hindu spirituality. He is the author of Divergent Traditions,
Converging Faiths: Troeltsch, Comparative Theology, and the Conversation with
Hinduism (American University Study Series VII, Vol. 213 [New York: Peter Lang,
2000]). He has published numerous articles in the field of Hindu-Christian
studies.
Charlotte Radler is Associate Professor in the Theological Studies Department at

Loyola Marymount University in Los Angeles. She holds a BA and MA in Theology
from Lund University, Sweden, and a PhD in the History of Christianity from the
University of Chicago. Her area of expertise is the History of Christianity from
antiquity to the Middle Ages with a special focus on ancient and medieval mysti-
cism, especially Meister Eckhart. She has written several articles on the topic of
mysticism and is currently working on a book on the role of love in Meister
Eckhart’s thought.
Contributors ● 239
Stuart Ray Sarbacker is Assistant Professor in the Philosophy Department of

Oregon State University. He specializes in Comparative Religion with a focus on
Indic religion and philosophy. His work is centered on the relationships between
the religious and philosophical traditions of Hinduism, Buddhism, and Jainism. He
is the author of Samad̄hi: The Numinous and Cessative in Indo-Tibetan Yoga (Albany:
State University Press, 2005).
Michelle Voss Roberts is Assistant Professor of Theology and Culture at the Wake
Forest University School of Divinity in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. Her
interests lie in the area of interreligious dialogue, with particular attention to the
conversation between the Hindu and Christian tradition. She is the author of
Dualities: A Theology of Difference (Westminster John Knox Press, 2010) and has
published articles in the fields of comparative theology, feminist theology, and
Hindu-Christian studies. She has also served as cochair of the Comparative
Theology Group of the American Academy of Religion.
Laura E. Weed is Professor of Philosophy at the College of Saint Rose in Albany,

New York. Her research and teaching touch on fields as diverse as Daoism,
Cognitive Science, Analytical and American Philosophy, and Field Being. She is the
author of The Structure of Thinking: A Process Oriented Account of Mind (Imprints
Academic, UK, 2003) and has published numerous articles in the areas of Chinese
religions, psychology, and neuroscience. She serves as cochair of the Mysticism
Group of the American Academy of Religion.
This page intentionally left blank
Index
Abrahamic theology, 77 “autotelic” activity, 11, 116–17

“adorcism,” 35 avatars, 208, 213, 224
Advaita Vedanta, 4–5, 25n4, 77,
178, 186 Bernard of Clairvaux, 168
alchemy, 10, 69, 71–3, 80–1, 88–91, Bhagavad Gita, 6, 214
95n24 Bhakti Sutras (Narada), 7, 18–19, 23
Ali, A. Hameed, 176–81, 183–6, bhakti tradition, 4, 6–7, 18–19, 23, 35
191n10, 19, 26 Bharati, Agehananda, 32
Allah, 76 Bhatta, Jayanta, 5
Almaas, A. H., 13–14, 175–90, 191n12 Bhattacharyya, Kalidas, 186
Amb.38, 226–7 Bible. See New Testament; Old
American Academy of Religion Testament
(AAR), vii Big Dipper in the body, 71, 84–5
American mysticism. See Diamond “bindu,” 37, 40
Approach Binski, Paul, 136n47
Ames, Roger T., 70 bliss (ananda), 4, 6, 9, 38, 40, 48,
Amritanandamayi, Amma Mata, 212 52–3, 55, 56–7, 63n47, 169–70,
amygdala, 214 204, 206, 235
Anselm of Canterbury, 126–7 body
apatheia, 226–7 armor, 13, 182, 191n19
Aristotle, 10–11, 106, 112–17 blocks, 13, 175–90
on contemplation, 11 as cultural construct, 69–70
and eudaimonia, 10–11, 112–15, and discipline, 224
117–18 gods, 10, 72, 81, 91
Arjuna, 6 and illness, 223–4
asceticism, 10–13, 34–5, 39, 57, 69, maps of, 75, 80–92
71–2, 159–70, 224–5, 232 metaphors for, 69
See also Mechtilde of Magdeburg “body-armor,” 13, 182, 191n19
Atiśa Dı̄paṅkaraśrı̄jñāna, 47–52, 54–5, body blocks, 13, 175–90
59n17, 19, 20, 22, 26–9, 61n32, 36 body-gods, 10, 72, 81, 91
atman (divine aspect of the self ), 4, “body maps,” 75, 80–92
8, 18 diagram of emergence of yang-spirit,
attractor field theory, 209–11 90
Augustine of Hippo, 141–2, 152n12 ingestion of solar effulgences, 83
242 ● Index
“body maps” – continued Chinese religion. See Daoism

inner landscape map, 88–9 Christianity, viii, 2, 12, 17–24, 32–3,
Northern Dipper of the body, 84 76–8, 97n38, 40, 126, 137n57,
spirits of the five yin-orbs, 82 142–50, 151n3, 153n18, 154n25,
Bohm, David, 210–11 38, 159–70, 205, 209, 214,
Bolte-Taylor, Jill, 202–3, 209 223–35
Bonaventure, 142, 152n12 and asceticism. See asceticism
Book of the Yellow Court, 111 early figures of. See Evagrios
“boundary crossing,” 19, 35 Pontikos; Maximos the Confessor
Bourguignon, Erica, 32–3 and saints. See saints
Brahman, 4, 26n28, 76 and sensuality. See sensuality,
Brahmani, Bhairavi, 3 virtue of
Brown, Peter, 168 and temptation, 224
Buber, Martin, 106, 110 See also Eastern Orthodox
Buddha, 9, 17, 31, 39–40, 45, 48–9, Christianity; Neoplatonism;
53, 57, 208, 224, 230–1, Platonism
235n11 Christina the Astonishing (medieval
Buddhism, 8–9, 17, 26n29, 29–41, saint) (ca. 1150–1224), 11,
45–58, 58n1,3, 95n24, 198, 121–30, 130n2, 131n3, 132n10,
230–1, 233, 235 11, 12, 133n15, 16, 133n23,
and gnosis, 45–6 134n31, 32, 34, 135n35, 136n42,
Indian. See Indian Buddhism 45, 137n57, 232–3
and Tantra. See Tantric Buddhism and Anselm’s atonement theory,
See also Mahāyāna Buddhism; Pure 126–7
Land Buddhism; Theravada as both living and dead, 11, 122–8
Buddhism; Vajrayāna Buddhism and Christ’s body, 125
Buddhist Yoginı̄ tantras, 36, 47, 233 hagiography of, 122–6
Bynum, Caroline Walker, 69, 122–3, and hysteria, 131n3
128, 160, 168, 171n6 and liminality, 122–30, 136n45
and mendicancy, 121–3, 125,
Caitanya Caritamrta, 3 127, 129
Cakrasam · vara Tantra, 48, 56 and suffering, 11, 122–6
Cakrasamvarabhisamaya, 9 and prophecy, 126–8
Carrette, Jeremy, 176, 187–8, 190n2 and the public, 134n34, 135n35
Caryāmelāpakapradı̄pa, 53–4 and purgatory, 11, 122–6
Catholicism, 17, 76–7, 97n38, 206, and women’s marginalization,
229 128–30, 137n57
Cave, Nick, 130 See also Life of Christina the
Cazelles, Brigitte, 137n57 Astonishing; Thomas of Cantimpré
Celsus, 144–5, 149 Chrysostom, John, 22–4
chakra, 26n29, 204, 206 Citta, 4, 15n3, 53–4
Chakrabarty, Dipesh, 122, 129–30 Clarke, J. J., 105–6
Chen-chung Chi (Pillow Book Records) classical views, 1, 18, 32, 47–50, 58n7,
(Ssu-mo Sun), 108 68, 70–1, 73–4, 77–82, 88, 91–2,
China, 69, 81, 99n60, 105, 108, 235 96n31, 32, 97n39, 40, 98n45,
Index ● 243
99n52, 151n2, 176–7, 184, 189, teachings and practices, 106–12

192n27, 201, 209, 212, 216, 225 and visualization. See visualization
Cohen, A. Mark, 113 See also embodied mysticism; somatic
consumerism, 116–17, 224 mysticism
contemplation, 7, 11–13, 20, 48–54, deep sleep, 4–5
57, 74, 92, 113–15, 117, 122, deification (theosis), 227
124, 132n10, 164–5, 167–9, 181, deities, 4, 6–10, 20, 23–4, 31, 34–5,
183, 188–90, 206, 217n12, 226, 37–8, 40, 47–55, 68, 77, 86, 111,
233 224, 226–7, 232–4
Contra Celsum (Origen), 149–50, Daoist, 68
153n19, 24, 155n42, 156n43 female, 9, 58
Corbin, Henry, 183 male, 9, 58, 86
“Courage” level of consciousness, 208, and purification, 47–55
211, 214 See also gods
Critique of Pure Reason (Kant), 228–9 deity purification (devatāviśuddhi), 9,
Csikszentmihalyi, Mihaly, 10–11, 47–55
106–7, 115–18, 233 Descartes, René, 12, 70, 113, 144, 147,
Cudworth, Ralph, 142, 152n11 154n34, 38, 223–31
Curd, Patricia, 113 Despeux, Catherine, 67
Dharmakı̄rti, 46
Dadong zhenjing (Perfected Scripture of DHAT. See Diamond Heart and
Great Profundity), 81 Training Institute
Dalai Lama, 14, 187, 197–9, 208–12, Diamond, John, 215–16
215–16 Diamond Approach, 13, 175–90,
Daode jing (Scripture on the Dao and 191n7, 10, 19, 192n27
Inner Power), 71, 78–9, 96n100, and Almaas, 176–7
97n39, 98n46 and Being, 177–82, 184, 185,
Daoist “body maps,” 75, 80–92 191n7
Daoist mystical body, 9–11, 67–92, and East-West integralism, 175
105–18 and ego, 179–82, 184–5, 188, 190
and anatomical geography, 91–2 and essence, 175–6, 178–86, 189,
and Aristotle, 112–15 191n7, 10
and the body, 9–11, 67–92, 105–18 incorporating the personal self,
and “body maps,” 75–92 186–90
early medieval era, 80–6 and individuation, 179–81
and embodied mysticism, 105–18 and inquiry, 181–4
and flow, 11, 105–18 and the lataif, 184–5
late-medieval era, 86–91 and logos, 177–8
and peak experiences, 115–17 metaphysics of, 177–9
and personal integration, 108–10 and the Oedipus complex, 180–1,
and polytheism, 10 184, 192n27
and ritual iconography, 10 and the personal, 185–6
and self-cultivation, 106–12 and psychoanalytic theory, 176–7,
and somatic mysticism, 67–92 179–80, 186, 191n19
and Tantra. See Tantra and the self, 185–90, 191n12
244 ● Index
Diamond Approach – continued Emmanuel College, Cambridge, 141,

and self-image, 179–80, 185, 191n12 151, 151n1, 155n42
and the senses, 178 English, J. C., 142–3
Diamond Heart and Training Institute enlightenment, 57, 186–90, 198–9,
(DHAT) 177 203, 208, 212
Dillon, J. M., 145, 147, 153n22, 23, Enlightenment (European), 2, 143,
154n25 175, 190
discipline, 34, 36, 57, 69, 109–16, Enneads, 145, 153n22, 154n31
162–5, 169–70, 223–4, 230, 233 Esalen, California, 175–6, 190
“Discourse on the True Way or Method ethics, 2, 10, 30, 106–7, 111–15, 118
of Attaining to Divine Knowledge” eudaimonia, 10–11, 112–15, 117–18
(Smith), 141 Evagrios Pontikos (345–399), 225–7,
doctors’ energy, and healing, 205–6, 209 230
Dogen, 77
Doniger, Wendy, 34 female deities, 9, 58
dualism, 4, 9, 12, 14, 34, 40, 49, 53–8, First Epistle of John, 147
70, 107, 113, 126, 144, 147, “five Ms” (pañcamkāra), 8–9, 29, 233
154n34, 38, 160, 170n4, 176, Five Phases (wuxing), 71
178–80, 190, 223–35 “flow,” 10–11, 105–18, 202, 233
See also René Descartes and Aristotle, 112–15
Durkheim, Emile, 77 and “autotelic” activity, 11, 116–17
and peak experiences, 115–17
Early Han (206 BCE–9 CE), 74 and self-cultivation in Daoism,
East Asian perspectives. See Daoism 106–12
East-West integralism. See Diamond See also Abraham Maslow; Mihaly
Approach; sensuality Csikszentmihalyi
Eastern Orthodox Christianity, 7–8, The Flowing Light of the Godhead
17–24, 234 (Mechthild), 159–70
ecstasy, 22, 32, 35, 124, 127, 165, Forman, Robert K. C., 46
168–70, 205–6, 208, 212, 214 Fourth Meditation (Descartes), 227
“Ecstasy” level of consciousness, 208, Fragments for a History of the Human
212, 214 Body, 69
Edwards, Jonathan, 142–3, 152n8 Franklin, James, 160
ego, 10, 13–14, 70, 107, 111–13, Freud, Sigmund, 77, 175–6, 180, 184,
179–82, 184–5, 188, 190, 200–2, 186, 192n27
208, 223, 230, 234
and the Diamond Approach, 179– Gandhi, Mahatma, 39, 212, 216
82, 184–5, 188, 190 Gaudiya Vaishnava, 6
Ekman, Paul, 197–9, 212, 215 Geertz, Clifford, 41n8
Eliade, Mircea, 29, 32–5 gestalt psychology, 176
“embodied mysticism,” 10, 105–18 “Ghostbusters,” 2
See also flow Gillet, Lev, 17, 21–2
“embodied spirituality,” 14, 176, 223, Gleig, Ann, 13, 233–5
225 god/gods, 2, 4, 6, 10, 12–13, 17–24,
“emergency” emotions, 208–11 33, 47–55, 63, 68, 71–2, 76–7,
Index ● 245
79, 81–3, 86, 91, 98n46, 100n70, Hawkins, Susan, 206

109, 111, 114, 122, 125, 128, healing, and spiritual energy, 197–216
132n11, 133n15, 144, 146–9, and attractor field theory, 209–11
153n22, 159–70, 200–3, 206, and doctors’ energy, 205–6, 209
209–10, 224–9 and “flow,” 202
body-gods, 10, 72, 81, 91 and mind fields, 199–200
Christian, 2, 12, 17–24, 33, 227–8 and presence of love, 213
as deities. See deities and “radiance of goodness,”
Isvara, 4 197–200, 206–9
Śiva, 38 and spiritual practices, 213–16
See also Allah; Buddha; Jesus Christ and “voltage” of energy, 203–4,
goddesses, 3, 34–8 208–9
Goldi, 34 See also “Map of Consciousness”;
Grace, Fran, 14, 234–5 radiance of goodness
Gray, David, 9, 233, 234–5 Healing and Recovery (Hawkins), 198
“Great Chain of Being,” 209 Heidegger, Martin, 229
Guanzi, 98n46 Herman, Jon, 110
Gurdjieff, 13, 177, 183 hermeneutics, 105–6, 122, 129, 142,
guru, 3, 49, 187, 207, 212, 218n34 147, 177, 189, 190, 231, 235
Gyatso, Janet, 186 Herod, 226–7
Hevajra Tantra, 47–8, 57–8, 58n11,
Han dynasty (25–220 CE), 71–2 60n27, 63n47
Harvard, John, 141 Highest Clarity, 10, 71–2, 74, 76,
hat·hayoga, 37, 40 80–7, 89, 98n49, 99n54, 56
Hawkins, David R., 14, 197–216, Hinduism, 3–4, 6–9, 17–24, 29, 32,
218n34, 234 34–5, 46, 68, 76, 77, 198, 209,
Annual Landberg Lecture (UCSF) 214, 224, 234
(1997), 215–16 and bhakti. See bhakti
and attractor field theory, 209–11 and model of wisdom or jnana, 3
awards, 198–9, 205 and repetition, 18–24. See also Jesus
biography of, 200–7 prayer
and healing love, 211–13 and spirit marriage. See also spirit
and “infinite Oneness,” 234 marriage
and “kundalini energy,” 14, 204, and spiritual senses, 3–4
214–15 and Tantra, 9–10, 29–41
and loss of individualism, 203–4, Vaishnava, 3
215 and visualization, 7–8, 20
and profound experiences, 200–2 See also Vedanta tradition; yoga
and quantum mechanics, 200, 208, Hitler, Adolf, 216
210–11 Hollywood, Amy, 122, 129, 131n3,
and spiritual practices, 213–16 141n35, 161, 212
and “Tae Ryeong Seon Kak Tosa,” How to Know God, 19
198–9 Hsiang-erh, 108–9
See also “Map of Consciousness”; Huainanzi, 108–9
radiance of goodness Huangdi neijing, 71, 99n52
246 ● Index
Huangting jing, 81 153n23, 160–1, 167–9, 216, 224,

Huangting yuanshen jing, 82–3 226, 232, 234
Huizong’s Dynastic, 118n7 as an avatara, 8
Hunt, Valerie, 213 prayer of. See Jesus prayer
Jesus prayer (Eastern Orthodoxy), 7–8,
illness, 110, 162, 199, 216, 223 17–24, 232, 234
India, 1, 3–4, 24, 31–5, 38–9, 45–7, and “boundary crossing,” 19
58n1, 62n42, 92, 95n24, 186, and “lotus of the heart,” 21
198, 212, 224, 233, 235 and repetition, 18–24
See also Hinduism; Tantra; yoga and spiritual senses, 19
Indian Buddhism, 58n1, 95n24 and visualization, 20–1
individualism, 176, 179–82, 185, and Yoga Sutras, 7, 18, 21–3
187–9, 190n2 See also Swami Prabhavananda
individuation, 179–82 jnana (model of wisdom) (Hinduism), 3
Indo-Tibetan Buddhism, 232–3 John the Baptist, 169
Indo-Tibetan Tantrism, 8, 29–41, 234 “John Wesley’s Indebtedness to John
See also spirit marriage; Tantric Norris” (English), 142
Buddhism Johnson, Karen, 177
inner, 4–5, 7–8, 10–11, 14, 18–24, 31, Journal of Schizophrenia, 205
37–8, 69, 71–5, 78, 85–9, 99n52, Judaism, 32, 34, 68, 77, 126, 135n35,
111–12, 144–9, 153n22, 162, 209, 214, 226–7
178, 182–3, 197–216, 218n34, Jung, Carl, 189, 193n43
228, 234 Jung Yeup Kim, 107
landscape, 111–12
landscape map, 88–9 Kali (goddess), 3, 24
“man,” 144 Kāma, 34
“map of consciousness,” 197–216, Kant, Immanuel, 113, 225, 228–9,
218n34 231, 233
observation, 10, 73, 86–8 Kapstein, Matthew, 47
“other,” 232–5 kath, 13
senses, 14, 18–24, 178, 182–3 Katz, Steve, 31, 46, 106
spiritual bodies, 4 Kaulatantra, 38–40
states, 228 King, Richard, 179, 187–8
vision, 75, 87, 202 Kirkland, Russell, 105–6, 108–9,
insanity, 3 118n17
“internal other,” 232–5 Klein, Anne, 186
Isherwood, Christopher, 19, 26n24 Kohn, Livia, 67, 71–2, 95n20, 105–7,
Islam, 1, 34, 77, 176 110–11
Komjathy, Louis, 9–10, 233
Japanese Pure Land Buddhism, 17 Kripal, Jeffrey, 46, 175–6,
Japanese Shinto, 77 189–90
Japanese Zen, 77 Krishna, 6–7, 24, 35
Jesus Christ, 2, 8, 11–12, 17–24, 33, Krishnamacarya, 39
68, 122, 125–7, 144, 146, 149, Krishnamurti, 218n27
Index ● 247
Kulārn·avatantra, 37 McInroy, Mark, 154n25

Kumeyaay Indians of San Diego, 76 McNamara, Jo Ann, 123
kundalini energy, 14, 204, 214–15 Mechtilde of Magdeburg, 12–13,
159–70, 170n4, 171n9
Laozi, 105, 118n7 and asceticism, 160–3, 168–70
lataif, 184–5 and body transformation, 163–7
Lazarus, 123, 132n10 and eroticism, 166, 168–70
left-brain thinking, 203 and eschatology, 168–70
Legge, James, 105 as Lady Soul, 160, 169
Lesser Celestial Cycle, 89 and the senses, 160–70
Lewis, I. M., 29, 36 and the soul, 159–67, 169–70,
Life of Christina (Thomas of 170n4, 171n9
Cantimpré), 122–4, 126, 128–9, and temptation, 161, 164
130n1,2, 131n3, 133n14, 137n57 and three ascetical sorrows, 160–3
liminality, 11, 121–30 medieval saints. See Mechtilde of
listening, 10, 73–5, 91, 216 Magdeburg; Saint Christina
Locke, John, 143 meditation (Tantric Buddhist), 9,
logos, 144, 148–9, 177–8, 226, 233 48–58
“lotus of the heart,” 21 and bliss, 48, 52–3, 55, 56–8, 63n47
Luipa, 9, 51, 54 and “deity purification,” 47–55
Lusthaus, Dan, 111 and “experience,” 46–7
and five aggregates, 50–1
male deities, 9, 58, 86 and gnosis, 45–6, 49, 52–5
mahabhava (state of altered perception), and Lord of Yoga, 48–9
3 and self-conception, 50, 52
Mahāyāna Buddhism (Great Vehicle), and sexual activity, 54–6, 62n37
46, 48–50, 225, 230–1 and subject-object continuum, 55–7
Mahler, 191n12 and the subtle body, 53–4
maithuna, 29, 34, 36–8 and unity, 55–7
mandala, 9, 52 and visualization of deities, 51–2
mantra, 3, 5, 7, 17–24, 37, 57, 108, and “yogic cognition,” 46
232 Meditations on First Philosophy
See also Jesus prayer (Descartes), 227
mantrajapa, 7–8, 232 memory, 1, 4–5, 124, 127, 142, 162,
“Map of Consciousness,” 14, 198, 200, 184
207–11, 218n34 Merleau-Ponty, Maurice, 94n14, 229
Marx, Karl, 77 “Method of Mist Absorption,” 83–4
Mary (mother of Jesus), 33 Methodism, 143
Maslow, Abraham, 106–7, 115–17 methodology, 7–14
Maximos the Confessor (580–662), Michaud, Derek, 12, 232
225–7, 230 Molleur, Joseph, 7–8, 232
McClellan, David, 213 More, Henry, 142–3, 152n11
McDaniel, June, 228 Mother Teresa, 14, 197, 199, 212–13
McGinn, Bernard, 164–5, 171n9 “Mother Teresa Effect,” 212–13
248 ● Index
Muktananda, Swami, 187 Norris, John, 142–3

mukti (liberation), 34 Northern Dipper of the body, 84–5
Muqaddam, Faisal, 177
“mystical experiences,” 68, 100n70 occultism, 2, 37–8
mysticism, 1–3, 5, 8–14, 30–3, 35–6, 40, Oedipus complex, 180–1, 184, 192n27
45–6, 57–8, 67–92, 92n2, 95n20, Ohly, Friedrich, 168
98n45, 100n70, 105–18, 122, 124–5, Old Testament, 153n23, 232
128, 133n15, 141, 146, 163–6, One Hundred and Fifty-Three Texts, 226
168, 170, 175–8, 180, 183, 188–90, Orientalism, 97n40, 188, 230
191n10, 197–216, 217n5, 10, 12, Origen of Alexandria (185–252), 12,
218n27, 224–5, 232–5 141–51, 152n11, 12, 153n17–20,
American. See Diamond Approach 153n23, 154n25, 31, 155n42,
Daoist, 9–10, 67–92, 105–18 156n43, 45, 166, 232–3
difficulties studying, 1–3 and Contra Celsum, 149–50
defining, 30–2, 46, 67–8, 75 and metaphor, 144–5, 149, 153n18, 20
embodied. See embodied mysticism as model, 144–7
experience of, 68, 100n70 and spiritual senses, 144–50
and healing, 197–216 as source, 147–50
“new paradigm” for, 234 Orthomolecular Psychiatry (Hawkins,
somatic. See somatic mysticism Pauling), 204
and spirit marriage, 30–3 “other,” 31, 232–5
Mysticism Group, viii
mystics, 68, 92, 128, 133n15, Padre Pio, 212, 214–15
197–216, 234 pancamakara, 8–9, 29, 233
Panentheism, 77
Namo Amida Butsu, 17 Parsons, William, 188
Nanjing zuantu jujie, 88 Pārvatı̄, 34
Narada, 7, 18, 23 Passenier, Anke, 128–9
Narada’s Way of Divine Love Patristic writers, 12, 141–51
(Prabhavananda), 18 See also Origen of Alexandria
Naranjo, Claudio, 176–7 Pauling, Linus, 204, 206–7
Nei-yeh, 108–9 peak experiences, 115–17, 202
Neiguan jing, 86–7 Pei-men Ch’eng, 110
“Neijing tu” (Inner Landscape Map), 88 Perfect Scripture of Great Profundity, 81
Neoplatonism, 12, 142, 145–7, 150, Period of Disunion (220–581), 80
152n12, 232 Petrie, Ann, 212
New Age, 2, 78 Petrie, Jeanette, 212
“new other,” 232–5 Phenomenology of Perception (Merleau-
New Testament, 17–18, 232 Ponty), 229
Newberg, Andrew, 217n12 The Philokalia, 19
Newman, Barbara, 123 “photographic” memory, 1–2
Newton, Isaac, 210–11 physical senses, 4, 7–8, 12–14, 25n4,
Nichomachean Ethics, 106–7, 112–13, 141–2, 144, 150, 153n18, 20,
115–16 161, 164–5, 167, 178
nirvāna, 51, 85, 203, 230–1 See also senses
Index ● 249
The Pilgrim Continues His Way, 18–20, Radler, Charlotte, 11

22–4 Rahner, Karl, 145, 154n25
Platonism, 12, 141–3, 145–7, Ramakrishna, 3, 7, 18, 24, 25n4, 206
150, 151n2, 152n11,12,16, Ramakrishna Order (Hindu), 17, 24,
154n33, 34, 38, 155n42, 25n4
227, 232 Reeve, C. D. C., 113
Plotinus, 12, 142, 145–7, 150, 153n22, Reich, Wilhelm, 13, 182, 191n19
154n30, 155n42 Remembrance of Things Past (Proust),
positive energy fields, 197–216 223–4
Power versus Force: The Hidden Richard of St. Victor, 168
Determinants of Human Behavior Ridhwan School, 13, 176–7
(Hawkins), 207 Rieff, Philip, 186
Prabhavananda, Swami, 7, 17–24, right-brain thinking, 203
25n4, 27n28, 232 Robinet, Isabelle, 86
See Jesus prayer Russian Orthodox monasticism, 20–1
Practicing the Presence of God (Brother
Lawrence), 206 sacred aspects of the body, 10
prana (breath), 4 sadhana (spiritual practice), 3, 5–6
Prasastapada, 5–6 saints, 2, 22, 134n34, 136n47, 167,
pratibhajnana (intuition), 5 170, 197, 200, 208, 211–14
prema (spiritual love), 4, 6–7 See also Augustine of Hippo;
Protestant Christianity, 2, 17, 46, 185, Christina the Astonishing;
188 Mechtilde of Magdeburg
psyche, 114, 175, 185–6, 190, 232 samadhi (total focus of mind), 5–6, 34,
“psychic entropy,” 11, 117 37, 205
psychoanalytic theory, 13, 176–7, Samkhya, 3–4
179–80, 186, 191n19, 201, 233 samsara, 230–1
puja, 8, 37 Sanskrit, 50
Pure Land Buddhism, 17, 230 Sarbacker, Stuart, 8–9, 234, 232–3, 234
purgatory, 11, 122–7, 129, 131n8 SAT. See Seekers after Truth
purification, 5, 9, 11–12, 19, 21, 38, Sayadaw, Mahasi, 187
47–55, 148 Schipper, Kristofer, 67, 95n22, 97n42,
deity, 47–55 111–12
schizophrenia, 203–6
qi, 10, 72–3, 75, 78–80, 81, 84–5, 89–91 Seekers after Truth (SAT), 176
five, 88 Select Discourses (1660) (Smith), 142–3,
perfect qi (zhenqi), 90 151n2, 154n26, 155n40,
qiqiao (Seven Apertures/Cavities), 74, 87 156n44
qipo (Seven Po), 72 self, 4–6, 9–10, 12, 14, 29, 31, 36, 41n7,
quantum mechanics, 200, 208, 210–11 47–55, 58, 67–72, 87–91, 92n2,
Qur’an, 1 94n14, 95n20, 95n24, 106–18,
121, 123, 162–3, 175–6, 178–80,
Radha, 6–7, 35 185–90, 191n12, 198–205, 208–9,
“radiance of goodness,” 197–200, 211, 215, 218n34, 223–5, 228,
206–8, 212, 215–16 230, 232, 234
250 ● Index
Self as Body in Asian Theory and Practice The Sermon on the Mount According to
(Ames), 70 Vedanta (Prabhavananda), 19
self-actualization, 107, 115–16 Seven Apertures (qiqiao), 74, 87
self-conception, 50, 52 Seven Po (qipo), 72
self-cultivation, 106–12 sexual activity, 8–9, 29–41, 54–6,
self-development, 178 62n37, 232–3
self-mastery (enkrateia), 225 and meditation, 54–6, 62n37
self-realization, 178, 198 and spirit marriage, 29–41
senses, 1–14, 18–24, 41n4, 45–58, 69– See also Tantra
75, 85, 87–8, 90–2, 96n30, 107, shamanism, 8, 29–41
110, 118, 124–5, 141–6, 148–50, See also spirit marriage
151n3, 152n11, 12, 153n17, 18, Shangqing (Highest Clarity), 10, 71–2,
20, 22, 158n47, 160–70, 176, 74, 81, 98n48
178, 182–4 shangqing zhenmu (Perfect Mother of
in Daoism, 69–75, 87–8, 90–2, Highest Clarity), 86
96n30 Sharf, Robert, 49
and the Diamond Approach, 178 siddha (saint), 3
divinizing the, 45–58 siddha deha (spiritual body), 4
inner. See inner senses siddhi (spiritual perfections), 34
and Mechtilde of Magdeburg, siddhis, 215
160–70 sight/seeing, 1–2, 7–10, 13, 18–22, 36,
physical. See physical senses 47, 62n38, 74, 111, 144, 150,
and purification, 9, 47–55 165, 183, 224, 226, 233
and somatic mysticism, 70, 73–5, 85, “silent transmission,” 14, 206–7, 213
88, 90–2, 96n30 Sima Chengzhen (647–735), 86–7
spiritual. See spiritual senses sinologists, 105–6
See also sight/seeing; smell; sound; Śiva, 34
touch; taste Six Thieves (liuzei), 74
sensuality, virtue of (Christianity), Smart, Ninian, 30
223–35 smell, 5, 13–14, 62n37, 74, 144, 150,
and Amb.38, 226–7 166–7, 178, 182–4, 224, 226
and apatheia, 226–7 Smith, John E., 12, 141–51, 151n2,
and deification (theosis), 227 152n11, 12, 16, 153n17, 22,
and dualism, 223–35 154n25–7, 31, 34, 155n42,
and God, 224–9 156n43–5, 47, 232
and intellect, 225–8 and Descartes, 147
and Kant, 225, 228–9, 231, 233 and emotion, 146–7
and reason, 227–8 and First Epistle of John (1:1), 147
and subjectivity, 223–35 and Origen, 144–50
and Western culture, 223–35 and patrism, 141–51
See also Evagrios Pontikos; Maximos and the “sense of the heart,” 142–3
the Confessor and Sermon on the Mount (Matthew
Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5:8), 5:8), 146
146 The Sociology of Religion, 39
Index ● 251
solar effulgences, 83 spirit marriage, 8–9, 29–41

solar plexus, 184–5 and ecstasy, 22, 32, 35
“somatic mysticism” (Daoist), 67–92, and “five ms” (pañcamkāra), 8–9,
92n2, 93n7, 94n14, 95n24, 29, 233
95n20, 95n24, 96n30–2, and jealousy, 40
97n38–40, 43–4, 98n45, 46, 49, and methodology, 29–33
50, 99n52–6, 60, 100n70 and mysticism, 30–3
and alchemy, 69, 71–3, 80–1, 88–91, as pact or contract, 36–9
95n24 and polyamory, 40
and body-gods, 10, 72, 81, 91 and shamanic power, 33–6
and “body maps,” 75, 80–92 and spirit spouse. See spirit spouse
body as cultural construct, 69–70 and symbolic power, 39–41
body-self continuum, 70–1 spirit spouse, 8–9, 29, 39–40
and death, 95n24 spiritual body, 4, 7, 9, 11–12, 14, 72
and deities, 68 spiritual senses, 1–14, 19, 25n4, 124–5,
and early medieval, 80–6 141–50, 151n3, 152n11,12,
and Highest Clarity, 71–2, 74, 76, 153n17, 18, 20, 156n47, 158n47,
80–7, 89, 98n49, 99n54, 56 160, 165–8, 182–4, 223, 225–6,
late medieval, 86–91 228, 230–5
and listening, 73–5, 91 and “vestigial organs,” 228, 235
and the mystical body, 72–3 spirituality in the United States, 223–31
and mystical experience, 68, 76–80, Sri Ramana Maharshi, 14, 199, 206
100n70 Ssu-mo Sun, 108
and “polarism,” 70, 73, 92 Stace, W. T., 30
and qi (subtle breath), 72–5, 78–80, subjectivity, 52, 56, 94n14, 100n70,
81, 84–5, 89–91 176, 179, 186, 189–90, 210,
and sacred embodiment, 91–2 223–31
and the self, 67, 70–1, 94n14, 95n20 subtle body, 4–5, 9, 13–14, 40, 53–4,
and the senses, 69–75, 85, 88, 90–2, 72, 75, 91
96n30 subtle consciousnesses, 53–4, 61n35
and theology, 67–8, 71–3, 76–80, Sufism, 13–14, 177, 183–6, 192n26,
92n2, 97n38, 98n45, 100n70 234
visualization, 71–2, 74–5, 80–3, lataif, 184–5
86–9, latifahs, 14
Song dynasty, 88 Sun Simiao (581–672), 86–7
soul, 4, 6, 11–14, 21–2, 36–7, 40, supernatural realm, 2–3, 5–6, 8–9, 11,
98n50, 112–14, 116, 122–5, 22, 33, 37, 53, 129, 215, 224
131n8, 141–9, 152n11, 159–67, superstition, 2, 105
169–70, 170n4, 171n9, 178–82, Sweetman, Robert, 124, 132n11
184–5, 191n7, 10, 224–9, 234
sound/hearing, 5, 7, 10–14, 18–19, 47, tai chi, 11
73–4, 108, 110, 144, 150, 165, Taittiriya Upanishad, 4
178, 182–3, 224, 226, 233 Tang dynasty, 86–7, 95
See also listening Tao te Ching, 109
252 ● Index
Tao-tsang, 105, 109 160–1, 165, 167–8, 175, 178,

Tantra, 8–10, 29–41, 45–58, 58n3, 180–2, 186–9, 191n6, 199–200,
67–92 224, 226
and Buddhism. See Tantric Buddhism Transcendentalism, 77
and Daoism, 9–10, 67–92 transformation, 2, 5, 8–13, 29, 31–2,
and Hinduism, 9–10, 29, 32, 34–5 37–8, 40, 41n7, 47–8, 50, 53–4,
Indo-Tibetan, 8, 29–41, 234 69, 72, 80, 88–91, 100n70, 107,
and purification, 9, 47–55 127, 163–7, 169, 184, 197, 199,
and spirit marriage. See spirit 202, 204, 224, 227, 232, 234
marriage of the body, 163–7
and yoga, 56–7 True Way or Method of Attaining to
Tantric Buddhism, 8–10, 29–41, Divine Knowledge (Smith), 12,
45–58, 58n3, 233 141–51
and meditation. See meditation and Origen, 141, 144–50
similarity to Daoism, 9–10 Trungpa, Chogyam, 187
as spirit marriage. See spirit marriage Tsong Khapa, 56
tradition of, 8 Turner, Victor, 122, 128, 136n45
Tao Hongjing (456–536), 81
“Taoist Visions of the Body” (1991) Udayana, 6
(Kohn), 71 Underhill, Evelyn, 46
taste, 5, 8, 10–11, 13–14, 38, 62n37, Unno, Taitetsu, 17
74, 85, 144, 147, 150, 165–7, Upanishads (1000 BCE), 4
169, 178, 182–4, 224, 226
Taylor, Mark, 55–6 Vajrad·āka, 49
Tendzin, Osel, 187 Vajrayāna Buddhism, 34, 231, 235
theology, 6–8, 10, 12, 20–1, 31–2, 46, Vedic sages, 4
67–8, 71–3, 76–80, 92n2, 97n38, Vedanta societies, 7, 17–19
98n45, 100n70, 126–7, 131n3, Vedanta tradition (India), 3–7, 17–19,
135n35, 141–50, 152n11, 160, 25n4, 68, 77, 178, 186
166, 170, 207–8, 223–35 See also Advaita Vedanta
Theravada Buddhism (School of “vestigial organs,” 228, 235
Elders), 230 vibration, and healing, 197–216
Thomas of Cantimpré (ca. 1200– virtue, 2, 11, 13, 49–50, 55, 110–17,
1270), 121–9, 130n1, 2, 131n3, 162–3, 165, 168, 223–35
6, 132n11, 12, 133n16, 134n30, of sensuality, 223–35
135n35, 136n42, 143n61 visualization, 5, 7–10, 50–2, 71–2,
Thurston, Herbert, 130n2 74–5, 80–3, 86–7, 89, 108, 233
touch (sparsa), 5, 9, 11, 13, 37, 51, Voss Roberts, Michelle, 12–13
125, 144, 147, 150, 154n31, 164, Vrindavana, 6–7
167, 181–3, 212, 224, 226, 233
See also Tantra Walton, Brad, 142
transcendence, 3, 8, 10, 13, 22, 30–1, Ware, Kallistos, 17, 20, 24
33, 40, 46, 54, 72, 76–7, 88, 90–1, Warring States (480–222 BCE), 74,
96n24, 100n70, 107, 109–12, 115, 78–9, 92n1
118, 118n17, 124, 126, 129, The Way of a Pilgrim, 8, 18–24
Index ● 253
Weber, Max, 39 yang-spirit, 90

Wedemeyer, Christian, 53–4 yin-orbs, 81–2
Weed, Laura E., 10, 233 yoga, 3–7, 14, 18, 21–3, 31, 36–7,
Wei Huacun (251–334), 80 39–40, 45–58, 58n1, 92, 200,
“welfare” emotions, 208–11 214–15, 229
Wesley, John, 142–3 ecstatic versus non-ecstatic, 5–6
Western culture, 8, 11, 18, 24, 73, 78, Lord of, 48–9
94n10, 105–7, 112, 118, 175–7, and “lotus of the heart,” 21
179, 186–90, 192n36, 207, 223–35 and meditation, 5, 45–58
and Daoist mysticism, 105–7, 112, 118 and perception, 5–6
“discovery of ” East, 225, 229, 234 “protection of,” 49
and spirituality, 225, 233 and the self, 4
and subjectivity, 223–31 “yogic cognition” (yogipratyaks·a), 46
Winnicott, Donald, 180 yogini tantras, 35–6, 47, 233
women mystics. See Christina the See also Yoga Sutras
Astonishing; Mechtilde of Yoga Sutras, 7, 18, 21–3
Magdeburg Yoga Sutras (Patanjali), 7
Wood, Allen, 229 “yogic cognition” (yogipratyaks·a), 46
Worthington, John, 143, 151n2, yogini tantras, 35–6, 47, 233
152n11, 155n42 Yunji qiqian, 86
Wu Yun (d. 778), 86–7
Zhen’gao, 81, 83–4
Xisheng jing, 107–8, 110–11, 118n7 Zhuangzi, 105–6, 110–11
Xu Huangmin (361–429), 81 Zhuangzi (Book of Master Zhuang),
Xu Hui (341–ca. 370), 80 71, 74, 79–80, 92, 96n31, 98n46,
Xu Mi (303–373), 80 105–6, 110–11

Thomas Cattoi, June McDaniel (Eds.) - Perceiving The Divine Through The Human Body - Mystical Sensuality-Palgrave Macmillan US (2011)

Caricato da

Informazioni sul documento

Titolo originale

Copyright

Formati disponibili

Condividi questo documento

Condividi o incorpora il documento

Opzioni di condivisione

Hai trovato utile questo documento?

Questo contenuto è inappropriato?

Copyright:

Formati disponibili

Thomas Cattoi, June McDaniel (Eds.) - Perceiving The Divine Through The Human Body - Mystical Sensuality-Palgrave Macmillan US (2011)

Caricato da

Copyright:

Formati disponibili

Perceiving the Divine through the

Edited by Thomas Cattoi and June McDaniel

First published in 2011 by

Palgrave® and Macmillan® are registered trademarks in the United States,

A catalogue record of the book is available from the British Library.

Design by MPS Limited, A Macmillan Company

First edition: November 2011

Introduction: Spiritual Body, Spiritual Senses, Past and Present 1

9 The Enlightened Body in A. H. Almaas’s Diamond Approach 175

List of Contributors 237

The Mysticism Group began as a consultation within the American

4.1 Spirits of the five yin-orbs 82

All illustrations come from the private collection of Louis Komjathy.

Spiritual Body, Spiritual Senses,

T. Cattoi et al., Perceiving the Divine through the Human Body

with this ability are often accused of dishonesty or an overactive imagination,

Indeed, a recent novel has as its narrator a scholar working on a treatise

I personally have no belief or faith whatsoever in anything supernatural, or

If we wish to do something more than simply dismiss the whole range of

Vedanta traditions of India. The emphasis is upon distinguishing truth from

specific visualizations, and instead focus on perception of spiritual light and

of the body as complex, and having many subtle, esoteric dimensions. He

Aristotle viewed contemplation as the highest activity, which brought out

experiences. This process of transformation also includes the emotions,

these are only described to advanced practitioners. The essential aspects

A Hindu Monk’s Appreciation of

T. Cattoi et al., Perceiving the Divine through the Human Body

aspirant can experience the love of God. According to verses 36 and 37 of

The continuous interior Prayer of Jesus is a constant uninterrupted calling

grades of Russian Orthodox monasticism.23 This skhimnik is portrayed as

Name . . . is very often accompanied by an inner feeling of joy, warmth

Gillet likens this “supernatural perception of a supernatural light” experi-

I have referred to Gillet’s analysis of the experience of inner light at some

by means of prayer. And so it is fitting to pray at your trade, on a journey,

Commenting specifically on the notion of the “power of the invocation of

15. Prabhavananda and Isherwood, How to Know God, 61–62.

Introduction and Methodology

T. Cattoi et al., Perceiving the Divine through the Human Body

It might be asked how “spirit marriage” as applied comparatively

make a sharp distinction between “mystical” and “ecstatic” types of religious

great import in comparative analyses of the nature of religion in the twen-

Spirit Marriage and Shamanic Power

world (with numerous examples in Ancient Near Eastern, Greek, Japanese,

The conception of garnering sexual attention or being the victim of sex-

multiple possibilities of conceiving of the relationship between the human

Shamanic Marriage as Pact or Contract

derived from kula, meaning “clan” or “family”—indicating the establishment

Symbolic Power in Human and Spirit Marriage

its structure in human life is a privileging of a relationship where the sacrifice

16. Eliade, Shamanism, 78; Lewis, Ecstatic Religion, 53.

———. Ecstatic Religion: A Study of Shamanism and Spirit Possession. London:

Experiencing the Single Savior:

“inconceivable” (acintya), and hence not knowable via empirical observation

address with the rhetoric of “experience” or “self-experience” (svasam · vedya)

A very similar idea is expressed in the Cakrasam · varaTantra, a Tantric

The four divine abodes—loving kindness (maitrı¯), compassion (karun·ā),

should be engaged in this practice, which is a person well grounded in

Since purification exercises are designed to remove the obstacles to the

tatah·pañcaskandhāhaṅkaram utpādayet // rūpaskandhe vairocanah· / vedanāskandhe

Atiśa here explicates how the practice effects purification. It functions by

The practice then moves to the visualization of deities corresponding to

caks·us·or mohavajrah· / śrotayor dves·avajrah· / ghrān·ayor ı̄rs·yāvajrah· / vaktre

In that way, in the eye, etc., are Mohavajra, Dves·avajra, Mātsyaryavajra,