The Mill and the Millpond: A Twenty-Year Conversation with J. Krishnamurti

Printed in the   Fall 2025  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Ravindra, Ravi  "The Mill and the Millpond: A Twenty-Year Conversation with J. Krishnamurti"   Quest 113:4, pg 24-28

By Ravi Ravindra

This article first appeared in the May-June 2004 issue of The Quest.

It was the fall of 1965 in New Delhi. My wife had asked me to deliver something to Mrs. Kitty Shivarao, who had been very kind to her when, four years earlier, she had come to India as a volunteer from Canada. I went on my bicycle and came to a sudden stop in front of a very tall man sitting on a wicker chair completely alone on the porch of the Shivarao house. I wondered if Mrs. Shivarao was in, and the man, who was extremely self-contained, said he would go in and look. Without any hurry, but without delay, he went in and returned to say that she was not there but that I could wait until she got back. I do not recall why I could not wait; perhaps I had the usual haste of the young, especially those recently returned from a long stay in the West. I handed over to him what I had to deliver to the lady of the house and rode away on my bicycle. But I kept looking back at this unusual man with an extraordinary presence, sitting on the porch, until I fell from my bicycle, having crashed into a woman carrying a large bundle on her head.

Several months later at Rajghat in Varanasi, where an interview with Krishnamurti had been arranged for me, I was in a great internal turmoil, becoming more and more agitated as four o’clock, the appointed time of the meeting, approached. I was not sure what I needed to ask him. I had become sadder and sadder the closer I had gotten to finishing my PhD: the more I was certified as an educated man by the world, the clearer I was about my ignorance of myself. I needed a different kind of knowledge and education than I had obtained in the many schools and universities I had attended. What little I had heard about Krishnamurti—mostly from my wife, who had taught for a year in one of his schools in India before we had met—and the little that I had read by him had convinced me that he offered the sort of influence I needed. Here, at last, I was going to meet the great man himself. What was I going to say to him? What did I need to know? What should I ask him? Besides, how could he or anybody else say something that would really become a part of myself? After all, I had read what the Buddha had said, and I still behaved the way I did before. What was I going to tell Krishnamurti about myself? What of any value did I know? What was my value?

All of these questions whirled around in my head, making me more and more restless as the time for my meeting with Krishnamurti approached. Then, suddenly, a great calm possessed me. I knew with certainty that I did not know, that nobody else could really tell me something deeply true unless I myself saw it directly, and that there was no escape from an encounter with myself without fear and without self-importance. I had no idea what had brought about these realizations and the resulting calm. Maybe the magic of this extraordinary man was working even before I had met him. I walked over to his room with assurance, and precisely at the appointed hour he opened his door. I was surprised to discover that the man on the porch in New Delhi had been J. Krishnamurti! I had difficulty accepting his actual physical size; my first impression of him had no doubt been of his real spiritual height.

He asked me to sit down on the same divan on which he was sitting. Then, after a brief silence, he asked, “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing,” I said with clarity. “I have really nothing to ask you. I have come just to look at you.” He smiled, and we sat in silence for a long time, just looking at each other. Then, no doubt having noticed my attention wandering, he asked what I did and what interested me. I told him, and also expressed my dissatisfaction with what I had learned. My clarity was dwindling as I was returning to my habitual and more discursive mode of thought.

I asked him, “Is there life after death?” He said, “Why worry about death when you don’t know anything about life?”

When it was time for me to leave, he took me to the window of his room perched over the Ganga, overlooking the path which the Buddha had taken on his way to Sarnath after his enlightenment. That was the only time I understood why pilgrims over the centuries have regarded this river as sacred. There were dark, thick clouds over the majestic river, and a white bird was flying in and out of the clouds, sometimes disappearing completely and at other times showing clearly its innocent vulnerability. Krishnamurti put his hand on my shoulder and we stood there watching for a little while; then, pointing to the bird in the clouds over the river, he said, “Life is like that: sometimes you see it, sometimes you don’t.” As I was leaving, he said simply, “We shall meet again.”

Many years ago, at the invitation of a magazine, I wrote an article called “A Letter to J. Krishnamurti.” Rather than getting into an argument with him in the article—for I rarely had any doubt that he was right—I had tried to state where my own difficulties lay in trying to follow what he had been saying for so many years. This small article ended as follows: “I am troubled because I do not know how to reconcile the call I hear from your distant shore with the realities where I am. It is clear that a bridge cannot be built from ‘here’ to ‘there.’ But can it be built from there to here?”

A couple of years after the article’s publication, there was an occasion for me to spend some time with Krishnamurti at Ojai in California, the place where he felt most at home. We had a long and intense conversation in the evening and were going to meet again at breakfast. I had insisted that he read my little article and respond when we met in the morning; I was eager to know what he would say. He told me he liked the last sentence and added, “A bridge can be built from there to here.” He would not say much more about it, except to imply that that was what he had been talking about all these years.

Since I have been interested for a long time in the quality of attention and seeing which can bring about an action in oneself so that a radical change can take place naturally from the inside, I asked Krishnamurti about it.

For him, thought leads to fragmentation, and subsequently to fear and sorrow, as for the Buddha tanha (selfish craving) leads to dukkha (suffering), or for the Vedantist avidya (ignorance) leads to maya (illusion). In all of these teachings, what is required for sorrow, fear, and illusion to be dissolved in the clear light of Intelligence and Truth is total attention. I asked Krishnamurti about the nature of this attention, adding, “What I find in myself is the fluctuation of attention.” He said with emphasis, “What fluctuates is not attention. Only inattention fluctuates.”

On one occasion he confided to me, “I am still very shy, but I used to be much worse. I would stand behind the platform from where I was supposed to speak to an audience, and shake. One day I saw the total absurdity of it and the shaking left me; I was free of it forever.”

In a conversation in Madras he said that the Intelligence beyond thought is just there, like the air, and does not need to be created by discipline or effort: “All one needs to do is to open the window.” I suggested that most windows are painted shut and need a lot of scraping before they can be opened and asked, “How does one scrape?”

“Sir,” he said sadly, “you don’t see that the house is on fire.”

In his concern with the dangers of hierarchy, Krishnamurti frequently placed a great deal of emphasis on being democratic. He would often talk in a small group as if everyone were actually at the same level as himself and had an equal right to express his or her opinion. Soon, of course, he would get bored or impatient with a mere exchange of opinions and speak with the force of clear seeing, commanding attention from everyone around him.

On one of these occasions in India, he had given a long rope to many people’s opinions about the nature of the religious mind. I had just flown in from North America and was not eager to spend the morning philosophizing or listening to various opinions. He was the one I wanted to hear, for I had understood some time ago that Krishnamurti had a completely unusual mind and that he saw many things with an extraordinary clarity not vouchsafed to many. On this occasion, anxious to hear him speak, I blurted out, “But, Krishnaji, what do you have to say about it? After all, you are the cat with the meat.” I realized immediately that I had not chosen a very felicitous American expression for the assembled company of vegetarians.

After a brief pause, he smiled, relieving the tension created by my remark, and protested that he was not special. “Do you think K is a freak?” he said (referring to himself in the third person), assuming it to be obvious that he wasn’t.

Often, I had been completely frustrated by going around the same point with Krishnamurti: his insistence that there can be a radical transformation instantaneously, without any discipline or path or guidance, and my inability to even understand what he was saying, let alone do it. On one occasion, in a semipublic seminar, I said in despair, “There’s no sense in carrying on. We keep going around the same mulberry bush; it’s totally frustrating.”

“Sir, then why do you keep coming?”

I knew that it had nothing to do with any reasons; I said what was true: “Because I love you.” One did not decide to love him any more than a flower decides to give fragrance, to use one of his favorite analogies.

Once, when I was in London, I learned that Krishnamurti was at Brockwood, not very far away. Naturally, I wanted to go to see him. Not succeeding in making a telephone connection with anybody there, I gave up after many attempts and decided to drive there with a friend, willing to take our chances. On more than one occasion he had said, “You may come any time.”

Of course, I took him seriously. I wonder if the gods know how heavily guarded the gates of paradise have to be! One could say that there were lots of guardians at the gates, and we had some difficulty, quite understandably to be sure, in getting close to the inner sanctum. One burly woman, in some sort of command at the place, was especially offended at our audacity to imagine that we could see Krishnamurti himself without a prior appointment. She was a proper lion! I thought she actually had a point, although I wondered how Krishnamurti would have responded to his description by her when she growled at us, “Anybody can walk off the street and want to see the high and the mighty!”

I knew we were not supposed to be there, and I had not really expected to meet Krishnamurti. But I was like an iron filing naturally drawn by this magnet. I had not analyzed the situation and decided on a course of action; it just had not occurred to me that I could be within driving distance and not go to meet him.

While leaving, I don’t know why, I reached into my pocket and found a visiting card, which I gave to her to deliver to Mary Zimbalist, who for the last many years had selflessly devoted herself to taking care of Krishnamurti and often traveled with him. The woman took the card from me with hesitation, and I was not sure she was going to deliver it, but we tarried a little anyway.

Soon I saw Mary hurrying toward us with a big smile. She greeted my friend and me most affectionately, explaining that things had been very hectic all morning: BBC was filming a program on Krishnamurti, and a senior man from The Times of London was doing an interview. In any case, of course we must stay for lunch, and Krishnaji would be along any minute now. Soon he appeared and welcomed me warmly.

At lunch, he looked fatigued and did not eat much. We spoke about this or that; I wondered how this man of such an advanced age could travel so much. What did he hope to accomplish? Could it be accomplished by talking to large numbers of people? Isn’t some sort of preparation required to make use of what he is saying? He said, “You should have been here in the morning; we had a wonderful discussion; a lot came out.”

I asked, “Can any real transformation take place just with discussion?”

“No, sir,” he said.

Krishnamurti’s destiny obviously was to be a teacher, even though he tried strenuously to avoid being labeled as that. He especially eschewed the devotional sort of adulation he met everywhere, particularly in India. After a public lecture in Madras, we went for a walk together; I wondered why he was trying to sneak out of the compound by a side door like a thief rather than walk out the main gate. “No, sir, they’ll start touching my feet and all. Oh, God, no!”

He had a special feeling for solitude. Even while walking with others, he often preferred silence. We walked for a while in complete silence along the beach in Adyar. Suddenly he seemed to remember that I was in town with my children, who went swimming there. “Mefiez-vous; faites attention.” He knew I dabbled a bit in French; he particularly liked that, and would occasionally speak a few sentences to me in that language. He was warning me to make sure that my children realized that there was a strong undertow at that place and took proper precautions. I thanked him and wondered if he swam there himself. “I know this place well. You know this is where K. was discovered by them!” he said conspiratorially.

I was supposed to meet him one evening in Ojai; when I arrived, I found him working in the orange orchard, pruning some trees. We stayed there a little while. He told me casually, “The speaker used to have healing powers, clairvoyance and all that. They have told me this; I don’t know.” He showed me the tree under which the “process” took place. He spoke very tenderly of his younger brother, with whom he had lived in the cottage nearby. We stood there for a few minutes; he seemed to be actually seeing his brother there, and I think (I am not completely sure of this) he said that was the place where his brother had died.

After a little while, I asked him, “What exactly is the ‘process’?” I knew immediately that I had chosen a wrong moment to ask this. He looked at me sadly and said, “This is what everyone wants to know. Then they will start imitating it and faking it. No, it cannot be said.”

I had often been struck by a similarity between the all-or-nothing, absolutist stance of Krishnamurti and that of many Old Testament prophets. I was also sure that more than anything else, he was a lover at heart: a lover of nature, of the Presence, of Truth, and of silence.

I was delighted and not at all surprised when he told me in response to a question of mine that his favorite book in the Bible was the Song of Songs. I told him that the great Rabbi Akiba had declared that book to be the holiest of the holies, and had said that all the ages were not worth the day when this book was given to Israel. Krishnamurti was only mildly interested in Rabbi Akiba’s comment about it but was delighted when I recalled a line: “I sleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh . . .”

I had been asked by an encyclopedia editor to write an article on Krishnamurti. I prepared the outline and made extensive notes, and had a special interview with him to make sure that what I had written accurately reflected his thought. I asked him whether intelligence beyond thought was the central thing that he spoke about. He agreed, but without much feeling. Suddenly, he was animated: “Take the risk, sir. Say what you wish. If you speak from the heart, I’ll agree. Take the risk.”

Once I was visiting Ojai, having promised Mary Zimbalist before coming there that I would not engage Krishnaji in serious talk, since he was taking a few days’ rest after a strenuous lecture series. In any case, I did not have anything specific to ask him; I simply wanted to be in his presence. I was in the kitchen talking to the cook when Krishnamurti entered by the side door on his way 63to lunch. He saw me and extended his hand with a broad smile. I took his hand and then hugged him. When he inquired after my wife and children, I gave him another hug from them. He was a little surprised, perhaps not being used to the physical expression of affection.

There were about a dozen people at lunch talking about this or that. As the lunch was ending, I said something about the subtle alchemical changes left in the body by an insight. Unexpectedly, he reached across the table, held my hand, and said, “Sir, shall we go into it seriously?”

“Some other time, Krishnaji; now it is time for you to have a rest,” I said.

He looked quite annoyed, as if I had no sense of the right priority of things. He insisted that we talk seriously there and then, and asked for a tape recorder to be brought. I looked at Mary to convey, “Look, it’s not my fault. He is the one getting himself into it.” She tried to suggest that we could talk later in the afternoon, but he would not hear any of it.

So we had a long, serious conversation. At one point I said, “A new insight belongs to a new body, it seems to me. What do you think of that, Krishnaji?”

“You know, sir, it occurs to me that K. does not think at all. That’s strange. He just looks.”           

Once when I told him that he was a real scientist, a scientist of the interior, he seemed to like that. After a long silence, he said, “I have been going around the world talking for more than sixty years. Nobody understands what I am trying to say, especially the scientists. They are too clever for their own good.”

“You know, Krishnaji, if they understood what you are saying, they wouldn’t let you into the country. You are completely subversive.”

He laughed. “That’s right, sir, don’t tell them.”

The last time I was in Ojai, it was as a guest of the Krotona Institute, where I had been invited to give a few lectures. Naturally, I went to see Krishnamurti as often as I could. He seemed to take a particularly mischievous delight in the fact that the Theosophists were paying for me to come and see him. “Keep it up, sir. Don’t tell them. Sneak out and come here as often as you can.”

Since I had been so fascinated by the special nature and quality of Krishnamurti’s mind, I often returned to that subject with him. He would speak about the religious mind, its innocence, freshness, and vulnerability, but I was more interested in the particularities of his mind.

The more he tried to convince me to the contrary, the more I seemed to feel that Krishnamurti was in fact a freak. “What is the nature of your mind, Krishnaji? What do you see when you look at that tree?”

“My mind is like a millpond. Any disturbance that is created in it soon dies, leaving it unruffled as before,” he said calmly. Then, as if reading what I was about to ask, he added with the most playful smile, “And your mind is like a mill!”

The last time I met him was in May 1985 in Ojai, just before his ninetieth birthday. We had a long talk about death. During the conversation I raised the same question about death which I had asked twenty years earlier. At the end he said, “The real question is ‘Can I die while I am living? Can I die to all my collections—material, psychological, religious?’ If you can die to all that, then you’ll find out what there is after death. Either there is nothing, absolutely nothing, or there is something. But you cannot find out until you actually die while living. Don’t accept it. No believing is necessary. Doubt it; question it.”

When I was leaving, he came to the door and held it open. He looked a little frail, and I did not want him to stand there waiting while I slowly put on my socks and shoes, which I had taken off at the entrance. My heart had been filled by what he had said, and I was taking my leave slowly. When I repeated that he should go in and not wait there, he said, “The noble never close the door.”

Ravi Ravindra is a familiar figure in Theosophical circles. He is a regular lecturer at Olcott, the Krotona School of Theosophy, and other venues. Professor emeritus at Dalhousie University in Halifax, Nova Scotia, he is the author of a number of books, including The Pilgrim Soul: A Path to the Sacred Transcending World Religions; The Gospel of John in the Light of Indian Mysticism (originally published as The Yoga of the Christ); and The Bhagavad Gita: A Guide to Navigating the Battle of Life (reviewed in Quest, fall 2017). He was interviewed for the summer 2018 issue of Quest.


The Chakras and the Human Energy Fields

Printed in the   Fall 2025  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Karagulla, Shafica & van Gelder Kunz, Dora  "The Chakras and the Human Energy Fields"   Quest 113:4, pg 16-23

by Shafica Karagulla, MD and Dora van Gelder Kunz

Shafica Karagulla, MD, and Dora van Gelder Kunz teamed up to produce a study, The Chakras and the Human Energy Fields, published by Quest Books in 1989. Dr. Karagulla studied Dora's ability to clairvoyantly diagnose the disease process in numerous case histories.

Shafica Karagulla (1914‒86) was a psychiatrist and surgeon noted for her research into abnormal mental states and higher sense perception. She died in a tragic accident before the book was completed.

Dora van Gelder Kunz (1904‒99) was a noted clairvoyant who developed the healing modality called Therapeutic Touch with Dolores Krieger. She was president of the Theosophical Society in America from 1975 to 1987. She completed this book with the assistance of Emily Sellon.

This excerpt from The Chakras and the Human Energy Fields was published in The Quest, spring 1989.

Throughout the long evolutionary journey of life on this planet, living forms have developed within the narrow constraints set by nature. Like the caterpillar wrapped in its cocoon, man’s experience has been limited to the range of his five senses. The conscious perceiver and interpreter of his physical environment, he has been largely unaware of the presence of other dimensions of reality which lay all about him. This is particularly true of modern man.

But today we recognize that the sensed world is far from being the only “real” domain of experience, and that in fact our senses merely deliver impressions to us that the mind/brain interprets according to its own inner vision. Moreover, the narrow boundaries of the sensed world are crumbling, as our knowledge expands to include quantum reality as well as the information bombarding us from outer space. The possibility of extending our understanding into realms long hidden from us by the limitations of the senses is opening an ever vaster world to us—a world which, far from being remote, is now seen to lie all around us, and even to be part of our own being.

As we seek to explore the world of finer perceptions, a number of questions arise. What are the mechanisms for perceiving the hidden world which lies beyond the reach of our senses? Can we develop the capacity and use it creatively and constructively?

At this stage of inquiry we are very much in the position of the blind men in the parable, each of whom tried to describe an elephant in terms of that portion of the animal he was able to grasp. Similarly, in a village of 100 inhabitants, if ninety-eight were color-blind, we could expect them to be very skeptical of the descriptions of the remaining two people who perceived the full spectrum of prismatic colors. In fact, they probably would be sure that these two were visionaries, or story telling, or just hallucinating. However, if over a period of time 20 percent of the inhabitants began to see the whole spectrum, the rest might begin to concede the possibility that it might exist, even though beyond their own perception. This story is somewhat analogous to the present state of affairs vis-à-vis extrasensory perception.

There are many signs that the next great adventure for humanity will take place in the realm of consciousness, and that a whole range of yet unexplored possibilities awaits us. These raise many unanswered questions. What are the boundaries of the self? Where do self and environment begin and end? Can we develop reliable mechanisms for discovering these subtle interrelationships?

Just as the five physical senses give us access to a certain range of physical reality, so the higher senses allow us to perceive elements of the supersensory world. Higher sense perception includes clairvoyance, which means “clear seeing,” and usually refers to the ability to perceive the vital and/or the emotional field. Because such perceptions have seemed to be both exotic and idiosyncratic (since they are experienced by the few), today’s scientists and researchers have never tried in any systematic way to explore and understand the mechanisms which permit such phenomena to exist. In a culture committed to the scientific method, this neglect would appear to stem from a fundamental prejudice or misconception.

Scientists have held that it lies outside the province of their discipline to investigate claims that it is possible to perceive states of matter subtler than the physical. For this reason, the painstaking work of J.B. Rhine in the field of telepathy and clairvoyance had little impact upon the scientific community. But physicists concerned with quantum physical reality are investigating probabilities and indeterminacies which are far removed from the so-called facts of our gross physical world, and can only be “observed” through their effects. Is it not also likely that if we were to extend our explorations into the subtler aspects of that world, we might find these dimensions just as lawful, just as amenable to study and understanding, as the complex and ambiguous world of quantum reality?

Nevertheless, some research is going forward in this area, using man himself as the sensor, such as the practice of healing methods like Therapeutic Touch. Sensitives who can observe the interactions of vitality, emotion, and thought processes remove these interactions from the realm of the purely subjective. Their observations, however, differ in degree, in clarity, and in comprehension. Some of them perceive only the etheric or life field; others perceive both the field and the etheric centers (chakras) which are a key element in the basic pattern that characterizes man, both as an individual personality and as a member of the human species. Some clairvoyants see the astral or emotional field rather than the etheric. Such psychics do not usually perceive the chakras within the emotional field unless they have been trained to do so, or have great natural gifts. The mental field and its centers are seen only by those with a highly developed type of specialized clairvoyance.

Thus far, breakthroughs into these levels of reality have met with a great deal of confusion and misunderstanding. The result has been a flood of “psychic” literature of very uneven quality and credibility, all claiming to furnish accurate information about the supersensory dimensions of human experience. Unfortunately many people, bored and dissatisfied with the present-day scene and its lack of values, accept these accounts uncritically. Such enthusiasts often plunge into personal experimentation without regard for the pitfalls that could be encountered in entering any new area of experience without previous knowledge or preparation. Like the ability to walk or fly, such capacities must be developed. This takes time, patience, and much more effort than those who are eager for new sensations wish to expend. Thus interest in the so-called psychic world often becomes more of an escape from the constraints of everyday life than a serious search for new knowledge.

This situation does not change the fact that many people today are exhibiting various degrees of paranormal ability, including clairvoyance, clairaudience, precognition, telepathy, psychometry, dowsing, and healing. It is beginning to look as though these abilities are emergent, and may eventually become a normal part of human consciousness. If we accept the concept that evolution is a learning process, we realize that living systems are continually developing new capacities for a creative response to their environment. If this is so, why should not human beings begin to extend their perception to supersensory levels, and develop the ability to explore more encompassing dimen­sions of reality?

The first requirement for the development of higher sense perception is a recognition that the supersensory realms are not opened up “magically,” but are regulated by natural laws just as precise as those which govern the physical world. If they are to become known to us, we must define more precisely the ranges of supersensory perception; the energies involved and their relationship to physical health and disease; the effects of behavior; the role of the mind and of mental images, intent, and motivation; and much more. Since there are different types of extrasensory perception, and since all observation is filtered through the percipient’s mind, we must also determine the degree of “observer effect” in clairvoyant investigation, and develop a system of checks and balances, as well as a common vocabulary. These are only a few of the requirements if we are to bring more order and coherence into the whole field, especially as it bears upon our understanding of the human being.

So far, medicine has been concerned with problems of the physical organism, achieving very important results, even though the question of how healing takes place still remains a mystery. Today our ability to deal with hitherto intractable diseases has been enormously enhanced through the development of scientific sensors, which allow the body to be seen from a number of different aspects. Infrared and liquid crystals give a heat color pattern called thermography; the newest medical instrumentation using ultrasound and nuclear magnetic resonance gives us other dimensions and patterns. At a more fundamental level of physical being, we are becoming accustomed to thinking of ourselves in terms of systems, processes, and patterns of energy, rather than of dense materiality.

Sensitives who can observe the interactions of vital energy with emotional and mental processes could remove these interactions from the realm of the purely subjective by acting as human “sensors.” The observations of those gifted with such abilities, however, differ widely as to the reliability of their faculty, as well as in its clarity, precision, and applicability to physical situations. In spite of these problems, we must persist, since the field holds so much promise.

Perhaps the most important conclusion that emerges from a study of the extensions of physical perception, which clairvoyance makes possible, is that the physical brain is not the originator of consciousness, but rather its instrument. Acceptance of this concept would have far-reaching effects upon the way we humans look at ourselves, and thus upon the world we live in.

Up to this point in human evolution, the world of the five senses has been our safe and familiar environment, a school for learning which has seemed to set the boundaries of human experience. Unaware of the possibility of experiencing a world beyond the physical, we have only caught glimpses of its dimensions through the arts or through the witness of mystics, saints, and seers. But now science has also begun to probe some aspects of this vaster world. More and more exotic discoveries are being made and startling theories propounded about the nature of our universe. Since it now seems that a considerable number of people have experienced some portions of the supersensory realm for themselves, should we not make every effort to bring these experiences under serious scrutiny?

It is our hope that the material offered here will be helpful in suggesting some of the principles that govern the subtler dimensions of our world—dimensions we all share in equally, if unknowingly. They are part of that greater whole which comprehends not only the physical earth with all its past history and future possibilities, but also the thoughts and feelings, errors and accomplishments, insights and intuitions of all its inhabitants.

Higher Dimensions of Consciousness

The third aspect or facet of the personal self is the instrument through which the mind finds expression; in Theosophical and esoteric literature this is traditionally called the mental body. As previously mentioned, just as the emotional or astral level has a higher frequency and subtler state of materiality than the etheric, so the mental is finer-grained and faster-moving than the astral. However, it should be remembered that the mental field interpenetrates both the astral and the etheric at every point, and the mental body also conforms to these vehicles in structure. The mental dimension is in constant interplay with other aspects of the personality throughout life, and its energy permeates every experience, even when we are not engaged in intellectual pursuits or even consciously thinking.

The energy which pours into the mental chakras from the inexhaustible reservoir of the universal mental field circulates through the mental chakra system in much the same manner as at the astral and etheric levels. But the mind is more complex than the emotions: it has in fact two primary aspects or functions which make possible the subtlety, originality, and conceptual power of the mind, at the same time that it can lead us into false reasoning and self-delusion. Because of its multifaceted nature, the habits and patterning of the mind can affect the disease process adversely, but it can also be a powerful force for health, growth, and change.

At the level of everyday experience, the mind is the instrument which integrates and interprets the stream of sensory data which flood into us from every side. All these data are processed and evaluated by the brain/mind and applied to our behavior. This aspect of the mind delivers the common sense we all use in the business of daily living, and perceives the relationships between things, people, and events that give these phenomena their context and meaning.

The conceptual or abstract mind cognizes meaning of a higher order: the ideas which give events their significance; the unities which underlie life’s variables; the structure, proportion, balance, harmony, order, and lawfulness of nature; the relationship between human life and the earth, as well as between the individual and mankind. This dimension of the mind is a universal human attribute, even though it may not be developed to the same degree in all of us.

The human mental body is an ovoid like the astral, but it is considerably larger and less dense. Its colors and quality are good indicators of the individual’s interests and mental powers, whether latent or active, for sometimes the capacities we are born with do not mature during life. All this shows up in the mental body, just as the astral aura accurately reveals the emotional life.

Because the mental and emotional fields are so closely interconnected, the mind is colored by emotion, just as the feelings are conditioned by thought. This is a universal characteristic, but when it is unbalanced or out of control the condition may become pathological. However, if the mind is not hampered by emotional stresses, it is a fine and flexible instrument for integrating and assimilating all levels of personal experience: mental, emotional, and physical.

The physical brain, much like a supercomputer, registers, stores, and retrieves what the mind discovers or originates. The view of the mind/brain relationship which emerges from our research is very different from that generated by most psychophysiological theorizing. Far from being a product of brain activity, the distillation of meaning and the interpretation of experience are seen to derive from a deeper level of the self. Such insight is then developed rationally by the mind and related to other knowledge, while the brain, which is the mind’s instrument or physical partner, registers the information. In other words, the mind is dependent upon the brain for physical expression, but it also transcends the brain mechanism and can to some extent compensate for its defects.

The mental body extends about three feet (ninety centimeters) beyond the periphery of the physical body, and interpenetrates both the etheric and the astral bodies. The individual who perceives the “I” more in terms of his thoughts than his feelings usually has a mental body that is brighter and more vital than the average, and of finer texture. When such a person is using the mind, energy moves more swiftly in and out of the mental chakras, and the whole mental body becomes more lively and luminous.

The speed with which the energy moves in and out of the chakras, the luminosity of the colors, and the rhythm and the degree of brightness of the different chakras all indicate the quality of the mental body and the areas of special development.

When there is a harmonious relationship from the mental level through the emotional to the etheric, the flow of energy through the chakras displays a rhythmic and unimpeded pattern. Unfortunately, many human beings are subject to periodic mental or emotional storms and stresses, and these have their effects in the etheric and physical bodies.

The energies at the mental level are discharged at a more rapid rate and with more volatility than the lower energies. In fact, when energy flows actively in and out of the mental body, a field of force springs into being around the individual which affects his environment in direct proportion to the strength of the thought. Thus ideas which are charged with mental power strongly influence other individuals. This may or may not be directly related to the truth of the ideas themselves: grand ideas stand the test of history and contribute to the growth of human culture, but mistaken ideas can dominate large groups of people when these are projected with great force and conviction, as was the case in Nazi Germany.

The transformative power of thought when it is reinforced by conviction is well known. Religious conversion is one example, but on a lesser level, the ability to break long­standing habits, such as smoking, results from the power of the mind to change behavior. We no longer believe the dictum, “I think, therefore I am,” but we realize that what we think strongly affects us, whether as individuals, members of organizations, or citizens of a nation. In fact, national purpose or character is largely dependent upon the way a people thinks of itself.

How are such widespread ideas transmitted? The effect is partly achieved through written argument and speech, but even more through sharing a common vision or worldview based upon a strong mental image. Such a mental image has come to be known as a thought-form. The spread of ideas is achieved through the mind’s ability to construct a powerful and well-defined image within the mental body, and then direct it toward its object with clarity and intensity. This ability to project one’s thoughts clearly is an important factor in successful teaching, as well as in political life. But the ability to create strong thought-forms can also react upon us negatively, for if they become too rigid they can surround and imprison us within a wall of our own making, thus preventing the inrush of new ideas and fresh mental energy. We then become ideologues or fanatics, who reject all but their own interpretations of truth.

Some clairvoyants are able to see the thought-forms within an individual’s mental body. A discussion with the late Phoebe Payne Bendit, who was acknowledged to be a competent and trained clairvoyant, helped to clarify this matter. She recounted the case of a man who came to her claiming that he was possessed by several great musicians who had passed on, and that other clairvoyants had corroborated his claim. But when Phoebe Bendit observed him carefully, she found that these figures were not those long-gone musicians at all, but rather the man’s wish-fulfillment thoughts that he had charged with his own hopes and desires. She warned his family that he was headed toward a dangerous mental illness, and unfortunately this materialized a few months later, when he was diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic and admitted to a mental hospital.

When Mrs. Bendit was asked how she differentiated the patient’s thought-form from an actual astral entity, she replied: “How would you differentiate between a living person and a statue? Isn’t one obviously alive, while the other is not? The same holds true on the astral and mental planes. An actual person, even though dead, has a quality of vitality about him, so that he moves, changes, and responds to what is going on. In contrast, a thought­form is lifeless and static, and its energy comes from the astral and mental fields of the individual who harbors it.”

The great advantage of being able to see thought-forms is that we can become aware of what we are generating, and thus change them to more constructive images. But even if we cannot see them clairvoyantly, when we realize that our thoughts have the ability to affect others directly and that we energize them with our emotions, we begin to feel a degree of responsibility for our thoughts that was previously reserved only for our actions. And indeed we come to acknowledge that thoughts are actions of a kind, in that they affect behavior.

The Effect of Visualization on the Mental Level

The ability to use our minds constructively in order to achieve good health and personal self-transformation is the subject of hundreds of books currently being offered to the public. Most of these suggest methods that can be used with some degree of success, for the mere conviction that one can effect personal change and growth is enough to start the process moving. Because of the interest in various techniques which employ visualization and different forms of relaxation and/or meditation, we conducted an exploratory inquiry into the ways students use some of these techniques.

We discovered that a few members of the group we studied had no ability to perceive a mental image. When they closed their eyes, they were aware of nothing but blankness and darkness. Most of the students, however, were able to hold in their mind’s eyes the object they were asked to visualize, such as the face of a friend or a simple colored geometric figure. When they were asked how they perceived this mental image, most of them said they visualized the object outside themselves, at a distance of about twenty centimeters in front of their eyes, as though they were reading a book. Others reported that they visualized the object inside their heads, usually in the frontal lobes of the brain, although a few said they saw it in the back of the brain in the occipital region. There was also a very small group that said they could not only think of the object but could also perceive it as a picture flashing before their eyes without specific localization.

In most cases the mental image which was formed remained static. Although holding on to such an image may be an excellent exercise in mental concentration, it will have little effect on the mental, astral, and etheric fields unless it is energized and has movement. For example, if a person is emotionally upset and is told to visualize a green disk over the solar plexus area in order to help him calm down, it should be perceived as a green light flowing into his solar plexus and thence harmonizing the whole abdominal region. In other words, if the thought­form is to be effective, it must maintain its dynamics.

In another experiment, DVK was asked to observe the effect on VPN’s* throat chakra as she visualized certain geometrical forms and colors. DVK was not told what symbols were being used, but was merely to observe their effects on this chakra, which was somewhat leaky.

* VPN is Viola Pettit Neal, a teacher of the perennial philosophy and, with Karagulla, author of Through the Curtain. She worked with Karagulla and Kunz in researching the material discussed here. DVK is Dora Van Gelder Kunz.

At first, VPN visualized a deep blue-violet, diamond-shaped pattern a few centimeters in size and localized in front of the throat chakra. DVK reported no effect. The second symbol visualized was a golden diamond-shaped object. DVK reported that the image was speeding up the throat chakra very slightly, but that the effect was more apparent on the astral level than on the etheric, where the symbol did not seem to hit the core of the center. When a silver-blue diamond was visualized, it too affected the astral chakra but not the etheric. The conclusion seemed to be that when visualization is a purely mental exercise, as it was in this case, it does not seem to affect the chakras. On the other hand, this center does respond to the visualization of a symbol which has some significance or inner meaning for the practitioner, as attested by the effective use of visualization in patients.

The Mental Chakras

The chakras within the mental body correspond to those on the astral and etheric levels, processing energy and acting as media of exchange with the universal mental field. Each mental chakra is also closely linked with its higher frequency counterpart on the intuitional or buddhic level. All together they form a closely integrated system which could be imaged as a four-dimensional grid, in which the energies move laterally through each chakra system and also vertically between the different levels. The energy on the mental level moves more swiftly and at a higher frequency than on the emotional, just as the emotional is higher than the etheric.

The energy of the mental field is stepped down as it passes through the chakras, and can in this way have a direct effect on the physical body if it is not blocked at the emotional level, which is sometimes the case.

The frequency of the energy which flows into the chakras depends on the mental development of the individual. If there is a disturbance in one of the mental centers, it will be transmitted to the emotional and etheric levels, but it is more usual for the disturbance to occur at the astral level. An astral disturbance will not only affect the etheric chakra but will also inhibit the energy coming in from the mental level. The whole process is very complex.

When there is a harmonious relationship among the various aspects of the personality, the energy flows from level to level rhythmically and freely. Unfortunately this process is rather rare, since people interrupt the harmony in a variety of ways: through stress, anxiety, mental rigidity and emotional storms, to name only a few. If such conditions persist, the physical body is eventually affected adversely.

As in the astral chakras, the speed with which the energy moves in and out of the vortices, the luminosity of the colors, the rhythm and the brightness of the different centers all

indicate the quality and power of the mind, and the areas of special development or ability.

The Causal Body

Although the causal body was not the subject of our investigations, DVK found it impossible not to refer to it occasionally, since the fundamental reality within every human being is what we call the Self, although it is also known as the Soul or Spirit. The highest vesture of the Self, which is known as buddhi (insight, wisdom, “clear seeing,” or prajna), is termed “causal” because, according to esotericism, it carries the Self’s fundamental intentionality to be, and this is the ultimate cause of our existence.

By whatever name, this is the real, enduring dimension of true being in each of us—that which persists through all the changes and vicissitudes of our life, and gives it meaning and continuity.

This spiritual dimension is the source of all that is best in us, and can exert a powerful influence for growth and self-transformation. According to the doctrine of reincarnation, those fruits of experience which we have transformed into enduring qualities mark the growth or evolution of the individual self. These are retained from life to life within the causal body, which becomes a composite of the highest qualities of the Self: insight, intuition or direct knowing, creativity, intentionality, aspiration to God or the good, and the purest forms of love and compassion. It can be called the true vehicle of self-awareness, if by that we mean universal consciousness focused in the individual self.

Seen clairvoyantly, the causal body is pale and ethereal, with irridescent colors like those in a soap bubble. It was called the augoeides by the Greeks, the luminous radiation of the spiritual Self, of which incarnate life is but the shadow. But it is also termed “causal” because it gathers together the fruits of our long struggles and sacrifices to grow in understanding, and in these lie the true causes of what we are here and now—the seeds of our qualities of mind and heart. At this level, the Self is not constrained by the usual limits of time and space and causality, but is able to experience the universality of life and to perceive meanings and interrelationships which are often hidden from us during physical existence.

The causal body does not disintegrate after death as the astral and mental bodies eventually do, but persists from life to life. In Tibet, tulkus or “incarnations” are said to be saints or teachers who are reborn again and again with access to the same memories and capacities they had before. Although such cases are rare, there is within the causal dimension the distillation of all earthly experience, and because it is ever-present, this record is accessible to one who has the ability to perceive it.

In the case of some of our patients, it was obvious to DVK that the problems she encountered were rooted at levels beyond the physical, the emotional, or even the mental, and she therefore searched for their explanation more deeply, within the causal dimension.


Inner Guru, Outer Guru, Secret Guru

Printed in the   Fall 2025  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Tenzin Gyatso, the Fourteenth Dalai Lama"Inner Guru, Outer Guru, Secret Guru"   Quest 113:4, pg 10-14

By Tenzin Gyatso, the Fourteenth Dalai Lama 

This interview appeared in the first issue of The Quest, autumn 1988. It was held at the close of annual teachings and initiations in Bodhgaya, India, the place most sacred to Buddhists. It is selected from a book, The Bodhgaya Interviews, edited by Jose Ignacio Cabezón.

 

His Holiness: At the outset, I would like to express my greetings. I am not staying many days in Bodhgaya, so I have been very busy. At the same time there are many people this year, aren’t there? There is a much bigger gathering this year than last year.

Now the teachings are finished and everyone is departing. Except for our memory, soon there will be nothing left of our days in Bodhgaya. This is the way of human life—time passes. As a Buddhist, one must think not only in terms of this lifetime, but in terms of trillions and trillions of years. To think in this way is also a form of practice. I think this is very important.

At the beginning, we must certainly learn from a teacher or from books. Then it is necessary to apply what we have learned to the new experiences and events we encounter in our daily lives. Now, in the present case, if we consider our departure from Bodhgaya, some people may feel sad. To dwell on this and to think, “Now we are leaving and we shall not see each other any longer” is not a very useful thing to do.

If, however, we contemplate the deeper significance, the implicit lesson in impermanence and change, and the nature of human life, then the experience of departing can be a useful one. It becomes meaningful. Physically we may be departing, but mentally, our memory and certain things we may have experienced in Bodhgaya—these will remain in our minds. The physical part cannot remain with you always. It will remain for a while and then depart. So, you see, all external material things, no matter how important or how beautiful, will eventually depart. But certain things which are related mainly to consciousness, to the inner experience, these, generally speaking, remain always with you.

Question: Your Holiness, how can we separate the essence of Buddhism from Tibetan cultural adaptations?

His Holiness: I think the basic teachings such as the Four Noble Truths and the Two Truths (conventional and ultimate) are the very foundation of Buddhism. These are teachings that are to be found in Indian Buddhism, Japanese Buddhism, Chinese, Thai, Burmese, and also in Tibetan Buddhism. They all have teachings such as the Four Noble Truths—these are basic to all forms of Buddhism. Now the Tantras are not practiced in common. They are practiced only in Tibet, in Japan, and perhaps in Korea. But we can nonetheless consider the Tantric teachings as authentic Buddhism, as the true teachings.

When we perform certain kinds of prayers and rituals in Tibetan Buddhism, in certain minor aspects, there may be Tibetan adaptations. These parts, then, can be dispensed with in the transmission of Buddhism to other cultures. For example, when we perform certain pujas (offering rituals), we use certain musical instruments. We use, for example, the conch shell: this is something we took from India. (In Tibet, there were no conches. But other instruments were common in Tibet.) When you Westerners perform these pujas, these rituals, it is not necessary for you to use these same instruments, you can use your own.

This is just one example of aspects that are local adaptations. In another place with a different culture and different people these things may not be relevant, they may not actually be useful, and that part should change. In the West, for example, there exists the tradition of using song; some Christians, for example, use song as a means of conveying and appreciating spiritual meaning. This is fine: it is useful.

Question: In the teachings there are many things mentioned that are contradicted by Western science. For example, it is claimed that the moon is 100 miles above the earth, etc. Many of our teachers hold these views to be literally true and Westem science to be wrong. Would Your Holiness comment on how we should view these teachings of the Buddha, and on how we should regard our teachers who hold to them literally?

His Holiness: This is a complicated matter. But I believe, and I have expressed this on several occasions, that basically a Buddhist attitude on any subject must be one that accords with the facts. If, upon investigation, you find that there is reason and proof for a point, then you should accept it. That is not to say that there are certain points that are beyond the human powers of deductive reasoning—that is a different matter. But things such as the size or position of the moon and stars, etc., are things that the human mind can come to know. On these matters it is important to accept the facts, the real situation, whatever that may be.

When we investigate certain measurements and descriptions as they exist in our own texts, we find that they do not correspond to reality. In such a case we must accept the reality, and not the literal scriptural explanation. This should be the basic attitude.

If something is contradictory to reasoning, or if it is found to be false after investigation, then that point cannot be accepted. That is the rule, that is the general attitude. For example, if something is directly experienced by the senses, then there is no question, no doubt, that we should accept it.

In the scriptures there are many different cosmological theories expounded. We do believe that there are many billions and billions of worlds, in the same way that Western science accepts there are limitless numbers of galaxies. This is something that is mentioned very clearly in scripture, though the size and shape may not be the same. They may be different.

For example, Mount Meru is mentioned in the scriptures. It is claimed to be the center of the earth. But if it is there, by following the description in scripture of its location, it must be found. At least we must get some indication that it is there, but there is none. So we must take a different interpretation from the literal one.

If there are teachers who still hold to the literal meaning, then that is their own business. There is no need to argue with them. You can see things according to your own interpretation, and they can see things as they see fit.

In any case, these are basically minor matters, aren’t they? The foundation of the teachings: the Four Noble Truths, what they have to say about the nature of life, about the nature of suffering, about the nature of mind—these are basic teachings, these are what is most important, what is relevant to our lives. Whether the world is square or round does not matter as long as it remains a peaceful and good place.

Question: Can Your Holiness comment on the power of a holy place such as Bodhgaya? What makes virtuous activities performed here more powerful and worthy of more merit?

His Holiness: The fact that many holy beings, spiritually advanced practitioners, stay and practice in a certain place makes the atmosphere or environment of that place change. The place gets some imprint from the person.

Then when another person who does not have much experience or spiritual development comes and remains in that place and practices, he/she can obtain certain special kinds of experience, though of course the right type of motivation and certain karmic forces must also be present in the person as contributing factors for such an experience to come about.

According to the Tantric teachings, at important places there are nonhuman beings, like dakinis, who have bodies that are much more subtle than those of humans. When great spiritual practitioners stay in a certain place and perform meditation and rituals there, then that place becomes familiar to beings like dakas and dakinis, so that they may inhabit the place and travel around it. As indications of this, sometimes one may notice an unusual noise or smell that seems to have no particular reason for existing. These are indications that some higher beings, different beings who have more experience, are inhabiting or traveling through that place. This could also act as a factor influencing whether or not a place is considered special.

In addition, in regard to Bodhgaya, we know that the Buddha himself must have chosen this place for a particular reason—this we believe. Due to the power of his prayer, later, when his followers actually come to this place, they may feel something—hence the power of the Buddha’s prayer could also be a factor.

Perhaps we must take human psychological factors into account as well. For example, Mahayana Buddhists feel strongly toward Sakyamuni Buddha, toward Nagarjuna, etc. In my own case, I have a strong feeling towards the Buddha, towards Nagarjuna, Arya Asanga, to all of these great beings. So when you stay at the place where these people were born and remained, then you feel something. If you use this feeling in the right way, that is fine, there is nothing wrong with it.

Question: Could Your Holiness say something about growing open to one’s own inner guru and also something about the absolute guru?

His Holiness: In general, there is said to be an inner guru, an outer guru, and a secret guru. This is explained in different scriptures, and there are some slight differences in the way these concepts are interpreted or explained in Nyingma, Kargyu, Sakya, and Gelug (the four main orders of Tibetan Buddhism). Likewise, there are differences in the way the different sects explain the four types of mandalas. Outer, inner, secret, and the mandala of reality (de kho na nyid).

The internal or inner guru is the innermost subtle consciousness of the guru. Now that innermost subtle consciousness which your guru has is exactly similar to the innermost subtle consciousness you yourself have. What then is the difference between the two? The guru, who is in effect using this subtle consciousness in his practice, is actually experiencing it with awareness, so that the consciousness becomes a form of wisdom.

When we faint or when we are dying, we too experience that subtle consciousness. And although that consciousness is there, although it is present, we are not aware or conscious of it. We do not realize that it is present. So the real guru, the inner guru, is this consciousness that exists within ourselves. It is also the inner protector, the real ultimate refuge. It is the experience of that state that is the real teacher, that is the real protector, that is the real Dharma. Thus there is this inner guru.

Now, you see, the manifestation of that consciousness in the form of a human body we call the external guru.

As for the secret guru, it is the special method or way that brings us to an awareness of that consciousness. This includes breathing meditations, the generation of bliss, and of the inner heat. These we may call the secret guru because it is through these techniques that we come to realize the inner guru. Sometimes this subtle consciousness is called “inner guru,” sometimes it is called the “ultimate guru.” In any case the two terms are synonymous.

According to the sutras, according to the Madhyamika school, “the absolute” refers to sunyata, to emptiness. In the Mahanuttaniyoga Tantras, however, the word “absolute” has two meanings. It can refer either to sunyata itself or to this special type of subtle consciousness (not to the ordinary, vulgar levels of mind, however). For the most part, when these scriptures refer to “the ultimate,” they are referring to the consciousness aspect, but not to ordinary consciousness, to a consciousness we call rigpa, the ultimate, innermost subtle consciousness. Even when the five senses are not active, the subtle consciousness is still there, though it is overpowered by the senses.

You see, all the senses are individual types of consciousness. The eye consciousness has color, shape, and so forth as its object: the ear consciousness perceives sounds, etc. Even though they are all different, having different objects, nonetheless, they are all of the same nature, of the nature of knowing. They may come to know through different means, but they are still of the nature of knowing. This common aspect they have in common we call shes pa, knowing. Now the rigpa, which we can call “awareness,” this innermost subtle consciousness, is also of the nature of “knowing.” It too is a “knower,” just as the eye consciousness is a “knower.” So both the coarser sense consciousnesses and the more subtle rigpa are of the nature of knowing. They are both “knowers.” The coarser types of consciousness come to know something because of the subtle consciousness. The basic nature of knowing thus comes from, or is due to, the existence of the subtle consciousness. Even during moments when the sense organs are very active, if we rely on the instructions of a proper, experienced teacher, we can separate the two experiences: the path of the coarser consciousnesses from the path of the subtle consciousness.

These points, however, are difficult. First of all, the matter being discussed is difficult; add to that the fact that the Dalai Lama’s English is poor, and it makes for an altogether awkward situation. You see, it is actually quite shameful. For quite a few years now I have had to speak with my own English, but it never comes out properly. In fact, sometimes, instead of getting better, it actually declines!

Question: Your Holiness, in what way does an individual consciousness exist? What part of that consciousness is still present after death? And is there a total dissolution of that consciousness when one reaches Buddhahood?

His Holiness: Consciousness will always be present, though a particular consciousness may cease. For example, the particular tactile consciousness that is present within this human body will cease when the body comes to an end. Likewise, consciousnesses that are influenced by ignorance, by anger, or by attachment—these too will cease. Furthermore, all of the coarser levels of consciousness will cease. But the basic, ultimate, innermost subtle consciousness will always remain. It had no beginning, and it will have no end. That consciousness will remain. When we reach Buddhahood, that consciousness becomes enlightened all­knowing. Still, the consciousness will remain an individual thing. For example, the Buddha Sakyamuni’s consciousness and the Buddha Kasyapa’s consciousness are distinct individual things. This individuality of consciousness is not lost upon the attainment of Buddhahood. Still, all of the minds of all Buddhas have the same qualities—in this sense they are similar. They have the same qualities while still preserving their individuality. 

Question: What does Your Holiness think of unilateral nuclear disarmament?

His Holiness: Now, you see, world peace through mental peace is an absolute. It is the ultimate goal. But as for the method, there are many factors that must be taken into consideration. Under a particular set of circumstances, a certain approach may be useful while under other circumstances, another method may be more useful. This is a very complicated issue which compels us to study the situation at a particular point of time. We must take into account the other side’s motivation, etc., so it is a very complex matter.

But we must always keep in mind that all of us want happiness. War, on the other hand, only brings suffering—that is very clear. Even if we are victorious, that victory means sacrificing many people. It means their suffering. Therefore, the important thing is peace. But how do we achieve peace? Is it done through hatred, through extreme competition, through anger? It is obvious that through these means it is impossible to achieve any form of lasting world peace. Hence the only alternative is to achieve world peace through mental peace, through peace of mind. World peace is achieved based only on a sense of brotherhood and sisterhood, on the basis of compassion. The clear, genuine realization of the oneness of all mankind is something important. It is something we definitely need. Wherever I go, I always express these views.

Question: Western monks and nuns sometimes find it difficult wearing robes in the West. We are often stared at and looked upon as being strange. Does your Holiness recommend wearing robes in non-Buddhist countries?

His Holiness: This we must judge according to particular cases and circumstances. If you can remain in robes without disturbing others, then of course it is better to wear robes. In some particular cases, however, this may be difficult.

Basically, as practitioners, we must remain in society. We must be good members of the society in which we live. So if society has a negative attitude towards you, this may be good neither for yourself nor for society. This is the basic position. Now if for this reason, one decides not to wear robes, if it is not suitable, better not to do so under those circumstances. This is all right. If the circumstances should change, then change. Gradually the society itself may change its attitudes. The West is a society in which Buddhism has never flourished, and this is changing. I think that, compared to thirty years ago, today when monks travel on an international air carrier, they are recognized as monks. So, you see, time goes on, and gradually things will change. The important thing is not what we wear but our behavior in our everyday lives.

Thank you very much. Today there is not much time, but I am happy to have shared these few moments with you. All of us have come from different parts of the world and we may even have different faiths, but we all have the same human mind. Isn’t that so? When it comes down to the level of basic human qualities we are the same, there are no differences. On a superficial level, however, there are many, many differences. So what we need to do is go to a deeper level. There we find that we are all human brothers and sisters. No barriers exist for us. Everyone wants happiness and does not want suffering, and everyone has the right to achieve permanent happiness. So we must share each other’s suffering and help each other. If we cannot help others, at least we must not harm them. That is the main principle. Whether we believe in the next life or not does not matter. Whether we believe in God or not doesn’t matter. But one thing that does matter very much is that we live peacefully, calmly, with a real sense of brotherhood and sisterhood. This is the way to achieve true world peace, or if not world peace, then at least a peaceful community. That is important, very useful, and very helpful. Thank you very much.

His Holiness the Dalai Lama is recognized as the fourteenth incarnation in the line of Dalai Lamas, and is the head of the Tibetan government-in-exile in Dharamsala, India. He is known the world over as a great spiritual teacher and tireless worker for peace.

Dalai Lama, excerpts from Answers: Discussions with Western Buddhists, edited by José Ignacio Cabezón. Copyright © 2001 by José Ignacio Cabezón. Reprinted by arrangement with The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Shambhala Publications Inc., Boulder, Colorado, www.shambhala.com.


Fall 2025

VOLUME 113, NUMBER 4
CONTENTS

Inner Guru, Outer Guru, Secret Guru
Tenzin Gyatso, the Fourteenth Dalai Lama

The Chakras and the Human Energy Fields
Shafica Karagulla and Dora van Gelder Kunz

The Mill and the Millpond: A Twenty-Year Conversation with J. Krishnamurti
Ravi Ravindra

Who Are the Masters? An Interview with Joy Mills
Richard Smoley

The Cant about "Masters": Koot Hoomi's Last Letter to Annie Besant

The Rainbow Body: How the Western Chakra System Came to Be
Kurt Leland 

H.P.Blavatsky: The Sphinx of the Nineteeth Century
Franz Hartmann

From the Editor's Desk

Viewpoint; A Nineteenth-Century State of Mind
Douglas Keene


Israelite Religion: From Tribal Beginnings to Scribal Legacy

Israelite Religion: From Tribal Beginnings to Scribal Legacy
Karel van der Toorn
New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 2025. xv + 410 pp., hardcover, $40.

The Bible as seen by scholars and the Bible as seen by the public are two different things.

To see why, we can look into the index of this new book by a professor at the University of Amsterdam. It is a survey of the religion of ancient Israel from 1200 to 200 BC.

Popular belief, following the Bible, holds that Moses was a historical figure who led a group of Hebrew slaves out of Egypt c.1300 BC. But Israelite Religion portrays Moses as a shadowy, possibly mythic figure: the index has no listing for “Moses” per se but for “the Moses tradition.” Indeed van der Toorn says that the “exodus tradition” was unknown to many Israelites until comparatively late.

Van der Toorn begins his history of Israelite religion at the beginning of the Iron Age in Palestine (c.1200 BC). Before that, he indicates, little is known that is historically reliable. He argues that the Exodus from Egypt—a focal point of today’s Judaism—did not take place as the Bible says: “The careful analysis of the biblical sources shows that the exodus-and-conquest model was originally developed in the Northern Kingdom, as a national narrative to provide the different population groups with a putative common history.” (“The Northern Kingdom” refers to the two kingdoms in the Palestine of the early first millennium BC: Israel in the north, and Judah in the south.)

These details reflect the thrust of van der Toorn’s book. Instead of the coherent (if sometimes contradictory) biblical narrative of the patriarchs, bondage in Egypt, and liberation under the charismatic figure of Moses, he portrays Israel as a nation that came together around 1200 BC as a merger of different groups “that were ethnically mixed . . . They became Israelites, over the course of generations, in the Palestinian highlands” (emphasis van der Toorn’s). In such a context, the historical Moses becomes much more shadowy—and may have been fictional.

The Bible says that the Israelites were united by the worship of a desert deity called YHWH (pronounced, according to van der Toorn, as “Yaho”). But even this is mysterious. As he indicates, the very name “Israel” indicates that this nation originally worshipped the Canaanite god El, who was originally quite distinct from YHWH: the Israelites equated the two only later. The only thing known about YHWH is that he originated in Edom, as the earliest biblical references show. Presumably wandering shepherds from Edom and Midian (to the southeast of Palestine) brought their worship of YHWH with them into the Palestinian highlands, and other peoples joined them.

This reductionistic view presents its own difficulties. Van der Toorn describes the coalescence of a nation called Israel that came to worship Yahweh instead of El, although he does not explain how. This process is inexplicable unless we postulate a charismatic figure—like a Moses—who united these peoples in veneration of YHWH. It seems more likely that the Exodus narrative, including some of its main characters, is based on some core facts, even if they were heavily elaborated later.

These early Israelites were united only by allegiance to YHWH, which was not monotheistic in the sense understood today. The early Israelites did not necessarily deny the existence of other gods, as worshipped by neighboring peoples—only that YHWH was the god of Israel. Many Israelites also worshipped other Canaanite gods, and at least until the sixth century BC, there was a common belief that YHWH had a female consort, usually known as Asherah. The prophets’ relentless call that YHWH alone was to be revered shows the allure of these other gods.

In short, van der Toorn, like most mainstream scholars, depicts Israelite religion as the result of a long process of evolution and development. In its early forms it did not resemble today’s Judaism. Indeed van der Toorn argues that the term “Judaism” cannot even be applied to the religion of the Jews until around 200 BC. The Torah was unknown even to priests and kings until around 620 BC, when the priest Hilkiah “discovered” a previously unknown scroll of law attributed to Moses, which was read to King Josiah of Judah (2 Kings 22:8‒13). Scholars generally agree that this “discovery” was actually a pious fiction written by Hilkiah and his associates that formed the core of the biblical book of Deuteronomy.

Other features that we now consider essential to Judaism—circumcision, Sabbath observance, abstinence from pork—did not become standard Jewish practice until the second century BC. (For more on this issue, see The Origins of Judaism: An Archaeological-Historical Reappraisal, by Yonatan Adler.)

The story is far more detailed and intricate than I can go into here, but overall van der Toorn deftly and accurately summarizes current scholarly views of the religion of ancient Israel. This book is, as it says, intended for scholars and students. As such, it presupposes some knowledge of the subject: someone coming into it cold may find it rather difficult. Some background reading—such as my book How God Became God: What Scholars Are Really Saying about God and the Bible—would be useful. But as a concise and readable digest of an enormous amount of textual and archaeological evidence, Israelite Religion is not only valuable but will probably serve as a standard work for some time to come.

Richard Smoley

           


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