Quest Magazine

Printed in the  Fall 2023 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Savinainen, Tolmunen: Antti, Tommi "Dawning of the Clear Light: A comparison of The Tibetan Book of the Dead with Theosophical teachings on the afterlife" Quest 111:4, pg 18-25

By Antti Savinainen and Tommi Tolmunen

What does Buddhism teach about the afterlife? Probably the best-known text in this regard is the Bardo Thödol or The Tibetan Book of the Dead, a translation of which was first published in English by W.Y. Evans-Wentz in 1927. However, his version has been severely criticized by several Tibetologists (see for instance Reynolds, Cuevas, and Lopez). In this article, the main source is The Tibetan Book of the Dead: The First Complete Translation, first published in 2005 and endorsed by the Dalai Lama (Coleman and Jinpa). This translation is based on a larger collection of texts called The Self-Liberated Wisdom of the Peaceful and Wrathful Deities. Our description of the process of death in Tibetan Buddhism is derived from The Great Liberation upon Hearing (referred as the Liberation upon Hearing in this article), which is chapter 11 in Coleman and Jinpa.

The Tibetan Book of the Dead can be interpreted as a guide to the afterlife, a guide to spiritual practice in this life, or a road map of death for the dead person. In practice, it is often taken as a text that is read first in this life in order to understand what will happen in the afterlife. This is done to make it possible for the dying to recall the text during the dying process and in the subsequent bardos, the intermediate states between death and rebirth. In Tibetan contexts, the text is read aloud to the deceased for a number of days after death to reinforce recollection.

As in other forms of Mahayana Buddhism, practitioners of Tibetan Buddhism aim to achieve enlightenment in order to help all other sentient beings attain this state. The role of a spiritual teacher (lama) is considered crucial. Tibetan Buddhism is a part of the Vajrayana, which addresses the intermediate states between death and rebirth (whereas, according to the older Theravada Buddhist theory, rebirth takes place immediately, without an intermediate state).

The tradition holds that Padmasambhava, the semilegendary master who brought Buddhism to Tibet in the eighth century CE, wrote The Self-Liberated Wisdom of the Peaceful and Wrathful Deities and hid it for future times; centuries later, it was discovered in a miraculous way. This kind of text is called terma. Historical research, by contrast, maintains that Karma Lingpa (1326–86) was the author. Cuevas (110) notes on the basis of his research that the present version of the Liberation upon Hearing is probably the outcome of a gradual process of extensions and elaborations of earlier texts. On the other hand, Tibetan tradition regards Karma Lingpa as a terton, one who reveals hidden terma teachings. In the Tibetan tradition, termas can also take the form of “mind termas,” discovered within the mind of the terton. Therefore, the more conventional view of the history does not completely contradict the Tibetan view.

In this article, we review the moment of death and the three intermediate states of death as they are presented in the Liberation upon Hearing, unless otherwise stated. Second, we present additional perspectives on the Tibetan view of death and how to prepare for it by certain yogic practices. Third, we compare these bardo states with Theosophical descriptions of the afterlife. Finally, we provide our tentative interpretation of the Liberation upon Hearing.

The Three Intermediate States of Tibetan Buddhism

The Intermediate State of the Time of Death

The first phase in the Liberation upon Hearing is the “Introduction to the Inner Radiance in the Intermediate State of the Time of Death.” The introduction—that is, reading the instruction aloud— should be made after the dying person’s respiration has ceased and the vital energies (prana in Sanskrit) have been absorbed into the central energy channel (sushumna nadi in Sanskrit). Then “the inner radiance of reality” or “the inner radiance of the ground” (some other texts call this the “Clear Light”) arises in the mind of the dying person. This is the first opportunity for liberation or enlightenment.

The duration of this inner radiance depends on the deceased individual’s experience with spiritual practice and the condition of their energy channels. For a negative person with unhealthy channels, this may be only a very brief moment (“a snap of the fingers”). Ordinary people experience a loss of consciousness, which may last up to three and a half days. The Liberation upon Hearing and Tibetan Buddhist sources describe a certain sequence of the signs or initial stages of death (see table 1).

Table 1. The initial stages of death according to Tibetan Buddhism 

In the next phase, the vital energy leaves the body. Then “the inner radiance of the path” will arise, and the consciousness becomes awake and lucid. However, the deceased may not know that they have died. Although they cannot talk, they can see and hear their relatives, but the latter cannot see or hear the deceased.

The vital energy can escape through any one of nine gates in the body. The point of exit is very important: if the consciousness leaves through the crown of the head (the crown fontanelle), one will attain liberation. The eyes and the left nostril are considered the next best apertures, enabling the next incarnation in a human form (the only form in which, according to Buddhism, enlightenment is possible).

Here, as is the case in the first inner radiance, the nature of instructions provided depends on the deceased’s level of achievement. If the deceased was engaged with advanced practices, they are addressed as follows: “O, Child of Buddha Nature! Meditate on this, your meditational deity. Do not be distracted!” If the deceased was an ordinary person, the introduction is prefaced thus: “Meditate on the Lord of Great Compassion [Avalokiteshvara]!”

The Intermediate State of Reality

If the consciousness of the deceased recognizes the inner radiance, liberation is attained. Otherwise, the intermediate state of reality (chönyid bardo) will arise. The phenomena of sounds, lights of different colors, and rays of light will arise, and the deceased may faint with fear, terror, or awe. The deceased is reminded that “however terrifying the appearances of the intermediate states of reality might be . . . through them the recognition may be attained.” Those who have been unconscious for up to three and a half days will now awaken. They are urged to recognize the intermediate state of reality.

On each day, different entities will manifest. For instance, on the first day, the lord Vairochana, white in color, will arise from the central Buddha field. From Vairochana’s heart, a blue luminosity will emanate and shine so piercingly that the eyes of the deceased cannot bear it. At the same time, a dull white light from the realm of the gods will dawn. The deceased is instructed to have confidence in the brilliant light and not to be attached to the dull light, which is an obstruction to liberation and leads to the cycles of existence in one of the six realms or lokas: those of the gods, asuras (demigods), humans, animals, pretas (hungry ghosts), and hell dwellers. For instance, on the first day, the dull white light would lead to rebirth in the god realms. However, if the inner radiance of pristine cognition is recognized in the form of Vairochana Buddha, buddhahood is attained.

On the following six days, other peaceful deities will arise in turn. Each of them has a body of different color, and each will shine piercing light of a certain color. The deceased is reminded that these are due to “the natural expressive power of your own awareness.” Along with the peaceful deities, the colored dull lights from the six realms will dawn; these may appear delightful for the deceased who has negative past actions.

If liberation is not achieved when encountering the peaceful deities and the deceased has not been attracted to the lower realms, the fifty-eight wrathful, blood-drinking deities will arise during the next seven days. These are transformations of the peaceful deities, although they have a very different appearance. Recognition and liberation are more difficult in this phase, as the deceased is easily overpowered by fear, terror, or awe and may subsequently faint continually. On the other hand, because of the terrifying appearance of these entities, the awareness is one-pointedly concentrated. This means that liberation would be easy even with the slightest recognition. The deceased continues to receive oral instructions aimed at helping them to recognize the wrathful deities as the buddha-body, or mental body, of one’s own intrinsic awareness. The deceased is reminded that the wrathful deities cannot harm the buddha-body: “Emptiness cannot be harmed by emptiness.”

The Intermediate State of Rebirth

If the recognition of the wrathful deities does not take place, the deceased will move into the intermediate state of rebirth (sidpa bardo). The buddha-body has all the sense faculties, and it has the ability to move without obstruction, which is a sign that one is indeed wandering in the intermediate state. This body is visible to other deceased individuals who are in a similar state; it can also be perceived through pure clairvoyance through genuine meditative concentration.

The deceased will once again see their relatives, as if in a dream, although the relatives cannot respond to the deceased. The latter, who at this point realizes that he or she is dead, experiences intense suffering. The fierce hurricane of past actions (some translations call this “the winds of karma”) will drive the deceased, who will also face an unfathomable darkness. Negative beings will arise, and the deceased will imagine being pursued by hordes of people. Terrifying sounds will be heard. The terrified deceased individual will try to flee and find shelter, with no success. On the other hand, those with merit will experience blissful states. In any case, the deceased is instructed not to be attached to the experiences.

If the deceased cannot meditate in the right way, “the innate good conscience” will gather all virtuous actions and count them with white pebbles. In a similar manner, the “innate bad conscience” will gather all nonvirtuous actions and count them with black pebbles. The deceased will tremble with fear and will try to lie, but this is in vain, since Yama Dharmaraja (the embodiment of the forces of the laws of cause and effect) will consult “the mirror of past actions.” Yama will then repeatedly cut the mental body of the deceased, which will cause enormous suffering. Again, the deceased is instructed that “emptiness cannot harm emptiness.” Liberation is still possible if the deceased will regain focus and succeeds in recognition.

In case liberation is not achieved, the six dull lights of the six realms will emerge, and the mental body of the deceased will have the color of the light of the realm into which rebirth will take place. As before, the deceased will be pursued by whirlwinds and a crowd of people. Those lacking merit will flee towards a place of suffering, whereas those with merit reach a place of happiness.

Then signs of the environment of the next rebirth will arise, which means that the intermediate state of the rebirth is close. The deceased will see a male and female (either humans or animals) engaging in sexual intercourse. The instructions for obstructing the womb entrances will be read to the deceased. In case the deceased does not avoid the womb entrance, he or she is instructed on how to choose an appropriate one, that is, a rebirth that will be beneficial for continued spiritual practice.

Teachings of Death in the Traditions of Six Yogas

History and Origins of Six Yogas

Teachings on death are found in many different lines of Tibetan textual sources. Among these are the teachings on the Six Yogas, of which the best-known are texts in Six Yogas of Naropa. However, there are other texts with more or less similar contents, such as yogas of the Mother Tantra (Ma Gyud) and Kusum Rangshar in the Bon tradition. This chapter is based on writings of Glenn Mullin and Ian Baker, and with regard to the Yungdrung Bon tradition, on the translation of Kusum Rangshar by Shardza Tashi Gyaltsen et al.

The teachings on Six Yogas have their origins in the highest yoga tantras (anuttara tantra in Sanskrit). The best-known of these tantras are Chakrasamvara, Hevajra, Guhyasamaya, and, in the Yungdrung Bon tradition, Ma Gyud (Mother Tantra) respectively. Some of these tantras have particularly elaborate descriptions of these yogas. For example, Tummo teachings are mostly derived from Chakrasamvara and Hevajra tantras, whereas the yoga of the illusory body is represented in the most elaborate form in the Guhysamaya Tantra. Mullin describes Six Yogas as a compilation of simple forms of these completion stage yogas presented in the root tantras.

Naropa (1016–1100) was a famous scholar in India who condensed the tantric teachings he received from his master Tilopa into Six Yogas. These teachings were brought to Tibet by Marpa the Translator (1012­–1097), who transmitted them in turn to the famous Tibetan yogi Milarepa (1040–1123). Milarepa’s students Gampopa (1079–1153) and Rechumpa (1083–1161) carried on these teachings. Tsongkhapa (1357–1419), the great reformer of Tibetan Buddhism, gathered teachings on the Six Yogas from different lineages and wrote his practice manual called Three Inspirations, from which Mullin made his well-known translation.

Contents and Practice of the Six Yogas

Despite the name “Six Yogas,” the exact number of these yogas, their names, and how they are counted vary depending on the text consulted. For example, in some texts Tummo and sexual yogas (karmamudra in Sanskrit) are counted as one; in other texts, they are handled separately. In the same way, sometimes dream yoga and the yoga of the illusory body are counted as one, sometimes two. Approximately half of the yogas are intended for enlightenment during life. The other half are meant to be utilized in the after-death bardos and are practiced during the lifetime as a preparation for death.

All the traditions of Six Yogas emphasize the importance of guru yoga as a preliminary practice. By practicing guru yoga, one is believed to receive the blessings and the power of the teacher and the lineage. After guru yoga comes the generation stage exercises. In these, practitioners visualize the whole universe dissolving into bliss and becoming a mandala. One sits in the center of the mandala and visualizes oneself as the central deity of the mandala, often as a male and with a female counterpart in sexual union. In Theravada teachings, the causes of enlightenment are cultivated in the form of dos and don’ts; tantric practice, by contrast, emphasizes cultivating the results: in the beginning one visualizes oneself as an enlightened deity, empty and full of bliss. The practitioner gradually actualizes these enlightened qualities by repeating these visualizations.

The foundation for all the other yogas is Tummo (candali in Sanskrit), which enables the yogi to guide the praṇas into the central channel, where they dissolve. Despite differences in terminology, this process can be regarded as similar to the awakening of the kundalini energy in Hindu tradition. Pranas entering the central channel in Tummo meditation lead to dissolutions of elements one by one. This is followed by the white near-attainment, when the white bodhicitta, or kundalini drop (tigle in Tibetan), enters and dissolves in the heart chakra. Then the red, female kundalini drop enters the heart from the lowest chakra, leading to the red near-attainment. That is followed by an experience of blackout, during which most people will lose their consciousness.

After this point arises the Clear Light, which is considered to be the deepest state of tantric meditation. This state is similar to what occurs while one is falling asleep. Usually people cannot remain aware of these stages, but practitioners familiarize themselves with them and so can recognize them. In this way, practitioners prepare themselves for death every day and night.

Three Kayas and Nine Blendings

The Three Kayas is a somewhat complicated concept in Mahayana Buddhism. In enlightenment, the mind of the practitioner transforms into Dharmakaya; the speech, or pranas, transforms into Sambhogakaya; and the body into Nirmanakaya.

These “enlightenment bodies” are also present and recognizable for skillful “nonenlightened” practitioners in waking life, in deep meditation, in falling asleep and dreaming, and in death. Familiarization with these enlightened dimensions during the lifetime—not only during meditation, but also during normal day-to-day life—prepares the practitioner to recognize them at the moment of death and in the bardo. The process of familiarizing oneself with the Three Kayas during the waking state, during meditation, and in death is called “nine blendings” (table 2). 

Table 2. The nine blendings

Although Tummo is the foundation stone for the practice of Six Yogas, the main part of the practice consists of yogas of the illusory body and the Clear Light. The Clear Light meditation is aimed toward actualizing the enlightened qualities of the mind.

Mullin refers to the illusory body as “Illusory Physicality”: regarding one’s own body and those of other beings, as well as the environment, as empty and blissful. In the yoga of the illusory body, the practitioner also learns how to identify dreams while in the dream state as well as how to identify emerging visions in the bardo state. In meditation, the practitioner visualizes himself or herself as a deity. The practitioner also attempts to rise from meditation and in the morning from a sleep with “tantric pride”: seeing the whole universe as a Pure Land and being blissful and radiant oneself.

In the deep state of meditation, the practitioner can attain the experience of the Clear Light. In addition, Clear Light yoga aims at maintaining consciousness during deep sleep. This corresponds to identifying the inner radiance emerging in the moment of death as a manifestation of one’s own mind. In this way, the yogi practices meditation every day as a preparation for death. Every night during different stages of sleep and dream, phenomena related to death states continue to occur, which the practitioner utilizes in preparing for death. The Dalai Lama has also mentioned that in advanced levels, sleep yoga can create a pure illusory body, which can be used to move in different spiritual realms during sleep.

The Six Yogas of Naropa have also been called the Oral Transmission for Achieving Liberation in the Bardo. Bardo yoga is aimed at helping practitioners recognize that they are dead and that emerging visions are just products of their minds. Practitioners who have not reached enlightenment during the lifetime still have the chance for realization during the different phases of death (as explained in the first part of this article0. Moreover, with a technique called phowa, the consciousness can be transferred into the Pure Lands at the moment of death in order to bypass the bardo states. Phowa should be performed when the practitioner is certain that death is unavoidable while still having the power to perform the practice. A highly qualified lama may also perform phowa for a dying person.

The Theosophical Perspective on Death

Let us first discuss briefly how Theosophists claim to know what happens after we die. According to Theosophy, all humans have a physical body, its etheric double (a vital body), an astral body, a mental body, and the immortal higher Self. All these aspects in the human being correspond to the visible and invisible cosmos with different “planes,” such as the etheric, astral, and mental. Spiritual training in the form of ethical life and meditation (see Ervast’s Divine Seed, and Steiner’s How to Know Higher Worlds) can eventually lead to continuous consciousness, connecting this world with the invisible worlds. Here the deceased passes through different states from the etheric plane to the (higher) mental plane, which is sometimes called heaven or devachan. Continuity in consciousness entails remaining fully conscious in the sleep state as well as in the hidden consciousness state beyond the sleep state (Ervast, Astral Schools). If those conditions are met, the Theosophist can make objective observations on various afterlife states when out of the body, then can return to the body and remember everything. This is how the Finnish Theosophist Pekka Ervast (1875–1934) described how he came to know what happens between death and rebirth (Marjanen et al., 25–26). Our presentation is based on Ervast’s description, which is largely consistent with other accounts of the afterlife in the Theosophical literature.

It is possible to discern three intermediate states in the Theosophical description of the afterlife in a fashion parallel to that of the Liberation upon Hearing. The first such state contains leaving the body, witnessing a life review, and living up to three days in the etheric world. The second intermediate state starts when the deceased leaves the etheric body, loses consciousness, and wakes up in the astral world. Most of the astral life is spent in the process of purification: the deceased lives their life again and faces all that was unkind and lacking in their deeds, words, and thoughts. The deceased experiences everything from the perspective of others, feeling how the others felt and reacted to their actions. This can be a painful process. Moreover, the surrounding astral world reflects the state of mind of the deceased; in extreme cases, one could call the astral world so experienced as hellish. Eventually the deceased will be purified and goes through a second death, in which only all that is good and worthy in the deceased will live on. 

The second death will commence the third intermediate state, which is the longest: life in heaven filled with love and profound happiness. It is life as a higher Self which has gathered all the fruits of past incarnations and is now enriched by the lessons learnt in the most recent incarnation. This state also entails meditative work to prepare for a new incarnation as a human being.

The third intermediate state comes to an end when the spiritual consciousness sees an outline of the new incarnation and all the spiritual lessons it has to learn in order to evolve towards the perfect ideal of human being. After that, the consciousness is reincarnated into conditions that have been determined by the total balance of karma.

Comparison between Teachings

According to Theosophy, the life review and evaluation of earthly deeds, words, and thoughts take place in the initial phase of the dying process, typically when the etheric body leaves the physical body (Marjanen, 39–40): 

The etheric [body] rises above, as if from feet through the head, and is above the physical body. As long as the bridge, that is the silver cord (it is also called the golden cord), remains intact, the person is not dead and could be resuscitated . . . [A dying person] stays in the etheric brain and, as consciousness is only surrounded by etheric matter, it is especially enlivened . . . When consciousness moves to the etheric brain during death, all memories are alive in front of us . . . [The deceased] does not live in his reminiscences, as he did while physically alive. He just watches the great play and judges it objectively, calling each thing—depending on its own quality—as good or bad, crime or merit, and so on. He remains in a great light, so to speak. If we are allowed to experience this in our waking consciousness, it is always accompanied by a light phenomenon. In fact, the viewer is the personalized higher self.

Three aspects of the description above match those with the Liberation upon Hearing: departure through the head, enlivened or lucid consciousness, and the light, which is called the “light of the higher Self” in Theosophy and the inner radiances of the ground and the path (Clear Light) in the Liberation upon Hearing.

However, there are differences as well. According to the Theosophical sources, the light of the higher Self accompanies every human being (with possibly a few exceptions) in the early phase of the dying process, whereas in the Liberation upon Hearing, the inner radiance is fully available only to advanced practitioners. On the other hand, the initial stages of the death process (see table 1) are described in much more detail in the Liberation upon Hearing than in any Theosophical source that we are aware of.

The timing and nature of life review are very different in the two systems: In the Theosophical account, at the beginning of the dying process, the personality judges its deeds objectively in the light of the higher Self. This seems to be absent in the Liberation upon Hearing, in which the judgment occurs (in the form of counting of virtuous and nonvirtuous actions) much later, in the third intermediate state of rebirth. This causes fear in the deceased, whereas in the Theosophical version of the life review, the judgment is carried out objectively, without emotions.

In the Theosophical account, the deceased loses consciousness in the transition from the etheric realm to the astral world—a detail that concurs with the description in the Liberation upon Hearing for an ordinary person. Moreover, both systems hold that spiritual training can affect the loss of consciousness after death. Both the Liberation upon Hearing and Theosophy state that the deceased may not initially know that they have died.

According to the Liberation upon Hearing, in both the intermediate states of reality and rebirth, the consciousness is clad in a mental body. This could be similar to the astral body in Theosophy. In the intermediate state of rebirth, the consciousness can move freely in the mental body. This resembles the Theosophical concept of astral travel. In this state, according to the Liberation upon Hearing, the consciousness can observe its mourning relatives in the intermediate state of rebirth, whereas in the Theosophical description this is possible only in the early stages of the dying process.

It is hard to find any correspondences to the peaceful and wrathful deities in Theosophical descriptions of astral life. Furthermore, it is hard to understand how a person coming from a completely different religious background, with no knowledge of Buddhism, could make any sense out of meeting the deities described in the Liberation upon Hearing. On the other hand, the Liberation upon Hearing was written by the Buddhists for Buddhist readers. Moreover, if these deities are projections of one’s own mind, it is possible that they would take another form for non-Buddhists. Be that as may, we have not found anything in Theosophical sources that corresponds to this interpretation.

The description of the deceased trying to find shelter in various places and feeling miserable in resembles the Theosophical state of kalma, which refers to extended etheric life due to premature death (Marjanen, 48). Furies and terrifying darkness described in the Liberation upon Hearing may correspond with the lower levels of the astral plane. Theosophy concurs that any suffering in the afterlife states occurs because one’s past actions have left their mark on the consciousness. Consequently, external afterlife conditions—painful or pleasant—are a projection of the mind, very much in the same manner as in the Liberation upon Hearing.   

One important difference between the two systems: the Liberation upon Hearing states that rebirth takes place from the third bardo and in unpleasant conditions, whereas Theosophy maintains that rebirth (usually) happens from a heavenly state (devachan)—from the highest state of bliss.

According to the Liberation upon Hearing, before rebirth, the consciousness sees signs of the environment related to the next life. This is quite similar to Theosophical teaching, which says that before rebirth, the reincarnating entity sees what it awaits in the new life and what lesson should be learnt. Furthermore, both systems maintain that advanced human beings have a greater role in planning and choosing the next life.

There is a great difference in time frames between the two systems. The Liberation upon Hearing says the bardo states can last up to forty-nine days, whereas according to Theosophy, the time between two incarnations can be as long as fifteen centuries; in special cases, it can be quite short, but even then, it is not as short as the Liberation upon Hearing maintains.

Perhaps the greatest difference between Theosophy and Tibetan Buddhism is that in the Theosophical view, liberation from nonvoluntary rebirth cannot be achieved after death: the union between personality and the higher self can only occur on earth. But according to Tibetan Buddhism, it is possible to reach liberation in all three intermediate states of the afterlife. Another difference is that unlike the Liberation upon Hearing, Theosophy strongly asserts that rebirth of a human being cannot take place in an animal form.

Some features in the Liberation upon Hearing are compatible with the Theosophical understanding of the afterlife. Nevertheless, there are so many differences that two accounts cannot be reconciled completely. Possibly the Liberation upon Hearing is intended as a meditation guide for practitioners of Tibetan Buddhism, especially for advanced practitioners working with visions originating from the primordial consciousness. Quite possibly those who have practiced intensive meditation guided by the rich and powerful imagery of the Liberation upon Hearing (and the other texts of The Tibetan Book of the Dead) will also benefit from having read it aloud in the afterlife bardos. In addition, it is believed that reading the Liberation upon Hearing can enable lesser practitioners to achieve a better rebirth, although they cannot reach enlightenment in the bardo states.

The Tibetan Book of the Dead and Theosophical sources on the afterlife can be viewed as virtually independent, as Theosophical teachings on the afterlife started to appear in print starting in the last quarter of the nineteenth century, decades before Evan-Wentz’s version of The Tibetan Book of the Death was published.

As we have seen, Tibetan Buddhism includes other teachings on the afterlife apart from The Tibetan Book of the Dead. These teachings contain elaborate meditations and practices (such as the Six Yogas of Naropa) for advanced practitioners in preparation for the afterlife bardos. Some of these teachings appear to map quite well with the esoteric Theosophical teachings on waking, dream, and hidden consciousness (Ervast, Astral Schools).

Finally, reading to the dead is no alien concept to Theosophy. It is thought that reading a good text on the afterlife can be helpful in orienting the deceased in a new environment, especially if the deceased is not familiar with spiritual teachings. The Anthroposophist Rudolf Steiner (1861–1925) provides detailed advice on how to read to the deceased (see Boogert, 158–67). This kind of reading could constitute a Western counterpart to reading the Liberation upon Hearing.

References

Baker, Ian. Tibetan Yoga: Principles and Practices. Rochester, Vt.: Inner Traditions, 2019.

Boogert, Arie. What Happens after We Die: Making the Connection between the Living and the Dead. Great Barrington, Mass.: Lindisfarne, 2021.

Coleman, Graham, and Jinpa, Thupten, eds. The Tibetan Book of the Dead: The First Complete Translation. New York: Penguin, 2017.

Cuevas, Bryan. The Hidden History of the Tibetan Book of the Dead. New York: Oxford University Press, 2003.

Ervast, Pekka. Astral Schools. N.p.: Literary Society of the Finnish Rosy Cross, 2008 [1929]. Available online.

———. The Divine Seed: The Esoteric Teachings of Jesus. Wheaton, Ill.: Quest, 2010.

Gyaltsen, Shardza Tashi, Geshe Sonam Gurung, and Daniel Brown. Self-Arising Three-fold Embodiment of Enlightenment of Bon Dzogchen Meditation. Newton, Mass.: Mustang Bon Foundation, 2019.

Lopez, Donald, Jr. The Tibetan Book of the Dead: A Biography. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2011.

Marjanen, Jouni, Antti Savinainen, and Jouko Sorvali. From Death to Rebirth: Teachings of the Finnish Sage Pekka Ervast. N.p. Literary Society of the Finnish Rosy Cross, 2017. Free e-book and audio versions are available on the Internet.

Mullin, Glenn. The Six Yogas of Naropa: Tsongkhapa’s Commentary Entitled A Book of Three Inspirations: A Treatise on the Stages of Training in the Profound Path of Naro’s Six Dharmas. Somerville, Mass.: Snow Lion, 2005.

———. The Practice of the Six Yogas of Naropa. Snow Lion, 2006.

———. The Dalai Lama on Tantra. Snow Lion, 2007.

Reynolds, John Myrdin. “Appendix I: The Views on Dzogchen of W.Y. Evans-Wentz and C.G. Jung.” in Reynolds, ed., Self-Liberation through Seeing with Naked Awareness. Barrytown, N.Y.: Station Hill Press, 1989.

Steiner, Rudolf. How to Know Higher Worlds: A Modern Path of Initiation. Translated by Christopher Bamford. Hudson, N.Y.: Anthroposophic Press, 1994.

The authors wish to thank Father Francis V. Tiso for providing us with a very useful critique of the first version of this article. We greatly benefited from his expertise on Tibetan Buddhism.

Antti Savinainen, PhD, is a Finnish high-school physics instructor who teaches both the Finnish national syllabus and for the international baccalaureate. Since receiving his PhD in physics in 2004, he has been involved with physics education research as a researcher and thesis supervisor. He has been a member of the Finnish Rosy Cross, a part of the Finnish Theosophical movement, for thirty years. He was on the editorial team that compiled From Death to Rebirth: Teachings of the Finnish Sage Pekka Ervast.

Tommi Tolmunen is a Finnish MD and PhD who has practiced meditation, yoga, and qigong since the late 1980s. He has been especially interested in Tibetan Buddhism. 

Printed in the  Fall 2023 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Smoley, Richard,  "American Metaphysical Religion: An Interview with Ronnie Pontiac" Quest 111:4, pg 12-17

By Richard Smoley 

Recently scholars have made an astonishing discovery: the history of American religion is not merely a matter of denominations. It includes a huge array of currents, trends, individuals, and movements, many of them short-lived, some eccentric in the extreme, but all an integral part of the variegated spiritual climate of this nation.

Ronnie Pontiac has explored this rich stream in his new book American Metaphysical Religion, published by Inner Traditions International. His topics range from colonial alchemists to The Aquarian Gospel of Jesus the Christ to the Sekhmet revival to A Course in Miracles to the profound influence of the Bodhi Tree Bookstore in West Hollywood, California.

For seven years, Pontiac worked at Los Angeles’ Philosophical Research Society (PRS), founded by Manly P. Hall, author of The Secret Teachings of All Ages and many other esoteric works. He served as Mr. Hall’s research assistant, screener, and substitute lecturer for seven years. His wife, Tamra Lucid, who also worked at the PRS, published a memoir of her time there entitled Making the Ordinary Extraordinary: My Seven Years in Occult Los Angeles with Manly Palmer Hall (reviewed in Quest, spring 2023).

I interviewed Pontiac on his book and Manly P. Hall for a Theosophical Society YouTube video, which can be viewed online. Below is an edited version of the transcript.

Richard Smoley: What do you mean by American metaphysical religion?

Ronnie Pontiac: Some scholars argue that it indicates nothing, that American metaphysical religion doesn’t exist at all: it’s merely an umbrella term for a wide group of alternate approaches, sometimes dismissed as superstitions, that exist outside traditional religion.

On the other hand, there have been scholars, notably Catherine Albanese, who wrote two books that were extremely important to the development of this concept in academia. One of them is called Nature Religions in America. The other is called A Republic of Mind and Spirit: A Cultural History of American Metaphysical Religion. She has another one that has just come out, whose title is The Delight Makers: Anglo-American Metaphysical Religion and the Pursuit of Happiness.

In her books, especially A Republic of Mind and Spirit, Albanese lays out the idea that the term American metaphysical religion really does describe something that has been going on in America for 150 years, and that it comprises a whole set of beliefs and practices, many of which go back to Europe, Hermeticism, the Kabbalah, and other elements of the esoteric tradition. It has been greatly informed by influences from all around the world in the melting pot that is America.

I’ve delved into this subject because the new research that’s been happening for the last ten or twenty years is very exciting and has revealed sources that had not been available.

I wasn’t trying to argue that American metaphysical religion exists or does not exist. I wanted to show all the areas in which the concept is reflected in the history of the nation, going all the way back to the seventeenth century, when the French Huguenots arrived here. Many of them were alchemists and Kabbalists practicing Jacob Boehme’s mystic Christianity.

Smoley: What do you mean exactly when you use the word metaphysical in this context?

Pontiac: I used the term as a nod to academia, where metaphysical religion is now considered a legitimate area of study. However, my own definition would not be in the traditional sense of philosophical metaphysics, but in the sense of meta as meaning above—above physics, above the physical. Then in America there are the metaphysical bookshops. Esoteric has a different, more academic tone, perhaps. Metaphysical seemed like a good word for the whole melting pot of practices that arrived here.

Smoley: As I remember, in San Francisco about forty-odd years ago, there was a bookshop called the Metaphysical Town Hall. This does bring up a subject that you’ve already mentioned, which is the key role of the metaphysical occult bookshop in shaping this movement. Maybe you could tell us your impressions of how important this type of bookshop has been.

Pontiac: I agree with you; I don’t think it should be underestimated. I worked at the Philosophical Research Society, which had a small bookstore, mostly featuring the work of Manly Hall, but with some other selections that he also wanted available, along with the usual crystals and interesting gifts, augmented by Mr. Hall’s habit of picking out some small treasure and deciding to sell it at a ridiculously reasonable price in the gift shop. This place was like a magnet attracting people, and lives were changed by the books that they found there.

Then I have a chapter in this book about the Bodhi Tree Bookstore, which might be one of the great examples of what we’re talking about. The impact of that bookstore cannot be underestimated. When I was writing that chapter, I talked to people who had been going to the Bodhi Tree from other countries, and they mentioned the thrill that they felt when they arrived there and how they would go and find the right book.

The Bodhi Tree was really a wonderful part of the community. I was very fortunate to start going there when it was very small. I went looking for poetry by Rimbaud. I was kind of a punk rocker at the time, and I thought that the whole hippie vibe was terrible, but it won me over completely, and I got to see the store grow; I even met all the shop cats over the years. It was an inestimable loss for Los Angeles when that place closed down because of gentrification.

The Bodhi Tree had a used book branch, which was in a small stucco house next door. If you knew the buyers there, they would call you and tell you that they had just gotten in an amazing bunch of books by figures such as A.E. Waite or something else that you’d been looking for. Many great libraries were built out of that used book branch, because they had such reasonable prices, and they were considerate and interested in getting these books into the right hands.

It reminds me of an Internet hub—a primitive version of the Internet. It was somewhere that you could go, even if you were isolated. For example, the Tarot expert Mary K. Greer told me about a bookstore that started her whole path for her when she was a student in Florida. She was trying to find a Tarot deck at a time when that was really a challenge. She asked her colleges, “Is there some kind of store where I can find a Tarot deck?” Sure enough, there was a ramshackle little metaphysical shop across town, and her entire journey into metaphysics and Tarot started there.

Smoley: Your description of the Bodhi Tree corresponds to my memory of it. For many years, I could never imagine visiting LA without stopping at the Bodhi Tree. Other examples come to mind, including Weiser’s bookshop, which was on lower Broadway in New York for a long time, and Fields Book Store in San Francisco.

I think the Quest Book Shop, which the TS operates in Wheaton, Illinois, still fulfills that function. I go in myself and chat with people—sometimes the clerks, sometimes the customers. But as we’ve seen, many of these bookshops have vanished. Do you see anything comparable that’s rising to take its place?

Pontiac: There’s been both good and bad in the changes that have occurred. The bad is that you do lose a sense of community. You lose the ability to go to a place with people that get to know you, and together you grow and provide information and emotional support and realizations for each other. There’s an isolation when one is studying alone.

The Philosophical Research Society was a wonderful example of that community at the time I was there—an incredible, welcoming community of elders. I was just a kid. The people there were giving me books; they were telling me what to read; they were advising me about my life. They were the best friends you could have.

Even so, there are some great advantages about going online. My book probably could not have been written except for the fact that there was a golden age for a while on Amazon when you could search any book you wanted. I was able to search for fine details in academic books that I couldn’t afford; it was really like a utopia for someone who’s into research. Google Books is the same idea. You can also find many of these books to read online in digital formats—books that were so rare back in the day that they were in the vault at PRS. Now they’re available online for anybody. It reminds me of the Rosicrucian ideal of a worldwide invisible college that would be available to anyone anywhere.

There can be groups and chats where people can exchange ideas and educate each other, and there are some wonderful ways that people are using the Internet. We can bring together people that otherwise might not get to meet and speak with each other.

Maybe another thing that’s not so great about this trend is that it seems to bring out a brand consciousness, where people feel they have to be selling. If they’re on a video, they have to present themselves, in a sense, as celebrity wannabes. That is encouraged, I think, by the nature of social media.

Smoley: Let’s go on to Manly P. Hall, whom you’ve mentioned—the author of Secret Teachings of All Ages and many other works. You and your wife, Tamra Lucid, knew Mr. Hall quite well, and I enjoyed Tamra’s memoir about him. Perhaps you could share some of your most dramatic memories and impressions of him.

Pontiac: It was all so dramatic, yet all so undramatic. He was a very pleasant person to be around. He liked small talk, and he could tell you a joke. He loved telling jokes, and he actually kept a joke book by his bed. That’s what he would read at night when he was going to sleep: jokes and cartoons. He would tell jokes, which often had meaning in them.

It was amazing to be in the room when Mr. Hall was lecturing and see his strange habit of looking right at people to say something that was very important to them, even though he really couldn’t see them very well; at that time, his vision wasn’t very good.

To give a small example, I was coming from a juvenile delinquent background. I had been involved in various petty crimes, including theft, and I still had some of those instincts.

When I encountered Mr. Hall’s book The Secret Teachings of All Ages at the used branch of the Bodhi Tree, I put it on layaway, because I couldn’t afford it. Even though it was the black-and-white reduced edition, it still looked like an old tone, and I assumed that the author must have passed.

I was told by a friend that indeed Mr. Hall was giving lectures not far from where I lived. I was scared to go, because I thought he would look right through me. I felt the place would not want someone like me around, given my background. However, eventually I was prevailed upon to hear him lecture.

At the time, I had an earthquake paranoia, started by friends that were into Edgar Cayce. In that lecture, Mr. Hall looked straight at me and said: “Fears and irrational phobias, such as earthquakes, are actually caused by one’s guilt over bad behavior and realization that their lives must change.”

As you can imagine, I was astonished by his wholesome common sense. It seemed like water in a desert. I’d never heard anybody like him. I really hadn’t encountered much. The reading I had done was more in the area of Sartre and the existentialists, and I was more of a nihilist if anything. The things he was saying—he would just reel off these dates and names and events in history, and I thought it was wonderful.

I wanted to volunteer at the PRS. They wanted my wife, who had office skills, but they couldn’t find anything for me to do. They asked me if I had any knowledge of languages. I had grown up around people who spoke several languages, so I did know my way around some French and German.

They called me one morning and said, “Manly Hall wants you in the office tomorrow morning. He needs to speak with you.”

I was very nervous when I went. They let me in the office, and there was a flank of women around him who ran the place. He was sitting in a chair, he looked me over, and he said, “Sit down and make yourself miserable,” in a sort of W.C. Fields voice. I sat down. He shoved a pile of paper in front of me and said, “These are the galleys of my alchemical bibliography. I need someone to edit them, and I’d like you to do it.”

I had no education in bibliographical sciences, and I wasn’t even an avid reader. I could not understand, but he insisted that I was the right one to do it.

He handed me the galley, but as I walked out, the vice president of the PRS, Pat Irvine, took the galleys from me. I thanked her, because I thought it was a mistake.

A phone call that afternoon: “Come into Mr. Hall’s office next morning. He wants to see you.”

I go back. He slides the galleys back to me, and he says, “You will now only take orders from me. You’re going to work on this.”

I said, “I’m really the wrong person. I don’t know anything about it.”

“I will be there working with you. I will tell you what to work on, and then I will look over your work, and you’ll see: you’ll be fine.”

This project gave me access to the vault. I was allowed to look at every single book in that vault, because I was to check and make sure everything was correct. The original bibliographer, who really did most of the work on it, did not get along with Mr. Hall. I was always uncomfortable with getting a credit on that, because it was more my job to proofread. I did add things at Mr. Hall’s direction.

What an education that began! It was one of the most amazing periods of my life: I would have lunch with Mr. Hall in the vault and ask him questions about the books in the bibliography. It was magical—for instance, an amazing journal from a member of one of the very first Esoteric Section students in Theosophy. It had beautiful color paintings that he had done by hand of auras and other aspects of esoteric Theosophy. There were volumes by Robert Fludd, the seventeenth-century English metaphysician.

This is what gave a start to my book: I picked up a big leather tone and I was shocked to find inside it a newspaper called The Platonist. It had been published in Missouri around 1881—in the days of the Old West.

That introduced me to the paper’s copublisher, Thomas Johnson, who was an early Theosophist and who had connections to the Hermetic Brotherhood of Luxor, as well as his friend Alexander Wilder, another important early Theosophist. At the time, there was very little information about any of them.

Now the explosion of academic research into these people has just begun. I often wish Manly Hall was here. How much he would have loved to have these studies brought into his office!

Right now I’m working on the story of Elizabeth Stuart in Bohemia around the time of the Rosicrucian dawn in the early seventeenth century.

Smoley: Yes. Elizabeth Stuart was the daughter of King James I of England, and she was married to the Elector Palatine of Germany, who was made king of Bohemia, starting the Thirty Years’ War in 1618. They were very involved in esoteric currents, including Rosicrucianism.

Pontiac: Many of the books about this subject are simply wrong. Then Nadine Akkerman, author of Elizabeth Stuart: Queen of Hearts, after twenty years of research into letters and other materials that never been looked at, gave us a completely different view of Elizabeth Stuart and what was going on there at the time. Quite a few of these revelatory studies have been made available in papers and in books. One of my missions with my book is to make some of this material available.

Smoley: Let’s pick up a theme that was of great interest to Manly P. Hall. He had a pronounced vision of a secret esoteric destiny for the United States. Could you say a little bit about his views?

Pontiac: Mr. Hall would idealize, in a sense. In his early years, he would talk about Rosicrucians, invisible masters, and the need for initiation. He tried to inspire people, such as myself, to become initiates themselves. I had a bad case of initiate fever for a while.

His attitude toward America was similar. There was a time when he was talking about America’s special destiny in the world. Certainly World War I brought some of that out, and I think he believed that his whole life. Tamra and I were witness to his conversations with his wife, Marie. They both felt that America was an experiment where a lot of ancient Egyptians had reincarnating in order to “cap the pyramid.” They had ideas about America’s exceptional spiritual destiny, but it was somewhat toned down later.

Some of it was based on misinformation. For example, there is a story about a mysterious figure who showed up to inspire the signers of the Declaration of Independence. Some people say it was an angel; some people said it was the legendary adept the Comte de Saint Germain. But the truth is, this was a piece of fiction by a once-famous American writer.

Similar ideas influenced Guy Ballard and his I AM movement in the 1930s and ’40s.  Ballard allegedly encountered Saint Germain on California’s Mount Shasta. When he was out hiking, a young man walked up to him, said he was Saint Germain, and gave Ballard some mystical fluid. He said that Ballard was chosen to lead America into a glorious new era. Ballard thought he would be elected president, and through him Saint Germain and the invisible Masters would rule the country. This was the ultimate destiny of America: to have Saint Germain in control through disciples.

I don’t think Manly Hall had any intent of encouraging those scenarios. He had a very realistic viewpoint about politics and the need for balance.

When I knew him, he was really more about trying to help people live better lives. He sometimes referred to himself as a last resort for many people, and as his screener, I saw that firsthand. Many people, damaged by various aspects of spiritual practice, would turn to him when they had nowhere else to go. There were people like that there all the time. Having seen so much of that, he avoided extremism.

Smoley: What you’ve said just now leads into another major theme: the concept of the secret Masters, the unseen adepts. You’ve looked into this subject a great deal. What have you concluded?

Pontiac: My studies have taught me to be comfortable with doubt and to be open to all the possibilities. I have not experienced enough of the world, and I don’t have spiritual attainment at a level that would let me say, “I’ve met one or two masters.” Yet I cannot categorically say that no one has ever ascended and become an invisible master, and there are intriguing historical examples.

A good example would be Thomas Johnson, whom I’ve already mentioned. He was the president of the Committee of Seven for the Hermetic Brotherhood of Luxor. He ran the American chapter in the West, and he was a very important leader for that influential group, which remains mysterious even after a great deal of study. He was seen by some as a master. His letters, particularly his exchanges with Alexander Wilder, are wonderful and give all kinds of fascinating information.

Johnson was an enthusiastic Platonist, although he was fascinated in all areas of spirituality. In fact, The Platonist was one of the first places to ever publish anything about Sufism in America, and at one time Johnson started a small offshoot of the Hermetic Brotherhood that was Sufi.

Johnson was upset that the new generation of Platonists did not see Plato as he had, and Thomas Taylor had, and Emerson and Bronson Alcott had. This was the invention of the twentieth-century Plato: We’re going to leave behind all the mystical stuff in the tenth book of the Laws and say that Plato must have been senile when he said that the heads of the government should be Orphic priests. We’re going to say that what’s important about Plato is the mathematics, the political science, the social science.

Johnson keenly felt that he had never been accepted. He had done many translations, he’d been encouraged by Emerson and by other leading lights, yet he was never asked to teach at a college. His books were always self-published. Now he was seeing academia put together a vision of Plato that he thought was damaging, because it left out the soul and the spirituality. The entire Neoplatonic perspective on Plato, which is so precious to the esoteric tradition, was being excised from Platonic studies in universities; watching that happen eventually led Johnson to melancholy.

I remember romanticizing Thomas Johnson at the PRS, when I saw The Platonist. When I found that he was involved in the Hermetic Brotherhood of Luxor, I thought, “This surely must be one of the hidden masters.” When I studied him in depth, I found a wonderful human being. I think that by idealizing these masters and putting them at such a high level, we miss their humanity, which makes them so beautiful to me. Manly Hall is another example of somebody that could easily be mistaken for a master, and who was a wonderful human being. So all the potential that we see in the initiates and in the ascended Masters is our own potential: it’s our birthright and in our souls.

Smoley: All these personalities lived very much in the context of their times, and they were obstructed by the views and context of their times, which is forgivable. That leads me to ask what obstructions and preconceptions we are living with right now that will come to seem limited, ridiculous, or even immoral in the future.

Pontiac: Perhaps the greatest fault at the moment is that there seems to be a real pandemic of certainty. People are so sure that they know what’s going on. spiritually or politically.

Some people read a book or two, and then they say they’re teachers. They go up on TikTok, and they’re teaching thousands of people, but they don’t really know what they’re talking about.

The temptation to immediately rush into social media and display one’s skills for profit is hard to avoid at this point.

We’re not comfortable with doubt. We’re not comfortable with suspense. I think that one of the greatest things that a human being can work on is developing comfort with not knowing. That’s one things I love about what’s happening in academia with American metaphysical religion right now: their job is not to decide if it’s legitimate or not.

I think Harold Bloom anticipated this trend in his book The American Religion, where referred to the New Age as American Orphism, or rather California Orphism. He thought that there was an American Orphism, a kind of Gnosticism, which had affected even Christianity in America.

I too argue that the that American metaphysical religion has significantly changed Christianity. Its preoccupations have become those of a lot of Christianity. We’re no longer living like Calvinists, feeling that we must certainly be damned. We’re wondering how come we’re not rich; we must not be giving enough money to the church. If we’re loved by God, we’re supposed to be rich. That’s American metaphysical religion at work right there.

Smoley: This certainly fits in well with the national character. To go back to your comment about TikTok, I think G.I. Gurdjieff had a useful perspective on this issue, saying that even these people, as little as they know, perform a useful function: they do introduce something. Gurdjieff even went so far as to say that for some people, the truth can only come in the form of a lie.

Pontiac: I agree with you. It’s a great thing for beginners. People feel comfortable to be out there representing these ideas and trying to teach them to other people. It’s come out of the closet in a way that was unthinkable not that long ago. Everyone gets a chance to grow together, because people will correct and inform others if they’re mistaken. As long as communication is kept open, it’s an advantage, and it’s exciting to see.

VOLUME 111, NUMBER 4

CONTENTS

American Metaphysical Religion: An Interview with Ronnie Pontiac
Richard Smoley

Dawning of the Clear Light: A Comparison of The Tibetan Book of the Dead with Theosophical Teachings on the Afterlife
Antti Savinainen and Tommi Ttolmunen

Healing Trauma with Light
Jess Spooner

Balancing the Dark: An Equinox Moment
Arlene Gay Levine

The Provenance of Light
William Wilson Quinn

From the Editor's Desk
Richard Smoley

Members' Forum: Can Artificial Intelligence Embody the Divine Light?
John L. Crow

What I Don’t know about Death: Reflections on Buddhism and Mortality

C.W. Huntington Jr. 
Somerville, Mass.: Wisdom Publications, 2021; 167 pp., paper, $16.95.

Death would seem to be the greatest human mystery, although it appears to be only a bit more mysterious than life. C.W. (Sandy) Huntington Jr. acknowledges that in the first sentence of his book: “I know next to nothing about death.”

Written during the six months Huntington had left of his life after being diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer in January 2020, this book is his final gift to those of us who are left pondering the meaning of life and its end, death. “Science can tell us a great deal about dying and death from an objective point of view but nothing at all about what it means to directly face one’s own imminent demise,” he writes.

Huntington grew up in East Lansing, Michigan, and attended Michigan State University. He earned his PhD in Asian languages and cultures at the University of Michigan. Living in India from 1976 to 1979, Huntington studied with the teachers Ambika Datta Upadhyaya and Ram Shanar Tripathi. He traveled to India many times in his life, taking students in his Buddhist studies program (first at the University of Michigan and Denison College, and then to Hartwick College in Oneonta, New York), to experience that country.

The life of the Buddha and the nature of the spiritual path are the subjects of the beginning chapter of Huntington’s work, in which he notes that the spiritual path is often rooted in discontent, as was the Buddha’s. When the questions loom large in our minds, the search for answers begins. Most of us seek to know why. How can we attain happiness? The search is often a struggle to find the meaning in what confronts us in life, and “how ultimately futile our struggle for control” is.

Some people are critical of Buddhism’s seeming obsession with death and dying, which, as Huntington observes, sees “spiritual work as preparation for death . . . obvious in the case of the Tibetan Book of the Dead,” in which “the message is communicated . . . throughout Buddhist teachings, where meditations on death are commonplace.” But there likely is no more profound teacher of suffering and the way out of suffering than being given a terminal diagnosis of a “dis-ease,” as Huntington terms it in the chapter of that title. Wanting life to be other than it is brings on suffering “whenever our experience runs counter to our desires. What I don’t get what I want, or when I get what I don’t want, I become restless, worried, fearful.”

That reminds me of the phrase in a song by Sheryl Crow: “It’s not having what you want; it’s wanting what you’ve got.” That’s true even if what you’ve got is a terminal diagnosis. This quality—wanting nothing more than what you are given—is called desirelessness in Buddhist philosophy, as Huntington notes as one of the lessons of living and dying. It’s the only way out of suffering.

Huntington explores waking up and what it means as we move through life seeking enlightenment, which more often than not eludes us. His chapter on “A Pathless Land” also discusses waking up. We try too hard to attain enlightenment, which is our greatest impediment: “The harder I twist and pull, the tighter the knot gets. At some point my only choice is to give up trying to not try.” Does waking up (enlightenment) come gradually, through our own efforts, or in a sudden insight? He quotes J. Krishnamurti, who said that “‘truth is a pathless land’ . . . some problems will not yield to rational analysis, so there are skills that cannot be learned by mastering a formula.”

While most of Huntington’s insightful book is focused on the basics of the Buddhist philosophy of living, including nonattachment, equanimity, and desirelessness, ultimately one must learn to let go. “Letting Go” is his final chapter, both literally and figuratively. “I am dying, and what I don’t know about death has become a metaphor for what I don’t know about life. As I’m compelled to give myself over to this darkness of unknowing, I’m finding a new and deepened understanding about what it means to come to terms with what I’ve been given—with what Buddhism calls the ‘suchness’ (tathata) of things.”

Learning nonattachment and the practice of letting go is a lifelong effort, but one that finally gives us the peace and courage required to die. As my late partner, Brent, said to me in one of his last lessons to me: “Dying is easy; it’s living that’s hard. Dying is so easy.”

Huntington died on July 19, 2020, at 1:45 p.m., says his epilogue. “It was an entirely quiet passing. He simply let go.”

Clare Goldsberry’s latest book, The Illusion of Life and Death, was reviewed in Quest, spring 2022.