Living the therapeutic touch: healing as a lifestyle, by Dolores Krieger, Ph

Summer 1989

THE NAG HAMMADI LIBRARY IN ENGLISH, Third, Completely Revised Edition, James M. Robinson, general editor; Harper & Row, New York, 1988; hardcover, 549 pages.

The story of the study of the Gnostic tradition is the story of important archaeological discoveries. The Gnostic texts from Nag Hammadi in Egypt take their place alongside the Bruce Codex, Berlin Codex, Askew Codex, and for that matter the Dead Sea Scrolls, as among the finds that have altered accepted views of Jewish and Christian heterodox traditions of the early centuries A.D. Until the discovery and translation of such original writings of the representatives of Gnostic heterodoxy, scholars and lay persons were forced to rely on the fragmentary and biased accounts concerning Gnostics contained in the writings of the Church fathers Irenaeus (c.a. 185), Clement (c.a. 199-200), Hippolytus (c.a. 200-2251, and others of like ilk. It was rather like trying to form an accurate picture of Jewish customs and character on the basis of the pronouncements of Goebbels and Hitler! The publication in 1977 of the entire Nag Hammadi find, in an affordable and readable English translation, was an event that will be remembered and appreciated by countless interested persons for decades to come. The updated and to some minor extent retranslated and newly annotated edition of The Nag Hammadi Library in English ten years later is living proof of the continuing, and indeed mounting interest of the public in the writings of the Gnostics, whose teachings G. R. S. Mead early in this century called “a faith forgotten.” Largely due to the persistence and enthusiasm of Dr. James M. Robinson, director of the Institute for Antiquity and Christianity at Claremont Graduate School in California, this precious collection of original Gnostic documents (the most extensive to have appeared in all of history) has been available to the public without ever being out of print for any length of time since its first publication. The opportunities afforded contemporary students by this are considerable. For the first time Gnostic works of varying orientation can be read side by side; works of the thoroughly Christian school of Valentinus alternate with writings of the Sethian Gnostics and with initiation discourses of a Hermetic character. No wonder that the Gnostic Gospels have arrested the interest of people including scholars, science fiction writers, journalists, and feminist leaders like Gloria Steinem! The new edition of this seminal work is in most respects a worthy successor to the earlier ones. For the most part the translations of the best known scriptures remain without major changes, though speculative readings of missing and damaged portions have diminished somewhat. Some of the lesser-known scriptures have been translated anew, and the introductions to the various tractates have been amended in many instances. The most radical, and potentially the most controversial change from the earlier editions is the omission of the highly useful index of names and its replacement by an eighteen-page essay by one Richard Smith, whose credentials seem to be confined to his title of “managing editor” of the new edition, and whose contribution is a poor substitute for the missing index of Gnostic names. The essay, named an afterword and entitled “The Modern Relevance of Gnosticism,” suggests an appreciation of this value for today's persons of the Gnostic approach to spirituality, but in fact is nothing of the sort. Mr. Smith appears to have the attitude that anyone anywhere at anytime who has shown a positive interest in Gnosticism was either misinformed or mendacious. Edward Gibbon is judged guilty of a “mischievous lie” because he praised the Gnostics. Voltaire was dishonest when nourishing similar sentiments, and William Blake’s great sin was that he “worshipped his own creative imagination” and this personal aberration led him to Gnosticism (p. 534). The considerable attention devoted by Smith to H. P. Blavatsky (pp. 537-538) is also predominantly negative. This great esotericist is egregiously belittled because she advanced the notion of an ongoing secret tradition in history that in part goes back to the Gnostics. That noted contemporary scholars such as Mircea Eliade and Robert Ellwood agree with Blavatsky on this point seems to have escapes Mr. Smith. One of the more peculiar comments made by Richard Smith concerns C. G. Jung, who, we are informed, “wrote so much about the Gnostics simply because he liked them” (p. 538). One wonders whether and why it might have been preferable for him to write about people whom he did not like? The essay offers no positive conclusions, and the reader is left wondering whether the impressive list of creative figures of Western culture who possessed leanings toward Gnosticism, and who are all damned with faint praise, ought to be viewed as a sort of passenger list of a ship of illustrious fools sailing along under a flag which they consistently misunderstand. Be that as it may, the new edition of The Nag Hammadi Library, even with its peculiar afterword, testifies eloquently in favor of the proposition that Gnosticism can no longer be relegated to the realm of antiquarian curiosities. A vital tradition, vibrant with contemporary relevance and imminent possibilities, has surfaced in our view. Whatever the critics may say, the spirit of the Gnostics has returned, and it appears more than likely that this time it is here to stay.

-STEPHAN A. HOELLER

Autumn 1989

THE CHAKRAS AND THE HUMAN ENERGY FIELDS, by Shafica Karagulla, M. D., and Dora van Gelder Kunz: Theosophical Publishing House, Wheaton, IL, 1989; paperback, 243 pages.

This is a peculiar book, in the sense that it speaks to a concept of transformation and transmission of human energy systems that reaches back into the far history of understandings of human livingness, an understanding that arose in Eastern cultures, but the authors use one of the most sophisticated of scientific rationales of modem Western culture, neuropsychiatry, to describe the functions and activities of these superphysical centers. The descriptions of these energy vortices, called chakras in Sanskrit, are not merely theoretical; their authoritative bases are in the validity of clinical observations by one of the most percipient seers of our time, Dora van Gelder Kunz. Ms. Kunz, who was born with clairvoyant abilities. has made the study of the functional and therapeutic uses of human energies her life work. Her co-author, Dr. Shafica Karagulla, was a specialist in neuropsychiatry. After Dr. Karagulla's untimely death, Kunz completed the, manuscript for publication with the editorial assistance of Emily Sellon, editor for many years of Main Currents in Modern Thought. Karagulla and Kunz worked together for over two decades as researcher and observer (respectively) of superphysical human energies, and sought to clarify the complex networks of interconnected energetic processes that appear to vitalize and define a human being. For the studies that form the core of their book, they systematically analyzed patients at a large and well-known medical center in New York City. Primarily they studied the relationship between the physical energy field, called the etheric field, which transmits and thereby vitalizes the anatomical organs and structures, and the vortices within that energy field, the chakras, that are operative in transforming universal energy systems so that they are usable by the human being. These assessments were done in reference to the corresponding endocrine glands of the patient under consideration. Where relevant to the case studies, they also observed effects in the emotional and mental energy fields. The specific characteristics that they examined were in detailed reference to color, brightness, or luminosity of the energy patterns, movement and angle of energy flow, and form, elasticity, and texture of the substance of the energy field. To provide baselines for this unique study, they studied healthy persons first to determine patterns of natural human energy flow. After two years they turned their attention to examining persons who were ill. Among the major findings of their study was the recognition that specific energetic patternings of the chakras are indicative of predispositions to particular disease processes that would appear later on in time. They also found circumstances under which some illnesses may be but the physical manifestations of pathologies that have their origins in the deeper reaches of the emotional and/or mental energy fields. Throughout, they give ample background so that the interested layperson can clearly understand both the bases for their discussions of the data on the dynamics of the human energy fields and their relation to consciousness, and the nature of clairvoyant investigation. The net result is to give the reader a challenging insight into human potential and a discerning grasp of the decisive role that consciousness plays in health and disease and in growth and change. To the reader with a professional interest in the human energy field, this book offers the astute inquirer several provocative questions for future research: Are there significant relationships between the human energy patterns and the genetic code? What are the inferences for genetic bioengineering? . . . hereditary illnesses?. . . therapeutic interventions? There seem to be at least three major energy fields concerned with the physical, emotional, and mental human functions'; how are these three energy fields related in the individual? Several levels of organization are apparent in each of these three energy fields. In the emotional energy field, the coarser feelings are perceived to settle in the lower portions of this field in the individual, while the more aspiring or selfless emotions are perceived to be higher in the field, around the area of the heart. Therefore, one wonders: Are the universal laws of gravity effective in this domain? Kunz theorizes that “. . . the astral solar plexus acts as a shock absorber between the intake of astral (emotional) energy and its dispersal through the body.” Can relevant biochemistries be tagged to test this theory? According to clairvoyant observation, severe abnormalities in the rhythmic flow and structural qualities of the chakras can presage disease; are there ways of modifying the energy patterns of individuals with such impairments to intercept progress of the disease? Along with ideas for future research, readers with a special interest in therapeutics will find in Kunz and Karagulla's book a wealth of suggestions overflowing from these authors' careful studies of the effects on humans of environmental stimuli, such as sound and light, of the ingestion of drugs, and of surgical excision of various organs of the body. The unusual perspective from which the context of this book derives, and the rigorous discipline that the authors forced upon themselves to present such rare information in a coherent manner that is readily understandable and yet rigorously substantiated, is exemplary for future books on these topics. It lays an excellent foundation of information about the human condition that will challenge the reader to further study of his/her personal self, as well as more formal and objective research into these phenomena. For either or both, this book is most highly recommended.

-DOLORES KRIEGER

Autumn 1989

THE UPSIDE DOWN CIRCLE: Zen Laughter, by Zen Master Don Gilbert; Blue Dolphin, Nevada City, CA; paperback, 164 pages.

The Upside Down Circle helps to successfully bridge the yawning gulf between Eastern source-works in Zen and Western interpretations of it. Gilbert's book is an unusual and charming bridge to cross, due to his creative combination of original cartoon panels paired with penetrating and seasoned Zen commentary. The Zen messages emerge from an illustrated story line in which all the characters are endearing animals who reflect human proclivities in ways that provide humor and promote appreciation and understanding. Journeying with them, the reader is treated to a remarkable variety of vistas, all potentially offering insights into the essential paradoxes of the human condition. These paradoxes are presented in a way that would seem to be immediately engaging to readers of many different backgrounds. Gilbert has thus succeeded in creating a fresh teaching approach that is both entertaining and lighthearted on one hand, and imbued with the enormous profundity of Zen on the other. The disarming simplicity of his approach is made more effective by both the plot and characterization that he uses. The major animal characters are not just types but develop through the course of the book. The principal ones are Unk, a bloodhound who is a bumbling and yet determined seeker after the truth; his loving friend Pepito, a little mutt; Foxy, a con artist and opportunist who continually takes advantage of Unk's earnest-seeking nature for his own personal gain, and Master Woof, a bulldog who is the Zen master guiding Unk on his quest for enlightenment. In creating these characters, Gilbert has tapped into powerful archetypal forces, and through these four figures the reader can enter the mythic and eternal time beyond relative time and space. Gilbert's story, mythically, is a classic quest narrative, the most universal and penetrating type of literary form that has for millennia moved and empowered people of virtually all cultures in the world. Unk is the questing hero, Pepito his faithful supporter, Foxy the tempter and distracter, and Master Woof the wise old man who provides guidance and inspiration to the hero on his search. The reader has the opportunity to be both vicariously involved on this story level, and also to be a more detached observer on what may be called the teaching level. On the teaching level, the book goes through six major sections: the quest, meditation, mind, time, reality, and enlightenment. The specific Zen teachings of each section are illustrated by the episodes of Unk's path which Gilbert illuminates with a sparing and incisive commentary. What emerges is a rich artistic verbal tapestry of several layers and dimensions that points gently and yet unremittingly to the mind that is awakened to the natural state of enlightened awareness, beyond the interference of the deluded and self-centered ego. This teaching comes from a thoroughly American perspective that has drunk deeply from the universality of the Zen experience. It is a refreshingly earthy approach that places spirituality squarely in our world of relationships, and yet does not limit it in any way. Humor provides the underlying connective strands that hold it all together. In this second book (his first being entitled Jellyfish Bones), the eighty-year-old Zen Master has brought together the best of his artwork and his teaching and created a work that is one of the first approaches to Zen that is true to the spirit of Zen and that is also an authentic American voice, unleashed from the constraints of Eastern patterns of thinking. Thus, one lasting significance of The Upside Down Circle may be that it helps mark the beginning of a new era of Zen in the West that is urgently needed today. This new era will be one in which Americans forge new ways of articulating the Dharma that are congruent with Western culture and enrich it from within, not as a foreign importation. Master Gilbert's sixty-five years of intimate involvement with Eastern teachings make him eminently qualified for this bridge-building task, and his effort, in the form of this remarkable new book, shows his capacity to bring it forth-with a hearty laugh!

-WILL TUTTLE

Winter 1989

JUNG: A biography, by Gerhard Wehr; translated from the German by David M. Weeks: Shambhala Publications. 1988; paperback, 548 pages.

The biographer of Jung must proceed with caution. After all, Jung's autobiography (Memories, Dreams and Reflections) details many of the inner concerns which Jung claimed composed most of what was significant in his life: times when the “imperishable world” erupted into the mundane. Jung more than hinted that the mundane events of his lie were, if not superfluous, at least subservient and easily forgotten. Among other accomplishments, Gerhard Wehr's biography clearly demonstrates that the “mundane events” in Jung's life were both rich and varied. Wehr presents Jung as brimming with a steady vitality which perfectly complemented his more studious, introverted side. In complete accord with Jung's own principles, the “complete Jung” emerges when polarities are united: mundane and imperishable, introvert and extrovert, irascible and gentle, earthy Swiss peasant and psychological sage. As Jung himself would have expected, by bridging polarity, Wehr uncovers a mandala (and vice-versa). A simple event-narrative could never give an accurate picture of Jung's lie. That lie was a lifework, developed via themes, projects and concerns not confined to a single period and often experienced most profoundly in solitude. A strict chronology of events might give all the facts, but it would miss the thread of meaning through which those facts become resonant. Wehr therefore interweaves event-narrative with chapters devoted to a number of Jung's ongoing concerns or investigations (e.g., alchemy, religious questions, his confrontation with the unconscious, etc.). These chapters are presented in the order in which each theme cohered as a separate field of activity or study. In effect, Wehr interweaves time and meaning (another pair that occupied Jung for many years) and thus mirrors Jung's own concerns while presenting Jung as a man of enormous energy and integrity, great warmth and courage, and above all an inexhaustible yet circumspect generosity. In bringing together these apparent opposites, Wehr presents the coniunctio of Jung's own lie, the alchemical union of opposites which so closely parallels the process of individuation. The reader is led (in the words Wehr uses to describe the “mysterium coniunctionis,” or “sacred marriage itself),” beyond mere intellectual knowledge to the existential nature of transformation and maturation. Nothing could be more appropriate than to present Jung on his own terms: not only does Jung himself appear more clearly, but the reader comes to a more visceral understanding of what Jung meant by the individuation process and the union of opposites. Wehr makes it clear that the coniunctio was for Jung not only an area of study, but an inescapable aspect of human lie, manifest in his near-fatal coronary just as he began work on Mysterium Coniunctionis. This confrontation with the most mysterious pair of opposites, life and death, enabled (or forced) Jung “to know from his own ‘intuition,’ when near death, what the sacred marriage, the leitmotif of the entire work, ultimately meant!” (p. 406) The ideas in Mysterium Coniunctionis, then, were themselves a coniunctio of intimate personal experience with intellectual study. (At the same time, from a practical level, Mysterium developed from practical, therapeutic problems arising from psychological transference, prompting Jung to remark that he was guided by practical necessity, another example of the same union.) The concern with opposites-or the need to unite them-made Jung a builder of bridges, spanning gulfs between unconscious and conscious, past and present, theory and practice, intellect and emotion, and finally, East and West. Whatever his empathy with Eastern thought, however, he remained firmly rooted in the European tradition, insisting as he did that man's spiritual growth grow from his home soil and not be imported or purchased from other cultures. Even a bridge builder lives on solid earth, not the bridge itself. Wehr's book also remains firmly rooted in the European-Christian tradition, and this rootedness enriches even as it sets limits. The enrichment comes from Wehr's own rootedness: he writes like a man for whom the individuation process is not just someone else's theory, but an ongoing personal encounter; for whom the lode of European mysticism enriches heart and intellect alike. His very success, however, becomes a problem. (Jung, and the sages of ancient China, would no doubt be pleased!) By demonstrating the universality of Jung's vision, Wehr casts light into shadowy rooms he does not enter; and writing from a European perspective (which, I suppose, he must), he sees the East as “other” and misses an opportunity to place Jung against a more encompassing backdrop. The problem is unavoidable. Paradoxically it shows the great scope of Wehr's book. He not only presents the mandala of Jung's life, he points to the space on the fringes of that mandala, to the ripples caused when the peasant-mage of Bollingen dropped into the world. A writer often succeeds most when he illuminates his own limitations. Success and failure become irrelevant: this is a remarkable book.

-TIM LYONS

Winter 1989

THE TRIAL OF SOCRATES, by I. F. Stone; Doubleday (Anchor), New York; paperback.

I remember visiting the Metropolitan Museum with my father when I was very young, and as we were about to make our way out to Fifth Avenue, over-stimulated and tired, I asked him to stop for one last painting. I was intrigued and impressed by the mysterious scene portrayed in Jacque Louis David's “The Death of Socrates.” The drama of the story unfolded as my father relayed in admirable detail the particulars of Socrates' trial and death. He could not, however, give a satisfactory answer to the most fundamental question: Why had Socrates been put to death? I. F. Stone, the octogenarian champion of, civil liberties, who died this past year, put the question somewhat differently: “How could the trial of Socrates have happened in so free a society? How could Athens have been so untrue to itself?” His attempt to answer these questions has resulted in a much praised bestseller, The Trial of Socrates, now available in a paperback edition. Socrates' accusers brought two charges against him: that he was guilty of “corrupting the minds of the young, and of believing in deities of his own invention instead of the gods recognized by the state.” It was Socrates'(and Stone's) contention that these specific charges were actually secondary to the true nature of the prosecution. Socrates was convinced that the people had been set against him –“out of envy and love of slander”-because he had spent his lifetime challenging anyone who claimed to possess wisdom; by exposing their ignorance, Socrates won the hatred and jealousy of many Athenians. Stone, on the other hand, would have us believe that the charges were really political, and that Socrates was convicted and sentenced because of his antidemocratic attitude and teachings. It is not surprising, then, that Stone has taken great pains to remind the reader of the historical and political events that shaped the times during which Socrates lived and died. The trial occurred in 399 B.C. During the fifth century B.C. the Athenian empire grew so strong that many Greek states, and particularly Sparta, became alarmed and fearful of the ambitions of the “tyrant city.” The Peloponnesian War broke out in 431 B.C. and ran its devastating course (including the unprovoked Athenian massacre of the neutral Melians in 416) until 404 when the Thirty Tyrants gained a brief hold on Athens. Democracy was restored in 403 with the victors exhibiting remarkable restraint when a resolution was passed granting amnesty to everyone except the Thirty. Yet four years later this admirable democracy proceeded with the prosecution and execution of Socrates. Why? The presentation of the historical context is both justifiable and desirable, and it is here that Stone is at his best. There are few scholars who would deny that political considerations (including the memory of two key players in the events, Alcibiades and Critias, and their connection to Socrates) played a part in the case against Socrates. But The Trial of Socrates goes beyond the idea that Socrates was prosecuted and convicted for political reasons; Stone would have us believe that the verdict was right. In an attempt to lift the burden of guilt from the Athenian democracy, Stone argues that Socrates could easily have won acquittal had he wanted it, but that he was more concerned with fulfilling his mission as a crusader against democracy. In fact, Stone says, “Socrates needed the hemlock, as Jesus needed the Crucifixion, to fulfill a mission. The mission left a stain forever on democracy” (page 230). Was Socrates, as Stone maintains, a passionate, provocative, and arrogant enemy of democracy who intentionally antagonized the jury to insure his own conviction? I doubt it. If Plato is a trustworthy source (and Stone's reliance on the dialogues would seem to affirm it), then we must allow that Socrates regarded himself as a philosopher, not apolitical philosopher; as a lover of wisdom and not a lover of political wisdom. The distinction is essential. There are several occasions in Plato's dialogues where Socrates maintains an explicitly anti-political or non-political stance (which is not to say anti-democratic): he insists that all of the existing forms of government (not just democracy) are unacceptable because they are not suitable for philosophy (Republic, 497bc). Furthermore, there is no place for the. “just man” or authentic philosopher in democratic, oligarchal, or tyrannical states, and he must therefore disassociate himself from political life entirely or run the risk of endangering his own life (Apology, 331 sq.; Republic, 496cd). Stone is to be commended for placing the trial within its proper historical context. It should, however, be pointed out that with regard to Socrates' ideas he has done precisely the opposite: by selectively taking ideas out of their original context he has made nonsense of Socrates, and having done so, Stone has no trouble demonstrating that Socrates is talking nonsense. Stone never mentions the premise upon which the “political” discussion of the Republic proceeds: in the beginning of the Republic, Socrates is arduously challenged by his companions to defend his position that the just man, despite his unpopularity and the many hardships he suffers during his life, is happier than the unjust. Socrates accepts the challenge, but because the subject is so difficult, he suggests that they begin by way of analogy, examining justice in city-states and only afterwards looking for its likeness in individuals (368c-369a). Socrates progressively describes a harmoniously ordered city (polis) which results in a just city with each class (philosopher-guardians, military, and money-makers) Working according to its own functions, unmixed (434). When we finally return to the original concern, the just individual, the analogy is continued: like the community, the soul has three centers with three separate functions. The just individual is one who has ordered and harmonized the reasoning, high-spirited, and appetitive parts of the soul, who has “linked and bound all three together and made of himself a unit, one man instead of many” (443de). Socrates' politics are the inner politics of the soul. In the Republic the polis is a macranthropos while the individual is truly a micropolis; the laws that govern them are the same, but will never be found in a constitution because they are laws of the natural, or cosmic, order. The conclusion of Book IX anticipates the literal interpretation and criticism of Socrates' politics. There, one of his companions suggests that the perfect city which has just been described can be found nowhere on earth; its home is in the ideal. Socrates answers that perhaps the pattern of it is in heaven “for him who wishes to contemplate it and so beholding to constitute himself its citizen. But it makes no difference whether it exists now or ever will come into being. The politics of this city will be his and of none other” (592ab). Stone's misunderstanding and misrepresentation of Socratic thought seems to have occurred because he and Socrates address the issue of freedom on different levels. In his preface Stone states that The Trial of Socrates is an investigation of freedom of thought and speech, political freedoms- “not freedom in general, which has too many ambiguities…” Socrates, on the other hand, was interested in true freedom, inner freedom which could not be taken away by any change in the ruling class or in the form of government. He mocked political freedom as an illusion and could see that even the tyrant, who possessed absolute freedom in the general sense, was actually enslaved by desires and appetites. The illusion of freedom is illustrated in the famous cave allegory (Republic 514a et seq.) by the perpetual prisoners who are convinced of their deluded personal reality. Freedom is a rare achievement. Even the prisoner who becomes partially free must be dragged forcefully into the light of the sun, lest the pain of the unaccustomed light drive him back into the darkness. But as Socrates' own life illustrated, for those destined to be free, there is more to be feared in slavery than in death. Stone hopes to acquit his romantically envisioned Athenian democracy by proving his contention that Socrates engineered his own conviction and execution as a final blow against the democracy he despised. The solution is doubtful and unconvincing, at best. The death of Socrates remains an unsolvable puzzle of metaphysics, psychology, morality, and human history. Socrates insists that the one who has become free and wise is intolerable to the multitude, even to the point of being executed. The idea is presented; is a horrible fact, but a fact nonetheless. When I apply the idea to myself, I must ask whether that part of my soul or constitution which is free and wise (if there is such a one) is not equally abhorrent and vulnerable to the multitudinous desires of my appetitive self/selves. If that is really the case, then I must proceed as intelligently as possible and with the greatest, sensitivity to the identification and ordering of the mental, emotional, and physical/appetitive functions of the soul. This kind of thinking is admittedly foreign to The Trial of Socrates, but it emerges when one is allowed to ponder the death of Socrates without feeling an incumbent necessity to solve anything-for its application by analogy to the individual soul, right or wrong, is no more a solution than that provided by Mr. Stone. The death of Socrates remains, I suppose, a mystery.

-STUART SMITHERS