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Cults
and Cosmic Consciousness:
Religious
Vision in the American 1960s*
CAMILLE
PAGLIA
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- Eclipse by Politics
- Cults Ancient and Modern
- New Messiahs and Cultural Polarization
- Transcendentalism and Asian Religion
- American Strains of Asian Religion in the
Twentieth Century
- Hinduism and 1960s Music
- Psychedelic Drugs
- Mysticism and Social Change
- The Rise of New Age
- Conclusion
1.
Eclipse by Politics
Commentary on the 1960s has been massive.
Law and politics in that turbulent decade are well documented but
remain controversial, and the same thing can be said of contemporary
innovations in mass media and the arts. One major area remains ambiguous
or poorly assimilated, however-the new religious vision, which for
a tantalizing moment in the American sixties brought East and West
together in a progressive cultural synthesis. Its promise was never
completely fulfilled, for reasons I will try to sketch here. But
the depth and authenticity of that spiritual shift need to be more
widely acknowledged.
A political model currently governs
interpretations of the sixties because of the enduring reform movements
born in that period, including environmentalism, feminism, and gay
liberation. Their mobilizing energy, as well as the organizational
style that would also be adopted by antiwar protests, initially
came from the civil rights movement sparked by the US Supreme Court's 1954 decision declaring
segregation in public schools unconstitutional. In that crusade,
it must be remembered, ordained Protestant ministers such as Martin
Luther King, Jr., played a leading role, as they also had in nineteenth-century
abolitionism. The civil rights movement, with its hymns and anthems,
appealed not just to secular standards of social justice but to a higher moral
code.
Political expression on the Left in
the American sixties was split. Radical activists such as Students
for a Democratic Society (1960-68) drew their ideology from Marxism,
with its explicit atheism. But demonstrations with a large hippie
contingent often mixed politics with occultism-magic and witchcraft
along with costumes and symbolism drawn from Native American religion,
Hinduism, and Buddhism. For example, at the mammoth antiwar protest
near Washington, DC, in October 1967, Yippies performed a mock-exorcism
to levitate the Pentagon and cast out its demons. Not since early
nineteenth-century Romanticism had there been such a strange mix
of revolutionary politics with ecstatic nature-worship and sex-charged
self-transformation. It is precisely this phantasmagoric religious
vision that distinguishes the New Left of the American 1960s from
the Old Left of the American 1930s and from France's failed leftist insurgency of 1968, both
of which were conventionally Marxist in
their indifference or antagonism to religion.
Members of the sixties counterculture
were passionately committed to political reform, yet they were also
seeking the truth about life outside religious and social institutions.
Despite their ambivalence toward authority, however, they often
sought gurus-mentors or guides, who sometimes proved fallible. One
problem was that the more the mind was opened to what was commonly
called "cosmic consciousness" (a hippie rubric of the sixties),
the less meaningful politics or social structure became, melting
into the Void. Civil rights and political reform are in fact Western
ideals: Hinduism and Buddhism, by extinguishing the ego and urging
acceptance of ultimate reality, see suffering and injustice as essential
conditions of life that cannot be changed but only endured. Alteration
of consciousness-"blowing your mind"-became an end or value in itself
in the sixties. Drugs remade the Western world-view by shattering
conventions of time, space, and personal identity. Unfortunately,
revelation was sometimes indistinguishable from delusion. The neurological
risks of long-term drug use were denied or underestimated: the most
daring sixties questers lost the ability to articulate and transmit
their spiritual legacy to posterity.
The source material in this area is
voluminous but uneven in quality, partly because sixties chronicles
at their most colorful often rely on anecdote and hearsay. Hence,
much of the present essay is provisional. My aim is to trace lines
of influence and to suggest historical parallels-an overview that
might aid teachers in the US and abroad who are interested in developing
interdisciplinary courses about the sixties.
2.
Cults Ancient and Modern
Tens of thousands of young people in
the American sixties drifted or broke away from parents to explore
alternative world-views and lifestyles. A minority actually joined
communes or cults. These varied in philosophy and regime from the
mild to the extreme. The true cults that proliferated in the American
sixties and early seventies resemble those of the Hellenistic and
imperial Roman eras. Such phenomena are symptoms of cultural fracturing
in cosmopolitan periods of rapid expansion and mobility. Consisting
of small groups of the disaffected or rootless, cults are sects
that may or may not evolve into full religions. Hence, the cult
phenomenon even at its most bizarre demonstrates the sociological
dynamic of the birth of religions, as they flare up, coalesce, and
strengthen or sputter out and vanish. A cult is a foster family
that requires complete severance from past connections-kin, spouses,
friends. Membership in cults may begin with a sudden conversion
experience where an individual feels that ultimate truth has been
glimpsed. This may lead to zealotry, the conviction that the cult
view is the only possible view, which therefore must be promulgated
to the benighted or is too refined to be understood by others. A
persecution complex and siege mentality may result: cult members
feel that the world is the enemy and that only martyrdom will vindicate
their faith.
During the Hellenistic and imperial
Roman periods, transnational mystery religions competed with the
established state religions of the Olympian or civic gods, whose
official worship was public and often located in city centers. The
mammoth dissemination of Olympian images in sculptures and artifacts
has resulted in Greco-Roman religion, from the excavation of Rome at the Renaissance, being portrayed by
neoclassicism as stabler or more uniform than it was. Mystery religions,
which generally produced fewer and less monumental stone or chryselephantine
idols, offered personal salvation through initiation into an enlightened
group bound by some special secret, often involving the promise
of an afterlife, a recompense for present miseries. Hence mystery
religions had great appeal to the powerless and dispossessed.
The major Mediterranean mystery religions-of
Dionysus, Demeter, Isis, and Mithras-anticipated, influenced, or
vied with Christianity. Compared to the sometimes dryly contractual
veneration of the Olympians, mystery religion was characterized
by a worshipper's powerful identification with and emotional connection
to the god. Christianity, based on the teachings of Jesus of Nazareth,
one of many itinerant preachers in Palestine, emerged from a proliferation of splinter
sects in Judaism, among which were the Essenes, who left the famous
Dead Sea Scrolls in jars found just after World War II in caves near Qumran
in Israel. The Essenes, ascetic and celibate hermits
with an apocalyptic theology, were a cult by any modern definition.
The American sixties, I submit, had a climate of spiritual crisis
and political unrest similar to that of ancient Palestine, then under Roman occupation. But this
time the nascent religions faltered under the pitiless scrutiny
of modern media. Few prophets or messiahs could survive the deglamourizing
eye of the invasive TV camera.
Yet a major source of cultic energies
in twentieth-century America was the entertainment industry: the Hollywood studio system, cohering during and just
after World War I,
projected its manufactured stars as simulacra of the pagan pantheon.
Frenzied fans (a word derived from the Latin fanatici,
for maddened worshippers of Cybele) had already been generated by
grand opera in the late-seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, when
castrati sang female roles and were the dizzy object of coterie
speculation and intrigue. Modern mass media immensely extended and
broadened that phenomenon. Outbursts of quasi-religious emotion
could be seen in the hysterical response of female fans to Rudolph
Valentino, Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley, and the Beatles. Eroticism
mixed with death is archetypally potent: there were nearly riots
by distraught mourners after Valentino's death from a perforated
ulcer at age thirty-one in 1926. The rumor that Elvis
lives is still stubbornly planted in the culture, as if he
were a demigod who could conquer natural law. Tabloids have touted
Presley's canonization as the first Protestant saint. The same myth
of surviving death is attached to rock star Jim Morrison, whose
Paris grave has become a magnet for hippies of
many nations.
Cultism of this demonstrative kind
is persistently associated with androgynous young men, half sweet,
half surly, who like Adonis are sometimes linked with mother figures.
Presley, for example, sank into depression and never fully recovered
from his mother's unexpected death at age forty-six in 1958; after
long substance abuse, he died prematurely at age forty-two in 1977.
Rock music, even at its most macho, has repeatedly produced pretty,
long-haired boys who mesmerize both sexes and who hauntingly resemble
ancient sculptures of Antinous, the beautiful, ill-fated youth beloved
by the Roman emperor Hadrian. It's no coincidence that it was Paul
McCartney, the "cutest" and most girlish of the Beatles, who inspired
a false rumor that swept the world in 1969
that he was dead. Beatles songs and album covers were feverishly
scrutinized for clues and coded messages: I myself contributed to
this pandemonium by calling a New Haven radio station to identify mortuary lines
from King Lear submerged
in the climactic cacophony of "I am the Walrus." In cultic experience,
death is sexy. The hapless McCartney had become Adonis, the dying
god of fertility myth who was the epicene prototype for the deified
Antinous: after Antinous drowned in the Nile in 130 AD,
the grief-stricken Hadrian had him memorialized in shrines all over
the Mediterranean, where ravishing cult statues often showed
the pensive youth crowned with the grapes and vines of Dionysus.
The evangelical fervor felt by many
heretical young people in the 1960s was powered by rock music, which
at that moment was becoming an art form. The big beat came from
late-forties and fifties African-American rhythm and blues. But
the titanic, all-enveloping sound of rock was produced by powerful,
new amplification technology that subordinated the mind and activated
the body in a way more extreme than anything seen in Western culture
since the ancient Roman Bacchanalia. Through the sensory assault
of that thunderous music, a whole generation tapped into natural
energies, tangible proof of humanity's link to the cosmos.
"Flower power," the pacifist sixties
credo, was a sentimentalized, neo-Romantic version of earth cult,
which underlay the ancient worship of Dionysus. In the Bacchae, Euripides saw nature's frightful, destructive side, but that
perception was gradually lost over time. Bacchanalia is the Latin term for the Dionysian ritual orgia (root of the English word "orgy"),
where celebrants maddened by drink, drugs, and wildly rhythmic music
went into ecstasy (ecstasis,
"standing outside of"), abandoning or transcending their ordinary
selves. Hence the association of Dionysus (called
Lusios, the "Liberator")
with theater. The Bacchanalia arrived in Southern Italy from Greece in the fifth century BC and eventually spread to Rome. Celebrants decked with myrtle and ivy
danced to flutes and cymbals through city parks and woods in festivities
that became notorious for open sexual promiscuity and opportunistic
crime. After repeated outbreaks following the Second Punic War,
the Bacchanalia were declared a threat to public order and officially
suppressed by the Roman Senate in 186 BC. But their influence persisted, as
attested by Dionysian designs on sarcophagi and the walls of private
villas. In the ruins of Pompeii, the hedonistic resort destroyed by a volcanic
eruption in 79 AD, there is evidence that
the Bacchanalia had evolved into private sex clubs. This process
of secularization, where sex divorced from cosmology becomes permissively
recreational, can also be seen in the transition from the hippie
sixties to the manic seventies and early eighties: sex detached
from Romantic nature cult withdrew to glitzy urban discos, bathhouses,
and sex clubs like Plato's Retreat.
3.
New Messiahs and Cultural Polarization
What we think of as the 1960s was really
concentrated into the half-dozen years after the assassination of
John F. Kennedy in 1963. Cultural changes exploded and burnt themselves
out with tremendous speed. The religious impulse of the sixties
has been obscured by a series of scandals that began mid-decade
and spilled into the seventies-communes that failed, charismatic
leaders who turned psychotic, cults that ended in crime and murder.
The sensational chain of events began with the dismissal in 1963
of Timothy Leary and his colleague Richard Alpert from psychology
lectureships at Harvard for experimenting with LSD on student volunteers. This episode
first brought LSD
to public attention. An Irish Catholic turned self-described prophet,
Leary envisioned a world network of "psychedelic churches" whose
Vatican would be his League for Spiritual Discovery (acronym: LSD),
headquartered in Millbrook, New York, until it was closed after
a 1966 police raid led by Dutchess County assistant prosecutor G.
Gordon Liddy. Though registered as a religious institution, the
League was noted for its sex parties-reportedly a frequent attraction
of Leary's Harvard offices as well.
The optimistic sixties saga degenerated
into horrifying incidents of group psychology gone wrong. Most notorious
is the case of Charles Manson, a drifter who became a fixture of
San Francisco's Haight-Ashbury district during its famous 1967 "Summer
of Love" and who gathered a group of fanatical devotees, hippie
girls who thought he was both Jesus Christ and the devil. Though
only 5'2" tall, Manson had hypnotic powers as a cult leader.
He became patriarch of the "Family," a commune on a ranch near Los Angeles where heavy use of a cornucopia of drugs
was promoted and ritualistic group sex practiced. A student of the
Bible, Manson believed that the Book of Revelations prophesied the
Beatles: modern pop culture, in other words, had an apocalyptic
religious meaning. In August 1969, Manson dispatched a hit squad
to slaughter seven people in two nights, including the actress Sharon
Tate, living in a rented house in the Hollywood Hills. The details
still shock: in jailhouse confessions, Manson's girls boasted of
the "sexual release" they felt in their Maenadic frenzy as they
plunged their knives into their victims. Tate, eight months pregnant,
was stabbed sixteen times and a male companion fifty-one times.
By the seventies, cults seemed increasingly
psychopathic. Radical political cells like the bomb-making Weathermen
or the Symbionese Liberation Army, who kidnapped Patty Hearst in
1974 and whose emblem was a talismanic seven-headed cobra, began
to merge in popular perception with nominally religious groups like
Jim Jones' People's Temple, whose mostly black congregation was
drawn from San Francisco at the height of the hippie era. Jones
was a social worker and political activist who claimed to be the
reincarnation of Jesus, Buddha, Ikhnaten, and Lenin and who eventually
emigrated with his followers to a commune called Jonestown in the
Guyana jungle. After a shootout that killed a
visiting US Congressman in 1978, Jones ordered mass
suicide by cyanide-laced punch: 914 people were found dead, including
280 children.
In the nineties, interest in the swinging
sixties revived among curious young people at the same time as an
acrimonious debate about the sixties legacy intensified with the
election of the first baby-boom president, Bill Clinton. Thus, a
coincidental upsurge of cult incidents also triggered memories of
the Manson era. In 1993, a Christian commune of Branch Davidians
near Waco, Texas, was destroyed by fire, with the loss of
eighty-one lives, after a four-month siege by agencies of the federal
government. The Davidians were a branch of Seventh-Day Adventists
with roots in the 1930s. Their leader, David Koresh, called himself
"Yahweh" and kept a harem. In 1997, thirty-nine bodies, all wearing
Nike sneakers and draped in purple shrouds, were found in a house
near San Diego, California. An obscure cult led by Marshall Applewhite,
the son of a Presbyterian minister, had committed mass suicide in
the expectation of ascent to heaven, signaled by the Hale-Bopp comet.
The cult followed a strict code of celibacy: Applewhite and seven
other men had been surgically castrated to avoid homosexual temptation.
These sensational cases further distorted
and distanced the religious dimension of the sixties. Though there
are cults abroad-the Armageddon-style Solar Temple that resulted
in fifty-three suicides in Switzerland in 1994 or the Aum Shinrykyo
group who released sarin gas in the Tokyo subway in 1995, killing
twelve and injuring five thousand-it is primarily in American culture
that the sixties drama of idealism and disillusion has been played
out. The sixties lost credibility through their own manifest excesses,
which produced the counterreaction of Christian fundamentalism.
The American evangelical and pentecostal
movements, already stirring again in the early sixties, gained great
momentum. In 1968, Richard Nixon won the White House on a law-and-order
platform; by 1976, a "born-again" Southern Baptist, Jimmy Carter,
was elected president.
The sixties were the breeding ground
for the depressingly formulaic political and cultural pattern of
the last thirty-five years-a rigid polarization of liberals and
conservatives, with each group striking predictable postures and
mouthing sanctimonious platitudes. Gradations of political thought
have been lost. One reason is that liberals have shown continual
disrespect for religion, thereby allowing conservatives to take
the high road and claim to be God's agents in defending traditional
values. Liberals have forgotten the religious ferment on the Left
in the sixties, so that progressive politics has too often become
a sterile instrument of government manipulation, as if social-welfare
agencies and federal programs could bring salvation. Memories of
the sixties have been censored out of embarrassment, since the flakiest
of sixties happenings seemed to delegitimize the period's political
ideals.
On the other hand, it could be argued
that there are traces of sixties religiosity in the liberalism of
recent decades. An obvious example is the Arcadian matriarchal myth
of "the Goddess" that emerged in feminism and lesbian separatism
in the seventies and still flourishes in innumerable books still
in print. A second example is the puritanical feminist ideology
typified in the eighties by Catharine MacKinnon and Andrea Dworkin,
who allied with far-right Christians in an anti-pornography crusade
that threatened First Amendment liberties. With its ironclad dogma
and inquisitional style, the "political correctness" of the eighties
should be regarded as a cult that brainwashed even sophisticated
journalists until their deprogramming in the pro-sex nineties. A
third example is poststructuralism, which infested American humanities
departments from the late seventies through the mid-nineties: the
uncritical academic adulation of Jacques Derrida, Jacques Lacan,
and Michel Foucault was an insular and self-referential cult that
treated pointlessly cryptic texts as Holy Writ.
Religion has always been central to
American identity: affiliation with or flight from family faith
remains a primary term of our self-description. America, of course, began in religious dissidence:
many early Northeastern colonists, such as the Pilgrims, were seventeenth-century
Separatists who had seceded from the Church of England. Psychic
repressions perhaps produced by Protestant rationalism and intolerance
of dissent among the Massachusetts Puritans erupted in the Salem
witch-trials (1692), whose lurid imagery of sex and demonism oddly
resembles that of modern popular culture. The compulsive cycle of
sexual license and puritan backlash remains a deep-seated pattern
in American culture.
The 1960s' combination of spirituality
with progressive politics was prefigured by the reformist world-view
of the Quakers (the Religious Society of Friends), who emigrated to America in the seventeenth century after persecution
in England. The Quakers rejected materialism, authority,
and hierarchy and espoused pacifism, social activism, sexual egalitarianism,
and liberty of conscience. The Shakers (a slang term that described
their ecstatic transports) were English Quakers who emigrated to America for religious freedom in the late eighteenth
century. Nineteenth-century Shaker communities were known for their
code of celibacy and communal property as well as their plain style
of furniture and crafts that would influence minimalist modern design.
The Mennonites, another sect in search
of religious freedom, were Dutch and Swiss Anabaptists who fled
to Germany and then to America in the late seventeenth century. Their
most conservative branch, the Amish, still live in rural central
Pennsylvania and reject electricity, automobiles, and
contemporary clothing. The most successful of America's nonconformist sects, Mormonism (the Church
of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints),
was founded by a self-proclaimed prophet, Joseph Smith, in upstate
New York in 1830 and eventually found refuge in
Utah. (The Mormons clashed
with the federal government in 1852 when they adopted the Old Testament
practice of polygamy, later renounced.) There were many,
short-lived utopian communities in the nineteenth century, such
as Brook Farm (1841-47) and the "new Eden" of Fruitlands (1843-44), both established
by Transcendentalists in Massachusetts. In Central New York, the Oneida Community (1848-81) were
Christian Perfectionists who advocated communal property and open
marriage.
Hence the religious dissidence and
secessionist tendencies of the 1960s were simply a new version of
a long American tradition. The decade's politics loom large partly
because demonstrations, unlike inner journeys, were photographable
and indeed often staged for the camera. Today's young people learn
about the sixties through a welter of video clips of JFK's
limousine in Dallas, Vietnamese firefights, and hippies draped
in buckskin and love beads. Furthermore, the most fervent of the
decade's spiritual questers followed Timothy Leary's advice to "Turn
on, tune in, and drop out" and removed themselves from career tracks
and institutions, which they felt were too corrupt to reform. The
testimony of those radical explorers of inner space has largely
been lost: they ruined their minds and bodies by overrelying on
drugs as a shortcut to religious illumination.
The absence of those sixties seekers
from the arena of general cultural criticism can be seen in the
series of unresolved controversies in the last two decades over
the issue of blasphemy in art. With the triumph of avant-garde modernism
by the mid-twentieth century, few ambitious young artists would
dare to show religious work. Though museum collections are rich
with religious masterpieces from the Middle Ages through the nineteenth
century, major American museums and urban art galleries ignore contemporary
religious art-thus ensuring, thanks to the absence of strong practitioners,
that it remains at the level of kitsch. And the art world itself
has suffered: with deeper themes excised, it slid into a shallow,
jokey postmodernism that reduced art to ideology and treated art
works as vehicles of approved social messages.
By the 1980s, during the conservative
administrations of Ronald Reagan, an artist's path to instant success
was to satirize or profane Christian iconography. Warfare erupted
in 1989 over "Piss Christ," a misty photograph by the American Andres
Serrano of a wood and plastic crucifix submerged in a Plexiglas
tank of his own urine, and then a decade later over a 1996 collage
of the Virgin Mary by the British-Nigerian Chris Ofili, who adorned
the Madonna with breasts of elephant dung and ringed her with pasted-on
photos of female genitalia clipped from pornographic magazines.
The Ofili painting made hardly a ripple in London but caused an explosion in the US in 1999 when it was exhibited, with a deplorable
lack of basic curatorial support, by the Brooklyn Museum. The uproar in all such cases was fomented
by grandstanding politicians with agendas of their own: New York mayor Rudy Giuliani, for example, outrageously
moved to cut off the Brooklyn Museum's public funding. Nevertheless, the ultimate
responsibility for this continuing rancor rests with the arts community,
who are fixed in an elitist mind-set that automatically defines
religion as reactionary and unenlightened. Federal funding of the
arts, already minuscule in the US, has been even further diminished because
of the needlessly offensive way that religion has been treated in
such incidents.
This cultural stalemate was aggravated,
I contend, by the disappearance of voices from the sixties religious
revolution. Even counterculture agnostics had respected the cosmic
expansiveness of religious vision. There was also widespread ecumenical
interest at the time in harmonizing world religions. The primary
guide in this new syncretism was Carl Jung, who was the son of a
Protestant minister and who began to study Asian thought in depth
after his break with Freud in 1913. Jung's theory of the collective
unconscious was partly derived from the Hindu concept of samskaras,
the residue of past lifetimes. His interdisciplinary interpretation
of culture was also influenced by Sir James George Frazer's multi-volumed
work of classical anthropology, The
Golden Bough (1890-1915). Jung revealed the poetry and philosophy
in the rituals and iconography of world religions. But Jungian thought
had little impact on post-sixties American academe, thanks to the
invasion of European theory. French poststructuralism, the Frankfurt School, and British cultural studies all follow
the Marxist line that religion is "the opiate of the masses." The
end result was that, by the eighties, the claim that great art has
a spiritual meaning was no longer taken seriously-and was positively
perilous to anyone seeking employment or promotion in the humanities
departments of major American universities.
4.
Transcendentalism and Asian Religion
That the spiritual awakening of the
1960s belonged to a long series of religious revivals in America
was argued by William G. McLoughlin in his splendid 1978 book, Revivals, Awakenings, and Reform. McLoughlin's point was taken up
again by Robert S. Ellwood in The Sixties Spiritual Awakening
(1994), but general discussion of the sixties remains unchanged.
The resistance of received opinion is too strong: the Right refuses
to acknowledge anything positive in the sixties legacy, while the
Left rejects religion wholesale.
In the Great Awakening of the mid-eighteenth
century, the Congregational minister Jonathan Edwards lit up the
Connecticut Valley with his call for a renewal of Calvinist
belief. Edwards viewed the ease and slackness of contemporary religious
practice as a falling off from the disciplined vigor of New England's Puritan forefathers. His terrifying 1741
"Fire Sermon" ("Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God") stressed
man's contemptible weakness. But the 1960s spiritual awakening,
as a program of rebellious liberalization, more resembled Transcendentalism
(1835-60), which was influenced by British Romanticism and German
idealism. Its leading figure, Ralph Waldo Emerson, had been a Unitarian
minister (descended from a line of clerics) but resigned his post
because he could not accept the doctrine of transubstantiation in
the Eucharist. More generally, Emerson was repelled by the passionlessness
and rote formulas of genteel churchgoing. His suave father, a Boston minister, had had the social success that
Emerson spurned.
Emerson was reserved and austere, not
unlike the Romantic poet, William Wordsworth, who had a similar
reverence for nature. Emerson transferred his family's religious
vocation to the Romantic cult of nature, a pagan pantheism. His
holistic vision of nature, like that of his friend Henry David Thoreau,
prefigures 1960s ecology: indeed, Thoreau's Walden (1854), a journal of his experiment
in monastic living in the woods near Boston, became a canonical text for the sixties
counterculture.
The most intriguing of the parallels
between New England Transcendentalism and 1960s thought is Emerson's
interest in Asian literature-mainly Hindu sacred texts (the Bhagavad Gita and the Upanishads)
and Confucius' maxims. India's religious literature had been unknown
to the West until the first European translation of the Bhagavad Gita appeared in 1785, when Sanskrit studies had just begun.
The titles Emerson gave to his poems
"Brahma" and "Maya" were inexplicable to most readers at the time.
(Brahma is the Hindu creator god; Maya is the veil of illusion.)
"Brahma," first published in 1857, was the butt of so many satirical
lampoons that Emerson's publisher begged him, to no avail, to drop
it from the 1876 edition of his selected poems. In his seminal essays
(1836-41), Emerson refers to God as the "Over-Soul," a translation
of the Sanskrit word, atman, meaning "supreme and universal soul." Emerson's "Over-Soul"
would be reinterpreted by Friedrich Nietzsche as the Übermensch, which translators often misleadingly render in English
as "Superman."
Emerson's study of Hindu literature,
which intensified after his first wife's death, was documented by
Arthur Christy, a professor at Columbia University, in his 1932 book, The Orient in American Transcendentalism. Christy inspected borrowing
records at the Boston Athenaeum and Harvard College Library, as
well as Emerson's journals and marginalia, to trace his considerable
reading history of Asian texts. By contrast, Harvard Library records
showed no sign that the undergraduate Thoreau ever withdrew books
on Eastern religion. His transforming knowledge of it came entirely
from his casual reading in Emerson's personal library, through which
he was guided by Emerson's second wife. Among the other Transcendentalists,
Bronson Alcott was most interested in Hindu philosophy, which he
had explored while working as a Philadelphia schoolteacher in the 1830s.
Emerson the sage was the main draw
in the Transcendentalist circle. Harvard students and other young
people flocked to hear him speak or made pilgrimages to his home
in Concord. His warm rapport with and encouragement
of the young came from his own conflicts with authority, from which
evolved his doctrine of American individualism and self-reliance.
Emerson's charismatic appeal as an anti-establishment mentor could
be compared to that of the early Timothy Leary, who warned, "Don't
trust anyone over thirty." (As a college student
in 1966, I witnessed the mob scene around Leary when I traveled
with other students from Binghamton to Cornell University to hear
him speak about LSD and
his new League for Spiritual Discovery.)
In Leaves of Grass (1855), Walt Whitman absorbed British Romantic poetry
as well as Emerson's poems and essays, with their disparate Asian
influences. Whitman's sprawling, pagan epic (expanded over succeeding
decades) openly challenged Judeo-Christianity. After William Blake's
allegorical long poems, Leaves
of Grass is Western literature's closest approximation to the
dynamic form and visionary style of Hindu sacred literature, with
its cosmic scale. Whitman's poem would have tremendous influence
on the 1960s via fifties Beat poetry, in
particular Allen Ginsberg's prophetic protest poem, Howl (1956), which imitates Whitman's long,
incantatory lines. Ginsberg regularly paid homage to Whitman, as
in his amusing 1955 poem, "A Supermarket in California," which addresses Whitman by name.
The limitations in Emersonian Transcendentalism
are suggested by the reservations expressed by both Emerson and
Thoreau to the sexual material in Leaves
of Grass, which, despite their great admiration for the poem,
they felt to be crude flaws. Emerson, who had always disliked the
bawdiness in Shakespeare's plays, actually advised Whitman to purge
sexual references from later editions of Leaves
of Grass. In this respect, the Romantic nature cult of Emerson
and Thoreau betrays their Puritan lineage. They see nature in clean,
rigorous terms but cannot tolerate or encompass nature's stormier
energies-the theme of Herman Melville's Moby Dick (1851). Significantly, though he enjoyed choosing hymns
for Sunday services, Emerson did not much care for music. Despite
the call for ecstasy in his poem "Bacchus," he was evidently made
uncomfortable by music's heady rhythms and emotional stimulation.
It was the American 1960s that would complete Transcendentalism-through
the new, barbaric medium of rock.
5.
American Strains of Asian Religion in the Twentieth Century
The pervasive presence of Asian religion
in the bohemian underground in the US after World War II was unparalleled in avant-garde and existentialist Paris during the same period. Anti-clericalism-hostility
to priests and church hierarchy-has been entrenched among the European
intelligentsia since the Enlightenment, partly because the Roman
Catholic Church was once an active force in politics and economics
and, in the period of the Papal
States, was a nation in its own right.
The defiant rejection of organized
religion by Beat poets and artists was a substantial part of their
legacy to the 1960s counterculture. Their hip appropriation of Asian
thought is illustrated by the title of Jack Kerouac's 1958 autobiographical
novel, The Dharma Bums (dharma is a Hindu and Buddhist term for natural truth or right living).
Though most of the Beats merely dabbled in Asian religion, they
borrowed enough to help their second-generation fans critique Western
intellectual assumptions. Ginsberg, Kerouac, and the other Beats
who drifted to San
Francisco
in the fifties learned about Zen Buddhism from the poet Gary Snyder,
a rugged, Thoreau-style naturalist from Oregon who would later live in a monastery in
Japan. (A leading character in The Dharma Bums is based on Snyder.) Buddhist
references percolated from the Beats into anti-academic poetry of
other schools from the fifties to the early seventies.
A Zen Institute was established in
New York in 1930; San Francisco's Zen Center began in 1959. But American interest in
Zen was primarily stimulated by two non-fiction writers, Daisetz
T. Suzuki (1870-1966), a Japanese Buddhist scholar, and Alan Watts
(1915-73), who was born in England. In the 1950s, Suzuki lectured extensively
on Mahayana Buddhism in the US, including as a visiting professor at Columbia University. Watts was an Anglican priest with a master's
degree in theology who had had an interest in Asian thought and
culture since adolescence. His first book on Buddhism, The
Spirit of Zen, was published in 1936 after he had met Suzuki
in London earlier that year. Watts was Episcopal chaplain at Northwestern University near Chicago during World War II and then moved to the West Coast, where he taught at the
School of Asian Studies in San Francisco and joined the Los Angeles Vedanta Society,
devoted to Vedanta Hinduism. Watts'
many books, such as The Way
of Zen (1957) and Psychotherapy
East and West (1961), were widely available
as vividly bound paperbacks in the sixties. Though Watts
has sometimes been dismissed as a popularizer, I can attest that
his comparative studies of Asian and Western culture had a great
impact on me as a student. In 1966, he spent several days at my
college, where he lectured on "Narcotics and Hallucinogenic Drugs"
and "Differing Views of the Self and Its Relation to Nature."
It was Watts' reference to "cosmic consciousness" in
his 1962 book, The Joyous
Cosmology, that
put it into the cultural atmosphere of the time. The term had been
coined by a Canadian psychiatrist, Richard Maurice Bucke, in a very
odd, spiritualistic book, Cosmic
Consciousness: A Study in the Evolution of the Human Mind (1901). While
superintendent of an asylum for the clinically insane, Bucke had
begun to question the standard categories of Western logic and science.
In 1894, he read a paper called "Cosmic Consciousness" to a meeting
of the American Medico-Psychological Association in Philadelphia. In his book, Bucke attempted to fuse Asian
and Western religion by juxtaposing somewhat quirky profiles of
figures like Buddha, Jesus, Dante, William Blake, and Walt Whitman.
Such extraordinary individuals, Bucke felt, exuded a palpable magnetic
aura because they had attained spiritual illumination.
The Hinduism of the American 1960s
had several sources. Allen Ginsberg modeled his prophetic persona
on Blake as well as on visionary rabbis in his own Jewish tradition.
Though introduced to Buddhism by Gary Snyder, the gay, bookish Ginsberg
had none of Snyder's athletic asceticism. Chatty and omnivorous,
Ginsberg celebrated appetite and excess in food and sex. By the
sixties, he had transformed himself into a genial Hindu guru. Playfully
brandishing finger-cymbals and a squeezebox and sometimes dressed
in Hindu robes, the bearded Ginsberg was a constant, mantra-chanting
presence at major demonstrations. He turned political theater into
vaudeville-much like the Yippies, who nominated a pig for president
in 1968.
Hinduism had had an organized basis
in the US since the 1890s, following the visit of
Swami Vivekenanda, a disciple of the legendary Indian spiritual
leader, Ramakrishna, to the Parliament of Religions at the World's
Columbian Exposition held in Chicago in 1893. Vivekenanda (1863-1902) founded
the American Vedanta Society in New York City, from which numerous branches opened around
the country. Until after World War II,
however, American interest in Hinduism was mainly confined to urban
centers and was connected in the popular mind with kooks, charlatans,
and Hollywood actors. Aldous Huxley, who had moved to
California, studied Vedanta Hinduism with Swami Prabhavananda
in the 1940s and was a member of the Los Angeles Vedanta Society.
Another British expatriate, Christopher Isherwood, edited a book
about the Society, Vedanta
for Modern Man (1951). The openly gay Isherwood, whose
autobiographical Berlin Stories
about decadent 1930s Germany inspired I Am a Camera and Cabaret, had converted to Hinduism after moving to Los
Angeles.
The groundwork for the Asian trend
of the American sixties was probably laid by Paramhansa Yogananda
(1893-1952), the first yoga master to teach full-time in the West.
Born in Bengal, Yogananda established the international
headquarters of his Self-Realization Fellowship in Los Angeles in 1925. He lectured to packed audiences,
including at Carnegie Hall, and met President Calvin Coolidge at
the White House. His Autobiography
of a Yogi (1946) had an enormous impact, not least for the numinous,
Christlike cover photo of the white-robed, boyishly beardless guru
with long hair flowing over his shoulders. The Director of Forest
Lawn Memorial Park, where Yogananda was buried, stated in an affidavit
that there was "no physical disintegration" in his body twenty days
after death, "a phenomenal state of immutability."
A singular figure of lesser influence
was "Avatar" Meher Baba (1894-1969), who arrived in the US in 1952 and opened a center in South Carolina. Baba was an author and teacher born to
a Zoroastrian family in India. Mute from the 1920s on, perhaps as the
result of being struck on the head years earlier, he communicated
by smiles, gestures, and an alphabet board. He worked with the poor
and insane in India in the forties. Baba's sometimes nebulous
philosophy of "spiritual value" and world harmony, resembling that
of Yogananda, prefigured New Age. In the sixties, he strongly condemned
the use of LSD and other drugs as a route to enlightenment.
The major Asian cult of the sixties
was Transcendental Meditation, founded in India as the Spiritual Regeneration Movement
by Maharishi Mahesh Yogi in 1957. The Maharishi brought TM to Hawaii in 1959, from which it spread to North America and Europe. His practice of deep relaxation, whose
aim is "bliss," was based on ancient Vedic literature that he claimed
to have learned from his master, Shri Guru Deva. At the start, TM had more cult-like characteristics, such as a personal secret
mantra imparted by master to student. The Maharishi was at times
accused of claiming godlike powers. By the mid-seventies, TM was more professionally organized as a business, with certified
trainers teaching the system at stress-relief centers throughout
the US. In 1974, TM bought the campus of a Presbyterian college in Iowa and opened the Maharishi University of
Management. TM currently
claims five million followers worldwide. Deepak Chopra, the New
Age motivational speaker and best-selling author who became a media
star through his visibility on Oprah Winfrey's TV
show, was a disciple of the Maharishi but broke with him and TM in 1993.
Several cults caused much public concern
in the sixties and seventies because of their hold on young people.
The Hare Krishna movement-the International Society of Krishna Consciousness,
which claims to have been founded in the sixteenth century-is still
in operation, with headquarters in Mayapur, India. Its followers became notorious for their
shaved heads, saffron robes and beads, and aggressive behavior on
street corners as they sang, shook rattles and tambourines, and
pushed pamphlets. Their ascetic founder, Swami Prabhupada (1896-1977),
had begun preaching in India in the 1950s and moved to New York in 1965. There he wrote books and conducted
mass chanting of Hindu phrases in Tompkins Square Park-provocative activity at the time. In 1966,
he began publishing Back to
Godhead magazine and incorporated his organization, which required
disciples to renounce meat, alcohol, gambling, and extramarital
sex. He then took the Society to San
Francisco,
where it drew an enormous hippie following, particularly among those
addicted to drugs. His disciples carried the message to London and Berlin; at the Society's peak, there were 108
centers worldwide. The movement won much publicity at the 1970 release
of George Harrison's song, "My Sweet Lord," with its "Hare Krishna"
refrain. The Hare Krishnas were pursued with huge fanfare by Ted
Patrick, a "deprogrammer" who forcibly rescued young people from
cults and returned them to worried parents. A former staff member
for then-Governor Ronald Reagan in California, Patrick inaccurately warned that the Krishnas were a cult as dangerous as Charles Manson's.
The Divine Light Mission was brought
to the US in 1971 by thirteen-year-old Maharaj Ji,
whose father had founded the organization in India in the 1920s. Its Sikh and Hindu philosophy
required vegetarianism, celibacy, and meditation. American hippies
searching for gurus in India in the sixties had appealed to Maharaj
Ji, who claimed to be the successor of Jesus and Buddha, to visit
America. The Divine Mission's Denver commune would become its world headquarters:
it claimed 480 centers in thirty-eight countries. By 1973, there
were thirty-eight ashrams in the US with 40,000 followers. The organization
began to unravel later in the seventies when Maharaj Ji's taste
for luxury cars and mansions was exposed. When he married, he incurred
the wrath of the Divine Mission's power behind the throne-his mother,
who returned to India and tried to supplant him with his brother.
As the Hindu boom subsided in the seventies,
neo-Christian sects like Jim Jones' People's Temple rose to prominence. The Children of God,
founded in 1968 as Teens for Christ by "Moses" David Berg in Huntington Beach, California, were negligible in number but came to
public attention when they loudly prophesied that the US would be destroyed by Comet Kohoutek in
January 1974. The group continues under the name "The Family" and
is regularly excoriated by conservative Christian watchdog groups
for its practice of free love (called "Flirty Fishing") as well
as its heretical beliefs that Jesus was sexually active and that
God is a woman.
The most important neo-Christian sect
of the seventies was the Holy Spirit Association for the Unification
of World Christianity, founded by the Reverend Sun Myong Moon in
Seoul in 1954. Missionaries of the Unification
church were at work in the US from 1959 on, but there was little publicity
until Moon arrived in 1971. Moon was born into a farming family
in North Korea in 1920. He was raised by Confucian principles
until his parents became Presbyterians in 1930. In 1935, Moon claimed,
Jesus appeared in a vision to summon him to ministry. Because of his staunch anti-communism (he had been imprisoned by Korean
Communists), he was welcomed by Republican legislators in the US
and was hosted
by President Richard Nixon in the White House.
In 1981, however, Moon was charged with tax evasion and would eventually
spend thirteen months in prison.
Though massive advertisements for the
Unification Church still appear in major world newspapers,
the zenith of Moon's organization was 1982, when he sponsored a
mass wedding of 2,075 couples in Madison Square Garden. The grooms wore badges declaring "World
Peace Through Ideal Family," upholding
conservative family values against the sexual anarchy of the psychedelic
sixties and disco seventies. However, most Americans, as evidenced
by the slang term "Moonies" for its members, continue to regard
the Unification Church as just another Asian cult. Moon's Christian
theology is unorthodox: he preaches, for example, that Jesus was
illegitimate, the product of an affair between Mary and her cousin's
husband, Zachariah.
6.
Hinduism and 1960s Music
A main aperture through which Hinduism
flowed into the sixties was popular music, which adapted the non-Western
harmonics of raga and experimented with the sitar, the long-necked
Indian lute. George Harrison, the Beatles' lead guitarist, was not
the first British musician to experiment with the sitar, but he
deserves principal credit for popularizing it in Anglo-American
rock music. Jangling sitar riffs were a ubiquitous lyrical motif
in late-sixties music. At the opening of songs, the sitar was equivalent
in meaning and effect to the European church bell, summoning the
faithful to worship.
The first Western album of Indian music,
a collaboration between Yehudi Menuhin
and tabla master Ali Akbar Khan, was released in 1955. In the late
fifties, Khan's brother-in-law, Ravi Shankar, gave sitar concerts
in Europe and the US. By
1959, Shankar had influenced jazz compositions by Miles Davis and
John Coltrane. By the mid-sixties, the sitar sound had traveled
far afield into folk circles in Great
Britain,
New
York,
and San
Francisco.
Harrison's interest in India began during production of the Beatles'
second movie, Help! (1965), with its slapstick Hindu subplot. He was intrigued
by the sitar used in an Indian restaurant scene filmed in London. While beach scenes were being filmed in
the Bahamas, the Beatles were approached by a man in
orange robes who handed them a signed copy of his book on yoga.
It was Swami Vishnu-Devananda, the founder of Sivananda Yoga. Intrigued,
Harrison began to study Hinduism. He then traveled
to India to study the sitar with Ravi Shankar, who
gave him a copy of Yogananda's Autobiography
of a Yogi. It was Harrison who invited Shankar to perform at
the seminal 1967 Monterey Pop Music Festival in California, where the sitar's artistic kinship to
the electric guitar was dramatically demonstrated. (See
the 1969 documentary, Monterey
Pop.) The sitar's cultural impact on the late sixties
paralleled that of the Javanese gamelan on late-nineteenth-century
music. Debussy was fascinated by the gamelan (a percussive instrument
with gong and bells) when he heard it played at the Paris Universal
Exposition in 1889. Through him, the gamelan's Asian harmonics transformed
French and British classical music for the next half century.
In 1967, Patti Boyd Harrison, George's
wife, took the Beatles to a lecture in London by the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. The Beatles
fell under the Maharishi's spell and began to dress in quasi-Hindu
style, with chic Nehru jackets and mod paisley fabrics, which revolutionized
fashion around the world. In 1968, the Beatles flew to India to meditate at the Maharishi's ashram in
Rishikesh. But their flirtation with Hinduism ended abruptly in
bitter disillusion: the Maharishi ruined his saintly reputation
by reportedly making sexual advances to another celebrity pilgrim,
Mia Farrow, who was there with her studious sister Prudence. The
Beatles and the Farrows decamped in high dudgeon. A record of that
adventure is contained in two Beatles songs on the 1968 White
Album: "Dear Prudence" and "Sexy Sadie" ("You made a fool of
everyone"), a transsexual tribute to the Maharishi's seductive charms.
Farrow confirmed the rumored details about the Maharishi's blunder
in her 1998 autobiography, What Falls Away. However, it was thanks to the Beatles' cross-fertilization
of Hinduism with rock that the Swami Satchidananda, seated in white
robes on the stage, would give the prayer invocation that opened
the 1969 Woodstock Music Festival.
In addition to the sitar, or an electric
guitar strung and played to sound like one, the style of "acid rock"
that originated in the San Francisco hippie scene can arguably be considered
to have religious intonations. Acid rock helped promulgate the sixties
concept of cosmic consciousness. Even those (like me) who did not
take drugs were radicalized by the power and expansiveness of that
shimmering music, with its unfixed keys, sonic distortions, ominous
drone, wandering melodic lines, and twangy, floating, evaporating
notes. The leading San Francisco acid-rock bands were Jefferson Airplane,
the Grateful Dead, Quicksilver Messenger Service, and Big Brother
and the Holding Company. Psychedelic effects were used in Los Angeles by the Byrds and the Doors and in England by the Yardbirds, Jeff Beck, the Jimi Hendrix
Experience, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Donovan, the Kinks,
and early Pink Floyd. The drugged mood of this "trippy" style was
revived in British trance music (called "trip-hop") in the early
nineties as a development of the rave scene.
Because it consists of transient instrumental
effects, psychedelic music has received far less attention than
folk and folk-rock with overtly political lyrics, whose manifest
content is easier to analyze. This is yet another factor impeding
general recognition of the sixties' religious legacy. Though the
Beats left their mark in novels and poems, the counterculture was
less interested in constructing self-contained artifacts. The enduring
achievements of the sixties generation were in music, modern dance,
experimental film and video, Pop and Conceptual Art, and performance
art, which swallowed up poetry. Literature is strikingly underrepresented.
Literary surveys of the sixties overrely on the work of figures
like Norman Mailer, whose brilliant career began in the late forties.
The major critics and theorists of the sixties-Marshall McLuhan,
Leslie Fiedler, Norman O. Brown-also belong to an earlier generation.
Hermann Hesse, whose novels Siddhartha
(1922), about the early life of Buddha, and Steppenwolf
(1927) were sixties cult classics, was born in 1877. Except for
Tom Wolfe's New Journalism, most sixties culture crystallized outside
the book.
The gap in the sixties' artistic and
intellectual legacy partly occurred because too many young people
followed their elementary understanding of Asian religion by making
sensory experience primary. Shunning schedules and routine, they
sought the "eternal Now," dramatized by the otherworldliness of psychedelic rock.
Furthermore, the sexual revolution, which began in 1960 with the
commercial release of Enovid, the first reliable oral contraceptive
in history, finally overwhelmed the sixties' spiritual quest. Beat
interpretations of Asian thought tended to exaggerate its sexual
component. In 1958, Alan Watts criticized "Beat Zen" for its "anything
goes" attitude toward sex. Similarly, hipsters often carelessly
reduced Hinduism to the erotic acrobatics of Tantric yoga or Vatsyayana's
Kama Sutra (c. 250 AD).
But sexual codes have been very strict throughout India's history: at no time was promiscuity endorsed.
The yoni and lingam (monumental stone genitalia in Hindu shrines)
or the voluptuous copulating couples on the facades of Hindu temples
belonged to a fertility cult where sexual intercourse symbolized
the natural cycle of birth and death.
"Make love, not war" was a sixties
rubric. Free love had been endorsed by radical Romantics like Percy
Bysshe Shelley who sought to shatter the bonds of bourgeois marriage.
A cheeky promiscuity was also affected by urban flappers in the
1920s, which was energized by the hyperactive dance rhythms of the
Jazz Age as well as the seditious mood of underground speakeasies.
But free love was never achieved on a massive scale until the 1960s,
when random sexual connection was blithely assigned a spiritual
and redemptive meaning. "Getting it on" meant freeing mind and body
to strike a blow against residual American puritanism. By the hedonistic
seventies, spirituality had been abandoned, a change marked by the
shift in drugs from communal, "mellow" marijuana and visionary LSD to edgy, expensive, hoarded cocaine, which sharpened competition
and enhanced the ego sense of power and mastery. Sexual liberation,
as should now be obvious, had its high costs, which we are still
sorting out: sexual diseases, a soaring divorce rate, and a pandemic
sexualization of media images with uncertain consequences for children.
Self-presentation by early teens, for example, has become strikingly
eroticized, leading to premature sexual pressures and demands.
Feeling trapped by a corporate and
technological society, sixties rebels tried to empower sex as a
quick route to reconnection with nature. The sixties dreamed of
limitless sex without consequence-a bouncy, open-ended, Technicolor
film with a rock soundtrack. Many genuine hippies dropped out of
college to join communes, bake bread, and have babies. Others of
the sixties generation who entered the professions often defied
or delayed the procreative principle that was at the heart of ancient
mystery cult. Two new models of sexual liberation who emerged in
the seventies were the liberated woman, who put career before marriage
and family, and the post-Stonewall gay man, in whose paradise of pleasures
even lesbians were no longer welcome. Reproductive rights, establishing
women's control over their own bodies, was always a major issue
in feminism but over the next quarter century would become an obsessive
preoccupation, determining campaign politics and judicial appointments.
Feminism inextricably identified itself with abortion-with termination
of life rather than fertility. (I am speaking as a militantly pro-choice
feminist.) Feminism's foregrounding of abortion, which caused national
turmoil and limited its outreach as a populist movement, was one
consequence of the loss of sixties cosmic consciousness by the seventies.
For gay men, free love detached from
all reference to nature meant that, by the eighties, their ruling
theorist would be social constructionist Michel Foucault rather
than the nature-revering Whitman or Ginsberg. Despite a seventies
fad for the virile lumberjack look, the erotic ideal in the gay
male world has reverted over time to the ruthless master type of
the Greek beautiful boy, Antinous reborn: the shaved, sculpted,
callipygian ephebe whose perfection is heartbreakingly transient.
7.
Psychedelic Drugs
"Sex, drugs, and rock and roll" was
the fast-track reality for a significant segment, working-class
as well as middle-class, of the sixties generation. Drugs melted
defenses and broke barriers, creating a momentary sense of unity
with mankind and the world. They functioned as magic elixirs for
the missing initiatory rituals in an increasingly transient society.
In the matter of drugs, I must stress, I was merely an observer:
as an Italian-American, I am a product of Mediterranean wine culture,
where intoxicants are integrated with cuisine. As a libertarian,
I favor legalization of drugs, not because I approve of their use
but because in my view government should have no power to dictate
what individuals do with their bodies. On the other hand, I am painfully
aware of the tragic toll that drugs took on my generation. This
was one of the great cultural disasters of American history. I warn
my students that recreational drugs-now a toxic cocktail of black-market
tranquilizers-may give short-term gains but impair long-term achievement.
Nevertheless, it was drugs, abused
until they turned on their takers, that
helped trigger the spiritual explosion of the sixties. Getting high-as
in the magnificent, rumbling Byrds song "Eight Miles High"-was to
elevate perspective. Aspiring beyond materialism and conformity,
young people manufactured their own martyrdom. They pushed their
nervous systems to the limit, until social forms seemed to dissolve.
What they saw was sublime-the High Romantic vision of creative nature,
its vast energies twisting and turning along a continuum from the
brain to the stars. That cosmic consciousness is precisely what
is lacking in too many of today's writers and academics, especially
followers of poststructuralism and postmodernism, cynical systems
that are blind to nature.
The association of drugs with the avant-garde
began with British High Romanticism. Samuel Taylor Coleridge's great
"mystery" poems of the 1790s ("Kubla Khan," "Christabel," and "The
Rime of the Ancient Mariner") were partly inspired by his experiences
with opium, present in laudanum, a common pain medication to which
he had been addicted since childhood. In Artificial
Paradises (1860), his response to Thomas De Quincey's Confessions
of an English Opium Eater (1821), Baudelaire described the hallucinations
of his experiments with hashish mixed with opium. In late-nineteenth-century
America, white middle-class women took "patent
medicines" containing morphine, a derivative of opium, for their
"nerves" or "female ailments." In the same period, opium dens were
common in Chinese immigrant communities around San Francisco. Opium, extracted from the seedpod of the
opium poppy, had arrived in China from India via Burma in the seventeenth century; by the next
century, China was the center of a flourishing international
opium trade. Non-prescription possession of opium and cocaine was
banned in the US by the Harrison Narcotics Act of 1914, which
helped create organized crime. Drugs, like alcohol during Prohibition,
would be eagerly supplied by an underground economy.
William James first studied the connection
between drugs and mystic vision that would become so basic a tenet
of the 1960s. In his 1901-02 Edinburgh lectures, published as The Varieties of Religious Experience,
James described his experiments with nitrous oxide, which he believed
duplicated the altered perception reported by saints in their visions
of God or angels. James skeptically viewed foundational religious
figures as obsessives afflicted with "nervous instability."
Havelock Ellis was more sympathetic:
in an 1898 article, "Mescal: A New Artificial Paradise," he described
ritual use among Southwestern American Indians of mescal, obtained
from the button of a cactus plant. He himself had experimented with
mescal in London. Aldous Huxley cited Ellis' essay in The Doors of Perception (1954), where he
described his own experiment with mescaline (a synthetic version
of the chemical agent in mescal) the prior year at his Hollywood home. (Huxley's title, based on a Blake
maxim, inspired the name of the Los Angeles art-rock band, the Doors.) Huxley's partner
in taking mescaline was Humphrey Osmond, a British research psychiatrist
attending a convention of the American Psychological Association
in Los
Angeles.
It is Osmond who invented the term "psychedelic" for the effect
of hallucinogens on the brain. Later transmogrified into "psychedelia,"
it remains the best word for the garish mental adventurism and extremism
of the sixties.
The Beats used peyote, derived from
mescal buttons. Snyder first tried peyote while studying American
Indian culture at Reed College in 1948. It had been used since the Aztecs,
who chewed the buttons or steeped them in a bitter tea. Ginsberg
took peyote in New
York
in 1951 and Kerouac at Big Sur,
California, the following year. Peyote use was common
in bohemian Greenwich
Village
by 1957; mescaline arrived there the next year. In 1960, the Native
American Church of North America won the legal right (revoked in
1990) to use peyote in its religious rituals. "Magic" mushrooms
("'shrooms" for short) containing psychotropic psylocibin were also
used by the Beats: Ginsberg, Kerouac, and Neil Cassady had been
given them by Timothy Leary in 1960 after his return from summer
vacation in Mexico, where he had first tried them. Before he began
investigating LSD,
Leary called his program the Harvard Psylocibin Project.
The sixties' premiere drugs, however,
were marijuana and LSD.
Marijuana entered the US in the early twentieth century with migrant
Mexican farm workers in Texas. The hemp plant from which it comes was
introduced to North
America
in the sixteenth century by the Spanish, who used it for fiber for
rope and ship rigging. Before World War I,
New Orleans was a major port for marijuana shipments
from Mexico and Cuba. Marijuana use, then confined to the working
class, spread through the rural South and was brought by blacks
to Midwestern and Northeastern cities during the Great Migration
for factory jobs during and after World War I.
It was in the urban centers that marijuana became associated with
music and the underground-a hip marriage that would last through
the sixties and beyond. The Beats who made a cult of be-bop jazz
(a style evolving from the late thirties through the mid-fifties)
imitated black musicians' habit of smoking "reefer." Marijuana was
then used by white folk musicians and spread across the country
via leftist circles. It was through folk music (cf. Bob Dylan's
line, "Everybody must get stoned," from "Rainy Day Woman") that
marijuana was transmitted to college students in the sixties-the
first time it had entered the middle class. For white users in the
fifties and sixties, therefore, marijuana had the aura of creativity
and progressive politics.
LSD-25
(lysergic acid diethylamide; hence the term "acid") was synthesized
from rye fungus in 1938 by Dr. Albert Hofmann, a biochemist at Sandoz
Pharmaceuticals in Basel, Switzerland. Hofmann discovered the chemical's hallucinogenic
effects when he inhaled it by accident in 1943. Because it seemed
to mimic the warped sense of space and time in psychosis, LSD was first viewed as a promising mental-research
drug. Humphrey Osmond tested it in Saskatchewan as a potential treatment for alcoholism.
LSD also seemed to
reproduce the effects of peyote in ancient Mesoamerican rituals.
In 1949, Dr. Max Rinkel brought LSD
from Sandoz to the US, where he began experiments in Boston. ("Sandoz" lingered as a code term for
LSD in the UK, as in the Animals' 1965 song, "A Girl
Named Sandoz.") The CIA
conducted its own tests on LSD
from 1951 through the decade.
LSD
was being used in Greenwich
Village
by 1961 and was available on the East and West Coasts the next year. By the summer of 1964, it
was widespread in the San Francisco Bay area, where it confused the political climate
on the Left. (See Mark Kitchell's first-rate 1990
documentary, Berkeley in the
Sixties.) Within a year, LSD
had become a major street drug in cities nationally. It was popularized
by a 1964 book by Timothy Leary and Richard Alpert, The
Psychedelic Experience. The book's subtitle, A Manual Based on the Tibetan Book of the Dead, showed the religious
cast that drug-taking was acquiring. As a student volunteer at a
California veterans hospital,
novelist Ken Kesey first took LSD
in 1959 (the same year that Ginsberg did) and later conducted "Acid
Test" parties at his home in the hills near San Francisco. Neil Cassady was part of these carnivalesque
gatherings, which evolved into the Merry Pranksters, a free-form
hippie group that toured the US in a Day-Glo-painted 1939 school bus. By
the late sixties, Kesey (who was jailed for five months for marijuana
offenses) was denouncing LSD.
His recantation resembled that of Alpert, who went to India in 1967 and became Baba Ram Dass, a drug-free
Hindu guru.
Hyperbolic claims were made for LSD in the sixties. For example, Walter
Houston Clark, a friend of Leary, predicted in a 1969 book, Chemical Ecstasy: Psychedelic Drugs and Religion,
that LSD's intellectual
effect on civilization would equal that of "the Copernican revolution."
In his 1970 bestseller, The
Greening of America, Yale Law School professor Charles Reich similarly celebrated
marijuana as an indispensable "truth-serum" that exposed society
as "unreal." Drug taking was also a gesture of rebellion against
Western commercialism: marijuana-called "weed" or "mother nature"
to highlight its organic character-was the intoxicant of choice
for those who rejected the businessman's martinis or scotch and
sodas. On the West Coast in particular, drug takers savored psychedelics'
associations with the "vision quest" of tribal shamans. In The
Teachings of Don Juan (1968), the first of several best-sellers,
Carlos Castaneda claimed, without substantiation, that he had received
spiritual instruction in peyote from a Yaqui Indian shaman in Mexico. By establishing continuity or solidarity
with Native American and pre-Columbian societies, drugs became an
affirmation of multiculturalism as well as a vehicle of religious
revelation.
The psychedelic "trip" into inner space
replicated the shaman's magic journey, from which he returned with
secret knowledge for his tribe. This myth of a spiritual journey
was a motif of premodern societies from Central
Asia
to the Amazon River basin. It is possible that hallucinatory shamanism
was widespread in Native American cultures because it was brought
from Siberia by the Indians' North Asian ancestors when
they emigrated across the Bering
Strait.
("Shaman" is a Ural-Altaic word.) Furthermore, North America, in contrast to Africa, for example, is especially fertile in
hallucinogenic plants. Even the species of strong tobacco (nicotiana rustica) used in Native American rituals had hallucinogenic
properties.
Many ritual practices, such as fasting
and marathon drumming, have been used throughout history to induce
trance and facilitate divination. In some cases, techniques of flagellation
or mutilation resemble those of the modern S&M scene, whose
devotees claim to attain a beatific state. Mushrooms eaten by Siberian
shamans caused convulsions. Hallucinogens, perhaps mushrooms, were
used by worshippers in the Eleusinian mysteries. Possessed by Apollo,
the Delphic oracle went into paroxysms after intoxication by fumes
from a cleft in the earth. Fault lines have recently been identified
in the bedrock at Delphi by an archaeologist and geologist, who
speculate that the priestess was maddened by oozing petrochemical
vapors like ethylene (prized by modern glue-sniffers). Drugs were
also used in medieval European witchcraft. The iconic Halloween
image of the witch flying on a broomstick is another version of
the shaman's visionary journey: ritual staffs were smeared with
a greenish hallucinogenic ointment and "ridden," to autoerotic effect.
The massive drug taking in the sixties,
promoted by arts leaders and pop stars,
redefined the culture and set the stage for the decade's religious
vision. But shamanistic drug taking in tribal societies took place
within small communities unified by a coherent belief system. Hippies
and college students casually sampling hallucinogens were relative
strangers and brought with them a mélange of private turmoils and
family psychodramas. What they shared was a yearning humanitarianism-and
rock music, which urged the liberation of sexual desire. Sex was
portrayed as a revolutionary agent: the establishment, like the
walls of Jericho, would fall before eros unbound. This overestimation
of sex-the faith that sexual energy freed of social controls is
inherently benign-was one reason for the dissipation of the authentic
spiritual discoveries made by the sixties generation. A philosophy
of random contacts and "good vibrations" built little that could
be passed on to the next generation. At its mildest, the sixties
cult of sex and drugs led to a frivolous dilettantism, youthful
high jinks like the Florida spring flings of the fifties. At its
worst, however, there was permanent damage that has never been systematically
assessed. In retrospect, it is clear, for example, that the meteoric
literary careers of Allen Ginsberg and Ken Kesey were sadly truncated
by drug abuse.
8.
Mysticism and Social Change
Social regroupings dramatized the generational
change of the sixties-the mass gatherings of demonstrations, rock
festivals, happenings, and love-ins, which began in temperate California. For example, the "Human Be-In," subtitled
"A Gathering of the Tribes," which was held in 1967 in San Francisco's Golden Gate Park, attracted 25,000 people. It fused politics
with pop music and Asian religiosity: the leading San Francisco acid-rock bands performed; among the speakers
(many in Hindu garb) were Alan Watts, Timothy Leary, and Beat poets
Gary Snyder, Allen Ginsberg, and Lawrence Ferlinghetti.
While the political sentiments of young
people at such events were progressive, there was often little understanding
of the slow process and banal practicalities of legislation, administration,
and financial accounting. Repelled by the expanding bureaucracies
of the fifties, the sixties counterculture was suspicious of hierarchy
and embraced a simplistic egalitarianism predicated on quick fixes.
The basic principle of the counterculture began as communality but
ended as the horde, the most primitive entity in social history.
The horde is prey to superstition and panic. It looks for leaders
but ruthlessly slays them, then reveres them as ancestral spirits.
As a survival response to its own flood of anarchic energies, the
horde automatically generates cults and cultic belief.
The sixties horde that was a benign
extended family of music-loving stargazers at the Woodstock Music
Festival in August 1969 turned into a restless, bickering mob four
months later at the Altamont Festival, where a murder was committed
in front of the stage. The sixties never completed its search for
new structures of social affiliation. Fifties liberalism was integrationist,
but sixties Leftism, despite its claims of inclusiveness, disintegrated
into the separatism of identity politics, with ghettoizing reclassifications
and hypersensitive divisions by race, gender, and sexual orientation.
The sixties code of "do your own thing" encouraged individualism
but produced fragmentation. Similarly, the sixties' global religious
vision, inspired by fleeting contact with Hinduism and Buddhism,
would broaden yet dissipate into the thousand cults of the present
New Age movement.
Cults multiply when institutional religion
has lost fervor and become distracted by empty ritual. Early Christianity,
for example, began as a rural rebellion against the fossilized Temple bureaucracy in Jerusalem. In 1950s America, the political and professional elite were
still heavily WASP.
Prosperous congregations were overly concerned with social status
at church or at its annex, the country club. Roman Catholicism,
searching for social credibility, was steadily purging itself of
immigrant working-class ethnicity, a process of genteel self-Protestantization
in music, ceremony, and decor that in middle-class parishes is now
virtually complete. Many of those attracted to cults in the sixties
and early seventies were escaping mainline denominations where bland
propriety was coupled with sexual repression. It is a striking fact
that few young African-Americans joined cults: surely the reason
was that the gospel tradition, rooted in the South, invited emotional
and physical expressiveness, stimulated by strongly rhythmic music.
Dance, universal in pagan cults, had been banned in Christian churches
in late antiquity. Its presence in Southern church tradition is
a priceless vestige of West African tribal religion.
The social changes from the fifties
to the sixties resemble, in compressed and accelerated form, those
of the Hellenistic era following the conquests of Alexander the
Great. In the three centuries of the Alexandrian age, the old city-states
declined, and mercantile metropolises flourished. Hellenism-that
is, Athenian high culture-spread throughout the Mediterranean world
via a bustling commercial network that marketed Greek art works
(often in shoddy knockoffs) as status symbols for the nouveau riche.
The Romans had always clothed their provincial Italian mythology
in borrowed Greek glory. As it transformed itself from republic
to empire, Rome created a massive zone of cultural and
religious exchanges extending from the Near East and North Africa to Northern Europe. Cosmopolitanism of this kind is usually
produced by vibrant commercialism buttressed by military might.
But when politics have overexpanded, there is a loss of psychological
security; hence the rise of cults, which reinforce the borders of
individual identity.
No sooner did the US displace Great Britain and France to attain superpower status after World
War II than a surge
of mysticism overtook the next American generation. The children
born in the postwar baby boom, who would reach college age in the
sixties, had been conceived with a jolt of military energy and were
reared in a climate of national confidence. But they intuitively
absorbed the hidden conflicts of the fifties, with its surface tranquility
masking the anxieties of an older generation whose life experiences
had been economic depression and war. Mainstream fifties values
promoted duty and uniformity, as if to recover the reassurance of
known limits. Trade always opens up travel and tourism. The international
network of Roman roads (so well-constructed that some are still
in use) resembles that of the US interstate highway system, launched in
the fifties as a national defense plan for emergency evacuation.
Ironically, improved transportation weakens regionalism and nationalism
too. Multiculturalism was spurred by the jet plane, which got Ravi
Shankar so quickly to Monterey or the Beatles to India and back.
What commercialized Hellenism was for
the Greco-Roman era, popular culture was for the American fifties
and sixties. Hellenism was an artistic and philosophic system embedded
with pagan mythology. The unifying language of youth culture from
the mid-1950s on was new media-TV,
teen movies, and rock 'n' roll, broadcast by a vast number of privately
owned AM radio stations (then unparalleled in Europe) and received on portable transistors.
America's pop Hellenism spread to England in the fifties and bounced back in the
sixties via the British invasion. Popular culture remains a major
American export, so vital and dominant that it has rightly been
called cultural imperialism. Television has indeed turned the world,
as McLuhan prophesied, into a global village. However, the general
style of American mass media, rooted in nineteenth-century tabloids
and early Hollywood, has always been luridly Hellenistic-extravagant,
emotional, and sensationalistic, with a predilection for sex and
violence.
Mass media inflamed the mind, while
the institutional framework was being rigidified. A major social
shift of the postwar period in America was the massive expansion of colleges and
universities. In the two decades following the GI Bill, which subsidized higher education for veterans, college became an entitlement-still not the case in other nations.
By the eighties, America was in the grip of an overpriced, self-perpetuating
education industry whose principal product is brand names and social
status rather than humanistic cultivation. Fifties prosperity meant
that middle-class young Americans did not have to go to work immediately
after high school, as their parents had done. The down side was
that adulthood, including marriage, was indefinitely postponed.
Despite their material comforts and
privileges, therefore, middle-class students of the American sixties
were also captives, hostages confined at their hormonal height in
institutional frames without the venerable history or in-group identification
of tony British schools. Classes became like warehouses, with students
stacked in primary-school rows-unlike European universities, where
student-teacher contact is either in tutorial or in unmonitored
public lectures. Supervision of student behavior on American campuses
was intrusive and authoritarian-another feature without parallel
in Europe. When I was a freshman in 1964, colleges
still acted in loco parentis (in place of the parent). Parietal
rules were strictly enforced: at my public university, women students
had to sign in at 11:00 pm, while men could roam free. Hence the late
fifties and sixties were a period of high excitation yet repressive
containment.
The paternalistic regimentation of
American colleges was nearly military and thus can be viewed as
a vestige of the national mobilization of World War II.
Students were conscripts who often dressed in army-navy surplus,
and the new brick dormitories of residential campuses resembled
factories or army barracks-all the more ironic since college matriculation
brought exemption from the draft. There have been town-gown problems
since the goliardic carousing of the Middle
Ages, but the frictions of the sixties were highly politicized.
As the sixties counterculture spread, campuses became tense garrison
towns, like the frontier outposts of the Roman legions, who occupied
well-appointed camps of precise, geometrical design.
Roman soldiers were drawn not simply
from Italy but from all over the empire. They were
stationed far from home for years and decades-in forts in the Sahara, on the Danube, or at Hadrian's Wall in northern Britain. They were notorious devotees of cults, above all that of Mithras, the bull-slayer, with his
androgynous face, lanky hair, Phrygian beret, and blousy Persian
trousers. Merchants, with their internationalist orientation, were
another group who venerated Mithras, a Zoroastrian demigod representing
the principle of light and truth. Mithraists, like early Christians,
gathered in secrecy in small, cave-like rooms to memorialize a great
act of ritual bloodshed. Amid the ruins of Roman camps in England and Germany, cult objects and idols from Egypt, Syria, and Anatolia are still being found. Cultic practice
on the Roman frontier, I submit, paralleled that on American campuses
in the sixties, when there was a syncretistic mix of drugs, Asian
religion, and pop idolatry.
Cults arise when the official gods
seem weak or fickle or subject to fate themselves. The cult phenomenon
in the US escalated after the assassination of
John F. Kennedy in 1963-the president who vowed to surpass the Soviet
Union's 1957 Sputnik satellite by putting a man on the moon by the
end of the sixties. The baby-boom generation was the first to grow
up in the shadow of nuclear war. In elementary school, we were shepherded
into dim hallways for civil defense drills requiring us to crouch
down and cover our eyes. We were taught to fear not a rain of bombs
from manned warplanes but rather a single, slim, strangely omnipotent
object that could find its way over thousands of miles to unleash
a monstrous fire cloud that would melt the nation in a split second.
The sixties generation, in other words,
had been injected with a mystical sense of awe and doom about the
sky. This is one possible reason for the sudden popularity and ubiquity
of astrology, which for most of the twentieth century had been a
fringe practice associated with eccentrics in Greenwich
Village
and West Hollywood. Zodiac and Tarot symbolism permeated the
sixties, from jewelry and album covers to wall posters. "Aquarius,"
the signature song of Hair
("An American Tribal Love-Rock Musical," 1967) and a hit single
for the Fifth Dimension in 1969, assumed public knowledge of astrological
lore in its imagery of the moon in the seventh house and Jupiter's
alignment with Mars: "Then peace will guide the planets / And love
will steer the stars. / This is the dawning
of the Age of Aquarius!" With genuine poetry, the song also invoked
"Mystic crystal revelation / And the mind's
true liberation."
Astrology, for better or worse, was
emblematic of the religious vision of the sixties. It countered
the fifties' paranoia about nuclear apocalypse with the promise
of a humanitarian Aquarian age. Astrology is intertwined with the
West's pagan heritage. Despite unstinting efforts from antiquity,
Judeo-Christianity has never succeeded in wiping astrology out.
First refined by the Chaldean magi of Babylonia, astrology was widely practiced in the
Hellenistic and imperial Roman periods, when elusive fortune was
personified as female Tyche-chance or Lady Luck. Different branches
of astrology still flourish in India and China. Like the I Ching, a Chinese book of divination widely used in the sixties, astrology
reverently connects man to nature-the link that Judeo-Christianity
has always tried to sever. Astrology is not the fatalistic determinism
to which its opponents reduce it; on the contrary, it is a study
of nature's rhythms and cycles, to which humanity like the tides
is subject.
This is yet another area where sixties
drugs took their toll. Those most attracted to astrology lost their
ability to defend it. Scientists rightly dismissive of superstition
refuse to acknowledge that astrology anticipated modern theories
about circadian biorhythms or cycles of solar flares whose electromagnetic
storms disrupt telecommunications. The science community's customary
approach of derision and debunking has been futile and counterproductive:
an immense alternative culture survived the collapse of the sixties
and has steadily spread to this day under the name New Age-which
discreetly elides its astrological reference to the Age of Aquarius.
9.
The Rise of New Age
The New Age movement began to form
in the late seventies, gained visibility in the eighties, and became
an international commercial success in the nineties. Because it
is unstructured and decentralized, New Age has been underestimated
as a force competing with mainline religions. It is a constellation
of beliefs loosely drawn from Asian religion, European paganism,
and Native American nature-cult. Its ethics can be described as
non-judgmental humanism. The one common theme in New Age is cosmic
consciousness, which it inherited from the sixties.
New Age is a marvel of Alexandrian
syncretism. It is often impressionistic and soft-focus, seeking
"spirituality" rather than the discipline of orthodox religion.
Its followers run the gamut from harried office workers seeking
stress relief through yoga and meditation to "neo-pagan" white witches
rendezvousing on the moors to celebrate the summer solstice. Specialty
shops and mail-order catalogs supply the ritual paraphernalia of
New Age-amulets and talismans, healing crystals, angel icons, incense,
candles, aromatherapy bath salts, massage rollers, table fountains,
wind chimes, and recordings of trance music in Asian or Celtic moods.
A principal distinction between sixties
and early seventies cults and their New Age successors is that the
sixties sought the release of primal energy through the shattering
of social conventions. Paradise
Now, the title of the Living Theater's infamous 1968 performance
piece, where nude actors infiltrated the audience, says it all.
The sixties wanted to embrace and reclaim the senses, to plunge
fully into matter, like the festival goers wallowing in the mud
at Woodstock. New Age, however, has smoothly adjusted
to the stubborn persistence of the social structures that the sixties
failed to budge. An analogy might be the introspective period just
before and after the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 AD,
when the Roman
empire
seemed insuperable. New Age is much more concerned with the afterlife-past
lives, reincarnation, astral projection.
New Age sees a spiritual universe permeating
or transcending the visible, material one. This idea descends from
nineteenth-century spiritualism, a late Romantic stream that has
flowed like an undercurrent through Anglo-American culture beneath
the official history of literary and artistic modernism. Harold
Bloom has argued, in his 1992 book of the same name, that "the American
religion" (typified today by what he tartly calls "California Orphism")
has always been a version of gnosticism,
which defines matter as evil and urges the soul's emancipation from
earthly limitation. The gnostic cults of second-century Christianity
and Jewish mysticism were influenced by Hellenistic mystery religions
as well as Plato's dualism of mind versus matter. In gnosticism,
as in New Age, it is matter itself, rather than society, that chains
the soul. The 1960s, in contrast, hammered by the concrete power
of rock music, grandiosely valorized sex and redefined heaven as
present sensual ecstasy. The sixties at their most radical collapsed spirit into matter.
Psychedelic voyagers claimed to corroborate the Zen insight, "I
am that," when feeling themselves flowing into and "becoming" the
chair or wall-a perception commonly reported by schizophrenics.
In sixties Pop Art, even mundane or commercial objects like soup
cans or sponges become luminously animate.
The American ancestry of New Age began
in the nineteenth century with two women who did their central work
at virtually the same moment-Mary Baker Eddy, a New Englander, and
Helena Blavatsky, who was born in Russia and moved to the US in 1873. Eddy (1821-1910) believed she had recovered from
chronic invalidism through New Thought, the mental-health philosophy
of Phineas Parkhurst Quimby, with whom she studied in Maine. In the 1840s, Quimby had fused Hindu and
Buddhist concepts from Transcendentalism with hypnotherapy, based
on Anton Mesmer's eighteenth-century theory of "animal magnetism."
For Quimby and Eddy, the material world is an illusion, and illness
has no real existence. However, Quimby rejected Christianity, as
Eddy did not. Her seminal book, Science and Health (1875), was shortly
followed by her founding of the Church of Christ, Scientist, which
focuses on the parables and miracles of Jesus. For Christian Science,
only divine power, not physicians or medicine, can heal.
The line from Eddy to New Age can clearly
be seen in the Alternative Medicine movement of the 1980s and 1990s,
which restored the Asian concepts that Eddy had erased from Quimby.
Andrew Weil, a graduate of the Harvard Medical School who had studied the effects of marijuana,
claimed in his 1972 book, The
Natural Mind, that altered consciousness is necessary for healing.
From his clinic at the University of Arizona, he criticizes commercial pharmaceuticals
as toxic and calls for "integrative medicine," a sixties-style holistic
approach combining the best of East and West. After his split from
the Maharishi, Deepak Chopra also became identified with Alternative
Medicine. From the Chopra Center, his headquarters at the La Costa Resort
near San
Diego,
he promulgates ayureveda, a traditional Hindu medicine that claims
disease can be cured by opening the organism to cosmic energy. Chopra
also alleges that his mind technique can stem aging and bring success
and wealth.
Other leading figures of this movement
are Marianne Williamson, a bestselling author and inspirational
speaker who first won a following in Los Angeles in the early eighties;
Bernie Siegel, a surgeon trained at Yale-New Haven Hospital who
claims that "creative visualization" can cure disease; and Caroline
Myss, a lapsed Catholic and "medical intuitive" who divines illness
by reading a patient's "energy field" and who advocates healing
through accupressure, reflexology, and "therapeutic touch." Both
of Williamson's parents were liberal Jewish lawyers in Houston. Her books are Jungian in orientation but
feature secular, multicultural prayers. Her major influence remains
A Course in Miracles (1976), which she
read after having a breakdown in her twenties.
The three volumes of A Course in Miracles were allegedly dictated
by Jesus over seven years to Helen Cohn Schucman (1909-81), a psychologist
at Columbia-Presbyterian Medical Center in New York. A colleague, William Thetford, did the
typing from her notebooks. Schucman's father was Jewish and Lutheran,
while her mother had had contact with Theosophy and Christian Science.
At twelve, Schucman visited Lourdes with her family; at thirteen, influenced
by their devout black maid, she was baptized a Baptist. A Course in Miracles was published by the Foundation for Inner Peace
in Mill
Valley,
California. Its orginal name in New York was the Foundation for Para-Sensory Investigation,
reflecting the longstanding interest of its director, Judith Skutch
Whitson, in parapsychology. The
Course asserts that the universe is pure love and that sin does
not exist. Though non-sectarian, it descends from Eddy in its Christian
vestiges: our sole guide should be an internal "Voice" identified
as our "inner Jesus."
The second of the nineteenth-century
women progenitors of New Age was the occultist Helena Blavatsky
(1831-91), who won an enormous international following. Her fame
recalled but exceeded that of Emanuel Swedenborg, an eighteenth-century
Swedish philosopher censured by Blake for his spiritualistic readings
of the Bible. Madame Blavatsky claimed to have acquired secret knowledge
through seven years of study in Tibet. In New York in 1875, she and Henry Steele Olcott founded
the Theosophical Society, which combined Hindu and Buddhist concepts
with the Western esoteric tradition. (Theosophy, meaning "divine
wisdom," was associated with the seventeenth-century German mystic,
Jacob Boehme, who taught that God is immanent in nature.) A Blavatsky
ally, G. R. S. Mead, translated the Corpus
Hermeticum, a densely symbolic work of Greco-Egyptian gnosticism
from the third century AD.
When its manuscript was rediscovered at the Italian Renaissance,
the Corpus Hermeticum was incorrectly identified
with Neoplatonism and boosted the fashion for magic, alchemy, and
astrology.
In her two major works, Isis Unveiled (1877) and The Secret Doctrine (1888), Madame Blavatsky
tried to unify world religions by their shared mysticism. Her work
also belongs to the nineteenth-century Egyptian Revival (spurred
by Napoleon's invasion of Egypt), with its romanticized views of Egypt's magic arts. In 1878, Madame Blavatsky
went to India and later made Madras the international headquarters of her Theosophical
Society. A substantive result of her presence in India would be the renewal of interest in ancient
Sanskrit religious texts, which were translated and disseminated
around the world, providing the raw material for the twentieth century's
spiritual healing movements as well as the Western practice of yoga.
Though she rejected the spookhouse
spiritualism of mediums and séances, Madame Blavatsky lost credibility
in the West because of her histrionic poses as a high priestess
with healing powers. But her Theosophical Society would influence
Gandhi, Nehru, and the movement for Indian nationalism. Blavatsky's
anointed successor, Annie Besant, was a lapsed Catholic and former
Fabian socialist. Despite having written The Gospel of Atheism (1877), she converted
to Theosophy in 1889. In 1909, Besant declared that a fourteen-year-old
Indian boy, Jiddu Krishnamurti (spotted at a beach by her pedophiliac
colleague, Charles Webster Leadbeater), was the messianic Buddha.
In 1929, Krishnamurti denied he was the messiah and dissolved the
Order of the Star of the East, the cult that had been built around
him. But he continued to teach his theosophical system of "self-awareness."
In 1969, Krishnamurti moved to Ojai, California, to establish the Krishnamurti Foundation;
he died there in 1986.
Another figure directly influenced
by Madame Blavatsky was Edgar Cayce (1877-1945), a clairvoyant born
in Kentucky who toured the US for 40 years doing "life readings" and
promoting his belief in reincarnation. Dismissed as a charlatan
by mainstream journalists, Cayce prepared the way for sixties occultists
and seventies and eighties channelers like Jane Roberts ("Seth")
and J. Z. Knight ("Ramtha"), as well as for today's New Age psychics
and mind-readers.
The nineteenth-century fin de siècle
in Europe and the
US was teeming with spiritualistic sodalities,
publications, and art images, part of the Romantic legacy of demonic
archetypes from a glorified Satan to spellbinding femmes
fatales. The most prominent British organization was the Hermetic
Order of the Golden Dawn, founded by three Freemasons interested
in Rosicrucian thought. The Order's Isis Urania Temple opened in London in 1888. One member was William Butler
Yeats, who believed that his wife was a medium and who used Rosicrucian
and astrological symbolism in his poetry. The Rosicrucians, called
Illuminati, claimed their esoteric order was founded in ancient
Egypt and was brought to Europe by knightly crusaders; however, it probably
dates from the seventeenth century. Its cabalistic and Hermetic
imagery includes the rose, cross, swastika, and pyramid. (The Nazis
borrowed the swastika from the Rosicrucians because of its association
with medieval chivalry.) There had been interchanges in eighteenth-century
England between the Rosicrucians and Freemasonry,
a secret, ceremonial order with roots in medieval guilds-though
it too claimed descent from Egypt, Babylon, and Jerusalem. Leading figures of the American Revolution,
such as Benjamin Franklin and George Washington, were Masons, whose
anti-clerical creed was a coolly intellectual Deism.
A member of the Golden Dawn would have
great impact on the 1960s: the Satanist Aleister Crowley (1875-1947),
who joined the order in 1898. Crowley rebelled against his affluent British family,
who were Plymouth Brethren, a puritanical, originally Irish Protestant
sect. Throughout his flamboyant career, Crowley combined Asian mysticism with Western occultism
and black magic. After the Golden Dawn self-destructed in quarrels
in 1900, he began traveling the world-Mexico, India, Burma, and Ceylon, where he learned yoga. He took mescaline
in 1910. He wrote many books, among them Diary of a Dope Fiend (1922) and Magick in Theory and Practice (1929). Crowley advocated total sexual freedom, including
orgies and bestiality. He called himself "The Great Beast" and took
the Anti-Christ's apocalyptic 666 as his personal number. From 1912,
Crowley led a German cult, the Ordo Templis Orientis, that opened branches in the US. His politics were pro-Nazi-a dismaying
detail usually lost in his legend.
Crowley's influence fell heavily on the late sixties
and seventies. Biographies of Crowley had been published in England in 1958 and 1959; his autobiography, The Confessions of Aleister Crowley (1929-30),
was re-released in 1969. The Beatles inserted Crowley's face (back row, second from left) in
the cartoon cover collage of their landmark Sergeant
Pepper album (1967). It is rumored that the title song's first
line ("It was twenty years ago today") alludes to Crowley's death in 1947. Because of its descent
from blues-called the "devil's music" in the American South-rock
already had a voodoo element lingering from Afro-Caribbean cults.
But the Satanism in classic Rolling Stones songs and the magic pentagrams
on Led Zeppelin's album covers and stage costumes came from Crowley. Jimmy Page, Zeppelin's virtuoso lead guitarist,
collected Crowley memorabilia and bought his mansion, Boleskine
House, on Scotland's Loch Ness. The fad for backwards messages
in rock songs, which the Beatles popularized, is said (on what authority
I cannot confirm) to have been inspired by Crowley, who lauded the practice of reverse reading
of scripture in medieval Satanic rituals. Crowley admirers in seventies
rock included David Bowie and heavy-metal musicians like Ozzy Osbourne,
whose song, "Mr. Crowley" ("You waited on Satan's call"), appeared
on his first solo album after leaving Black Sabbath.
Sixties Satanism was nurtured in California by Anton Szandor La Vey (born Howard Levey
in Illinois). The author of The Satanic Bible (1970), La Vey had been practicing Crowley-style
Black Arts since the fifties. An advocate of Crowley's creed of radical sexual liberation, he
proclaimed "indulgence" to be the master Satanic
principle. In 1966, La Vey founded the Church of Satan at his home in San Francisco, an all-black Victorian house where he
conducted black masses with perkily nude women in lavish, tribal
animal masks (photos survive). Contrary to rumor, La Vey did not,
according to his daughter, appear as Satan in Roman Polanski's occult
hit film, Rosemary's Baby (1968), nor did he have any connection with it whatsoever.
Celebrities and libertines (Mick Jagger reportedly among them) did
visit La Vey's "Black House," which may have once been a hotel.
One of the most brilliant songs of the seventies, the Eagles' "Hotel
California," is said to have been inspired by rites at La Vey's
house, whose address was 6114 California Street.
A startling and little-known example
of Crowley's enduring influence is the Church of Scientology, founded in 1954 by science-fiction writer
L. Ron Hubbard, one of the main shapers of New Age thought. Hubbard
had met Crowley at the latter's Los Angeles temple in 1945. Hubbard's son has revealed
that his father claimed to be Crowley's successor: Hubbard told him that Scientology
was born on the day that Crowley died. The drills used by Scientologists
to cleanse and clarify the mind are evidently a reinterpretation
of Crowley's singular fusion of Asian meditation with
Satanic ritualism, which sharpens the all-conquering
will. The guiding premise of Hubbard's mega-bestseller, Dianetics: The Modern
Science of Mental Health (1950), is that morality and spirituality
can be scientifically analyzed and managed-as if guilt and remorse,
in the Crowley way, are mere baggage to be jettisoned.
Scientology, which attracts celebrities like John Travolta and Tom
Cruise, has been pursued by the IRS
for its tax-exempt status as a religion. Scientology's religiosity
can be detected in its theory of reincarnation: the "process" allegedly
eradicates negative thoughts and experiences predating our life
in the womb.
After Madame Blavatsky, the most important
architect of sixties-to-New Age thought was George Gurdjieff (1866-1949).
Gurdjieff was a half-Greek Armenian who arrived in Moscow in 1913 and claimed to have spent twenty
years gathering esoteric spiritualist knowledge from Mecca to Tibet. As a refugee in France after the Russian Revolution, Gurdjieff
created his "Fourth
Way,"
a mixture of Tantric Buddhism, Hinduism, and Sufi mysticism. Based
on a method called "the Work," it uses free movement and sacred
dances along with intense group sessions where masks are stripped
off to achieve a higher awareness. Gurdjieff's Institute for the
Harmonious Development of Man, relocated in 1922 to Paris, originated
the "transformational" technique of encounter sessions that would
be widely adopted in the
US and serve in the vanguard of the sexual revolution. Gurdjieff
demonstrated his dances in the US in 1924 but spent most of his life in France. Branches of the Gurdjieff Foundation opened
in New
York
in 1953 and in San
Francisco
in 1958.
Gurdjieff's influence can be seen in
the Esalen Institute, established in 1962 at Big Sur, California, by two psychology graduates of Stanford University. Eventually, 100 Esalen Centers (named
after an Indian tribe) opened around the US. Its headquarters, nestled in the mountains
at natural hot
springs
overlooking the sea, remains the symbol of the enterprise, which
combines Asian religious concepts with Western humanistic psychology.
Esalen is a pure example of the sixties spirit in its explicit mission
to fuse comparative religion with art and ecology. Its workshops,
based on the Gurdjieff group session, drew a long list of writers
and thinkers in the sixties, including Alan Watts and Aldous Huxley.
Esalen's continued exploration of mystical issues is shown by recent
conferences at its Big
Sur
site-"Survival of Bodily Death" (2001) and "Subtle Energies and
Uncharted Realms of the Mind" (2000).
Traces of the Gurdjieff encounter session
can be found in EST
(Erhard Seminar Training), founded in San Francisco in 1971 by Werner Erhard, a used-car salesman
from Philadelphia. Erhard was Jewish but had been raised
as an Episcopalian; he oddly gave himself a German name in adulthood.
In the late sixties, Erhard investigated Scientology and studied
Zen with Alan Watts in Sausalito. He claimed to have gone to India to consult gurus like Swami Muktananda
and Satya Sai Baba. In EST,
Erhard gave the workshop format the fervor of a Protestant revival
meeting and framed it with the language of Asian meditation and
spiritual discovery. Participants in EST's
Large Group Awareness Training were supposed to get "It"-Watts' term for the moment of revelation. Marathon,
eight-hour sessions, in which they were confined and harassed, supposedly
led to the breakdown of conventional ego, after which they were
in effect born again. Erhard said he wanted "to blow the Mind" in
the sixties way. Explicitly anti-Christian in philosophy, EST
was generally regarded as a cult, but it was a private, for-profit
organization. Its students were not runaways or hippies but prosperous
professionals. In 1991, amid tax problems and unsavory family rumors,
Erhard left the country.
In its focus on public meetings, EST resembled Alcoholics Anonymous, the
model for today's twelve-step programs for recovery from drug or
sex addiction, with their glossary of pat terms like "enabling,"
"co-dependency," and "interventions." AA
has religious undertones: partly inspired by the Oxford Group, a
Christian fellowship of British origins, it was founded in 1935
by "Bill W," a New Englander saved from alcoholism by visions of
divine white light. AA
members still profess faith in a "Higher Power" and practice public
confession as well as missionary outreach. In the sixties, the Oxford
Group, under a new name, sponsored the saccharine "Up with People"
to foster wholesome behavior among increasingly rebellious American
teens.
There was a confluence in the sixties
of revisionist trends in psychology with "body work"-exercises or
manipulations to release "blocked" energy, a concept directly or
indirectly borrowed from kundalini yoga, with its symbolic spinal
chakras. (The latter word entered the American vocabulary in the
eighties through the New Age proselytizing of actress Shirley Maclaine.)
In the early fifties, Abraham Maslow, an American influenced by
the German school of Gestalt psychology (which focuses on present adjustment rather
than past conflicts), developed his theory of "self-actualization,"
from which the contemporary obsession with "self-esteem" evolved.
The term seems to echo Yogananda's "self-realization." Maslow was
an early associate of Esalen but criticized it for its lack of a
library, which he felt limited its definition of enhanced consciousness.
He described his system as the "Third Force," following the first
two of Freud and behaviorism. He later advocated a "Fourth Force,"
a sixties synthesis of transpersonal psychology with Asian mysticism.
Like Maslow, psychotherapist Carl Rogers
sought "wholeness" of the person. Intriguingly, Rogers began his career as a theology student
and Vermont pastor but afterward turned to clinical
psychology. An admirer of John Dewey's progressive education theories,
he pioneered "client-centered" or "non-directive" therapy, which
suspended and even questionably reversed the hierarchical relationship
of doctor to patient. Among Rogers' books was Encounter Groups (1970), with its obvious
Gurdjieff lineage. Christian conservatives regularly, and probably
with some justice, attack the self-actualization or human potential
school of psychology for its "pagan" stress on personal needs and
desires at the expense of moral reasoning and responsibility. For
many people, humanistic psychology has indeed become a substitute
for religion.
The sixties trend to look to the body
for salvation was anticipated in the writings of Wilhelm Reich (1892-1957),
an Austrian psychiatrist of the Gestalt school who worked and quarreled
with Freud, then moved to New York in 1939 to escape the Nazis.
Rejecting Freud's theory of the social origin of neurosis, Reich
envisioned "orgone energy" surging through the universe and the
human body. In The Function of the Orgasm (1927), a sober
book with a titillating title that was widely available as a paperback
in the sixties, he argued for the biological necessity of sexual
"discharge" of that energy-thus providing a rationale for pagan
pansexuality. Reich's work recalls passages about Romantic nature
in Emerson and Whitman, and his energy principle resembles that
of kundalini yoga as well as the power of the Christian Holy Spirit.
Reich founded an Orgone Institute in 1942. However, when he marketed
a coffin-like "orgone box" to capture orgone energy at home, he
was charged with fraud and sentenced to two years in prison, where
he died.
While still in Europe in the 1930s, Reich had become interested
in the physical-culture work of Elsa Gindler in Berlin. Around 1910, Gindler (1885-1961) developed
a psychotherapy based on dance movements and correction of breathing:
it resembled Chinese tai chi as well as the Alexander technique,
used by actors and singers to free the voice from tension and fear.
Gindler's ideas were brought to the
US by her student, Charlotte Selver, who began
teaching at Esalen in 1963. The Sensory Awareness Foundation, dedicated
to Gindler and Selver's work, was established at Mill Valley, California, in 1971. Another important teacher at
Esalen was Ida Rolf (1896-1979), who earned a doctorate in biological
chemistry from Columbia University in 1920 and began exploring the body's
internalization of stress in the 1940s. Rolf combined aspects of
yoga with the Alexander technique to create "rolfing," a sometimes
brutal reshaping of the muscles to release painful memories and
resentments. The Guild for Structural Integration, based in Boulder,
Colorado, is still dedicated to Rolf's mission.
The principle of self-actualization
in most methods of body work is closer to sixties Dionysianism than
to New Age gnosticism. That is, body work assumes not that the aspiring
soul must be freed from the opaquely material body but that spiritual
maladies can collect and calcify in the body, clogging its vital
connection to the macrocosm. Body work, like rock and its forebear,
rhythm and blues, wants to "kick out the jams," so that we can freely
vibrate to nature's music.
10.
Conclusion
The New Age movement deserves respect
for its attunement to nature and its search for meaning at a time
when neither nature nor meaning is valued in discourse in the humanities.
New Age has a core of perennial wisdom. It exalts the brotherhood
of man, encourages contemplation, and finds beauty in the moment.
But too much cultural energy has been absorbed by New Age over the
past twenty years to the detriment of the fine arts, which frittered
away their authority in their dalliance with trendy political tag
lines. Despite its appeals to the archaic, New Age is fuzzily ahistorical.
It lacks an analytic edge: with its soothing promises and feel-good
therapies, New Age induces a benevolent relaxation that may be disabling
in the face of aggression. In a world of terrorism, New Agers can
only take to the hills and leave their scriptures in jars at Esalen.
There was a massive failure by American
universities to address the spiritual cravings of the post-sixties
period. The present cultural landscape is bleak: mainline religions
torn between their liberal and conservative wings; a snobbishly
secular intelligentsia; an alternately cynical or naively credulous
media; and a mass of neo-pagan cults and superstitions seething
beneath the surface. All-night radio features call-ins about crop-circles,
UFO's, and abduction
by aliens, science-fiction themes popularized by Swiss writer Erich
Von Däniken's 1968 international bestseller, Chariot of the Gods (which attributes archaeological monuments to
extraterrestrials). Prime-time TV
programs are regularly devoted to seers like Rosemary Altea, James
Van Praagh, and John Edward, who claim to hear messages from dead
relatives hovering around audience members.
These developments are alarming. Science-its
objectivity impugned by poststructuralism and postmodernism-is desperately
needed to sort out the mystical muddle of New Age, but it cannot
do so without understanding. J. B. Rhine's inconclusive 1936 experiments
in parapsychology at Duke
University, for example, have been only erratically
followed up. Claims of telepathy have yet to be systematically compared
to known animal communication or to bird migrations linked to the
earth's magnetism. These matters have been left to tabloids and
talk shows, which have no apparatus of testing. There is nothing
supernatural or occult-only natural phenomena that science has yet
to chart or explain.
What is to be done? Higher education
needs to be worthy of its name. My proposal is the same that I have
made since co-creating the course "East and West" with artist and
community activist Lily Yeh at the University of the Arts in 1990.
The core curriculum for global education should be comparative religion.
Study of the major world religions (including Islam) is the key
to politics as well as art. As an atheist who worships only nature,
I view religions as vast symbol-systems far more challenging and
complex than poststructuralism, with its myopic focus on social
structures. Poststructuralism has no metaphysics and is therefore
incapable of spirituality or sublimity. There has been wave after
wave of influences from Asian religion over the century and a half
since Emerson and Madame Blavatsky, but the resultant New Age movement
is choked with debris-with trivia, silliness, mumbo-jumbo, flimflam,
and outright falsehoods. The first step in any solution is a return
to origins-to the primary texts of sacred literature, supported
by art history and archaeology.
The religious impulse of the sixties
must be rescued from the wreckage and redeemed. The exposure to
Hinduism and Buddhism that my generation had to get haphazardly
from contemporary literature and music should be formalized and
standardized for basic education. What students need to negotiate
their way through the New Age fog is scholarly knowledge of ancient
and medieval history, from early pagan nature cults through the
embattled consolidation of Christian theology. Teaching religion
as culture rather than as morality also gives students the intellectual
freedom to find the ethical principles at the heart of every religion.
*An
expanded version of a lecture delivered on 26 March 2002 at Yale University, sponsored by the Institute for the Advanced
Study of Religion at Yale.
Bibliographical
Note
Ancient
Mediterranean Religions
Cumont,
Franz, The Oriental Religions in Roman Paganism,
tr. Grant Showerman (1905; tr., 1956); Dodds, E. R., The Greeks and the Irrational (1951); Neumann, Erich, The Great Mother: An Analysis of the Archetype,
tr. Ralph Manheim (1955); Turcan, Robert, The Cults of the Roman Empire, tr. Antonia Nevill (1989; tr., 1996).
Transcendentalism
Allen,
Gay Wilson, Waldo Emerson:
A Biography (1981); Ando, Shoei, Zen
and American Transcendentalism (1970); Boller, Paul F., American Transcendentalism 1830-1860: An Intellectual Inquiry (1974);
Christy, Arthur, The Orient in American Transcendentalism: A Study
of Emerson, Thoreau, and Alcott (1932).
American
Religious History
Bellah,
Robert N., Beyond Belief:
Essays on Religion in a Post-Traditional World (1970); Bloom,
Harold, The American Religion: The Emergence of the Post-Christian Nation
(1992); Ellwood, Robert S., The
Sixties Spiritual Awakening: American Religion Moving from Modern
to Postmodern (1994); Heelas, Paul, The
New Age Movement: The Celebration of the Self and the Sacralization
of Modernity (1996); McLoughlin, William G., Revivals,
Awakenings, and Reform: An Essay on Religion and Social Change in
America, 1607-1977 (1978).
Twentieth-Century
Cultural History
Bugliosi,
Vincent, Helter Skelter: The
True Story of the Manson Murders (1974); Howard, Gerald, ed.,
The Sixties (1982); Musgrove, Frank, Ecstasy and Holiness: Counterculture and the Open Society (1974);
Reich, Charles A., The Greening
of America (1970); Roszak, Theodore, The
Making of a Counter Culture: Reflections on the Technocratic Society
and Its Youthful Opposition (1969); Teodori, Massimo, ed., The New Left: A Documentary History (1969).
Modern
Cults
Galanter,
Mark, Cults: Faith, Healing and Coercion (1989;
rev. ed. 1999); Patrick, Ted, Let
Our Children Go! (1976); Pavlos, Andrew J., The Cult Experience (1982).
Drugs
Braden,
William, The Private
Sea:
LSD and the Search for God
(1967); Clark, Walter Houston, Chemical
Ecstasy: Psychedelic Drugs and Religion (1969); Fuller, Robert
C., Stairways to Heaven: Drugs in American Religious
History (2000); Harner, Michael J., ed., Hallucinogens and Shamanism (1973).
Miscellaneous
Brent,
Peter, Godmen of India (1972); Bucke, Richard
Maurice, Cosmic Consciousness:
A Study in the Evolution of the Human Mind (1901); Eliade, Mircea,
Shamanism: Archaic Techniques of Ecstasy,
tr. Willard R. Trask (1964); Isherwood, Christopher, ed. and introd.,
Vedanta for Modern Man (1951); James, William,
Varieties of Religious Experience:
A Study in Human Nature (1902).
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