At this point in the introduction, there's a bit of a tangent relating to Hindu Vedantic tranditions and the Taittiriya Upanisad. I can't figure out how it relates to what we were just talking about; but since this book is a heavily edited compendium of talks and papers, I'm just going to chalk it up to a weird editorial segue. Anyway, it's interesting stuff, so let's take a look.

There are lots of myths about levels of consciousness; in this case, the metaphor is of "sheaths," five of them surrounding the "atman," the fundamental element of the individual.

1. Annamaya-kosa: the food sheath. This refers to physical bodies; that which eats food, that which becomes food, and the process by which one becomes the other.
2. Pranamaya-kosa: The sheath of breath. I'm a little fuzzy on what this is supposed to be, but the general sense that I get is that it's the spark of life that distinguishes a living body from a dead one.
3. Manomaya-kosa: The consciousness sheath; your inner monologue
"Then there is a big gap," writes Joseph.
4. Vijnanamaya-kosa: the "wisdom of the transcendent" sheath. This refers to how natural processes appear to have a "wisdom" -- the immune system, reproduction, the tendency of a tree to wrap around rocks or fences as it grows.
5. Anandamaya-kosa: bliss and transcendence -- the sheath that your conscious sheath should strive toward, rather than toward the more immediately attractive food sheath.

So, the key in this system is not to be tricked by the seductive food-sheath that tethers us to the lowest of life functions; but to give all that up for the blissful sheath, which looks empty and nonexistent but is secretly blissful. It's one of those "give it all away" religions.

Joseph illustrates this system by describing Tutankhamen's burial coffins: three boxes, one inside the other; then a stone coffin; then the beautiful sarcophagus; then a solid gold coffin -- an amazing achievement, considering the technology of the time -- and inside that, the body.

What's interesting about this is that I had imagined the sheaths progressing in the other direction -- the food sheath closest to the atman, and the anandamaya-kosa furthest away. But in this example, the food and breath is external, and the bliss squeezed right up against the individual like golden spandex.

Joseph explains this as a "mistake," that the Egyptians mistook the preservation of the physical body as achieving immortality. Hindus, in contrast, keep the body at as great a distance from bliss as possible, and this seems to be regarded favorably by Pathways to Bliss. I'm not totally sold on that evaluation. Yet. I suppose it makes sense that placing importance on grandeur and magnificence is spiritually preferable to survival instincts.

In fact, the more I think about it, the more logical it seems to call the Egyptians mistaken in formulating their mythology. If we're going to be using those Vedantic sheaths -- and why not, since they seem to be a rather good system of looking at things -- then you need to facilitate a discourse between sheath 3 and sheath 4; between your inner monologue and the "wise" processes of life. It's easy to have thoughts about food and self-preservation; but understanding The Way That Life Goes takes some serious contemplation.

I wonder what Egyptians thought about when their minds wandered? Did they think about the eternal as some far-off cloudy non-corporeal peace, or a gross corpuscular spa? Ah, the internet tells me that it's a bit more complicated than that. Apparently the post-mortem Egyptian ideal was a state called "Akh," and interestingly, it required cultivation through physical offerings. This is quite different from the Hindu divorcement of body and bliss.

Paul said, "I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me" (Gal 2:20). That is, we live to reflect the eternal. But in this Egyptian system, it seems like bodies are prepared so that the eternal will reflect our lives.

I wonder which is better.