HERMITS AND HOLY MADMEN

IN MEDIEVAL CELTIC AND TIBETAN BUDDHIST LITERATURE

by Daniel J. Bristol

Two of the most intriguing figures appearing in medieval literature are those of the holy madman and the hermit. A
relationship can be perceived between the two figures. It can be said that the hermit aspires to the madness of the holy
madman. Two traditions where these figures appear are the medieval Celtic and Tibetan Buddhist Traditions. Depictions of
the holy madman and the hermit as found in both traditions bear strong resemblances to one another. A comparison of
depictions of these figures in the above mentioned traditions faces epistemological challenges which should be addressed
before we proceed. In most cases, we can easily establish the dates of medieval Celtic texts. However, in the Tibetan
Buddhist tradition, philosophical truth frequently assumes primacy over historical and epistemological accuracy. In this
tradition, a story derives most of its authority from the teacher conveying the story, who received it orally from his teacher,
and so forth. This assigning of primacy to philosophical truth in favor of historical continuity derives from advice on
epistemology given by Shakyamuni Buddha, who advised his followers to "Rely on the Meaning, not on the words. Rely on
the Dharma, not on individuals."
The texts we will examine from the Medieval Celtic tradition are often given an exact date that is assumed to have
a measurable range of accuracy. However, the stories from the Tibetan Buddhist tradition do not have this accuracy of
dating. What we encounter in the Tibetan folk tradition is often, at best, an approximate date. Thus, the purpose of this
comparison will be to focus on the similarities of the two traditions rather than to establish that the texts are historically
contemporaneous. It seems that a great deal of medieval European literature treats madness as the result of a fall from grace.
Examples of this phenomenon are many. However, for a comparative study of the figure of the madman in the Celtic and
Tibetan traditions, our explorations take a positive turn when we focus on madness as a kind of spiritual boon. As a divinely
inspired figure, the holy madman is often one who spurns conventional morality or dogma. While this characteristic would
seem at first to be a potential cause of damnation or alienation, the paradox of the holy madman is that his spurning of
convention is a sign of his high spiritual status and a source of inspiration to the devout.
What begins to emerge is a depiction of madness as a mystical state or enlightenment. The Medieval Celtic
tradition often views this state with some apprehension, even with pity. The bishop Kentigern, in his first encounter with the
madman Lailoken, is reported to have felt compassion for him, and sheds tears for Lailokens madness. (Goodrich, 5)
However, in the Tibetan tradition, this state is revered as "Crazy Wisdom", and is a boon to be sought after. In Lama Surya
Das' anthology of stories from this tradition, entitled The Snow Lion's Turquoise Mane, Crazy Wisdom is described as
. . . a heightened form of lucidity; it sees through everything. It is a delicious, higher form of sanity, based on
trenchant insight into how things actually are (as well as how they appear; this exquisite irony is unveiled by a cosmic sense
of humor.
The holy madman is therefore one who has broken through conventional modes of thinking and entered into a
relationship with the world (and with the divine) unprecedented by the variety of acceptable roles and relationships offered
by the conventional paradigm of his society. In one of the earliest cycles of the tales of Merlin where this curious figure
appears as Lailoken, the madmans lunacy enables him to commit an act that the religious conventions of his
contemporaries would interpret as blasphemy
. . . . the happy wretch, having at once bathed himself with water, made his profession of faith in the One Triune
God, approached the altar with humility, and partook of the sacrament of everlasting protection with great faith and sincere
devotion. (Goodrich, 8)
Despite the fact that Lailoken approached the altar with humility and devotion, the offense this presents to the
sensibilities of the onlooking Kentigern reminds us that, in the medieval church, to partake in the Eucharist was the
prerogative of the ordained clergy. However, this bizarre incident presages Lailoken's release from the miseries of worldly
existence, which is the boon he has sought. Thus, his madness is in some way indicative of a special relationship between
himself and the divine.
The antics of Lailoken bring to mind the very similar antics of Drukpa Kunley, a popular hero of the Tibetan
Buddhist Drukpa Kagyu (literally, "Thunder-Dragon of Oral Instruction") lineage. In one story of this divine madman, he
encounters a woman on her way to a monastery with a scroll painting of the guardian deity Sri Heruka. She intended to have
the local abbot (who was Drukpa Kunley's brother) bless the image. According to the story,
Drukpa Kunley asked the lady to unroll the painted scroll so that he could see the deity. Reverently, she did so.
Swiftly, he lifted his robe and urinated on the scroll.
"That's how I bless images!" said he.
Horrified, the woman rolled up her precious scroll and fled up the holy hill. Breathless, she rushed into the abbot's
quarters. Hearing her heartrending tale, he laughed aloud. How well he knew his outrageous enlightened brother, Kunley,
his alter ego.
 "Open the scroll at once," the abbot ordered.
Meekly, the distraught woman obeyed. Lo and behold! Inside the scroll was a handful of tiny gold nuggets.
"Sri Heruka himself blessed your painting," said the abbot. "You don't need me."
That is how Drukpa Kunley gave blessings. (Das, 86)
Drukpa Kunleys enlightened state, like that of Lailoken, enables him to perform acts which would otherwise be
considered blasphemous. Both have taken upon themselves the privileges and powers of the ordained clergy. Conventional
religious dogma interprets this as a kind of blasphemy, but in the cases of Lailoken and Drukpa Kunley, it is the occasion of
a unique mode of blessing. The holy madman in medieval literature often bears a resemblance to the dubious figure of the
wild man of the woods. Through this similarity, the characteristics of the holy madman as an outsider figure are emphasized.
Not only does the holy madman show disregard for religious convention; he also shows disregard for conventional
ways of living as well. His mannerisms place him outside the pale of the community. In the tale of Kentigern and Lailoken
we are told that
One day, when blessed Kentigern was deep in prayer in a solitary part of the forest during the time he was leading
the life of a hermit, a madman, naked, hairy, and wretched, ran toward him in a fit of frenzy. His name was Lailoken; some
say he was Merlin, the famous seer among the Britons, but this is not an established fact. (Goodrich, 5)
A figure in Tibetan religious history bearing a strong resemblance to this depiction of Lailoken is Samma
Drubchen, a holy madman living in the wild who is said to be a representative of the Mahasiddha (Sanskrit. "Great
Accomplished One") tradition which flourished in medieval India. Kangyur Rinpoche, a scholar and monk who died in
1975, is said to have encountered this mysterious figure during a journey with a fellow monk:
For weeks the young yogis wandered through the remote wilderness, seeking the siddha. One day they caught sight
of him, galloping along on all fours among a herd of Himalayan antelope. He was the shaggiest human being they had ever
seen! (Das, 168)
In both accounts, the outsider aspects of the holy madman are emphasized. He is a mysterious figure of the wild,
living in a harmony with nature that is hardly idyllic. His nakedness or unkempt appearance bring out the harsh, wild aspects
of this unity with nature.
The figures of Lailoken and Samma Drubchen share an uncanny, nearly one-to-one correspondence. Both live in
the wild, naked and hairy. Furthermore, both share in a madness that is divinely inspired. Their madness seems to spring
from a divine revelation. Lailoken tells Kentigern,
I saw a brilliance so dazzling that no man could bear it. I also saw numerous battle formations of an army in the
sky, much like the streaks of lightning. In their hands the warriors held burning lances and shining javelins which they
brandished at me with bloodthirsty fury. (Goodrich, 5)
Similarly, Samma Drubchen is described as one
. . . who had totally transcended the world and roamed in the mountains like a wild animal. It was reported that
this master of crazy wisdom had received the unique, intact, lineal transmission of the lengthy Prajna Paramita
[Transcendental Wisdom] Sutra directly from the Tibetan Queen Yeshe Tsogyal, who in turn had received it from Guru
Padma Sambhava himself. (Das, 168)
However, here the two figures begin to diverge. Samma Drubchen had a vision of Yeshe Tsogyal, a female adept of
the 10th century who was consort to Padma Sambhava, who brought the Buddhist teachings to Tibet. The vision of Samma
Drubchen was, we can assume, beatific, and led to his transcendence which manifested as outrageous behavior. Whereas the
vision of Lailoken borders on the horrific, though it is undeniably a glimpse of a transcendent realm. However, in both cases
the manifestation of holy lunacy derives from a vision that transfigures the mind of the recipient.
The conjoining of the wild man, at one with nature, and the holy madman inspired by divine vision, bring to mind
the poetry of the hermitage. In Celtic and Tibetan literature, we encounter poems that seem to derive from the perspective of
devout religious practitioners who seem desirous of high spiritual attainment inspired by the figures of the wild man and the
holy madman. Their mode of life, as represented in these poems, is representative of the ways of the wild man. The desired
attainment is that of the holy madman. In the poem The Hut In Tuaim Inbhir, we read:
My little hut in Tuaim Inbhir, a mansion would not be more delightful,
With its stars as ordained, with its sun, with its moon.
It was Goibniu that made it (that its tale may be told you);
My darling, God of Heaven, was the thatcher who has thatched it.
A house in which rain does not fall, a place in which spears are not feared,
As open as if in a garden without a fence around it. (Crane, 31)
The hut, through the simple lifestyle of its inhabitant, becomes an orderly microcosm "with its stars as ordained,
with its sun, with its moon," set in order by the austerities of a person whom, we can assume, must have been a spiritual
practitioner yearning for union with "my darling, God of Heaven." These lines bring to mind Shakyamuni Buddha who, in
his collection of epigrams collectively entitled The Dhammapada, offers this advice to those wishing to embrace
contemplation as a way of life:
Just as rain does not enter a house with a well-made roof,
Desire and attachment do not enter a house protected
By meditative awareness. (7)
Both passages refer to a state of high spiritual awareness in terms of a non-material dwelling. Read in this way, the
hut in Tuaim Inbhir is the soul and the house mentioned in the Dhammapada is the mind of the spiritual practitioner. The
first passage speaks from the moral level of allegorical meaning, the second speaks from the anagogical level. The author of
The Hut In Tuaim Inbhir does not seem to intend that it was God who built the physical hut. Instead, the intention seems to
be that God erects a spiritual structure to protect the practitioner who builds and dwells in a simple hut. However, the
passage from the Dhammapada can be taken either as a simple piece of architectural advice, or as an admonition that the
practitioner, through meditative awareness, build a strong spiritual structure for himself.
Frequently, the poetry of the hermitage offers insights into the lifestyle of the devout practitioner through a
description of specific details of that lifestyle. In The Hermit's Hut , we read,
Excellent fresh springs -- a cup of water, splendid to drink --
They gush forth abundantly; yew berries, bird-cherries . . . .
A clutch of eggs, honey, produce of heath-peas,
God has sent it . . . .
A cup of mead from the goodly hazel-bush, quickly served;
Brown acorns, manes of briar, with fine blackberries . . . .
Through Christ, I fare no worse at any time than you do.
Though you delight in your own enjoyments, greater than all wealth,
For my part, I am grateful for what is given to me from my dear Christ.
(Crane, 30, 31)
From these lines, it is not difficult to construct a picture of the author (whom we can assume is a sincere aspirant)
and the state of mind he has attained. He is, most likely, a man in simple garb or none at all. He is likely to be unkempt by
our standards, but well-suited for his surroundings. He seems to be in a state of serenity and equanimity, content with the
simple bounties of the natural world, which he has come to view as proceeding directly from the generosity of Christ. He is,
by this account, a happy man. If we were actually to encounter such a person, we would be quite likely to consider him mad
in the sense of unconventional. He lives in harmony with the natural world, content as a child in Christ's abundance.
The Hermit's Hut presents us with a poetic vision of the hermit living as a wild man who has attained a mildness
and reliance and the divine that is highly unconventional. However, this state is quite different from the madness of Lailoken
and Drukpa Kunley, whose unconventional states of mind manifest as outrageous behavior. The madness of the hermit is the
gentle madness of one who has embraced a certain way of life, not out of over-exuberance or antagonism with society, but
out of love for the divine. A similar state seems to have been attained by the medieval Tibetan yogi Zurchungpa (circa 12th
century), who in his Eighty Oral Epigrams offers this practical, expository advice to those who wish to attain this gentle
madness:
Be a child of the mountains.
Live amid cloud-girded peaks.
Wear ragged, cast-off clothes.
Eat plain and simple food.
Ignore both friends and enemies.
Leave worldly work undone.
Do not hanker after quick results.
Be content with inner peace.
Decide conclusively regarding the truth of Dharma,
And practice accordingly
Throughout your life. (Das, 184)
 We are given what reads like a retreat-manual: a set of explicit instructions whereby the sincere practitioner may
attain Crazy Wisdom.
Comparative study of depictions of the holy madman and the hermit in the Medieval Celtic and Tibetan Buddhist
traditions is a fascinating and rewarding vista of exploration. Both traditions offer insights that are as relevant to this age as
they were to the ages in which they were recorded. Such comparisons are also relevant to the cross-cultural dialogues
between the East and West that have deepened since the Chinese occupation of Tibet in 1959. Comparisons of the two
literatures can offer the student of English literature possibilities for new ways of reading the texts of the Western tradition.
Such comparisons can also introduce new and unexplored texts to the curriculum of World literature. This vista of
comparison can show students of the Tibetan Buddhist tradition that the texts they study deal with issues and sentiments
experienced by all human beings regardless of where and when they live.

WORKS CITED
Dhammapada. Dharma Publishing Staff, Trans. Dharma Publishing. Berkely, 1985.
Medieval Literature Survey: Fall, 1997. Gwen Crane, PhD., Ed. SUNY Oneonta. 1997
The Romance of Merlin. Peter Goodrich, Ed. Garland Publishing, Inc. New York, London. 1990
The Snow Lion's Turquoise Mane: Wisdom Tales From Tibet. Surya Das, Ed. Harper. San Francisco. 1992