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Spiritual light

To accompany the release of his book Lumière, published by Éditions Allary, Matthieu Ricard is offering a series of blogs on photography. An invitation to share wonder, celebrate the beauty of the world, and continue the quest for light that has guided him throughout his sixty-year journey.

« The light that comes from within can never be extinguished » — Haruki Murakami

Spiritual light is the light of wisdom and knowledge that dispels the darkness of ignorance and confusion. It is also the light of kindness and compassion that penetrates the walls of selfishness and dissolves the opacity created by an exaggerated sense of self-importance.

From a Buddhist perspective, beauty could be described as that which gives rise to a feeling of fulfillment, allowing us to envision different levels of beauty corresponding to different degrees of fulfillment. What provides momentary satisfaction could be called “relative” beauty, while “ultimate” beauty is that which leads to a lasting fulfillment that endures through the ups and downs of existence. It is to this ultimate beauty that spiritual beauty belongs—the beauty seen in the face of a Buddha or a sage, whether man or woman.

This beauty does not conform to the criteria of Greek statuary or Hollywood glamour, yet it is infinitely fertile, for it reflects the qualities of Awakening and bears witness to the possibility of attaining it. Thus, beauty may be perceived very differently according to individuals and cultures.

I have had the precious opportunity to photograph my spiritual teachers in their intimacy over the course of half a century. At times, it weighs on me to take a photograph of a sage rather than fully savor their presence. Yet when circumstances allow, I take a few images with the intention of sharing with others the spiritual beauty I have witnessed. One must know how to be fully present while remaining invisible, and to release the shutter while respectfully asking, deep within oneself, permission to enter the intimate space of these exceptional beings. The photographer must be able to capture the moment with the delicacy of someone who picks a poppy without damaging its petals.

For those who have not had the opportunity to meet the great spiritual masters who have now passed away—beyond their writings and their spiritual lineage—the most evocative testimony of who they were is undoubtedly the images photographers were able to make of them. Sages, men and women alike, may have very different physical appearances, but they are united by inner realization and compassion. “The lamps are different, but the light is the same,” wrote Rumi. Photographs of these masters are today a great source of inspiration for many practitioners of Tibetan Buddhism. Would it not be inspiring to be able to contemplate a photograph of Socrates or Saint Francis of Assisi? I rejoice in having been able, over half a century, to highlight both the inner beauty of the spiritual masters I encountered and the outer beauty of the world in which they lived.

As for the sage themselves, they ultimately come to perceive beauty in all things: all forms are seen as manifestations of primordial purity, the union of appearance and emptiness; all sounds as the echo of mantra, the resonance of the Buddha’s speech; and all thoughts as the play of awakened awareness. He or she no longer distinguishes between the harmonious and the discordant, the beautiful and the ugly. Beauty has become omnipresent, and fulfillment immutable. As it is said: “On an island of gold, one would search in vain for ordinary pebbles.”

You can find this entire photographic project in Lumière, published by Éditions Allary.


Matthieu Ricard donates all of his income—royalties from his books, photographs, and lectures—to development projects run by the Karuna-Shechen association, which works to reduce poverty and empower the most vulnerable women, men, and children. In this way, every reader becomes a direct contributor to solidarity through their purchase.