བར་དོ
bardo
Tibetan
“Bardo names the gap between breaths, between thoughts, between lives — the intermediate state that Tibetan Buddhism maps with more precision than any other tradition has mapped the uncharted territory after death.”
Bardo comes from Tibetan bar-do, a compound of bar (between, in the middle, intermediate, gap) and do (two, a state, a place). The word therefore means literally 'the in-between state' or 'the gap-place' — a designation that is both philosophically precise and spatially evocative. In Tibetan Buddhist cosmology, bardo does not refer exclusively to the interval between death and rebirth but to any transitional state in which consciousness is relatively free of its usual anchors. The Bardo Thodol (the so-called Tibetan Book of the Dead, more accurately translated as Liberation Through Hearing in the Intermediate State) describes six bardos: the natural bardo of this life, the bardo of dreaming, the bardo of meditation, the bardo of dying, the bardo of dharmata (of reality's true nature), and the bardo of becoming. Each state is an interval in which consciousness stands relatively exposed to its own nature, and in each state there is the possibility of recognition — of seeing the nature of mind directly and thereby achieving liberation.
The Bardo Thodol, attributed to the eighth-century Indian master Padmasambhava and discovered as a terma (hidden treasure text) by Karma Lingpa in the fourteenth century, was the primary source through which bardo entered Western consciousness. The text describes in extraordinary detail the experiences of the dying person in the forty-nine-day interval following death: the dawning of the clear light at the moment of death (which, if recognized, liberates); the appearance of the peaceful deities of the dharmata bardo; the appearance of the wrathful deities; and finally the bardo of becoming, in which consciousness, driven by karmic winds, moves toward its next incarnation. The text was designed to be read aloud to the dying and the dead, guiding the consciousness through the experiences it would encounter and pointing toward recognition and liberation at each stage.
Carl Jung wrote the foreword to the first German translation of the Bardo Thodol (1935), and his commentary — which interpreted the bardos not as literally post-mortem states but as maps of the layers of the unconscious accessible in extreme states — was decisive in shaping Western reception. For Jung, the peaceful and wrathful deities of the bardos were projections of the archetypes of the collective unconscious, and the text's instructions to recognize these projections as one's own mind were a precise description of the process of psychological individuation. Timothy Leary and Richard Alpert (later Ram Dass) adapted the Bardo Thodol explicitly as a guide to the psychedelic experience in The Psychedelic Experience (1964), understanding LSD trips as a pharmacological method of inducing bardo-like states of consciousness dissolution and reconstruction. The word bardo itself entered counterculture vocabulary through this route.
Contemporary usage of bardo has spread well beyond both Buddhist studies and the counterculture that received it in the 1960s. George Saunders's Lincoln in the Bardo (2017), a novel set entirely among the ghosts of a Civil War-era Washington cemetery, uses the Tibetan concept not to describe a literally Buddhist metaphysics but as a precise term for the state of those who are between: between life and death, between understanding and confusion, between letting go and holding on. The novel's title demonstrates bardo's versatility as a borrowed concept — it names something that English has no exact word for, a state of transition so intense and so total that normal categories of identity and attachment dissolve. In this sense, bardo has joined a small class of borrowed metaphysical terms — limbo, purgatory, nirvana — that English uses to describe states of consciousness for which the native vocabulary is insufficient.
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Bardo has proven itself one of the more durable Buddhist imports into the English philosophical vocabulary, precisely because it names something that Western languages had only inadequate terms for. The concept of a transitional state that is not merely a passage from A to B but a state with its own phenomenology, its own duration, its own challenges and opportunities, is not native to most Western frameworks of mind and time. English has 'limbo' (too Catholic, too vague), 'transition' (too administrative), and 'threshold' (too architectural) — none of which captures the bardo's specific quality of being a state where the ground of normal experience has dissolved and something new has not yet solidified.
The word's adoption by George Saunders and other literary writers suggests it has reached the point where it functions as genuine English — borrowed but naturalized, precise but accessible. This is partly because the concept is universally recognizable once named: everyone has experienced a bardo in the loose sense, the moment after a relationship ends but before the next one begins, the weeks after a job loss before life reorganizes, the months of illness in which the body is between its old state and whatever comes next. The Tibetan Buddhist tradition simply had the conceptual generosity to map this territory in detail and the linguistic precision to give it a name.
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