Sister Mary John Marshall and Maylie Scott (Kushin Seisho)

 

Sister Mary John Marshall and

Maylie Scott (Kushin Seisho)

I met Maylie Scott at the Center for AIDS Services, where she came twice a week under the guise of leading a writing group. I say "guise" not to ascribe any hidden motivation as if she were trying to convert the people she worked with to some Buddhist straight and narrow or any other hidden aim, but she was doing much more than teaching a creative writing course. She was a talented Zen teacher who had also been trained as a social worker. She was masterful. Our clients at the Center were drug addicts, some in recovery, some actively using; male, female and transexual sex workers; 50 or 60 gay men, pretty evenly split between middle-class white men and African American ghetto smart street kids. The glue that held the community together was that everyone was dealing with a disease that in the mid-90s, was still a death sentence. They had a lot of their plates. In Maylie’s group, they opened up and began to talk about themselves to a very sympathetic ear without a shred of judgment. 

Maylie was a divorced single mom with three adult kids. Her big California brown shingled house on Ashby Avenue was part of the divorce settlement with her ex-husband, a Canadian English professor at UC. After her kids moved out, there were several empty rooms. Her mother had just moved from a Manhattan apartment where she’d lived since divorcing Maylie’s father. It had been many years of living alone. Mary was close to 90. She could still take care of herself and was mentally very alert, but obviously, living alone in a New York apartment was not a good situation.

..

Maylie was one of Mel Weitzman’s senior students. She was looking to form a loosely knit community, not organized around a practice schedule. She asked if I would consider moving in; she also invited me to join her and her mother for dinner so that I could meet her and her mother could give me her seal of approval.

Mary was bright and curious to meet a potential new housemate. I’m sure that she wanted me to feel entirely at home as well as understand the level of manners expected. When we sat down to dinner, there was a silver napkin ring at my place. It was engraved in a lovely antique script with the initials LBC. In thanking her, I asked who LBC was. Oh, she said, Lawrence Baine Crandon. I said how lovely my grandfather was Lawrence, and one couple among my parents' friends in Nichols, where we grew up, was Phil and Phyllis Crandon. Maylie was serving, but put down the spoon and looked at me with an impish grin, “We call him Uncle Phil, but he is really my mother’s first cousin. He is quite a character, don’t you think?”  I tried not to act as surprised as I was. I said that all the kids loved to go to visit Randy, their son, where we snuck down into the basement, where Phil had a very elaborate and expensive HO2 model train collection with tracks that wound around almost every available space. 

This was the beginning of three very important years in my life. I finally began to allow myself to heal from the hidden personal costs of my work at Maitri Hospice, and I really began working with the koans which enriched my Zen practice. All the while Maylie with her steady practice was just there. She was lovely and so kind.

Connecting G.I. Gurdjieff with Naranjo’s Enneagram

My path to the Enneagram and Gurdjieff has a sidebar of synchronicity. In 1966, I entered Shadowbrook, the Jesuit novitiate in Lenox, Massachusetts. The huge, half-empty Spartan novitiate was built on the grounds of a vast Berkshire “summer cottage” that the Carnegies, among other robber barons, had owned before becoming a Jesuit seminary and then burning to the ground in a tragic fire. Lenox was still a weekend retreat for wealthy New Yorkers. We were right across the street from Tanglewood. The old New England town center was very much like Hanover, New Hampshire, where I’d spent the best part of the last four years. 

Thursdays were our day off, and I quickly found a small bookstore that had everything except all the assistant professors’ first book. I managed to hide a few dollars so that if some title caught my attention, I could sneak it back to the novitiate like illegal contraband. “In Search of the Miraculous” had just been published in paperback in 1965, and the clerk decided that a young seminarian in pressed white shirt and black pants should expand his parochial reading list. Ouspensky’s title fit right next to the 16th-century spiritual manual, “The Practice of Perfection,” in my novitiate cubicle without a hint of suspicion.

I supplemented my lectio divina. I learned that Mr. Gurdjieff taught that humankind’s default state was sleepwalking through life, unaware of who they were or what they were doing. Ouspensky said G promised that waking up was possible, but it required paying an awake person to wake you up and then continuing to pay real money to that awake person to keep you awake because going back to sleep was inevitable. Of course, I had no idea what he was talking about, but I did understand the concept of having a person monitor your being asleep or awake in a rudimentary way. In the novitiate, our sleeping, waking, praying, and reading were carefully monitored. Life was punctuated by a bell that sounded like a fire alarm. 

I read about the Law of Three and the Law of Octaves, also known as the Law of Seven. Then Ouspensky laid the Law of Three on top of the Law of Seven on the nine-pointed Enneagram figure that he claimed unlocked the deepest secret of the Universe. But, alas, Ouspensky didn’t provide the key.

I returned to Saint Ignatius’s Spiritual Exercises, but only five years later, I would find myself sitting on the floor of a ramshackle fraternity house in Berkeley, California, learning about a psychological version of this Enneagram from Claudio Naranjo. I recognized the nine-pointed figure, and now I had something to attach it to. 

 

Naranjo was obsessed with tracing an esoteric link between Ichazo’s Enneagon and the references to an Enneagram in Gurdjieff's teachings. I brought all my Jesuit training to reexamine everything Gurdjieff wrote, as well as a good deal of what his students had written. Nothing. From his fictitious “Meetings with Remarkable Men” to the very strange ”Beelzebub's Tales to His Grandson,” there was no mention of a “psychological” Enneagram. Among the other writings by people who had known and worked with G directly, nothing, except perhaps John G. Bennett, but even with Bennett, there was no clear connection to what Ichazo had unearthed. 

Taking the next step in the cultist’s playbook, people suggested that the Enneagram was a secret oral teaching, akin to a Tibetan Terma* that had ripened and whose time had finally arrived, like the dusty esoteric volume that fell off a shelf into Ichazo’s lap. In that case, perhaps one of the people who had worked directly with Gurdjieff could help. 

I had a connection to Lord John Pentland, the President of the Gurdjieff Foundation. Lord Pentland had worked directly with Gurdjieff and had been changed to carry on the work. My friend, the Jesuit Tom Charbeneau, arranged for me to meet Pentland at the Foundation's headquarters in Saint Francis Wood. He spent a full hour with me. There was something about the man that was inspiring. He seemed genuinely interested in me, what I was about, and saw to the root of my questions. He did not condemn Ischazo or Naranjo’s teaching, but he was adamant that there was no trace of their use or interpretation of the Enneagram in Gurdjieff’s work. 

Another friend, Daniel Terrango, had worked for several years in Mr. W.A. Nyland's group, another of Gurdjieff’s trusted disciples. He told me that they had never used anything like Icahzo’s Enneagon or Narranjo’s Enneagram. None of the recognized Fourth Way teachers in the Bay Area were even interested in Ichazo/Naranjo’s work.

Naranjo always talked about Gurdjieff as if Naranjo stood in that teaching lineage. He did not. All the blabber about the Trickster was anecdotal. The alleged Gurdjieff teachers that Naranjo introduced to SAT, with the exception of Pamela Travers, were bullies and frauds, and none of them showed much interest in the Enneagram either. Three names come up, E.J.Gold. Alex Horn and Henry Korman. I met them all, even if briefly, though I was Korman’s student for several years. 

Lesson: Just saying that you were a teacher in the line of Mr. G might be a clue that your teaching methods will be overreaching and abusive. Oh, by the way, Oscar Ichazo, who was the origin of the modern iteration of this teaching, thought that the obsession with Gurdjieff was ludicrous.

*Terma: In Tibetan Buddhism and Bon traditions, a terma, meaning "hidden treasure," refers to esoteric teachings or objects concealed by adepts like Padmasambhava and Yeshe Tsogyal, to be rediscovered at a later, more appropriate time by tertöns (treasure revealers). 

https://jesuskoan.blogspot.com/2025/07/the-jesuit-transmission-of-enneagram.html

Helen Palmer and Claudio Naranjo in Berkeley

I asked AI: Did Helen Palmer attend a series of panels on the Enneagram of Fixations with Claudio Naranjo in Berkeley?

Yes, Helen Palmer, a renowned Enneagram teacher and author, was a student of Claudio Naranjo in Berkeley and part of his circle. Palmer is known for developing the "panel method," also known as the Narrative Tradition, where individuals share their experiences related to their Enneagram type. While the results don't explicitly mention panels specifically focusing on "fixations" with Naranjo, they do highlight the close relationship between Palmer and Naranjo in the development and dissemination of the Enneagram in Berkeley during the 1970s.

AI is “garbage in/garbage out.” This information is factually 100% wrong. Somebody’s lying or just doesn’t know. But it suggests that this story has been repeated frequently enough to poison AI’s search engine. 

Palmer was never a member of Naranjo’s circle. They were civil, I suppose, if they did talk. She was never a student in one of Naranjo’s SAT groups, but she attended several semi-public lectures and presentations. She might have asked him a few questions. Most of Naranjo’s students viewed Palmer as an interloper who pilfered and distorted the Enneagram for her enrichment. Naranjo did not correct our opinion. She knew several of Naranjo’s early students quite well: Kathy Speeth, Father Bob Ochs, and CD. She also knew several other people in SAT; she did her famous and expensive psychic readings on many of us. I paid about $100 in 1973 dollars for about 50 minutes, with no clergy discount. 

In the Fall of 1973, Kathy Speeth organized a series of presentations about the Nine Types at the home of Gay Luce on the Arlington Circle, on the Berkeley-Arlington border. It was Speeth’s idea. She was the producer, but Naranjo agreed that it was time to introduce the system to mental health professionals. Palmer paid the fee and attended all the sessions. 

The format consisted of panels for each of the Fixations. I participated in a Panel for Ego-Plan. There were nine presentations and perhaps a tenth; I can’t recall if there was an introductory session. Ochs asked me to participate. He warned that the presentation would be quite different from the way we usually did in SAT. Almost all of our work in the first SAT years was “ego-grinding”: when the memory of a painful incident came to the surface, you were directed to dig deeper, and the conversation was soon littered with unfulfilled dreams. During these panels, however, after Naranjo described a few key structures of a Fixation’s psychology in clinical language, we were asked to share our experiences. He said, for example, that for Ego-Plan, the idealization of the future was not based on experience, and that tasks were often left undone. However, the compensatory defense was that “life would turn out,” and it would be “all OK.” Naranjo at one point said to me, “See, you can even hear it in Ken’s voice, the confidence that everything will be OK.”

I was in the room where it happened; this sounds like what I’ve heard about the “Narrative Tradition.” Imagine, at 28, I was part of founding a “Tradition!” The word suggests centuries of Sufi practice. I suspect there is minimal confrontation in Palmer’s groups. She aimed to present a gentler and milder version of the Enneagram. The name changes of the Fixations align with this teaching style. More students are attracted by honey.

Naranjo had issues with some of her interpretations of various points, but, more importantly, he also asserted that Palmer stole his material. She attended all the presentations, kept the handouts, and took notes. With an outline in hand, she further detailed each Fixation with other confidential information. Ochs told me that he had also spoken with her, and despite his own agreement not to disclose what he had learned. He said, "She has all the information about the points anyway; let’s at least try to make it more complete, accurate, and useful." 

I know the woman was the registrar very well. I asked her about the confidentiality agreement. She said, “Yes, Palmer violated her confidentiality agreement. I don’t have a copy of it, but I’m sure it said the same thing we were all asked to agree to, which is not to discuss these things outside of the group. I have been furious with her ever since then and have completely lost respect for her. She seems to have been able to justify it to herself, but I know she promised not to do this, and she did.”

Palmer also states publicly and in court documents that she never saw nor used Ichazo’s confidential and, I presume, copyrighted notes. This is almost Jesuitical. Of course, she saw them. The only possibility for her equivocation was that the authorship of the texts might have been unclear, although knowing a few quirky terms that Ichazo would have used should have been a good clue.

But both Naranjo and Icnazo’s “holier-than-thou” shtick gets a bit heavy. He made a big deal in the “Jesuit Transmission” interviews that his notes and Ichazo’s Arica file had escaped without his permission, and their use was unethical, even immoral, because we had all pledged not to use any material without explicit permission. When I say that Naranjo permitted me to use the material as I saw fit, that was a significant gesture. He delivered the statement of release or commission in a very formal, flat tone. He was incensed that Palmer had access to his more detailed notes and those of Oscar. He blamed Ochs.

I will now address the thorny issue of the written materials available to the first SAT groups, including the missing folder that Ichazo did not retrieve upon completion of the 10-month Arica training. 

The Three Levels of Documentation

It is a myth that the Enneagram was an oral teaching and that SAT, the Jesuits in Ochs’s classes, and Helen Palmer’s groups marked the point at which it was written down. That is false. What I am about to write is based on my memories of the early SAT groups, my recollection of the controversy, which was discussed during the court cases, and reports from Ochs’s other Jesuit students who were never asked to sign confidentiality agreements. 

During the Berkeley rollout, there were three Levels of written documentation about the Enneagram.

1. A single page for each Fixation was the first written documentation. 

For each fixation, there was a rough mimeograph on cheap 8.5 by 11-inch paper with the name of the fixation at the top. Plan, Venge, Flat, Go, etc.; some general information; a few pointers for self-examination, maybe the virtue, the trap, even the color; plus some quick psychological notes from Naranjo. They were like cheat sheets for personal use as you began the typing process. A senior student, in my case Ochs, said, “Take a look at Ego-Plan and see if it makes sense to you. Take a look at your dreams and fantasy life.”

This is close to the Enneagram being an oral tradition. We all kept notes; we shared and compared them with each other. Detailed notes with complete sentences were highly regarded, and there were several meticulous recorders. But these pages had two sources.

2. Naranjo’s Complete Binder

Naranjo's more detailed notes for each of the nine fixations, including the subtypes, were written, edited, and printed using a word processing program, but were only available to a few people in Group 1’s inner circle. They were usually kept in Naranjo’s study house in the backyard on Allston Way. It was a rickety shack overhanging the creek that ran down the backside of the property, complete with raccoons!

3. The Arica Enneagon Workbook

In addition to Naranjo’s presentations, people also circulated Ichazo’s proto-analysis from people who’d traveled to Arica.

Ichazo’s notes on the Enneagon were in a thick binder, which had been distributed to everyone in Arica. It was somewhat akin to Q in New Testament studies and very closely guarded. Ichazo states in a deposition that he distributed 73 copies to the group in Arica and then collected 72. I may have the exact numbers wrong, but I’m in the ballpark; Naranjo left Arica after about five months. I am almost certain he kept his. Initially, few students saw it, much less used it.

Another copy or duplicates of some of Ichazo’s Arica pages existed. CD claims that this copy was from another participant in Arica and, therefore, not the material she had promised to keep secret. Palmer claimed in a deposition related to the lawsuit with Ichazo that she had never seen Ichazo’s Arica materials. I do not know what she knew about the papers she saw, or even if CD’s description is entirely accurate. 

SAT was a quirky group. There was a hierarchy with levels. Naranjo and later Kathy Speeth determined where you were in the pecking order. Naranjo’s inner circle, including Ochs, CT, MM, HA, and AD, were eventually granted access to the Ichazo/Arica binder (although I believe it was initially granted under supervision). I’m not quite sure how this worked out. I never asked to see it as I was much more involved in the process of self-observation than “Proto-typing,” and remain so to this day.

We also promised not to speak about the Enneagram outside the group because, we were told, confidentiality was integral to self-discovery. We promised not to use specific ‘teachings’ until we’d received permission from Naranjo. This was mainly intended  for work that we would do with others, although, in some instances, that promise included our private conversations with group members. The initial intent was not to protect materials and income as intellectual property, but it did set the stage for later lawsuits.

It would be another 10 years before Enneagram literature started flooding the market.

 

Now that both Naranjo and Ochs have died, and so much material is already public, I feel no obligation to remain silent.

“The Jesuit Transmission of the Enneagram.”

Very few Enneagram teachers today would have a job or income without Father Bob Ochs, S.J.. Few would have a single student if it were not for Ochs. The only exception might be Hameed Ali’s Diamond Diamond approach, or any Teachers from the Arica community. Still, I would argue that Ali and Sandra Maitri as well as Ichazo’s disciples, rode the wave of the Enneagram enthusiasm that Ochs created at considerable personal cost. It was enormous.

In about 1990, on a whim, I asked Claudio Naranjo to allow me to interview him about a possible article I tentatively titled “The Jesuit Transmission of the Enneagram.” He spoke with me for several hours a day over a week. I prepared a transcribed version of our taped conversations, and he gave me permission to use the material as I saw fit. Unfortunately, it was lost in a computer crash, and the actual tapes vanished during an attic clean-out. I have to rely on my memory and intuitive sense to recreate Naranjo’s reflections. 

They were far from positive. Naranjo was emphatic. There was no Jesuit transmission because “they (the Jesuits plus Palmer et al) made too many mistakes.” Palmer said something like “In our work, we see far more Eights coming into the 'Work' than Naranjo did. When I quoted her, he might have even used the word 'bullshit,' though he rarely used gutter talk. I remember well that throughout all the interviews, there was almost no humor, a few nervous chuckles, and no jokes. Naranjo was deadly serious.

Naranjo asserted that he had authorized Ochs to convey his “indications” to the Jesuit groups, the Jesuit School of Theology (JSTB), and Loyola University Chicago. There was to be no personal spin or interpretation. As an example, he cited the “now infamous” meeting where everyone, priests, nuns, men, and women, took off all their clothes as a sign of fearless self-inquiry and surrender. He said that Ochs would not have dared give that direction on his own. AD tells me that it was she who flew to Chicago that night and asked everyone to disrobe.  Everyone did. Naranjo told me that the idea came to him on a sudden “whim.” That was one of the few chuckles that entire week.

Naranjo controlled the conversation. There was a clear, definite subtext: he was deeply upset (I’ll use a gutter expression, “pissed off”) about the significant number of Enneagram titles available. I didn’t press the question. Market share was not the primary source of the upset. That he considered many of the interpretations to be misdirected, if not entirely flawed, was. 

Naranjo didn’t read many (if any) of the books; instead, he heard reports about the typing and might have cross-checked here and there, but my impression was that he’d lost control and regretted it. He always spoke of Ichazo in a guarded, slightly disapproving way, but it was always couched in his belief that Ichazo was the link between the Enneagram and Gurdjieff’s teachings. That link to me felt a bit weird, esoteric, almost mystical, but I recognized it. Ochs had no authorization to pass on that imprimatur or seal of approval because Naranjo imagined Ochs had bungled the job, which was unforgivable.

Let’s pick up the timeline. The interviews took place after the serious and hurtful blaming had begun and was taking its toll. Ochs had stopped teaching at the JSTB, or anywhere. He moved out of the small faculty residence that I found on Hillegass Avenue at the American Baptist Seminary of the West. Perhaps he had been asked to leave. He was evasive. He told me that he’d rented a tiny, dark in-law apartment in a converted garage, in a very Asian neighborhood up the hill in El Cerrito. The Jesuits had granted him a leave of absence, a sabbatical, and a small stipend. I was not clear about his canonical status, but his connection to the Jesuits seemed tenuous. He told me that he told his superiors he was working on a book, and they were (how shall I say this?) eager to see results, which would never materialize. I surmised that they didn’t know what to do with him. 

Naranjo had stopped returning Ochs’s phone calls, which upset him so much he couldn’t talk about it. The Tantric Master Yogi Chen had passed away. His only visitor was SD, a lovely woman from either my group or the one directly after mine. I knew SD and knew that she and Ochs had a romantic connection. SD has also died. Ochs would not be the first heterosexual Jesuit to develop a strong, romantic relationship with a woman that at some point included sex. Theilard had a lover, and I knew the woman who filled that role for Avery Dulles, though I am sure Avery and JC never had sex.

I called Ochs at regular intervals for more than a decade. Sometimes it would take him a week or more to respond. We would meet at a particular restaurant where he could eat, particularly a Peruvian one on Mission in San Francisco. He complained that he had no energy; he found a homeopathic doctor, or dietician, who prescribed a matchbook-sized piece of protein to be eaten between 1 and 4 in the afternoon. It seemed crazy, but he was almost fanatical. 

Ochs told me that he was trying to write. At the time, I found hundreds of titles, which had increased to more than 300 the last time I surveyed them in 2019. https://enneagrambibliography.blogspot.com/2019/07/all-things-enneagram.html He mentioned that all these teachers were generating good incomes, and he was living on less than $2,000 a month. It didn’t feel like jealousy. I recognized the burden of the One Fixation’s way of comparing and contrasting his personal output very critically. It paralyzed him. He had been the source of so much good work, but every time he started to write, he would produce a few pages and then mercilessly throw them in the waste basket after a week. He felt obligated to make something unique, worthy of the guy who kicked the ball into play, and he couldn’t do it.

I asked Ochs what he wanted to say. He would respond vaguely that no one had ever looked at the major authors of the Western canon from an Enneagram perspective. However, somehow typing Tolstoy and launching into an analysis was not working out. I didn’t know how to respond. 

Ochs was obsessed with two writers, Camille Paglia and Doris Lessing. How he lumped them together, I don’t know. With Paglia, I sensed some camaradship that they’d been treated badly, even excluded for unjust reasons, and with Lessing, he was obsessed with uncovering another path to Gurdjieff. He told me that part of his practice was to write to Idries Shah — that letter writing was a revered Sufi practice. Shah might have sent a sentence or two back. When he died in 96, Ochs wrote letters to his son as he was sure that Tahir had inherited his dad’s mantle. When Tahir responded that he was not a Sufi teacher, Ochs continued to write his letters. He told me: “That’s what he’s supposed to say.” 

Looking back, I have to consider that Ochs, this truly important person in my life, had suffered a psychotic break. He lived in a cave and entertained bizarre obsessions. His superiors might have been helpless. Ochs was a solemnly professed member of a religious order with a track record of involvement in a significant spiritual movement. That counted for something with the Jesuits; it was a credential that had no value in the world of academia and job applications. Thank God they did not cut him off. He would have been helpless. He told me that SD had a profitable therapy practice and helped him out. (She also probably watched out for his mental state.) I was not in any position to help. I was also on a marginal income. Part of me wondered where all the people were that he’d helped. Why didn’t he receive invitations to speak or contribute articles? Of course, by the time we had our Peruvian dessert, I realized that it would have been impossible to work with him. He gave us the Enneagram, and when it ate his life, we had to stand by helplessly.

Eventually, Ochs stopped responding, and my calls became far less frequent. My own life was a mess. After going to meetings and quitting crystal meth, I did a year of intense traditional psychotherapy at Langley Porter. I had tried to trick myself into believing that the Enneagram, or Zen, could do the work of healing, something that neither is designed to do. In some ways, it made things worse, or maybe just brought my own pain into plain sight, and I could no longer leave corrective actions for another time.

During the COVID-19 lockdown in India, I started to write about Ochs and discovered that he had died on May 4th, 2018, at the Claude de la Colombiere Center in Clarkston, Michigan. He was 88 years old.

I hope that a few of his students were able to put love into action and provided some comfort in his last years. He used to talk light-heartedly about “The Cosmic Coincidental Control Center.” I hope it didn’t run amok.

For a more in-depth recounting of Ochs’s first Enneagram teachings at JSTB, please go to my post also called “the Jesuit Transmission of the Enneagram” on my blog, Buddha SJ, https://jesuskoan.blogspot.com/2019/08/the-jesuit-transmission-of-enneagram.html

To read the next chapter, 

Helen Palmer and Claudio Naranjo in Berkeley, Just Click