Born of a Virgin vs. Born of a Yoginī: A Tantric Reflection on Christ’s Birth

Abhinavagupta

Vira Chandra: Why are Christians so insistent that the mother of Christ was a virgin?

As a Tantrika, this insistence has always struck me as a paradox—almost a suppression of the sacred rather than its celebration. In the Tantric vision, sexual union is not sin; it is yoga—the sacred union of Śiva and Śakti, the divine dance from which all manifestation arises. Why, then, would the birth of a divine being need to bypass it?

One key Tantric śloka, found in the Kaulāvalī-nirṇaya (17.137), beautifully affirms:

śivaśaktisamāyogo yoga eva na saṃśayaḥ

"The union of Śiva and Śakti is verily yoga; this is without doubt."

This is not mere poetry. It is a foundational principle in Kashmir Shaivism and the Kaula tradition. Sacred union is the highest rite, and not merely metaphorical—it is an actual embodied ritual of divine becoming.

The Christian belief that Mary gave birth to Jesus without ever experiencing sexual union is usually framed as a divine mystery, a miracle that underscores the divine purity and transcendence of Christ. Historically, this reflects a theological impulse shaped by early Christian anxieties around sexuality, which was often viewed through a lens of sin, temptation, and humanity's fallen nature. By affirming Christ's conception by the Holy Spirit in a virgin's womb, traditional Christianity emphasizes divine causality and spiritual purity, distinctly separated from ordinary biological processes.

Yet, this view is not universal even among Christians. Esoteric interpretations often understand the term "virgin" symbolically—as spiritual receptivity, untouched inner purity, and openness to divine presence. Some Christian mystics throughout history have even acknowledged sexuality positively, seeing the sacred in embodied love, although these interpretations remained marginal compared to dominant doctrinal views.

In stark contrast, Tantra celebrates the sacredness of embodied union unequivocally. To reject or bypass the conscious act of love is to reject the very mechanism of divine manifestation itself.

The Kaula tradition goes even further. It asserts that a child born of parents established in the essence of Bhairava, the supreme reality, is yoginībhū: literally "born of a yoginī."

This is precisely how Abhinavagupta, the towering genius of Kashmir Shaivism, described his own origin. He was the son of deeply realized Tantric practitioners. Far from incidental, this spiritual heritage profoundly shaped his life and teachings.

In the 29th āhnika of his Tantrāloka, Abhinavagupta meticulously outlines how the Kula ritual should be performed: a sacred rite involving the conscious union of a Siddha (a realized man) and a Yoginī (a realized woman). This is not mere pleasure-seeking. It is a sacrament.

The ritual embodies the understanding that when Śiva (pure consciousness) and Śakti (creative energy) unite in complete awareness, the resulting manifestation is infused with divinity. A child born from such a union is extraordinary. They are born of yoga, of śaktipāta, of bhairavī consciousness.

Thus, from the Tantric perspective, the insistence that a divine being must be born without sexual union seems not only alien but inverted. Such a union is not something to hide or bypass; rather, it is something to honor, ritualize, and divinize.

Yet, perhaps behind the Christian veil of metaphor lies a hidden harmony. Perhaps Mary's "virginity" symbolizes precisely this yogic receptivity—her pure openness to the divine Masculine descending as the Holy Spirit. From this perspective, Mary becomes a Yoginī in her own right—the vessel through which the Logos incarnates. The Holy Spirit then is not a sterile force, but the divine Masculine principle, hovering lovingly over Mary as Śiva hovers over Śakti in cosmic embrace.

Could it be, then, that even the story of Mary’s conception of Christ is a veiled Kaula ritual—a mystic act interpreted through the cultural lens of those historically uneasy with embodiment, who sought to sublimate rather than openly celebrate the body's sacredness? Perhaps the very act of divine procreation was so sacred, so overwhelming, that early Christian minds could preserve its sanctity only by calling it a "virgin birth."

There is no need to pit these views as enemies. But let us be clear: the Tantric vision does not shy away from the body, from love, from sex, or from union. It sacralizes them.

And in doing so, it offers a stunning alternative: The divine birth need not occur in the absence of union—but rather through the most conscious, sacred, and realized union imaginable.

Let Christ be born of a virgin, if that resonates with the yearning of the Christian soul. But let us equally honor those who are yoginībhū—born not in sin or shame, but from the radiant, conscious union of Śiva and Śakti, in full awareness, presence, and love.