Historical Lessons for Buddhism: Cultural Adaptation

As interest in Buddhism grows and Buddhism spreads to non-traditional Buddhist countries of the modern world, we can learn a great deal from history. Most of the issues we face, such as cultural adaptation, translation and so forth, have been dealt with in a variety of ways over the centuries, some more successful than others. Buddhism has survived in many countries but has disappeared in others. By exploring some of the reasons for Buddhism’s success, we can see which aspects might be best to emphasize. By examining the reasons for its decline, we can formulate preventive measures to avoid committing similar mistakes. The transmission of Buddhism to a new society has always been fraught with difficulties. Our predecessors’ experience may suggest methods for healing some of the wounds that are inevitably suffered during the initial phase of this process.

Furthermore, Buddhism is coming from a variety of diverse Asian civilizations and spreading now to an almost global range of cultures. To gain sufficient wisdom to formulate appropriate adaptations, we need to consider as well the unique cultural characteristics of each of these donor and recipient lands. If we understand the distinctive psychology and experience of these varying peoples, we can perhaps avoid some of the pitfalls that come from cultural insensitivity and chauvinism.

Buddhism is not a proselytizing religion sending missionaries out in the field. The Buddhist teachings might not suit everyone. Afterall, even when Buddha Shakyamuni was alive, not everyone he met became a follower of his path. Nevertheless, when there is such growing interest around the world in Buddha’s methods, concerned teachers must take responsibility to make the Dharma available in the most suitable manner and to curb as much as possible any dangerous trends that might arise.

Many Asian and Western teachers and translators have made a beginning. Where we go from here, and whether we succeed or fail in establishing Buddhism as a viable spiritual path not only in the West, but also in other interested nations of the modern world, depends upon us – upon our wisdom, motivation and efforts. We can gain some direction by studying history and culture.

When Buddha presented his teachings, he recommended that people should keep them in their own languages and adapt them to their own ways of thinking. Seeing the pitfalls of over-exalting scriptural language, he did not want followers in the future to regard the sound of his oral teachings as permanent and transcendentally holy in its own right in the way that many people of his day regarded the sound of the words of the Vedas. Buddha taught that all sounds are impermanent, including those of his teachings. They arise dependent on causes and conditions.

The transmission of Buddhism from one society to another, therefore, necessarily involves adaptation to local conditions; and cultural adaptation requires creativity. Creativity, however, does not necessarily imply, as it does in the West, totally new and unique solutions to problems thought up in an attempt to assert one’s individuality. Traditional Asia does not share the West’s glorification of the individual, which is undoubtedly our inheritance from the concern of certain ancient Greek thinkers with challenging the gods. The typically Western maxim, “If it’s the new model, it’s better,” stands in marked contrast to the typically Eastern one, “If it’s the old standard form, it’s time-tested and better.”

In the context of most Asian societies, therefore, creativity implies imaginatively adapting standard solutions or idioms to changing conditions and requirements. Countries will have specific styles of temple architecture, for instance, and creatively apply them to particular landscapes rather than continually produce modern, new forms. We must be creative in an appropriate and responsible manner when transmitting Buddhism to the West.

Although Buddha encouraged the adaptation of his techniques to different cultures and times, he warned against the two dangers of abandoning or forsaking the Dharma and fabricating so-called “imitation Dharma.” The first is to omit certain teachings by denying that they derive from the words of the Buddha, while the second is to add ideas that are not in the spirit of what Buddha taught. We could easily commit either of them in the name of Western individuality and creativity. Although it is neither necessary nor desirable to preserve with fundamentalist fervor a fossilized version of the Dharma regarded as permanent, that does not give us unlicensed freedom to do what we like and call it Buddhism.

His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama has said that Buddhist teachers should only explain what they have full conviction in and that even he has doubts about the literal existence of the hells and where they are located. He has also said that if one criterion for being a Buddhist is the acceptance of the literal existence of Mount Meru, then he himself could not be considered a Buddhist. This does not mean that we should deny that Buddha taught about Mount Meru and all the realms of existence, and that we can simply dismiss them from Buddhism in the West. When His Holiness teaches the lam-rim (graduated stages of the path), he reads quickly through the sections about them. He does not censor them, but neither does he emphasize or explain them in detail.

Although the Theravadin scriptures also include descriptions of the heavens and hells, many modern vipassana mindfulness teachers, born mostly in the West, stress primarily instructions on meditation. They wish to impart what can be directly experienced as beneficial and reject the didactic style of the more traditional Asian Theravadin masters who teach the scriptures. Most Zen masters likewise do not bother about the structure of the universe, despite its appearance in the Chinese Buddhist canon.

Teachers of these two traditions in the West also often omit having their students chant scriptures, which forms a not insignificant part of daily practice in the monasteries and temples of the Asian countries of origin of these schools. Even if there is some scriptural chanting in the West, the texts chosen in the Mahayana traditions are not usually those in which appear fabulous descriptions of innumerable Buddha-fields, universes and inconceivable forms of non-human beings.

It is important to investigate the reasons for such selection or omission. Although it is not necessary to teach to all students everything that Buddha imparted, is it still not a subtle form of forsaking the Dharma to censor out study or at least recitation of the scriptures on the excuse that it is neither relevant nor particularly useful to Western students and stifles their creativity? Even the most radical Zen masters of East Asia who decried the academic study of the canon still deeply respected Buddha’s words and chanted the scriptures. It is as if some modern Buddhists were ashamed of certain aspects of how Buddha taught. Perhaps they are afraid that certain Westerners from a strong Judeo-Christian background might start to regard the canon as a “Buddhist Bible” and fear the dangers of fundamentalism that could subsequently follow. But is this response appropriate?

Can followers of Pure Land or Tendai Buddhism in the West simply ignore or delete, because of cultural discomfort, the magnificent accounts of the wondrous setting and audience before whom Buddha imparted the main Mahayana sutras of these traditions? If teachers simply have students chant or read these descriptions and give no explanation, how can they respond most skillfully when modern people question them? Is it fair to tradition to strip them of any didactic significance and reduce them to being merely poetic outpourings of the Buddha? Are these rich, superlative descriptions nothing more than the artistic self-expression of a Buddha who, as a master storyteller, wished to enthrall an unsophisticated audience?

If we excuse these flowery, voluminous accounts, whether of Buddha-fields or the heavens or hells, as part of Buddha’s poetic license, and either merely tolerate them with a condescending smile or even thoroughly enjoy them as imaginative, entertaining fantasy, is this not also perhaps another subtle form of forsaking the Dharma? We must check honestly the motives and aims behind some of our modern deconstructionist fervor. This is especially needed when this sincerely felt ardor expresses itself in Western scholars condensing their translations of the sutras and omitting some of these descriptions as being inappropriate to modern sensibilities and literary taste.

Furthermore, although we need to be creative when adapting the teachings to new cultures, we do not need to invent new forms just for the sake of being different and asserting our unique individuality. To do so runs the risk of fabricating “imitation Dharma.” Many serious Zen practitioners, for instance, feel their tradition exploited and belittled each time a new book appears with a catchy title such as “Zen and the Art of ...” More appropriate would be to follow the Asian style of creativity by imaginatively adapting standard idioms and forms to our own conditions.

Historically, there have been two major techniques employed for the cultural adaptation of Buddhism from one Asian society to another. Both are examples of the Asian approach to creativity. The first is to expand on those Buddhist themes that are readily understandable and of special interest and relevance to one’s own culture. Although we must avoid denying any part of the teachings, we can skillfully choose which aspects to emphasize. There is no need to elaborate on everything. The second method is to expand the set of examples that fulfill the definitions of key Buddhist terms so as to include issues that are important to one’s own culture.

With skillful means, various masters have presented Buddha’s teachings in a cultural envelope. Buddha himself taught in the context of the northern Indian culture of two and a half millennia ago, and the pioneer transmitters to each new land have modified or changed the envelope so as to make the Dharma more accessible. There has never been any such thing as “pristine Buddhism” existing independent of a cultural context. This is important to note when purists proclaim their wish to revive and transmit the original teachings, as if only these conveyed the essential message of Buddha and all later developments were degenerations.

Buddha presented a huge diversity of techniques and philosophical systems. In order to adapt Buddhism to suit those not in its initial audience, qualified masters have found strands or themes within this huge body of teachings that have resonated with their cultures and times and have expanded upon them to develop culturally specific expressions. We can understand this principal adaptation technique from the example of Chan Buddhism in China.

The Indian sutras discuss Buddha-nature, the factors that all beings have within that will allow their attainment of Buddhahood. They also explain how Buddhas help others through their enlightening influence which effortlessly and spontaneously fulfills the purposes of others. The Chinese Confucian philosopher Mengzi similarly taught that humankind is inherently good, and if one adheres to what is proper, one’s inherent goodness to serve society will shine forth. Furthermore, the Chinese Daoist sages praised the virtues of non-activity, namely acting in accordance with nature without deliberate conscious effort.

Thus, several early Chinese Buddhist masters found the Indian presentation of Buddha-nature and Buddha-activity of particular relevance to their culture and developed them into the Chan system. The technique of quieting the mind so that the inherent Buddha-nature qualities of compassion and so forth will naturally unfold without any conscious effort to develop them is thus distinctively Chinese and yet founded on Buddha’s teachings. The pioneers of Buddhism in the West will similarly need to locate culturally relevant topics within Buddha’s teachings, such as the description of the workings of the mind, and expand upon them.

Following such a method for cultural adaptation is very important. In reforming the Buddhism of his time in Tibet, Tsongkhapa always found scriptural references to validate his new adaptations. We must do the same in order to avoid accusations of making up Dharma and adulterating the teachings.

Furthermore, even within one Buddhist topic, such as ethics, each culture has developed Buddha’s presentation to suit its social concerns and norms. Thus, the second important adaptation technique has been to focus on the definitions of key Buddhist terms and expand the set of examples to include items pertaining to one’s own culture that also fulfill the criteria of that definition. 

Chinese Buddhist ethics, for example, treat such topics as filial piety and, later in its historical development, even one’s moral duty to aid society through imperial government service. Neither of these were pertinent to ancient Indian culture, yet both can be included within the scope of Buddha’s definition of constructive or “virtuous” behavior, namely those actions that will result in happiness and benefit. Modern Buddhist ethics will likewise need to include guidelines for such timely topics as birth control, abortion, euthanasia, pest control and environmental protection. 

Cultural adaptation can be complex. The historical process, for instance, has not just proceeded directly from India to Sri Lanka, China and Tibet, but also in a second derivative manner from Sri Lanka to Thailand, from China to Japan, and from Tibet to Mongolia. There are even examples of third and fourth derivative cultural adaptations, such as from Mongolia to Siberia, and from Thailand to Myanmar, and then Myanmar to Laos. In such cases, masters and translators faced the problem of whether to accept and work with the forms of the direct donor society or go back to earlier or the original sources. The Mongols, for instance, were exposed first to Sanskrit terminology as used by Uighur Turkic Buddhists, and then subsequently received their textual transmission primarily from Tibet. In their translations from Tibetan into Mongolian, however, they opted to render a number of technical terms from Tibetan back into Sanskrit.

A modern example of this issue is whether to recite mantras in the Tibetan or Chinese pronunciation or in the original Indian style. The Tibetans and Chinese had difficulty pronouncing certain Sanskrit phonemes. Thus, the discrepancy between the Sanskrit and their versions of the mantras is due to a shortcoming of the tongue. The Mongols based themselves on the Tibetan versions, and the Japanese on the Chinese ones. Neither went back to the original Sanskrit source. But each had difficulty pronouncing the sounds of their source language, and each distorted even further the pronunciation of the mantras. For us at present to either mimic or further contort the Chinese, Japanese, Tibetan or Mongolian distortions would be as absurd as the Spaniards officially adopting the lisp of their king who had a speech defect.

A further complication is that a new culture may have come into contact with not just one form of Buddhism, but with many, with each deriving from a different cultural background. Medieval China had contact with the Sarvastivada and Mahayana traditions, and with both Indian and a wide variety of Central Asian cultures. Vietnam was influenced by Indian, Chinese and Myanmar Buddhist developments, while Tibet was exposed to Indian, Chinese and Khotanese styles. In all three cases, the resultant forms of Buddhism demonstrated a blend of cultural features. 

In modern times, we find Tibetan, Theravadin and Zen Dharma centers in almost every country to which Buddhism has come. Most Western teachers of Buddhism have found it helpful to take intensive courses from Buddhist traditions other than their own, and many have expanded their personal practice to include some of these techniques. 

This development raises several questions. Should a Buddhist teacher instruct others in the techniques of only one tradition? The Indian master Shantideva explained that there is nothing in which a bodhisattva does not train in order to be fully able to help others. Thus, if teachers are masters of more than one Buddhist tradition or lineage, they have not only the flexibility, but also the moral duty to impart whatever methods from within the scope of their expertise that best suit their disciples. The Fifth Dalai Lama, for example, wrote texts and taught practices from the Gelug, Nyingma and Sakya traditions. 

But what if one is teaching at a present-day Dharma center affiliated with a particular Buddhist tradition or lineage? Suppose one is primarily a Theravada teacher at a vipassana center and has some personal experience with the Tibetan instructions of lojong (cleansing of attitudes, “mind-training”) or dzogchen (the great completeness of the nature of the mind). If one is not competent to teach these Tibetan practices to others, one can of course refer students to another center and teacher if one feels such methods suit them better. But if one is competent to teach several other methods in addition to one’s own major focus in vipassana, can one do so at a vipassana center, or is it better at a nonsectarian facility at which people can learn techniques from all traditions?  The answer will depend on how open that vipassana center is. At some vipassana centers it will be appropriate, and at others not. 

Therefore, just as among doctors there are both specialists and general practitioners, and patients are free to visit the offices of either, a similar situation and choice might be beneficial with respect to Buddhist teachers and centers. Some specialists may also treat general patients in their office, and some Dharma centers of a specific lineage may also be open to having its teachers impart the techniques of more than one lineage and to inviting as guest teachers from other Buddhist traditions. But there is also a need for general Buddhist facilities since many Dharma centers belonging to specific lineages have already been established, and some teachers from those lineages may feel very strongly about not confusing their students with techniques from other Buddhist traditions. 

There are historical precedents for both Dharma centers of one tradition being open to teachers from others, as well as centers that are nonsectarian. Kublai Khan was basically a follower of the Sakya lineage of Tibetan Buddhism, but he invited to his court masters from practically all other Tibetan schools. In nineteenth-century Kham, southeastern Tibet, the Rime nonsectarian movement began and served as an umbrella for preserving and transmitting the teachings of not only all the Tibetan Buddhist lineages, but also those of Bon. Even if one teacher is qualified to teach the techniques of several Buddhist traditions, what is the skillful way to impart a combination of them to a particular student or group for whom it seems beneficial? Is it better to preserve and teach each tradition as a separate entity, or is it inevitable and perhaps even more beneficial for some form of amalgam to naturally evolve? In the end, we shall probably find that both developments have occurred.

If we are most likely to have an amalgam, we need to avoid the downfall of “mixing” or making a stew. This occurs when we no longer follow the complete instructions and mode of practice of one particular Buddhist technique but take a little bit of one and mix in a little bit of another, not practicing either in its full form and compromising the basic principles of each. In so doing, we adulterate the teachings and damage the purity of people’s practice. A slightly absurd example would be offering a hundred thousand prostrations in a Jewish synagogue before the Torah scriptures and a Michelangelo portrait of God.

To avoid this “mixing,” we need to follow the example, for instance, of Gampopa who, in formulating the norms that became the Dagpo Kagyu tradition in Tibet, combined the lojong lineage of the Tibetan Kadam masters with the mahamudra practice from India to realize the nature of mind. He included the full aspects of both techniques harmoniously in his practice, preserving the individuality and purity of each, without compromising either.  

We can do the same by including, for instance, a Theravadin breathing or walking meditation within the context of Tibetan tantric practice. Once a Western Buddhist asked Tsenshap Serkong Rinpoche, the late master debate partner and teacher of His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama, whether meditators who visualize themselves as the deity Yamantaka all day can also engage in Avalokiteshvara practice. Rinpoche replied, “Can’t Yamantaka recite ‘Om mani padme hum?’” Likewise, can’t Yamantaka practice mindfulness meditation on his breathing or walking?

An amalgam of mindfulness of the breath and tantric visualization of oneself as a deity would not be an example of “mixing.” The four close placements of mindfulness are the first set within the thirty-seven wings of practice leading to the perfected state of either an arhat or a Buddha. Thus, mindfulness practice is found in common within both the Theravada as well as the Mahayana traditions to which tantra belongs. Since Theravada contains the most detailed explanations of these mindfulness techniques on the breath, walking and so forth, it is perfectly appropriate to fill out the Mahayana practice with them. It is like the combined practice of the tantric systems of Guhyasamaja, Chakrasamvara and Yamantaka found in the tantric colleges of the Gelug tradition. Within the basic framework of visualizing oneself as Yamantaka, one fills in the illusory body practices from Guhyasamaja and the inner heat and clear light procedures from Chakrasamvara. This is done simply because the instructions for these practices are found in most detail in those two other systems.

To add to Mahayana tantric practice the Theravada techniques of focusing on the breath in order to gain single-minded concentration and shamatha (a stilled, settled mind), however, might well be a case of “mixing” unless one makes the amalgam in a skillful way. According to the Indian Buddhist master Shantideva, what distinguished Mahayana concentration techniques from Hinayana is that the former develop single-minded concentration with mental consciousness, such as by visualizing a Buddha or focusing on the mind itself, while the latter with sensory consciousness, such as focusing on the physical sensation of the breath passing in and out the nostrils. 

When the Mahayana system of Chan trains disciples in concentration by having them focus on the physical sensation of the abdomen rising and falling with the breath, and Karma Kagyu mahamudra on objects of the five senses, vase-breathing and counting the breath, these are merely preliminary stages of practice. The actual attainment of shamatha is achieved in a Mahayana fashion, namely through focusing on the mind itself, which Karma Kagyu calls “not focusing on any object.” Therefore, in these cases, the use of a Theravada style of practice as a preliminary stage does not adulterate or compromise the Mahayana teaching. To use it as a substitute for focusing with mental consciousness, however, would constitute the fault of “mixing.”

Occasionally, Western practitioners of Chinese Chan, Japanese Zen and Korean Son remark that many people in their tradition seem to lack warmth and compassion. Although their meditation sessions begin with reciting the four immeasurables and a chanted affirmation of the bodhichitta motivation to work to liberate all sentient beings, they do not engage in structured meditation techniques for developing loving concern for others as are found in the Theravada metta (love) and the Tibetan bodhichitta practices. According to Chan theory, accepted in Zen and Son as well, one does not need artificially to generate any positive qualities by means of mental constructs. One needs only to open up to the suffering of others, quiet the mind of all conceptual thought of self and others, and then the mind’s natural kindness and goodness will shine forth, and one will respond appropriately. The danger with this approach, however, is that until they are able to reach that goal of quieting the mind and remaining in their natural state, many Chan, Zen and Son practitioners in the West remain rather cold people, always intense.

The solution to the possible problem of coldness in the Chan traditions is not so simple. One might suggest a policy of preliminary practices of Theravada metta or Tibetan bodhichitta meditations to play a similar role to that of the preliminaries in dzogchen. But would not the addition of such practices constitute an example of “mixing”? Would it not be compromising and adulterating one of the fundamental principles of the Chan approach – namely, not to rely on mental constructs. Afterall, this is not the same as adding the practice of focusing on the breath as a preliminary in Chan for gaining single-minded concentration on the pure nature of the mind. To do so does not compromise or contradict any fundamental principle of Chan.

There are several alternative solutions other than forming an amalgam with practices from other systems. We need only look to the history of Chan itself and its derivative East Asian forms. There are many examples of the wide use of humor, for instance, by Chinese Chan and Japanese Zen masters which can cause disciples to have a more light-hearted approach to their practice. With humor, one’s warmth naturally extends out to others and can become a basis for feeling love and concern. The samurai warrior style of beating an inattentive meditator with a stick is not the only method for enhancing Zen practice.

Practitioners of Thien, the Vietnamese form of Chan, have traditionally been far more politically and socially engaged than their Chinese, Japanese and Korean counterparts. “Engaged Buddhism” is naturally based on love and concern for others. It does not require meditational practices involving mental constructs. One must simply get up from one’s cushion and act. This is not at all contradictory to the spirit of Chan and could be of great benefit to Western practitioners of Chan, Zen and Son. This would be an example of an amalgam of the Vietnamese form with their own tradition that would not risk the danger of “mixing” and adulteration.

Sometimes no specific Asian Buddhist tradition seems to suit ourselves or a certain student who looks to us for guidance. In such cases, our modern educational system prepares us particularly well to be able to mold specific solutions for individuals. We are trained to think for ourselves and solve problems, rather than merely repeat a standard answer that we have memorized. This is a more positive aspect of Western creativity than making iconoclastic statements simply for the sake of being different. The task of modern teachers with a broad Buddhist education, then, is not necessarily to find which traditional Asian slot to fit their students in, but to work out what is the best method for leading each of them to the understanding of reality and liberation.

As we have seen, the solution may be to use Asian-style creativity to adapt the methods of standard traditions to changing circumstances, or it may be to use an amalgam of features from several traditional Buddhist systems. If we stay within the context of one particular tradition and expand its techniques to include features from other lineages, we can avoid the danger of making a stew by honoring the basic principles of our main tradition.

If we opt for not identifying ourselves with any particular lineage, we still need a container for holding our practice. This can be simply “generic Buddhism,” along the model of “family medicine.” There are two varieties. Some Western masters have already started their own lineages of Western Buddhism that combine aspects and practices of several Buddhist traditions with innovations of their own. Other Western teachers have founded Buddhist organizations unaffiliated with any Asian lineage, but open to all.

Thus, at present we seem to have four types of modern Dharma centers that divide into two general groups:

• Those affiliated with a particular Asian tradition and that are open to methods outside their lineage, either in the form of an amalgam, as separate options or as both
• Those that are not similarly open
• Those unaffiliated with any particular Asian tradition and that teach an amalgam of techniques
• Those that are an umbrella for teachings from any tradition.

Each is helpful for its own audience.

When Buddhism first comes to a country or city, it is not possible to start Dharma centers of all these four varieties. It is important, however, regardless of which of the four types is first established, to educate students about the other three models. Just as one Buddhist lineage or teacher cannot suit everyone in a country or city, likewise just one of these four styles of Dharma centers also cannot match everyone’s tastes and needs. The more choices people have, the less claustrophobic they will feel; and the wider variety of teachers they meet, the less chance they will tolerate inappropriate behavior or attitudes in any one of them. 

Yet another complicating factor in evolving cultural adaptations is whether or not the Buddhist teachings are still extant as a living tradition in the societies of the foreign masters earlier in their lineage. If they are not and there are doubts about the validity of the new adaptations, then who is a valid source of information on the Dharma’s actual interpretation and application within those previous societies if we wish to refer to them as a standard? Who will be able to validate that the current cultural adaptations have not lost the essence or compromised the intention of the Buddha’s teachings?

Some people at present wish to return to original “pristine” Buddhism or at least use it as a standard for assessing modern developments. But how can we know what pristine Buddhism actually was? The Pali traditions of Sri Lanka and Myanmar are certainly not the same as the northern Indian form from the time of the historical Buddha. They are not even the same as each other. Are the theories of modern Buddhologists about “pristine” Buddhism totally reliable, and if not, who else has valid information about its state? Or, as suggested above, is there no such thing as “pristine” Buddhism, and all we can realistically access is the modern-day living traditions of Buddhism? 

Currently, great masters still abound in the traditional Asian Buddhist societies, and many have either resided in or at least briefly visited foreign countries. The ability of these masters to appreciate and understand deeply other cultures and effectively evaluate modern adaptations of Buddhism, however, will naturally vary with the individual. Some Asian teachers will be more interested in these issues than others. But it is unreasonable to expect that broad-minded Asian masters will always be available for reference.

Once Buddhism had disappeared from India, for example, the Tibetans no longer had a living external source of authority to which they could refer. They had to accept responsibility themselves and trust their own understanding of the essence of the Dharma and the wisdom of the former spiritual masters of their own land.

Therefore, like the Tibetans, at some point in the future we shall undoubtedly have to take responsibility ourselves to validate the wisdom of our cultural adaptations. This might occur even while the Dharma is still a living force in the traditional Asian Buddhist societies, although we must be cautious not to act prematurely on our own. Nevertheless, it is unreasonable to believe that from now to eternity teachers from traditional Asian Buddhist countries will necessarily be more valid sources of authority for assessing authenticity than Buddhist masters from non-traditional lands. There are more significant qualifications than a Buddhist teacher’s ethnic origin. 

The great Indian master Dharmakirti explained the major criterion for ascertaining the validity of a Buddhist teaching: it must function successfully to produce its stated aim. We shall therefore know whether or not our cultural adaptations have been valid if, over the centuries, practitioners within our societies have achieved the classical Buddhist spiritual attainments through their techniques. We shall not be able to evaluate clearly after only a few decades of Western Buddhist experience. 

If our adaptations have not been successful, we need to be mature enough to make reforms. In any case, we shall certainly need to revise and update these adaptations over the centuries, following the model of what has historically occurred in all the Asian countries to which Buddhism has traditionally spread.

Moreover, even if Buddhism is still extant in the donor society, who is a valid source representing it? Historically there have been many charlatans, such as the Red Acharya from Kashmir who in the tenth century spread the view in western Tibet that ritualized ordinary sexual behavior is a valid Buddhist path. At present, we have an overabundance of charlatans claiming to be Buddhist teachers. They take advantage especially of people who are emerging from spiritually repressive societies who are starved for any spiritual guidance. It is extremely essential, therefore, that Dharma students learn the qualifications of an authentic Buddhist master and understand the necessity of examining a potential teacher over a long period of time. They must never suspend their critical faculty. A proper relation with a spiritual master is never that of a soldier unthinkingly obeying the orders of a general. 

Even when qualified teachers are propagating authentic Buddhist practices and views, who is truly representative of the donor society – someone who studied debate at Nalanda Monastic University, for instance, or another who practiced with the mahasiddhas, the great yogis following the tantric path? And if both are valid representatives of Indian Buddhism, how do we fit together their extremely different modes of practice?

In sixth-century China, Zhiyi codified the Tiantai school which classifies all the Buddha’s sutras and techniques as harmonious stages of what the Lotus Sutra calls the “One Vehicle.” Saicho expanded Tiantai at the end of the eighth century when he founded the Japanese Tendai school to include and systematize all the Chinese Buddhist traditions of his time. The eleventh-century Indian master Atisha showed how the sutra and tantra teachings fit together in his Lamp for the Path to Enlightenment, which became the forerunner of the Tibetan lam-rim tradition of the graded path. We need at present to be as equally open and broad-minded as these previous masters to see that there are no contradictions among any of Buddha’s teachings.

Furthermore, in countries new to Buddhism, each pioneer teacher, whether native or foreign, has presented a slightly different picture of Buddhist practice even when they have come from the same source tradition, such as that of the Indian mahasiddhas. Who is correct? Who is to be followed? We must try to avoid establishing personality cults. We need to discourage any tendency for modern-day people to idolize Buddhist teachers in the same way they do the “superstars” of the music, movie and sports worlds. It is very unfortunate when people flock to a Dharma event with the same mentality that would attract them to a rock concert.

Buddha taught the four reliances as a guideline for avoiding this danger of developing a mindless Dharma fan-club mentality:

• Do not rely on a teacher’s fame or charisma, but only on what they say
• Do not rely on the elegance of their words, but on their meaning
• Do not rely on their superficial meaning, but on their deepest meaning to be ascertained
• For comprehending this meaning, do not rely on an ordinary consciousness, but on one of deep awareness.

The present challenge, then, is to find those themes within either the Indian or non-Indian presentations of the Dharma that are most relevant to us and proceed from there. We shall need to deal with the same complex issues as have our predecessors. Certain themes may be relevant cross-culturally to most modern societies, such as an emphasis on clear explanations in accordance with a scientific approach towards reality. Other topics will be of specific interest to individual cultures. 

Buddhist centers are now found in approximately 70 countries around the world. The approach that might be most appropriate for the United States will not necessarily suit Italy. Afterall, Brazil, Zimbabwe, Germany, Russia and Bali are all very different places. Individual skillful means are needed for each. Moreover, each such country may receive Buddhism either directly from a traditional Asian culture or indirectly through the filter, for instance, of a North American presentation and idiom. The unfolding historical process will indeed be complex.