Historical Lessons for Buddhism: Preservation of the Traditions

The process of bringing Buddhism from India to Tibet occurred through the work and visits of many teachers over several centuries. The masters each had their own style, their own followers and many of them founded their own monasteries in the new land. A vast number of lines of transmission ensued. Buddhism was able to survive, however, with an organized structure partially because certain great masters merged several of these lineages and formed major sects. 

At present, almost every Buddhist teacher who travels abroad starts his or her own Dharma center in each city visited. Even two geshes or lamas from the same Tibetan monastery will start separate centers in the same city. The number of groups and different organizations has become astronomical. In several cities there are sometimes thirty or more different centers, with each facing the economic problem of renting a facility, erecting an elaborate shrine and attracting and maintaining a stable membership. There is often competition among them and occasionally their programs of visiting teachers overlap. Newcomers are sometimes bewildered and unable to make an intelligent choice of which center to join.

If these organizations and groups of centers do not begin soon to consolidate into a specific, limited number of sects, there is the danger that Buddhism will not be able to survive this fragmentation. The modern Western philosophy of “everybody do their own thing” is not conducive for the stable establishment of a system of beliefs and practices.

In the twelfth century, the Sri Lankan king convened the Council of Pulastinagara to reconcile the two Theravada schools of the time, Abhayagirivasins and Jetavaniyas. The Sri Lankan Theravada tradition had split into these two schools twelve centuries earlier when the king of that time had built a new monastery and gave it to his favorite monk, rather than to the entire Buddhist community. If a reconciliation like that was possible after so many centuries, surely we are capable of consolidating our Western Dharma organizations now, before an unwieldy array of formalized Western schools begins.

The Buddhist traditions that emerged in Tibet from the visits of different foreign teachers had no counterparts in India. Likewise, the sects that will develop in the West will probably not have equivalents in the traditional Asian Buddhist cultures from which their founding figures derived. This does not matter. What is important is for the present period of fragmentation to draw to an end. This may be difficult, however, while the founding masters of the foreign Dharma centers are still alive.

As these founding figures are passing away, there is yet a further dangerous tendency that is beginning to emerge in the Tibetan tradition. Western disciples feel that if they do not search for the reincarnation of their lamas or geshes, they are being disloyal and committing a breach of guru-devotion. They have been taught to see that their spiritual teachers are Buddhas. Therefore, even if those teachers themselves were not tulkus (incarnate lamas) with the title of Rinpoche, they must certainly have reached the level of attainment at which they would start such incarnation lines. Not to believe this would indicate that these students did not really believe their teacher was a Buddha. The result is a potentially disastrous mushrooming of the tulku system.

In Tibet and Mongolia, the tulku phenomenon grew out of hand. Even His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama has been critical of the potential abuse inherent in people’s unquestioning faith and reverence for incarnate lamas. He stresses that tulkus must not rest on the laurels of their predecessors’ name and fame. They must prove they are spiritually worthy of respect by their own accomplishments in this very life.

The first tulku line in Tibet was that of the Karmapas, beginning in the twelfth century. Slowly, incarnate lamas appeared in all Tibetan traditions, not only in Tibet, but gradually in Mongolia, Siberia, northern China, East Turkestan and the Himalayan countries and regions. Lines of tulkus emerged even in the native Tibetan tradition of Bon. If we grant that the founding figures of each of these tulku lines was a highly accomplished master, still we can differentiate two mechanisms by which their line of incarnations became identified. One was that the child reincarnations declared themselves who they were. The other was that faithful disciples purposely looked for them, sometimes motivated by political or economic reasons.

Many lamas and geshes founded monasteries in Tibet and the regions of Tibetan culture. Because of their charisma and attainment, they attracted many patrons to support their institutions. When these inspiring figures passed away, local people and patrons often lost interest in continuing to offer their economic support. What better way to insure their uninterrupted sponsorship than finding the reincarnation of the great master and enthroning him once more as the head of the monastery?

Tibet had innumerable great teachers with a high level of realization and attainment. All of them reincarnated: in fact, everyone reincarnates. When these great masters as young children in a next life did not identify themselves as the reincarnation of their predecessor, no one felt it was a breach of guru-devotion not to look for them. Yet if there were economic or political gain to be had, disciples would not lose a moment in searching for the new incarnation, without waiting for any sign on the part of the child. To avoid this type of motive and the danger of the tulku system’s abuse, His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama has recommended that disciples wait until a potential tulku candidate shows signs on his or her own before identifying the child as an authentic incarnate lama.

The same precautions must be taken to avoid faithful Western disciples searching for unsound reasons for the reincarnations of either Asian or Western teachers who have founded Dharma centers in their countries. If the reason for their search, even unconsciously, is the wish to prop up and perpetuate their teacher’s Dharma organization, there is a very strong danger of potential abuse. When coupled with their feeling of guilt if they did not search for their teacher’s reincarnation, their religious zeal will also just feed the process of fragmentation. It will produce a serious obstacle to consolidating centers and lineages to form modern traditions.

Regardless of the mode and motive with which young incarnate lamas have been found, there is a further danger that is emerging with their modern upbringing. Western, as well as Southeast and East Asian disciples, in a show of devotion, shower these children with offerings of modern toys, videos, computer games and so on. They are keen to invite these child lamas to their countries. Their motives are pure: they wish to pay back the kindness of their previous teachers and provide them in this life with all the advantages of the modern world. 

The results of their good will, however, have often been disastrous. These children develop strong cultural conflict. When faced with the possible alternatives of playing Nintendo, watching a video or going to the beach or an amusement park, what child would want to sit in an isolated, uncomfortable monastery in India and memorize prayers? There is a high probability that many of these young tulkus will rebel and disrobe in the future. 

Cultural conflict can even be subtly introduced by well-intended Westerners using modern, foreign educational materials and curriculum to supplement these lamas’ traditional training. They feel, with only good will intended, that if Rinpoche wishes later to go to Harvard or Cambridge University, he should have the preparation that will allow him that freedom of choice. If young Tibetan lamas in exile are to have a modern education, however, it would perhaps be wiser for them to receive the same type of modern Indian education that the other Tibetan refugee children receive. In this way, they will be far better able to integrate into and serve their own community, which after all should be their first priority, not serving the foreigners.

The young tulkus’ household and monasteries unwittingly also contribute to the possible future loss of their incarnate lamas to cultural conflict. When faced with the strong economic pressures and needs of the monks who look up to them for support, the attendants and abbots agree to the foreign tours of their special wards. Not being well-versed in child rearing, they do not realize the necessity for a child to have a stable home environment and daily routine. Deprived of that, a child will usually lack emotional stability and direction.

His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama has said that the only definitive statement we can make about tulkus is that they are born with an extraordinary amount of positive potential and talents. Whether their instincts for Dharma ripen or not is dependent on the circumstances in which they are raised. Buddha himself explained that some enlightened beings manifest for only a few moments and, if the circumstances are not conducive for their presence to help others, they quickly depart.

To generate a line of tulkus, a master needs only to have a firm development of the bodhichitta wish to continue to manifest in order to help others. In addition, he or she must have achieved stability in the generation stage practices of the highest class of tantra, anuttarayoga, with which one visualizes alternative experiences that will purify and substitute for ordinary death, bardo and rebirth. It is not required that a potential tulku have non-conceptual cognition of voidness, let alone be a fully enlightened Buddha.

Therefore, most young tulkus will have many other, less enlightened instincts in addition to those built up during the life of the founder of their incarnation line. If these children do not receive in their youth the conducive circumstances that will allow their positive Dharma instincts to ripen, the less wholesome conditions to which they are exposed will cause other, less spiritually oriented instincts to ripen instead. Although the instincts of their more eminent predecessors will continue on their mental continuums into further future lives, they might remain dormant throughout this present incarnation.

Therefore, it is crucial that young tulkus be allowed to receive their traditional education while living in a stable and loving home environment. Such training has been effective in the past to produce their predecessors. Westerners must be patient and have confidence that the system will continue to work successfully now.

His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama has recommended, however, certain modern modifications in the curriculum, such as not waiting until the young lamas are thirteen before beginning to explain to them the meaning of what they have been memorizing and starting them sooner on their training in debate. He has also encouraged their early study of the English language and Tibetan grammar, but without relying on Western textbooks or computer-based teaching programs that would introduce cultural conflict at the same time. Such measures do not introduce cultural conflict.

Foreigners’ shortsighted greed is also contributing to the potential loss of not only incarnate lamas but also ordinary spiritual teachers from traditional societies. Almost every foreign Dharma center wishes to have its own lama, geshe or traditional Asian teacher. With self-importance, they would like the greatest spiritual masters or their young incarnations to visit and spend as much time as possible with them. Their demands produce a terrible brain-drain, especially since economic pressures cause the lamas and monasteries almost never to turn down their invitations.

Buddhism has not yet been sufficiently transmitted and established in the West, nor its full range of texts been translated, that would allow for Westerners at this point in history to carry on the tradition on their own. Besides, most people in modern, Western-style countries do not have the free time or economic support of their society for life-long intensive study and practice of the Dharma that would qualify them as transmitters of its lineages. Most cannot even spare more than an evening or two a week to come to their local Buddhist center; they are so exhausted from their work and have so many other demands on their time. They, their children and at least several generations in the future will need to rely on teachers deriving from and trained in the traditional Buddhist countries and languages. Although several Asian teachers have named Westerners as their Dharma heirs, we must carefully examine their motives for so doing and the actual qualifications of these foreign designates. Some appointments may have been premature.

When the best Asian teachers succumb to pressures and spend most of their time abroad, their disciples in their monasteries and home societies suffer the loss. Deprived of proper, full-time training with the best masters of their tradition, they stand little chance of matching the spiritual caliber of the older generation and becoming outstanding teachers themselves. Furthermore, when the young incarnate lamas are pressured into interrupting their training and sometimes cutting it short, how can they reach full spiritual maturity? As a result of both these tendencies, no one in the future, either in traditional or non-traditional Buddhist countries, will have fully qualified teachers.

The conclusion to be drawn from the above discussion is not that traditional Buddhist societies should adopt an isolationist policy and forbid its spiritual teachers to travel and teach abroad. Rather, we need to adopt a reasonable program of sharing human resources in a manner that is fair and beneficial to all, both in the short- and long-term future.

History teaches that Buddhist masters visiting foreign countries must also continue to contribute to the spiritual welfare of their native lands. The Abbot of Vikramashila Monastery in India was wary of letting his most realized teacher, Atisha, leave for Tibet. He felt that if he let him go, the quality of Dharma training in India would suffer. The Abbot was, in fact, finally tricked into giving permission for his leave. But Atisha did not neglect the Indian Buddhists back home. Although he was unable to return to his land, he sent back to his monastery a copy of the text he composed in Tibet, Lamp for the Path to Enlightenment. The Abbot praised it as a major contribution for the stability of the teachings. Likewise, we must control our sense of self-importance and give the Asian masters space and time to attend to the needs of their people, which will in the end benefit all.

In fact, Westerners can make a positive contribution to helping meet the spiritual needs of the people of traditional Asian Buddhist countries. In many of these lands, there are hardly any facilities for young lay people to obtain a Buddhist education. Traditionally, if people wished to study or learn meditation, they would join a monastery. In modern times, however, it is no longer practical for this to be the only avenue for serious Buddhist practice. This is true not only in non-traditional Buddhist countries, but in traditional ones as well, especially in those in which Buddhism was displaced by Communist totalitarianism and which are now reclaiming their heritage. It is also true for the refugee communities that have fled from Communist repression.

The youth and adults of these Asian groups need some form of Dharma center. A few teachers have already established Tibetan Dharma centers, for instance, in Asian Buddhist countries that did not traditionally follow Tibetan forms. But as His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama has recommended, Tibetan Dharma centers are now needed also for the Tibetan refugees in India, as well as for the Mongols, Kalmyks and the various Himalayan peoples. His Holiness’ spiritual representative in Moscow has already founded such centers for lay practitioners in Buryatia and Tuva. The urban Japanese, Chinese, Koreans and Southeast Asians would likewise benefit from Dharma centers from their own Buddhist traditions.

It might not be wise for these centers to be part of any already established Western Dharma organization. Such an expansion and inclusion might introduce a conflict of priorities and appear to local people as a form of colonialist imposition of power. It is better for these movements to arise organically from within their societies. Among the Tibetan refugees in India, for instance, the Tibetan Youth Congress has formed a Buddhist group. In Mongolia, there is likewise the Association of Buddhist Believers, and in Southeast Asia, the National University of Singapore Buddhist Society and the Young Malaysian Buddhist Association.

Western and Asian teachers of Buddhism in the West can share their experience and advise these groups on the establishment and functioning of Dharma centers. They can also help in the teaching programs. Foreigners can offer their teachers the time and perhaps financial resources for working with these centers and thus pay back the kindness of the societies that have provided their opportunity to meet with the Dharma.

The American Theosophist, Colonel Henry Steel Olcott, helped the monk Gunananda establish the Mahabodhi Society in Sri Lanka in the second half of the nineteenth century. This society helped revive Buddhism locally, which had declined as people found themselves unable to withstand Christian missionary pressures. It also restored and maintained the Buddhist pilgrimage sites in India. The British scholar, T. W. Rhys Davids, helped found the Pali Text Society in Sri Lanka also at this time, which further helped this revival process. Thus, Westerners can contribute greatly to the survival and reenergizing of Buddhism in its native lands.

Foreigners must learn to share the traditional Buddhist human resources, not only with the practitioners in the Asian Buddhist societies, but among themselves as well. Clusters of Dharma centers in a geographic area can share a resident teacher.

Furthermore, it is not necessary to have an Einstein to teach children in kindergarten. When resident or visiting teachers from the Tibetan tradition are high Rinpoches or geshes, students ask only for advanced tantric initiations or dzogchen teachings on the nature of the mind itself. Usually these masters acquiesce, again often due to economic pressures. More people come to an initiation than to a teaching on compassion or voidness, and this generates more money for both the teacher’s home monastery and the Dharma center. But when the teachers are just well-trained monks or laypersons, without any high title, they can focus on teaching the Buddhist fundamentals that are often neglected and skipped.

When Padmasambhava first brought tantra and dzogchen to Tibet, he saw that the people were not yet ready to understand and practice them correctly. He concealed many of these teachings as “treasure texts” (terma) to be recovered in the future when the times would be more conducive. When King Ralpachen sponsored the first Sanskrit-Tibetan dictionary about 50 years after Padmasambhava’s visit, he forbade tantric terms from being included. He and the religious kings at the beginning of the New Translation period two centuries later restricted the translation of tantric texts. There was great misunderstanding of tantra at the time, and they wanted to control its transmission so as to insure the purity of the teachings.

When Atisha came to Tibet from India in the early eleventh century, he saw that although there were many sutra and tantra texts available, the people thought the practices of the two were mutually exclusive and did not know how to fit them together. He wrote Lamp for the Path to Enlightenment specifically to clear up this misunderstanding. His emphasis on the basic fundamental teachings earned him the nicknames Refuge Lama and Cause and Effect Lama. He also stressed the instructions he had received from his teachers in Indonesia for developing a bodhichitta motivation to strive for enlightenment in order to benefit all limited beings.

In the early fifteenth century, Tsongkhapa saw the same type of misunderstanding about the relation between sutra and tantra. One of the major themes of his writings, which formed the basis for the Gelug tradition of Tibet, was how the Madhyamaka-Prasangika view of voidness fits together with the practice of the highest class of tantra, anuttarayoga. His tradition stresses the need for a deep understanding and realization of the “three principal paths” of a determination to be free (renunciation), bodhichitta and the understanding of voidness before embarking on the path of tantra.

There is already in the West a growing misunderstanding about tantra. People receive initiations prematurely and are trying to engage in tantric or dzogchen practices without a stable foundation or grasp of the fundamental teachings of Buddhism. They are attracted to esoterica and the so-called “mysteries of the East.” Their curiosity and self-importance drive them especially to seek “secret teachings.” Ignorant that the purpose of generating a blissful consciousness within the central channel is to have easier access to the subtlest level of consciousness for the most efficient realization of voidness and misunderstanding that the methods for generating that blissful state have nothing to do with ordinary sex, they wish to be “high” yogis and yoginis engaging in exotic sexual practices.

Their attraction to tantra as a speedy path is often based actually on laziness, rather than the wish through its practice to reach enlightenment more quickly so as to be better able to help people fully as soon as possible. Many simply want a path that involves less work. And teachers of tantra and dzogchen rarely tell them that although these paths are speedy, they are by no means easy. One may question their motives for spreading what His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama calls “Buddhist propaganda about quick paths.”

We must do something now to try to curb this trend towards degeneracy. What does history suggest? It is too late now to control the translation of tantric texts, as the early religious kings of Tibet tried to do. Nor can we bury the tantric materials for later times when people will be better prepared. In any case, His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama has said it is better for people to have correct information about tantric theory rather than continue with distorted ideas.

Teachers need to follow the lead of not only Atisha and Tsongkhapa, but the masters of all the Tibetan Buddhist traditions, and clarify how to integrate the common preliminary practices of sutra with the advanced tantric stages that are founded upon them. The main restriction His Holiness suggests is to limit the spread of actual tantric practice materials to those with faith in the method and who have received the appropriate initiations. Tantric practice should not be a “do it yourself” endeavor that one learns merely from books without relying on a qualified teacher. This being said, still anyone can buy the printed Tibetan texts of sadhanas in India and Nepal. The texts, however, always contain a disclaimer that they are restricted to those with initiations from their teachers. 

During the first half of the seventeenth century, Neiji Toyin spread anuttarayoga tantra widely to the people of northeastern Inner Mongolia who knew nothing yet of Buddhism. He strove hard to convert them by appealing to their attraction to powers and bribing them with a gift of a horse or a cow if they memorized a long mantra or prayer. When the Fifth Dalai Lama heard of his high-pressure missionary activities, he banished him to northwestern Inner Mongolia where he was made to enter a life-long meditational retreat.

There is no one now who is willing to act like an emperor or a Pope and banish or excommunicate a great lama or Rinpoche who tries to build up a spiritual empire by widely conferring tantric initiations and practices on audiences who lack any preparation. It has only been in the most extreme cases of taking undue advantage of disciples that the masters of abusive teachers have taken responsibility to end their unethical, harmful behavior by sending them into lengthy retreats. We must turn to other methods to control the unbridled spread of tantra.

His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama suggests the guideline that before receiving an initiation, students have at least five years of Buddhist practice after taking refuge. The only exception he allows is when he confers the Kalachakra initiation to a huge public audience. His Holiness explains that this initiation has been given publicly to huge crowds throughout its history, and its main purpose has always been to help bring about peace. Hardly anyone who receives this initiation will be able to engage in the extremely complicated practices of the Kalachakra Tantra. But during the two weeks of preparation and the initiation ceremony itself, people will live harmoniously together in a peaceful atmosphere, while the master conferring it stresses the teachings on love and compassion.

According to the Buddhist customs, a master should not give any teaching or initiation unless specifically requested by the disciples. Shakyamuni Buddha himself followed this procedure. Therefore, the only way to curb the unchecked, premature spread of tantra, dzogchen, transference of consciousness (phowa), living on the essence of consecrated pills (chulen) and other advanced practices is for the Western students and leaders of the Dharma centers themselves to take responsibility. They must explain to the Buddhist teachers the level of preparation and background of the potential audience and request specifically, as did the religious king who invited Atisha to Tibet, for extensive instructions on the fundamental teachings of Buddha and the preliminary practices.