Historical Lessons for Buddhism: Spiritual Teachers

Many Westerners misunderstand the guidelines and manner of seeing one’s teacher as a Buddha and imagine that Buddhist masters are omniscient gods. When they invite the Asian teachers to visit or reside in their countries, they do not inform them about the local customs, ways of thinking or problematic issues. They believe that these teachers know everything and will be able to solve all their Dharma center’s problems intuitively, when in fact they cannot. When their teachers’ advice turns out not to be helpful, these overly devout disciples become very confused.

It is essential, therefore, to take responsibility to educate our teachers about our cultures and issues in order to help them be better able to help us. To do so is not a sign of disrespect, but an indication of maturity. On the basis of our information, the masters can use their experience and wisdom to recommend what might be the most appropriate course of action to take. The representatives of the tenth-century western Tibetan king, for instance, explained the difficult situation of the Dharma in their country to Atisha when they went to India to invite him. Upon his arrival, Atisha questioned further before deciding upon the best policy to remedy the problem. We would do best to follow such examples.

The Tibetan Buddhists maintain the pre-Buddhist Bon practice of divination. When people come to them with problems about which they cannot decide themselves, these masters invoke a specific deity with prayers and mantras, and then either toss three dice or count off beads on their rosary while asking the question. They interpret the number of pips or beads to ascertain the possible success or failure of particular solutions to the problem and to determine which ritual ceremonies would help overcome any obstacles. Even when consulting a master for a divination, however, Tibetans will inform them about all the details of the situation. Otherwise, it is very difficult for the master to interpret the throw of the dice or the counting off the beads.

Many Westerners bother high teachers for divinations about the most trivial issues. Certain Tibetan masters themselves overly rely on divination before undertaking any activity concerning the teachings. Both of these attitudes indicate a lack of decisiveness and self-confidence in one’s wisdom and common sense. If this trend continues, people, especially in the West, will think that Buddhists are all superstitious, deciding their lives with the flip of a coin, incapable of dealing with their daily lives. If students must ask their teacher to toss dice in order to take any actions in their life, people will accuse Buddhism of being a cult with devotees made into mindless slaves by a manipulative, charlatan spiritual master.

Traditionally, teachers performed divination or consulted an oracle only about problems that were impossible to decide by ordinary knowledge or means. For instance, when His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama was about to flee from the Chinese Communist army in Tibet, he relied on divination and the advice of his State Oracle to determine the safest time and route for escape. Teachers would scold and dismiss any disciples requesting divination about something that common sense could decide. It is important, therefore, when adopting Buddhism in the West, not to overinflate the teachers’ role and give up all responsibility for handling our lives. If we indulge our wish to remain as children before a teacher who serves as a substitute father or mother, we will never grow in maturity.

Some Westerners cite the examples of Naropa with his master Tilopa, or Milarepa with Marpa, to justify their unquestioning reliance, obedience and devotion to their teachers. But His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama has explained explicitly that those examples are not relevant to our modern times and situation and should not be applied. For present-day Dharma students to think that they are on the same spiritual level as Naropa or Milarepa and that the methods Tilopa and Marpa used for these outstanding disciples are also appropriate for them and are obviously what their own teachers are using is a clear indication of their spiritual pretention and self-importance.

Now is the time to take responsibility to examine spiritual teachers very thoroughly, as did Atisha with the master of Suvarnadvipa after a thirteen-month sea journey to meet him in Indonesia. This is important not only when deciding upon a personal teacher, but also when inviting a spiritual master to visit or become a resident teacher in our country. The Tibetan translator Rinchen Zangpo examined Atisha very well before reporting back to his king that this Indian master was the most suited for inviting to Tibet.

According to the Tangut legal code of the eleventh century, neither Indian nor Tibetan Buddhist masters visiting this Central Asian land could teach without the consent of the authorities. Teachers would be arrested if they led people to act against the law, or if they themselves violated the legal codes. The state would also curtail their activities if they claimed to be all-seeing soothsayers acting under divine guidance. In this way, the authorities protected the people from spiritual charlatans trying to lead them astray.

Since it is not feasible at present to have state quality control of Buddhist masters, we must take responsibility ourselves to be discriminating about the teachers who come to the West. Even when we have requested a great spiritual master to send a Dharma teacher to our center, we must help them make the most appropriate choice. We must explain our culture, situation and requirements clearly. Even after a teacher is sent, it is always best to have a trial period so that both sides can see if the appointment was wise. To do so does not imply that we doubt the great master’s decision but is just being practical and realistic.

It is also important not to give the impression to the members of the center that they must all regard this teacher as their personal spiritual master and see them as a Buddha. It is unreasonable to imagine that everyone in a particular city or at a specific Dharma center will have the same karmic connection with the same teacher. In traditional Asian Buddhist countries, people often travelled quite far in search of a spiritual master who suited them. Certainly not everyone in a small locale found the local teacher’s personality suited to their individual spiritual needs.

Modern students must therefore not be discouraged from critically examining the teachers at their Dharma center. But even if they find the teacher not particularly suited to them, they can still benefit and learn from their presence. There is a great difference between gaining correct Dharma information from a teacher regarded as a more experienced spiritual friend and committing ourselves wholeheartedly to this person as our spiritual guide.

Foreign Buddhists are often confused by the titles of teachers. Many following the Tibetan tradition wish only to invite and receive teachings from Rinpoches. They act as if they themselves are so advanced that no one holding a lesser title can teach them anything.

Among the overseas Chinese communities of Southeast and East Asia, for instance, it is not enough to be even a Rinpoche. The visiting teachers must be a “His Holiness.” The number being called by this title has grown so large, its significance is fast becoming meaningless. Rather than being a sign of respect, these ever-loftier titles are an indication of the self-importance of the disciples who confer them.

A similar phenomenon occurred with the development of the tulku system. First there were incarnate lamas in Tibet. Then the trend began of identifying the famous predecessors in their incarnation lines going all the way back to the time of Shakyamuni Buddha. Although it may be that some of these tulkus had the advanced attainment of being able to know their previous lives, yet many of the reports of these lines appeared first in their religious biographies compiled by their devoted disciples. One suspects that a certain number of these previous lines were contrived by these disciples in order to make their teacher, and indirectly themselves, more holy and special than anyone else.

The Mongol rulers of China, followed by the native Chinese emperors of the Ming Dynasty and then the Manchu conquerors who replaced them, each, in their turn, granted ever more grandiose titles and status to certain special tulkus. In conferring high titles, these foreign and native rulers of China tried to demonstrate their own self-importance that they have the status to grant such names. With the Mongolian title “Khutugtu,” the Manchu emperors designated the highest incarnate lamas as administrative heads within the Mongol and northeastern Tibetan (Amdo) portions of their Qing Empire. In other words, they made them subservient to themselves by making them servants of the state.

The Manchu emperors hoped that through showing respect to the religious leaders of the Mongols and Amdo Tibetans by granting them high government positions, they would appease the religious sentiment of these potentially disloyal members of their empire and demonstrate themselves as the grand protectors and patrons of Buddhism. They required these Khutugtus periodically to visit Beijing and appear in the imperial court in order to make a show of lavishly honoring them. We must be very careful in our present-day fervor of granting titles of “His Holiness,” “His Supreme Holiness” and so on to our favorite senior Rinpoches, to guard against any similar tendency to try to manipulate our teachers through insistent invitations and ostentatious shows of respect which are actually made for our own self-aggrandizement.

The issue of using titles becomes even more complex when they are applied to spiritual teachers from non-traditional Buddhist backgrounds. When Western teachers are either given Asian titles such as lama or roshi by their Asian masters or adopt such titles on their own, there is a great danger of Western students misunderstanding these titles, let alone Asian Buddhists not taking them seriously. There is also the danger of these Western teachers succumbing to pride or pretension. His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama has advised that if Westerners feel they must use spiritual titles, it might be less confusing for them to adopt appropriately respectful ones from their own languages.

To clarify His Holiness’s intent, we need to differentiate two types of honorific titles: those that signify an academic attainment or a position in a hierarchy and those that imply a high level of spiritual attainment. The granting of the former is based on objective criteria, while conferral of the latter may be open to subjective opinion.

In the Tibetan tradition, the titles geshe, acharya and khenpo signify academic degrees granted after completing a specific course of study and passing rigorous examinations. Since the qualifications for receiving such degrees and being called by these titles is perfectly straightforward, there would be no confusion for Westerners to use these academic titles if they have earned them. The historical precedent is the Mongols’ use of the title gebshe, their pronunciation of the Tibetan geshe.

We must take care, however, not to grant specific Buddhist academic degrees after a diluted, shortened version of their traditional course of training. To do so makes a mockery of those Asians who have fully qualified for these degrees. We can invent different degree title names for Westerners following non-classical courses of Buddhist education, even if they entail studying the traditional subjects and texts.

Also, if Westerners are officially recognized as tulkus, there can be no questions about their being called “Rinpoche.” Historically, all tulkus born in Inner and Outer Mongolia, Buryatia, East Turkestan and the Himalayan kingdoms have been addressed by the title “Rinpoche.” There are also specific titles for abbots, holders of administrative positions in monasteries and so on. Sometimes the Mongols borrowed the Tibetan titles to refer to recipients of these hierarchic positions. Sometimes, they used other titles as well, some from their own language and others that are direct translations of the Tibetan. Like the Mongols, Westerners should feel free to choose whichever style of title appears most appropriate. The use of a foreign word as a title is certainly not necessary and might be quite confusing when its meaning is not generally understood.

The second class of titles, such as “Lama” and “Roshi,” signify a level of spiritual attainment, and their use by Westerners is undoubtedly the main issue His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama is addressing. Let us examine the history of the word “lama” to see what lessons can be learned.

In traditional Tibet, “lama,” although used for members of the Tantric Colleges in Lhasa, was a title reserved primarily for tulkus. Thus, we have the Western expression “incarnate lama.” At the end of the sixteenth century, the Mongol ruler, Altan Khan, conferred the title “Dalai Lama” on the greatest Tibetan tulku of that time. People also used “lama” to refer to great masters of widely recognized spiritual attainment even if they were not incarnates. Implicit with the term was that its recipients had achieved the level at which they could start a line of tulkus if they so chose, or at least most people believed they had.

When certain other cultures receiving their Buddhism from Tibet, however, adopted the term “lama,” they garbled its use. In Ladakh, for instance, people call all monks “lamas,” and in Buryatia, people use this title for anyone associated with a monastery, even for those who are not celibate monks. Although the title was intended for showing respect, one could hardly say that all its recipients had attained to a high level of realization and practice. The title became very confusing, and its significance as an indicator of advanced spiritual attainment was totally compromised.

In recent times, in some of the Kagyu traditions, certain masters have allowed many of their Tibetan, Bhutanese and even a number of Western disciples, upon completion of a classical three-year intensive meditational retreat, to use the title “lama.” This confuses the meaning of the term even more. Although the title is intended as an honorific, it is quite possible for some of its recipients to have simply gone through the external motions of the retreat and not to have realized or attained to anything.

It is perhaps better, then, to learn the lesson from history and for such persons who have completed these retreats not to use this title, even if their spiritual masters have given them permission to do so. Their use will render the title “lama” into a generic term with little spiritual meaning, as is the case in Ladakh and Buryatia, and will only cause confusion among disciples. As His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama has suggested, if it is beneficial for Westerners who have completed this retreat to use a title, it might be less confusing to use an appropriately respectful one from their own language. Such a title should merely signify their completion of a retreat and, like a monastic academic degree title, not necessarily imply any great level of spiritual attainment.

It is difficult to set objective qualifications and standards for granting a title that indicate spiritual attainment. The cross-cultural differences between modern Westerners and traditional Asian Buddhists make it even more difficult to ascertain someone’s level of inner development. In fact, Shakyamuni Buddha said that only a fully enlightened being can know the level of spiritual attainment of someone else.

Furthermore, since Western people are often skeptical, and particularly suspicious of charlatans, it might be best for Westerners to avoid using any titles that imply a spiritual attainment. If a title must be used, it is much safer to use one that is spiritually neutral and that indicates merely the completion of a course of training. Then there can be no dispute about whether one has qualified for the title, and those who bear them can perhaps more easily avoid the pitfall of becoming spiritually pretentious.

One must always sincerely check one’s motivation for using a title. The only legitimate reason is if it will benefit one’s students. Whether or not it will do so depends on the cultural values and customs of the audience. Overseas Chinese of Southeast and East Asia will only respect someone with a high-sounding title. For the most part, they cannot appreciate the Tibetan Kadam style of modesty and hiding one’s own good qualities. But still, one must be careful not to hide one’s faults behind the ostentatious use of a grandiose title, otherwise there is the danger of hypocrisy and pretense. In some Western societies like Australia, on the other hand, people find titles, even academic ones, snobbish and stiff. If these titles sound Asian, people make fun of them, thinking of swamis and Indian rope tricks. We must carefully evaluate which ways of showing respect are the most befitting for each society.

We must also evaluate the effect on people when Western Buddhists use Tibetan or Sanskrit Buddhist names. Generally, in the Tibetan tradition, people, even foreigners, receive a Buddhist name in Tibetan when they formally take refuge and another one at each tantric initiation they take. Hardly anyone would use these names except in certain ceremonies when one is asked to repeat one’s religious name. Normally, Buddhists only change their name formally when they become a monk or a nun.

Historically, the Mongol, Uighur and Tuvan Buddhists have taken Tibetan personal names transcribed in their own versions of Tibetan pronunciation. But usually, they are given these names at birth. They follow the Tibetan custom regarding the use of religious names received later in their lives.

The Christian custom is also for people to change their name to a religious one when they become monks or nuns. Westerners do not generally adopt a religious name when they accept a new faith. If they did so, most people would consider that they had joined a dangerous cult that brainwashed them into rejecting everything of their past. Although most people might be tolerant of an Asian name in a Westerner wearing Buddhist robes, they are likely to be suspect of a layperson bearing an Asian name, even if that person were a spiritual teacher. They would naturally ask, what is this person trying to prove by using an Asian name?

When Buddhism has become well-established in the West and people are familiar with the names of some of its more outstanding figures, then the Mongol custom of giving Buddhist names at birth may become more acceptable. It would be similar to Christians naming their children after saints. But for devout Buddhist parents to give their child an Asian name before society has reached this stage is often insensitive and can sometimes be cruel. The child may later be taunted and mocked by their peers.

Another danger is for Westerners to become involved in Asian Dharma politics and power struggles between the factions around teachers, which is both irrelevant to their spiritual practice and none of their business. On several occasions, Central Asians have intervened in Tibetan religio-political disputes. In so doing, they have merely succeeded in diverting their focus from Dharma to active participation in power politics.

The Khoshut (Qoshut) Mongols, for instance, ended the civil war in mid-seventeenth century central Tibet by their military invasion and then installed the Fifth Dalai Lama as the head of state of Tibet. This war had involved sectarian religious persecution but was basically a front for several factions seeking political gain. Afterwards, for many years the Khoshuts exercised the power behind the Tibetan throne.

At the beginning of the eighteenth century, first the Dzungar Mongols and then the Manchus in turn sent military forces to Tibet to interfere in the succession controversies concerning the Sixth and the Seventh Dalai Lamas. The Tibetans soon realized they had to expel both of them from their country since once there, these foreigners themselves became involved in power politics. They drove out the Dzungars, but then for the next half century, the Dzungars, Khalkha Mongols and Manchus engaged in a three-way war, with each side claiming to be the champions of Dharma.

The Tibetans were unsuccessful in driving out from their country the Manchus and the Chinese forces that came with them, and as a result, great damage to Buddhism and Tibet ensued over the next centuries. The Manchus’ practice of Dharma became compromised as the Manchu emperors of China announced, even publicly, that they were using their support of Buddhism as a way to control the Mongols and Tibetans, and make them part of their empire.

His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama has said that politics is not necessarily dirty and that a bodhisattva who wishes to benefit society can use service in government to bring about this aim. Some of the early Chinese Buddhists had stressed the same in their attempt to harmonize Buddhism with Confucian ethics. But participation of religious practitioners in power politics is very different from constructive public service through work in government.

At present, many Westerners are becoming involved in the religio-political controversy concerning the identification of the Seventeenth Karmapa. Such controversies are nothing new in Tibetan history. In the first half of the seventeenth century, a dispute concerning the identification of the incarnation of Pema Karpo led to a split in the Drugpa Kagyu tradition with one of the candidates moving to Bhutan and founding the Southern Drugpa lineage. Since the Tibetans are capable themselves of resolving internal problems such as these through mechanisms found in the Dharma itself, there is no benefit or need for foreigners to interfere and take sides. Emotional involvement will only distract them from their Buddhist practice.

Many Western Buddhists regard their teachers and their lineages with a “football team mentality.” Viewing them as their own team, they then feel competitive hostility towards all other teachers and Buddhist traditions. The flames of their sectarianism are often fanned by their Asian and Western teachers, who themselves are not immune from these feelings. But when we examine the advice of the greatest Buddhist masters, we find they firmly support a nonsectarian approach.

The history of Tibet is filled with examples of sectarian struggles that have led to disasters and were not supported by the spiritual masters of those who led them. At the end of the fifteenth century, for instance, the Fourth Shamarpa became the spiritual and political counsellor of the Prince of Rinpung, whose noble family in western central Tibet were supporters of the Karma Kagyu line. Their political rivals in eastern central Tibet were patrons of the Gelug tradition. When the Prince took over control of all of central Tibet, the Fourth Shamarpa convinced him to exclude the Gelug monks of Sera and Drepung Monasteries from the Monlam (Great Prayer Festival) in Lhasa, which he did for twenty years.

Over the next century and a quarter, the Fifth and Sixth Shamarpas advised and encouraged the Tsang kings, who superseded the princes of Rinpung, in their suppression of the Gelug monasteries. The Shamarpa line was so prominent in the political struggles against the Gelug that some Western writers coined the term “Red Hat Lamas,” the translation of Shamarpa’s titular name, as a synonym for all non-Gelug Lamas, even though no such term exists in Tibetan. Throughout this period, the Seventh, Eighth, Ninth and Tenth Karmapas, the head of the Karma Kagyu tradition, decried the violence and tried in vain to mediate these sectarian disputes.

In the mid-seventeenth century, when the Khoshut Mongols from northeastern Tibet killed the Sixth Shamarpa and the last Tsang king and established the Fifth Dalai Lama as political ruler of all Tibet, the Tenth Karmapa assured the Dalai Lama of peace between the Karma Kagyu and Gelug traditions. The Fifth Dalai Lama returned to the Karmapa the Karma Kagyu monasteries seized by the Gelug after suppressing a rebellion led by a Karma Kagyu supporter. When the Fifth Dalai Lama established himself as the spiritual head of Tibet and decreed the seating order, rank and height of the thrones of all the lamas below him, he placed the Karmapa on the rank immediately beneath him, together with the head of the Sakyas.

When the Dzungar Mongols, about thirty years later, stormed into Tibet, they razed many Nyingma monasteries to the ground in a fanatic defense of the Gelug tradition. We have already mentioned the catastrophic results of their military venture. Shortly afterwards, however, the Seventh Dalai Lama not only rebuilt these Nyingma monasteries, but conferred upon several of them the highly esteemed official position of performing ritual ceremonies for the Tibetan government.

Thus, we should try in the West to follow the example of the Karma Kagyu, Nyingma and Sakya masters of southeastern Tibet (Khams) who in the nineteenth century founded the “Rime” Nonsectarian Movement. They collected the rare teachings and lineages of all the traditions of Tibet, including Bon, and worked to preserve and transmit them all. Even if we ourselves follow one particular Buddhist tradition, it is important to respect and preserve all the lineages and techniques that Buddha taught so that everyone will have the opportunity to choose the methods most suited to them.

His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama has recommended that it is very helpful not to think of ourselves as following a unique tradition’s path, but to consider ourselves simply Buddhists. Then for specific areas in which we need clarification, we can take more detail from whichever tradition gives the fullest presentation of that point, incorporating and adapting it to our own spiritual path.