Simulating Liberation: The Tibetan Buddhist Game “Ascending the Spiritual Levels
by Jens Schlieter
This contribution examines the soteriological conception of the Tibetan / Nepali Buddhist game “ascending the spiritual levels” (sa gnon rnam bzhags), a game that belongs to the group of “Chutes and Ladders” board games. Already in medieval India, these games were used by various traditions for the purpose
of demonstrating soteriological paths. The Tibetan game visualizes the respective characteristics (including the effectiveness and the dangers) of different Buddhist spiritual paths.
By applying ludological and narrative approaches taken from recent methodological discussions of digital games, the contribution discusses the question of whether the structure of the game can be described by the logic of “simulation,” “narration,” or both. Given that
the game induces that its Buddhist players identify themselves with their individual way through the game (with the workings of karma?), and that karma in this game is determined by throwing a cubic die (so, by mere chance — at least from an etic perspective), the game may modify or even subversively undermine a certain conception of karma. Finally, the “soteriological” nature of the game can be taken as a hermeneutic tool for a broader perspective,
namely, the possible analysis of the “religious ludology” of other primarily “non-religious” board games.
Every Game is its Rules. David Parlett, The Oxford History of Board Games
The differentiation of levels and paths, And even the attainment of Buddhahood — all these Are of conventional reality and are not ultimate. Having understood this kind of distinction, If you are going to practice rites, practice them all — Otherwise, forgo them all. Sakya Paṇḍita, A Clear Differentiation of the Three Codes
1. The Game “Ascending the [[[Spiritual]]] Levels” — or, Simulating Liberation I will focus on the soteriological conception of the Tibetan / Nepali Buddhist game “ascending the [[[spiritual]]] levels” (sa gnon rnam bzhags).1 This game, supposedly designed by the famous Tibetan scholar-monk Sa skya paṇḍita Kun dga’
rgyal mtshan (1182–1251) on the basis of an Indian / Nepali game called nāgapāśa (“Nāgas [[[Wikipedia:snakes|snakes]]] and dice,” or: “Nāga-traps”), belongs to the group of “Chutes and Ladders” board games. Already in medieval India, these games were used for the purpose of demonstrating soteriological paths, e.g., the Jain variant “Game of Wisdom,” Gyan Chaupar / jñān chaupār, or the Hindu Bhakti variant “board of liberation,” mokṣa-paṭa.2 At first view, this soteriological
dimension has been lost in the journey of the game to the West. The Tibetan Buddhist game board with its up to 104 squares simulates the spiritual paths not only of the three major Buddhist vehicles (hearers, bodhisattvas, and Tantric adepts), but also of Hindu, Bon, and Muslim traditions. Each move in the
game, determined by casting a die, symbolizes the karma of the player, taking him up or down, and, finally, propels him to reach nirvana. Combining fun with didactics, the game demonstrates how final liberation can be achieved only by the two Mahayana Buddhist paths (bodhisattva- and vajra-yāna). All other paths, including the Buddhist Hinayana vehicle, end in blind alleys. Scrutinized more thoroughly, the game visualizes a specific interpretation of the effectiveness, as well as the risks and dangers, of the two Mahayana paths. In the initial phase of the game, players are confronted with asynchronous, highly contingent ups and downs; later in the game, safer moves show how advanced Mahayana Buddhists can — “in this world” — enjoy the fruits of their
practice as well as the certainty of final liberation in the future. More specifically, I will try to answer the following questions: (1) Focusing on the “soteriological” time schedule, or “time management” offered for the different liberation paths, I will try to show how the design of this game fulfils its task.
(2) Applying ludological and narrative approaches taken from recent methodological discussions of digital games, I will discuss the question of
1 I would like to thank my colleagues Karénina Kollmar-Paulenz and Frank Neubert for helpful comments.
2 See Topsfield 2006a: Instant karma, 79.
whether the structure of the game can be described by the logic of “simulation,” or the logic of “narration,” or both. (3) Finally, I would like to discuss how the “attraction” and “fun” of this game can be contextualized in relation to Buddhist practice. Should we conclude that this game primarily functions as a pedagogical means to visualize the different paths and their inner temporality — being nothing more than an “illustration”? The “simulation” approach
may point to another aspect: Given that (a) the game induces that its Buddhist players (at least to a certain degree) identify themselves with their individual way through the game (with the workings of karma?), and that (b) the “karma” in this game is determined by throwing a cubic die (so, by mere chance — at least from an etic perspective), one may ask if this game modifies or even subversively undermines a certain conception of karma. If this holds true, we may conclude that this game “simulates” contingent workings of karma (traditionally, the wholesome or negative qualities of actions performed with
the mind, mouth, or body), but, by simulating it incompletely, opens up the possibility of a less “causal” interpretation of karma. Finally, the apparent religious nature of the game can be taken as a hermeneutic tool for a broader perspective, namely, the possible analysis of the “religious ludology” of other well-known non-religious board games.
2. Buddhism, Chance, and Board Games Generally speaking, games and plays do not “score high” in the Early Buddhist tradition. The most famous example seems to be the passage from the Brahmajāla Sutta, D I: “Whereas some ascetics and Brahmins remain addicted to such games and idle pursuits as eight- or ten-row chess, ‘chess in the air,’ hopscotch, spillikins, dicing, hitting sticks, […] ball games […], playing with toy windmills, […] guessing letters, […] the ascetic Gotama refrains from such idle pursuits” (D I.7).3 A number of other passages in the Pali canon display a critical attitude toward games and play,
focusing, for example, on the possible ruinous effect of gambling,4 or the stereotype of the betraying dice-player.5 Even later, in a play of Śūdraka, Mṛcchakaṭika (“Little Clay Cart,” around 400 AD), a strong dichotomy between the teachings of the Buddha and the engagement in games can be observed. This
play depicts a miserable, poor dice player who turns to the doctrine of the Buddha with the words “I’m fed up with the life of a gambler. I’ve made up my mind to become a Buddhist monk! Please remember always when the wretched masseur-turned-gambler took to the life of religion” (End of act II).6 However,
even Gautama the young Buddha-to-be seems to have enjoyed gaming and playing, as the hagiographical account of the Nidānakathā narrates. Observing the activities of the sixteen-year old, people spread rumors in his family: “Siddhatta is constantly absorbed in playing; he does not learn even one of the
arts. What will he do if a violent conflict arises?”7 Important aspects for the questions raised here can be drawn from certain texts which bring together the fortune of the play with karma. A very interesting passage from the Aṅguttara-Nikāya uses the metaphor of a dice game for the workings of karma: “Just
as a perfect throw of dice, when thrown upwards, will come to rest firmly wherever it falls, similarly, due to those tainted failures in living caused by unwholesome volition, beings will be reborn in the plane of misery, in a bad destination, in the lower world, in hell [8]. I declare, monks, that actions willed, performed and accumulated will not become extinct as long as their results have not been experienced, be it in this life, the next life or in
subsequent future lives” (A X. 206).9
4 Compare SN 6.9 (S I.186), Tudu Brahmā Sutta: “Trifling the evil luck of one / Who by the dice doth lose his wealth. / But greater far his evil luck, /
Who ’gainst the Blessed Saints on earth / Doth set his heart at enmity” (Rhys Davids 1993: The Book of Kindred Sayings, Part I, 188). 5 See, for instance, Jātakas 62 and 91, or Dīgha Nikāya 23, where game, play (p. kīḷana), and akkha (vedic akṣá, “game”; “die”) are described in that way; compare additionally Lüders 1907: Das Würfelspiel im alten Indien. 6 Basham 1994: The Little Clay Cart, 52. 7 My translation; Pali text in Fausbøll 1990: The Jātaka Together
with its Commentary, vol. I, 63: “siddhattho kīḷāpasutova vicarati, na kiñci sippaṃ sikkhati, saṅgāme paccupaṭṭhite kiṃ karissatī”; compare Jayawickrama 1990: The Story of Gotama Buddha, 78, who translates “he passes his days in the enjoyment of pleasures.” 8 This equation makes sense — traditional Indian dice had just four significant sides (a long-sided die). 9 Tr. by Nyanaponika Thera 1990: Numerical Discourses of the Buddha, 267.
Although the simile of the “perfect throw” might eventually derive from non-Buddhist literature, it is used here to visualize the workings of karma. The simile compares the incalculable contingency of a throw arriving at a definite state with the (allegedly incalculable) failure of unwholesome human
behavior resulting likewise in a definite state — rebirth in hell. Understanding karma and rebirth in terms of the “good fortune” or “bad luck” of dice throws seem, therefore, not to be an extraordinary or distorted interpretation. In the later developments of the Buddhist traditions, which I will not be able to outline here, playing and entertainment with games (but not: gambling) seem to have gained a positive rehabilitation.10 I will now proceed with a methodological remark; after that I will turn to a description of the family of games of “snake and ladders,” to which the Tibetan board game belongs.
3. Methodological Approach: Ludology / Simulation Versus Narrative / Representation Recent studies of digital games have proposed to distinguish between ludological and narratological approaches. According to the narratological view, games are understood as forms of narrative such as a novel. In this scenario, games tell a story with different sequences, situations, and some kind of ending. Thus, games can be studied by analyzing their recounted text
using theories of narrative. Conversely, the ludological study focuses on the specific internal structure, i.e., the abstract and formal systems inherent in the structure of games. These rules, usually not to be altered in a running game, limit the number of players; they regulate the tempo of a game, the possible moves, and so on. In short: Narrative approaches intend to analyze games as some kind of fictional “representation,” while ludological approaches in their stricter sense analyze games as “particular way[s] of structuring simulation.”11 “To simulate,” Frasca defines, “is to model a (source) system
through a different system which maintains to somebody some of the behaviors of the original system.”12 In simulation 10 For example in the “Lotus-Sutra” (Saddharmapuṇḍarika-sūtra), chapter II, 81: “The little boys even, who in playing erected here and there heaps of sand with the intention of dedicating them as Stūpas to the Jinas, they have all of them reached enlightenment” (Kern 2002: The Saddharma-Puṇḍarīka, 50). 11
theory, therefore, the major interest of the observer pertains to the rules and the internal design of the game, not on the representational elements. The latter can be changed easily and are, therefore, quite often only incidental. Digital games, however, may offer some kind of “reaction” by simulating different scenarios which lead the player in different worlds. In my view, those two approaches are not contradictory but highlight different dimensions of
certain games. As I will try to show in the subsequent analysis, a combination of the two approaches makes sense, at least for the “Game of Liberation.” The difference of analyzing games in terms of narratology or ludology is mirrored in different procedures in developing a game. There are “authors” of game
narrations, but “designers” of game rules.13 By adapting a certain framework of rules for the “liberation game,” the designer displayed his beliefs of the probability and “rank” of certain events — e.g., how likely it will be for adherents of the Mahayana paths to reach final liberation (in terms of necessary
moves). This assumption about the probability of certain events in the game “is well hidden inside the model not as a piece of information but as a rule.”14 The hermeneutical model of simulation allows a more accurate analysis of the specific structure of digital games which are (1) not bound to a fixed serial sequence of events; (2) players, therefore, could go through several different versions and iterations of the story; (3) players are often
enabled by the game rules to decide where to interrupt, depart, or restart the game (to name just some specifics). Certainly, these elements of modern digital games are not to be found in the Buddhist board game. From Frasca’s perspective, all traditional board games might be described as “representational,” since they do not have the specific “input-outputloop” of computer games. Yet, one may stick to the “creative” moment of representation
as mentioned by Parlett: “How representational a game
13 Examples of the adaptability of game “narratives” could be given by various attempts of game designers to subvert the free-market ideology of games such as “Monopoly” simply by changing the designation of certain squares, but not the internal structure of the game. A well-known example for such an attempt to use an existent game for a new ideological purpose is the French “revolution game” (Jeu de la Révolution Française) that used “goose games” (Jeux de l’Oie) as prototype model (compare Leith 1996: La Pédagogie à travers les jeux; Mohn 2004: Kunst als Medium der Zeit). 14 Frasca 2003: 228.
is depends on the level at which it is being played and the extent of the player’s imagination.”15 In the special case of the Tibetan board game, the players “simulate” (according to the definition above) the workings of good and bad karma, i.e., the cycle of rebirth and final liberation. The first move
of the players entering the game is, no doubt, an act of simulated “reincarnation”: The player’s piece is “born” into the six realms. However, not every square is reached through reincarnation. Some moves seem to be more appropriately described as “self-transformative training” (such as the uppermost row, consisting of life events of the historical Buddha). Nevertheless, a certain combination of rebirths leads to the final liberation, which makes the name “game of liberation” plausible.
4. “Games of Liberation”: History and General Description Today, the games of the “Chutes and Ladders”-type (like the “Leiterli” game played in the German-speaking parts of Switzerland) form a type of children’s game played with two or more players on a numbered, grid-like game board with squares. Originally,
the game came from India to Europe and the West (in the United States as “Chutes and Ladders,” marketed by Milton Bradley since 1943). In the 1890s, the game appeared in Victorian England. In his studies of the original Indian versions of the game, Andrew Topsfield arrived at the conclusion that almost all
religious traditions in India had their version of the game, which he describes thus: The surviving Vaiṣṇava, Jain, and Muslim versions of gyān chaupar are all of an elaborate and fully evolved character, and in the first two cases at least can be presumed to have undergone a lengthy period of development which is now obscure. All these versions are fundamentally similar. In each case the player embarks on a kind of Pilgrim’s Progress, in which, according to the throw of a die (or dice) or cowries, his piece ascends from the lower squares, inscribed with the names of hellish states and earthly vices, to the
higher, representing more advanced spiritual states and heavenly realms, and thus ultimately to the winning square, the abode of the supreme Deity or final Liberation.16 Most forms of the game consist of 72 squares (e.g., the Tibetan Buddhist block-print variant), some have 84 (Jain) or even more (104, or up to 360 squares). Using — in further developed variants — Chutes and Ladders, they allow on these squares a contingent rise or downfall: Landing on a
square with a ladder, the player can progress up the board to the top of the ladder, skipping the squares in between. A square with a snake head, on the contrary, forces the player to slide down the snake to its tail (or even worse: to get swallowed by the snake) and to repeat certain rows of the board. The player who first reaches the top square (mostly in the middle of the utmost row) of the board wins. In the Indian versions, snakes symbolize vices and the
ladders virtues. Negative, selfish behaviors — such as greed, disobedience, deceit, anger, pride, ignorance — serve as roadblocks to the progress toward final liberation. Virtues, on the other hand, include charity, compassion, devotion, knowledge. Played with a four-sided die, the board represents the karmic progress in a series of subsequent lives, ultimately leading to liberation. In the lower realms, the players are threatened by a possible downfall
to different hells represented by certain squares of lower rungs.17 It may be added that in China, Korea and Japan, a rather secular variant of a game belonging to this game family is known as the “promotion game,” simulating the complex promotion system in state officials.18 The historical relationships between these different games are not clear. According to Topsfield, very few surviving boards of the Indian variant date from prior to the 18th century;
none seems to date from prior to the 16th century.19 It seems highly probable that these games are forerunners of the Tibetan Buddhist game: The Vaiṣṇava versions in particular […] have assimilated many disparate strands of Hindu social, religious, and philosophical thought in their nomenclatures. It is also not unlikely that a Buddhist form of the game may have existed in northern India during the Pala-Sena period. The still popular Tibetan Buddhist game of
“Determination of the Ascension of Stages,” which originally used a 72-square (8 × 9) board, could have been derived from an Indian form of the game.20 Deepak Shimkada argued that the origin of the game may be Buddhist, because the number of 72 squares fits well with its cosmological and 17 A lively impression of the Jain version of the game can be found at the digitalized version of the Victoria and Albert Museum: http://www.vam.ac.uk/vastatic/ microsites/1414_jain/snakesandladders/ (25.10. 2010). 18 Finkel 1995: Notes on two Tibetan Dice Games, 34 (and further references). 19 Topsfield 1985: 212.
numerological meaning in Indian Buddhism.21 This hypothesis of a Buddhist origin is not very convincing, since it lacks additional evidence. Micaela Soar recently showed that similar board games were well known in medieval and classical Hindu- and Jain-traditions. Illustrating depictions of games in
sculptural art, Soar cites the Jain work Ṛṣabhapañśikhā of Dhanapāla, composed in the late 10th century. It contains the following description of a game: “Like gamesmen, the living beings on the gaming board (Skt. phalaka / Prkt. phalaya) of the cycle of births (saṃsāra), although they are carried away by the dice / senses (Skt. akṣa / Prkt. akkha has both meanings), when they see you, O Jina, the place of refuge / square on a game board (paiṃ is the
Prākrit for Sanskrit pada), they become free from possession by prison (bandha), slaughter (Skt. vadha / Prkt. vaha) and death (maraṇa).”22 Soar points out that the author uses here a figurative style that allows for different interpretations. Unfortunately, no details of the board or pieces are given in the description. We can conclude that the pieces in the game are men (players), and the squares signify saṃsāra. A very interesting point is the
implication of a “safe place” the players may arrive at. Does this refer to the final quarter of Backgammon, as she suggests? Or does it point to the final liberation in some variant or forerunner of a “Chutes and Ladders” game after “the point of no return” (see below)?23 The average number of necessary moves of any version of “Chutes and Ladders” can be calculated by the Markov chain. A Markov chain, named after the mathematician Andrei A. Markov (1856–1922),
“concerns about a sequence of random variables, which correspond to the states of a certain system, in such a way that the state at one time epoch depends only on the one in the previous time epoch.”24 In the “game of liberation” the odds of moving from any square to any other square are fixed and, moreover, independent in relation to previous moves. In the modern popular American version of “Chutes and Ladders” with its 100 squares and 19 chutes and ladders, a
player can win the game with 7 rolls; however, an average of 39.6 spins will be needed in order to move from the starting point to square 100.25 21 Shimkada 1983: A Preliminary Study of the Game of Karma, 321–322. 22 Soar 2007: Board Games and Backgammon, 208. Prakrit: “sārviva bandhavahamaraṇa-bhāiṇo jiṇa na huṃti paiṃ ditṭhe akkhe hiṃ vi hīrantā jīvā saṃsāraphalayammi” (cited according to Soar). 23 Similar Topsfield 2006b: Snakes and ladders, 89, Note
2. 24 Ching / Michael 2006: Markov Chains, 1. 25 Althoen / King / Schilling 1993: How Long Is a Game, 71–76.
More precisely, the Tibetan “Game of Liberation” can be represented as a “state-absorbing Markov chain”: the next state of the game depends only on the current status (the given square), independently from the future and past states. At each turn, the player starts from a given state on a certain square; and, since the players do not interact (e.g., they do not kick out pieces of others), they have fixed odds of moving from there to certain other squares.
5. Description of Two Versions of the Tibetan Game Older versions of the Tibetan game of Liberation seem to be lost.26 Mark Tatz and Jody Kent present in their book Rebirth — The Tibetan Game of Liberation (1978) a block-print which they take to be the oldest surviving example of the Buddhist version.27
Figure 1 Block print of “Ascending the Levels,” ascribed to Sa skya paṇḍita
This version is made of 9 × 8 squares; the highest square to be reached in the game is the “Field of the Dharmakāya” (chos sku’i zhing). Rather than being indicated by Chutes and Ladders, the moves connected to more distant squares are indicated by numbers, signifying the destinations, on each respective square. Above and below the game, on the board of Sa skya paṇḍita’s blockprinted version, some verses ascribed to him explain the purpose of the
26 I am not convinced of Finkel’s assumption (Finkel 1995: 43) that the first Western description of some variant of this game might be the one by Schlagintweit [1863] 1999: Buddhism in Tibet, 293–298. The “tables for indicating lucky and unlucky periods” discussed in Schlagintweit fail to have important features such as the liberation paths; they seem to be divination tables more accurately. A short description of a game named “Wheel of [cyclic]
Existence” (srid pa’i ‘khor lo), obviously belonging to the games of liberation, is described in Norbu / Harrer 1960: Tibet, verlorene Heimat, 95; compare Hummel / Brewster 1963: Games of the Tibetans, 8. 27 Judged from its printing technique, it appears to be rather recent — from the 19th century? The arrangement on the board, however, seems to represent a simpler, possibly older variant of the game. 28 Plate reproduced in Tatz / Kent 1978: Rebirth 11 (courtesy of Sakya Jigdal Dagchen Rinpoche, Seattle, USA).
game. After paying homage to Mañjuśrī, the Bodhisattva of wisdom, Sa skya paṇḍita describes the situation of being in the world as amassing karma. Very interesting are his explanations in regard to the workings of karma symbolized by the game, which will be discussed below. The second version of the game depicted here, which will be analyzed in detail, was painted on a Thangka by a young artist in Nepal in 1971. With its original size of around 47 × 50 cm,
this version of the game has 104 squares (13 rows of 8 squares). The way through the game board is determined by rolling a six-sided die. Depending on which of the six values of the Tibetan die (sa, a, ga, da, ra, ya)29 is obtained — the best throw being the “sa” (one), then “a” etc. — the player figures out his next destination. In an emic description of the game the mere chance of the die may nevertheless be interpreted as the workings of karma, and the travel of the “[players’] piece as the sign / symbol of the player’s individual karmic deeds” (so so’i las rtags rde’u rdzas), as the explanation on the printed board reads. This identification is substantiated by the rule that each player should use as his pawn a small item of his personal belongings, e.g., a ring.
The single squares of the board consist of heterogeneous representations of: (a) Cosmological landscapes and mythical topoi (the mount Meru, the four continents, Urgyan, the formless realm; or the eight different hells, heavens, Śambhala etc.); (b) States of liberation paths of the Hinayana and the Mahayana (including different aspects of gaining Buddhahood); (c) Certain gods (e.g., the heaven of the 33 gods; Yama, the god of death; Rudra, or Mahākāla) (d) Other religious traditions (“Hindu-tradition”; “barbarians”; Bon); (e) Certain meditational and other states of advanced practitioners (Hindu-knowledge-holder; Arhatship; etc.).31
29 Different versions of Tibetan dice are reproduced in Finkel 1995: 35–37; 40; 42; Tibetan dice games (sho rgyab pa) are described in Hummel / Brewster 1963. 30 Plate reproduced in Tatz / Kent 1978 (inclosure). 31 The heterogeneity of the fields (compare Hummel / Brewster 1963: 8) seems to be a didactic necessity of these games — a comparable mixture of historic
The goal of the game is to leave the suffering of samsara, which is to reach final nirvana, depicted in the game as square No. 104 (in the upper left corner). Conversely, the most horrific square is No. 1 (baseline row, in the right corner). This, the Vajra hell, is indeed a trap, because to leave this
hell one has to repeat all numbers of the cube according to its value, i.e., three times three, six times six, etc. A player with bad luck may indeed stay for the whole game in this hell.32 The game starts with square No. 24, the “great heavenly road” (lha’i lam chen). In the case of the square No. 24 the possible destinations of the next rebirth are: 1. the Realm of the four celestial kings (27); 2. = the Southern Continent (17); 3. = become an Asura (15);
4. = become an Animal (11); 5. = become a Hungry Ghost (10); 6. = go to the Reviving Hell (6). A player able to roll ten times the “2” will proceed via the Tantric path to the Dharmakāya (square No. 92); with 19 throws, talented lucky ones can enter final nirvana. However, playing this game usually takes a
long time; some players spend hours in a round trip through a variety of hells. More or less consistent, the game board follows the logic of the three different realms (of sensual desire, of pure form, and formlessness). The four lowermost rows are devoted to the six karmic destinations (kāmadhātu): first, eight hells; in the second row, asuras, animals, hungry ghosts etc.; in the third, the four continents and other areas of human existence (including
the non-Buddhist religions); and in the fourth row, gods and heavenly spheres. The fifth row consists of squares with states of the “path of the hearers,” the Śravakayāna, but, to the right, one can enter already the more advanced Tantric paths (the small path of accumulation). Further rows on the right side show the higher steps of the Tantric paths, whereas on the left side the Mahayana path (the Sutra-path) is depicted.33 Some further squares in the middle
show the highest states of Hinayana paths, and mythical or heavenly topoi such as Śambhala, the Potala, or Buddha-fields. events, virtues etc. can be found in the “French Revolution Game” (compare Reichardt 1989: Das Revolutionsspiel). 32 The possibly long duration of the game is confirmed by the description in Norbu / Harrer 1960: 95. 33 This three-partite model of Buddhist traditions can be found in various doxographical
texts, not to mention the systematization of the Tibetan Buddhist canon collection of the “word” (bka’ ‘gyur) with its three major divisions “Vinaya” (‘dul ba), “Sūtra” (mdo) and “Tantra” (rgyud).
Beginning with row 10, some squares eliminate the risk to fall back in lower states. At these places only one value of the die is given, and if this number occurs, the player moves to the next higher square. In row 12, the peak states of the Bodhisattva- and the Tantra-paths are located, and aspects of Buddhahood, such as the Dharmakāya. Row 13, finally, comprises some important topoi of the hagiography of Buddha Śākyamuni (to enter a physical form, sprul sku; the great leave; extreme asceticism; defeating Māra; awakening; turning the wheel of the law; to work wonders, and finally, entering nirvana). In this row, the player has to move one-by-one through every square. Since the narrated events are taken from Gautama Siddhārtha’s hagiography, one may interpret this whole row as consisting of one single life. Entering nirvana is only possible for those who took the physical form of a Buddha and went through the significant steps of his hagiography.
6. Simulating Liberation In accordance with Mahayana Buddhist philosophy, the game illustrates to its players that final liberation is just a matter of time. Therefore, from a point of view of “absolute truth” or “definite meaning,” the cycle of rebirth simulated in the game is to be characterized as
“emptiness”; or, to put it in other words, every player may be able to “experience” liberation right from the start of the game.34 The “wit” of the game is simulated karma, that is, simulation of the soteriological future. The attractiveness of this simulation could lie, more precisely, in its contrast to the convictions shared by the players about each other’s karmic “qualities.” Quite often, I assume, the game may send “the good guy in hell and the bad guy in
heaven.” The “wit” of the game, therefore, seems to depend on the interaction among the players. Absorbed in their pleasure and thrill, they get (without reserve) involved in the pedagogical purpose of the “liberation” game — to allude to the Buddhist concept: a well-composed “skill in means.”35 34 If the world is characterized as a cosmic play (as in certain Hindu traditions), the “game of liberation” might well represent a play of a play, a
simulation of a simulation. 35 Many games have their roots in educational technologies, and their pedagogical value was only recently emphasized, for example in Miller 2008: Games. Purpose and Potential in Education, 5–12. J
Looking at the two winning Buddhist paths more thoroughly, one can detect highly interesting features. Figure 3 Important rule structures in a Tibetan “Game of Liberation”
Very clearly the path of the Tantra vehicle is faster than the Sutra vehicle; it allows for large jumps on the board (e.g., one may get from square No. 25 directly to square No. 72, “knowledge holder of the eight siddhis”). In the words of Sa skya paṇḍita: “The seeds planted through the Mantra system ripen to harvest within a single day.”36 At the same time it is more dangerous, because if at the square No. 33 (“Small Path of accumulation,” sngags tsogs lam
chung ba) a player’s die shows a “6,” he will descend to the “vajra hell” (No. 1, rdo dmyal pa [sic]). Symbolized by this downfall are the consequences of breaking Tantric vows. Again Sa skya paṇḍita, citing the Mahāmudrātilakatantra: “Whosoever, out of pride, explains tantras and precepts to the uninitiated / causes both master and pupil to be reborn in hell immediately upon their deaths.”37 A very interesting detail of the game design, however,
is hidden in the following rule structure: (1) If someone descends to the Vajra-hell, which is only possible from square No. 33, one must first execute the full number of throws as described above, but after that one is able to proceed to square No. 9 (Yama, lord of Death). From there one gets with a chance of 50% directly back to a higher square within the Tantric path (No. 42); however, one may have to divert to square No. 34, Mahākāla, and from there on via a
Buddha field (No. 70) to the Sutra Path (e.g., No. 71). And, again from square No. 33, a second possible downfall leads to Rudra (16); a square from where a departure is only possible with a “2,” but yet again this leads with a high probability back to the Tantric path (via Mahākāla, No. 34). On the whole, this rule structure follows the idea “once a Tantric practitioner — (nearly) for ever a Tantric practitioner.” (2) The “point of no return,” where it is no
longer possible to leave the Tantric path, is reached by entering No. 66 (the “first Tantra level,” sngags sa dang po). This square signifies the reception of an initiation necessary for progressing on the Tantric path as a teacher (and concomitantly to leave the status as a “novice”). By this rule —
attributing “no return” to this square — the importance of this initiation is stressed, too. The 14 usual Tantric vows (Skt. samaya, Tib. dam tshig) require receiving empowerment from a Tantric master — and to hold the guru in highest esteem. The Tantric master guides his students through difficult practices; however, if a practitioner is not able to hold or fulfill a vow, a breach of the vow in question is implied, which is reflected in every field
by the “downfall” to another field.38 Tantric practice is indeed understood as dangerous. Consequently, the downfalls are “deeper”: “Breaking tantric samaya is more harmful than breaking other vows. It is like falling from an airplane compared to falling from a horse.”39 According to Buddhist historiography, Sa skya paṇḍita admonished his contemporaries to act according to the vows. This impetus can be seen in his work A Clear Differentiation of the Three Codes (sdom gsum rab gye) as well: it explains in detail the different vows of the individual path of the Vinaya, the Bodhisattva and the Vajra vows.40 Roughly speaking, the individual path consists of Vinaya vows or traditional monastic morality, its ideal of individual liberation leading to a certain state of perfection; the Bodhisattva or Mahāyāna path consists of vows which emphasize the cultivation of boddhicitta, or the compassionate thought
of bringing happiness and enlightenment to all sentient beings. Compared to the Tantric path, the “ordinary” Mahāyāna Buddhist Path depicted on the upper left side of the game board is indeed slower, yet more secure, because it does not imply the possible downfall in “traps.” 38 Compare Sakya Paṇḍita 2002; Sparham 2000: Fulfillment of All Hopes. Guru Devotion in Tibetan Buddhism; Sparham (trans.) 2005: Tsoṅ-kha pa (esp. 45–62
[the vows]; 79–113 [the downfalls]). The 14 vows are usually: (1) disparaging ones guru(s); (2) intentionally breaking a promise related to the Prātimokṣa, Mahayana, or Tantric ethics; (3) to hate a “spiritual friend” or vajra brother / sister as adepts of the same guru; (4) abandoning love for sentient beings; (5) give up bodhicitta; (6) cynical or ironical attitudes toward the spiritual doctrine; (7) indiscretion about secrets; (8) to despise the five aggregates; (9) disbelief in the central importance of emptiness; (10) not to use violence if required to have sympathy for “malicious” persons; (11) to give up the belief in emptiness; (12) to cause regret in the minds of beings who have faith; (13) not to rely on samaya; (14) to disrespect women. 39 Thondup 1996: Preface, x. 40 Compare Sakya Paṇḍita 2002: 95.
Moreover, only the 9th and 10th square of the Mahāyāna-path (Nos 94 and 95) allow to move to square No. 84, which implies in the next step to “realize the dharmakāya body of the Buddhas,” whereas this can be reached from four squares of the Tantric path. The “point of no return” of the Mahāyāna Paths is
reached by entering the “first Sūtra level” (mdo sa dang po), which is in fact the first level of the Bodhisattva path (bodhisattvabhūmi). This level, called “great pleasure,” is intended for the practitioner to train the “perfection of giving” (dānapāramitā). It is, however, not exclusively leading to a Bodhisattva career: From this first Sutra level, one may depart with a “3” to the third Tantric level (No. 74). Nevertheless, if two players enter
simultaneously the two different paths, for the reasons that we have seen, the adepts of the Tantric path will definitely be faster. On the lower levels of the Mahayana depicted in the game, i.e., the entrance to the Mahayana in square No. 51, there are even more diversions to lower squares.
7. Conclusion As could be seen, players of the game will experience by their individual progression through the game an asynchronous “soteriological” time schedule. By its rules determining the “plausibilities” of progression and downfalls, the game carries out certain inter- and inner-religious discourses on
the “efficacy,” dangers and goals of liberation paths. According to the narrative approach of describing games, one could interpret the player’s individual liberation paths — formed by playing the game — as hypothetic spiritual biographies. Moreover, every square could be interpreted as “triggering” (in
religious specialists) certain narratives (e.g., what does it mean to achieve an “Arhat” status?). Yet does this narrative description alone suffice? An important factor is the interpretation of the individual paths as an outcome of personal karma. This interpretation transforms the several “rebirth”-
movements in the game to some kind of conditioned “fate” experienced by the “piece” of the player.41 41 One is tempted to call the pieces, which simulate the fate of persons, “avatars” — yet not as the manifestation of a deity, but like in digital games, as a user’s symbolic representation in a digital world.
According to my interpretation, the structure of the game is pre-determined by its rules which are governed by pure chance. From an emic understanding (and the respective verses of Sa skya paṇḍita can be taken as a clue here), the outcome of dicing could be seen by at least some players as actively influenced
by the player’s own karma. One of the poems ascribed to the Sixth Dalai Lama summarizes this interpretation of karma nicely: “Good and bad deeds’ seeds / even though they are sown secretly / it is not possible to conceal the ripened fruit of each single [[[deed]]].”42 Yet: Can this “karmic” interpretation of the game claim plausibility? On the one hand, dicing as a means of divination was a common practice in pre-modern Tibet. An attitude toward the game that
combines the “fate” of the pieces with the player’s own karma would therefore not be too extraordinary. On the other hand, Buddhist philosophers emphasized that the karmic influence on the future cannot be figured out; even to know one’s current total amount of positive or negative karma is not possible for ordinary beings. Moreover, throwing dice by itself should, according to the theoretical descriptions of karma (as a quality of certain deeds; Tibetan las
rgyu ’bras, “fruits of action”), be more or less neutral — an exception could be a combination with intense negative feelings. Another argument against the view that the individual paths through the game could be interpreted as determined by karma can be seen in the fact that it is possible to repeat the game immediately — with, we assume, a different result. Although this seems plausible, we have to characterize this as a hypothetical assumption, as we are not informed about which unwritten rules were in use in pre-modern times. In practice, it could be the case that rules did not allow the immediate repetition.
However, I would follow Tatz and Kent in maintaining that this game was rarely used for predictive divination in pre-Modern Tibet or Nepal.43 So if the personal way through the game is not (generally) seen as determined by “personal karma at work” in a stricter sense, how do players deal with this simulation of karma? Did players on “winning paths” — after passing the “point of no return” — feel obliged to dedicate their merit (according to the Bodhisattva ideal) to those takers experiencing “rebirths” in the lower realms of the game? Or, do they see every single “match” as a 42 Tibetan text (poem
86 of the larger collection) in Sørensen 1990: Divinity Secularized, 295: “[86] dkar nag las kyi sa bon / de lta lkog tub tab kyang / ‘bras bus bas pas mi thub / rang rang so sor smin gis.” 43 Tatz / Kent 1978: 16, against Waddell (cited there).
specific setting of the “karma of the whole group”? This approach, again, would imply that workings of karma can be experienced in the game. If we use “simulation” as an interpretive tool, we may assume that the game by itself discloses a situation where the takers are able to discuss the difference (or
matching) of each player’s individual (assumed) karma and his success in the game. This, in a way, may indeed undermine a certain belief in karma; namely, the “causal” interpretation of immediate and transparent retribution of those actions which are believed to have a strong karmic quality. Interestingly, a critique of this causal understanding of karma can be found in Sa skya paṇḍita’s “Three Vows,” where he states:44 That teaching called ‘the inevitable
effectiveness of light and dark deeds’ is widely hailed as a great wonder. Yet it simply mistakes an interpretable sense for one that is definite. Supposedly, this may imply a certain tendency to dislocate the workings of karma into a more transcendental sphere, making karma if not more invisible, then a bit more “hypothetical” — in particular to the “end” of the game — final liberation, which will definitely be reached by all players (if not in this
game, it may happen in the next).45 This dislocation may finally help to substantiate the view that all sufferings, all different hells, liberation paths, and even the very goal of the game are conceptualizations of conventional reality; ultimately, there “are” no such things. Furthermore, the apparent “religious nature” of the game can be taken as a hermeneutic tool for a broader perspective. Taking the obviously religious nature of the Indian and
Tibetan forerunners of the “Chutes and Ladders” games as a model for analyzing the religious implications of rules and structures of traditional board games, one might propose the following questions to guide an analysis of games: (a) Do games have a “finite” or an “infinite” structure? Do players have to abort the game intentionally, or does the game offer a definite end?46 (b) In case there is a definite end: (b1) Do these games represent a goal as a
secure place where the contingency of a world of rivalry, failure, disappointment and “suffering” will be abandoned (as, e.g., the Indian 4
4 Sakya Paṇḍita 2002: 61 (verses 156–157); the argument is followed by a discussion of “the Buddha’s karma” referring to the three-body-theory. 45 Given that the game will not be aborted with the first reaching the goal, and will be played long enough. 46 Compare the conceptualization in Carse 1986: Finite and Infinite Games.
game “Patchisi / Paccīsi” and its several Western versions, such as “Ludo,” “Parcheesi,” “Jeu des Petits Chevaux,” “Mensch ärgere Dich nicht!,” “Eile mit Weile”)?47 Is this secure place represented somewhere on the game board (as in “Chutes and Ladders,” or the Patchisi games), or do the pieces “leave” the
game board (as in Backgammon)? Interpreted soteriologically, the retraction of all pieces or pawns from the board to a secure place outside of the game(-world) would imply a stricter division between an inner worldly / immanent and a transcendent sphere. Or, (b2) does a definite end always imply that the
end will happen without entering a “secure haven” in the game? To take an example from the early days of computer games, the famous single player game Pakkuman / Pac-man: The game cannot be won; it is a constant struggle in an ever more turbulent and continuously accelerated haunting; the restless moves of the player’s “PacMan” end up always with the final extermination of “PacMan” by one of the four life-consuming ghosts (since this game was invented in
Japan, it would be very tempting to analyze its mythological background, its portrayal of an “endless samsara,” more deeply). (c) How do games allow a player to “identify” with his piece(s) on the board, e.g., by placing personal belongings as one’s “avatar” in the game — or do they encourage a more distant view? There are, of course, games which seem to resist such an interpretation from a “soteriological” point of view. For example, chess seems to be
a more or less “secular” game.48 Even if certain of our results pertaining to the Tibetan Buddhist game are conjectures — there is always a difference between the games’ internal structure and the ad-hoc, or “home rules” of the players — I do hope that some ethnographic account of the recent use of the game in Nepal or the Tibetan community will shed further light on the attitudes toward a “simulated soteriology.”
47 Cf. Parlett 1999. 48 A “religious” dimension — on a narrative level — can, however, be seen in the portrayal of a given hierarchical order of powers. I thank Philippe Bornet for pointing me to Jacques de Cessoles’ Les échecs moralisés, a scripture of the 13th century, portraying the whole game as an allegory of the Christian-medieval social ethics and normative expectations; see Kliewer 1966: Die mittelalterliche Schachallegorie.
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