The Choice of a Path
In most well-to-do communities, disillusion with the results of material progress has already become widespread, and the number of people turning to mystical oriental faiths, though still not great, has grown astonishingly. In England and the United States especially, there are flourishing meditation centers that have to turn away students for lack of accommodation. Buddhist and Brahminist groups flourish in places where fifty years ago such a development could not be
imagined, and the number of books written to instruct the devotees of these religions rather than for the sake of scientific or general interest has increased by leaps and bounds. The rise of mysticism in these exotic forms results from the feeling that the established religious bodies in the West have, in their eagerness to conform with modern values, gradually lost contact with spiritual realities. Another reason is mysticism’s emphasis on spiritual experience and its freedom from formalism and dogma. The mystic is less concerned with doing and believing than with being or becoming.
Of the great world religions, Buddhism is the one that most clearly defines the goal in terms acceptable to mystics and provides a detailed, practical guide to mystical attainment. Hitherto, the branches of Buddhism most prevalent in the West have been Zen and Theravāda, of which Zen is more wholly mystical. The Tantric methods of the Vajrayāna are just beginning to arouse interest. The Vajrayāna is perhaps unlikely to achieve Zen’s widespread appeal, because it may be thought altogether too exotic; but certain kinds of people will find in it a powerful means of arousing the latent forces of their minds and coming face to face with the reality within.
Zen owes its popularity in the West to a number of causes. It provides very direct methods for piercing the veils of illusion, negating the ego, and encouraging the influx of intuitive wisdom. It emphasizes the necessity for by-passing the intellect. It is not concerned with metaphysical speculation, and its freedom from complex rituals makes it especially attractive to people reacting from the liturgical formalism of their Christian and Jewish forebears.
Moreover, Zen accords well with the modern scientific spirit; although Zen adepts, seeking truth within themselves, are not concerned with the details of the world about them, they share with scientists a preference for clearcut objective methods and an impatience with woolly-mindedness. White-overalled scientists who have no sympathy with richly appareled priests hovering amidst points of flame and clouds of incense smoke may recognize in the barely appointed cell of the black-gowned Zen adept a laboratory for the investigation of psychological processes.
However, though Zen is austere, it is very far from simple. It is an almost perpendicular path leading up towards a lofty peak, and the adept has to dispense with climbing aids. Those fully qualified for the ascent will, after five, ten, or twenty years of unremitting toil, suddenly emerge in the dazzling snow and so gaze down with astonishment at the narrow valleys they had once taken for the universe. Forgetful of the rigors of the climb, they will shout with glee in the exhilaration of their new-found freedom; but, when they look around for their companions, they may find few in sight.
Now, despite enormous external differences, the Vajrayāna is essentially close to Zen. Its goal is the same — Enlightenment here and now —, and its approach no less direct; but, unlike Zen, it relies on an abundance of aids. For the many people who, not being spiritual giants, conscientiously practice Zen or some other austere form of mysticism over the years without notable results, meditation becomes more of a burden than a joy. Some of these may be glad to attempt
the cloud-girt peak again with skillful devices to help them. They may, at first, be troubled by Tantric Buddhism’s lavish use of rites and symbols; but, once it is understood how far the sublime purpose of the rituals is removed from mere liturgical pomp, they will perceive their value and perhaps welcome them. Then, the Vajrayāna will awaken a deep response and lead to the achievement of results that eluded them before. The point is not that the Vajrayāna is superior to Zen; no one intimately acquainted with Zen could doubt the excellence of its methods; what is more doubtful is the ability of most of us to employ them successfully.
The Tantric Way
In its general purpose, the Vajrayāna does not differ from other forms of Buddhism or from any religious endeavor aimed not at personal survival but at negating the ego and attaining a state of unity transcending “I” and “other.” This goal has been envisaged by people of many creeds ever since the first arising of the urge to leap through the enchanting rainbows and terrifying thunder-clouds of illusion that veil the still, clear Void beyond. What is unique
about the Tantric method is its wealth of techniques for utilizing all things good and evil to that end. As with judo, the adept learns to use the antagonist’s weight to his own advantage. Obstacles are transmuted into instruments for providing the tremendous momentum needed. Most other spiritual paths require a turning away from dark to light, whereas Vajrayāna yogins welcome both demons and angels as their allies. Transcending good and evil, they transmute them both back into that pure essence from which the universe’s whirling phantasmagoria is mentally created.
Manipulation of the forces of good and evil provides the power. Wisdom (Prajñā) and compassion (Karuzā) are the means. The adamantine jewel enfolded by the lotus is the symbol. The Liberation of ourselves and all sentient beings is the goal. Perfect union with pure, undifferentiated Mind, a synonym for the stainless Void, is the fruit.
Naturally, such a goal is not lightly won. The victory entails a shattering revolution of consciousness, progressive diminution of cherished egos, and, ultimately, the burning up of the last vestiges of self. It would be folly to embark upon so perilous a quest without the guidance of a teacher who, having progressed far along the path, speaks from an illumined mind, though he need not actually have attained Liberation.
Of the activities and lines of conduct normally associated with a religious life, Tantric Buddhists extol faith (Śrāddha) as the most essential — not blind faith, nor faith in dogmas, but faith that the goal exists; for, without it, no one would choose to undergo the rigors of the path. Good works, as such, are not of main importance, though compassion is enjoined as an essential means for negating the ego and attaining wisdom. Whereas Buddhists of other sects are
often much concerned with piling up stocks of merit (Puzya), Vajrayāna adepts perceive that, unless great care is taken, engrossing oneself in good works tends to inflate the ego by engendering complacency. As to prayers (or their Buddhist equivalent) and rites, these play a large part in the Vajrayāna, but their significance is different from that accorded them by other religions; they are not thought of as “pleasing to the gods” but as means of leading the mind to higher states of consciousness; they are no more than aids to the very important mental practices loosely covered by the term “meditation.”
The conduct of a Vajrayāna adept is likely to be unorthodox; intent upon employing everything in life as a means to achievement, he does not except such animal processes as sleeping, eating, excreting, and (if he is not a monk) sexual intercourse. The energy of passions and desires must be yoked, not wasted. Every act of body, speech, and mind — every circumstance, every sensation, every dream can be turned to good account.
This aspect of Tantric Buddhism has led to the great error of confounding it with libertinism. Though all things can be employed as means, they must be rightly used, and their right use is far removed from mere sensual gratification. The possible use of drugs such as marijuana, LSD, ecstasy, or mescaline, which produce mind-altering effects, provides a good example. Such drugs in many cases imbue the users with an absolute conviction of the existence of a spiritual goal of the kind postulated by mystics. However, their use would be disastrous to anyone trying to follow a spiritual path — bliss so easily attainable would be likely to reconcile them to life as it is and induce them to be content with drug-induced experiences instead of actually treading the path. If the path were abandoned, the effort to negate the ego would be abandoned with it, and unutterable loss sustained.
The danger of confounding Tantric practice with, or using it as an excuse for, libertinism cannot be stressed too strongly. Already, certain Western converts to Zen have fallen into grave error by misinterpreting a doctrine Zen shares in common with the Vajrayāna. They have used the facile argument that, since pairs of opposites are two sides of the same coin and good and evil ultimately identical, it follows that one may indulge in all kinds of crimes and excesses without departing from the state of holiness. It is true that good and evil are identical (or, rather, that they cease to be) at the level where delusion is transcended, but how many of those self-styled Zen followers are within a billion billion miles of that level?
Among other causes that have led to misunderstandings regarding Tantric Buddhism are: the secrecy that has traditionally surrounded the inner core of doctrine; the sexual symbolism employed in Tantric texts and iconography; and the appalling misrepresentations put forth by certain Western writers, a prime example being Waddell, the first person to write at length on Tibetan Buddhism in English. The reasons for secrecy and for the choice of symbolism are
discussed in later chapters. For the present, it is enough to say that the secrecy prevents the misuse of powerful mind forces that would be dangerous to employ without expert guidance; and that the sexual symbolism results from a frank acceptance of sex as the most powerful of the forces motivating sentient beings, human and animal. Putting aside prudery, what more fitting symbols can there be of the union of opposites — the doctrine upon which the entire Tantric system is based? Or by what vivid pictorial representation could the indomitable force that moves the universe be better symbolized?
Among scholars, there are some who hold Tantric Buddhism to be an offspring of Tantric Hinduism. However, as Lama Govinda, Dr. Benoytash Bhattacharya, and other authorities have now demonstrated, several of the Buddhist Tantras were composed at a very early date and, by the third century C.E., the Vajrayāna had already crystallized into a definite form. No doubt, the two systems have interacted upon each other, but it now seems probable that the earliest Tantric Buddhism predates Tantric Hinduism (though not, of course, Hinduism itself). The situation is confused by the Vajrayāna’s wide use of Hindu deities to symbolize universal forces; and, unfortunately, the degenerate practices of some Hindu Tantric sects in Bengal have, owing to this confusion, led to unmerited aspersions upon the Vajrayāna.
It has also been suggested by travelers in the Tibetan border regions that the Vajrayāna is a decadent form of Buddhism owing more to the ancient Bön religion of Tibet, to shamanism, and animism than to the Buddha Dharma. As the next chapter will show, the Vajrayāna, far from being decadent, is the ultimate flowering of Mahāyāna doctrine. Buddhism, never aggressive, has in all Buddhist countries absorbed numerous vestiges of earlier religions and, at the popular level, is generally intermixed with non-Buddhist elements. This is as true of Thailand and Śri Lanka as of China and Tibet. It is this which is responsible
for a good deal of the local color that makes the differences between Buddhism in one country and another seem much greater than they are. In essentials, the underlying unity of all Buddhist schools and sects is remarkable, despite some fairly wide differences between the two principal branches: the Mahāyāna of northern Asia and the Theravāda of the south. Tantric Buddhism is a logical outcome of the teachings of the Vijñānavādins and the Yogācārins,8 who, respectively, developed the philosophical and practical aspects of the Mahāyāna. It has added no new principals but has developed some very effective methods of its own. Those who deplore developments of any kind in Buddhism should refresh their memories as to the Buddha’s own definition of true Dharma:
Of whatsoever teachings you can assure yourself thus: These doctrines lead not to passions but to dispassion; not to bondage but to detachment; not to the increase of worldly gains but to their decrease; not to greed but to frugality; not to discontent but to content; not to company but to solitude; not to sluggishness but to energy; not to delight in evil but to delight in good; of such teachings you may with certainty affirm: These are the Dharma, these are the Discipline.
In spiritual matters, a purely historical approach is often pointless. Common sense tells us that no system of teaching can be effective unless it is adaptable to time, place, and local characteristics. A perfectly rigid system would soon become a dry husk, a worm-eaten remnant, interesting only to historians. In practice, Buddhists have always treated the Buddha Dharma as something adaptable to circumstances; it is a living, fluid tradition that fits effortlessly into different surroundings.
Seekers after truth would do well to accept whatever assists their progress. Proof of spiritual progress is not easily communicable, but the adept can gauge his own by the facility with which he achieves successively higher states of consciousness that bring him closer to the immaculate, all-pervading Truth. Effectiveness, not orthodoxy, is the test.
