The Essence of the Tantric Method

Purpose

Most mystics, whether or not they subscribe to the Buddhist doctrines outlined in the last chapter, would probably accept the following formulation of the sacred quest without much modification:

“The world perceptible through the senses seems to us a distortion of something infinitely lovelier. We have received intimations of reality as a blissful state — formless, radiant, spotlessly pure —, which we believe to be attainable in the stillness of the heart. The quest for that state is infinitely rewarding.”

To this formulation, some Buddhist mystics would add:

“Even with the greatest effort, attainment in this present life is hard. Śākyamuni’s Enlightenment was the fruit of life after life of matchless endeavor. The quest, though infinitely rewarding, will be long.”

Mahāyāna Buddhists would declare:

“Loath to enter upon Nirvāza’s bliss while others remain lost in delusion, we have vowed to become Bodhisattvas and have renounced Nirvāza until all sentient beings are liberated.”

Vajrayāna and other Short Path aspirants would reply to the second statement:

“There are marvelous means for reaching Nirvāza’s brink and becoming Bodhisattvas in this very life. Everything favorable must be used, and adverse circumstances bent to serve the quest.”

The marvelous means are aimed, as it were, at taking heaven by storm. Like other Buddhists, the Vajrayāna followers recognize that Liberation cannot be won through divine intervention nor by faith, piety, and good works. There must be strenuous effort culminating in a prodigious mental revolution — effort normally requiring many lifetimes. However, like Zen followers, they believe that an all-out attempt can result in Liberation here and now. It is this that makes the Tantric and Zen methods of greater interest to non-Buddhists unable to accept the doctrine of rebirth. Another point of special interest is that these methods have been devised for people at widely different levels of understanding and ability. There are, broadly speaking, six types of Tantra, known in ascending order as the Kriyā, Caryā, Yoga, Mahāyoga, Anuyoga, and Atiyoga Tantras, which inculcate practices ranging from a form suited to beginners, who at first need an object of worship external to themselves, through forms in which worshipper and worshipped are united, right up to a form in which the whole practice takes place in the mind; for the Atiyoga practice is “devoid of distinctions of depth, extent, and difficulty, like a spontaneously achieved state of unity in which no rules remain to be kept.”

Reasons for Secrecy

It is sometimes claimed that esoteric doctrines of any kind are alien to the character of Buddhism. This view arises from a misinterpretation of some words spoken by Śākyamuni Buddha at the time of his Mahāparinirvāza (final dissolution). Lying beneath the twin sal-trees, he declared that he had transmitted the whole Dharma, keeping nothing in his “closed fist.” Theravādins take this to mean that the Buddha taught everything openly, whereas Mahāyānists assert that he naturally communicated the highest teachings only to those able to apply them with understanding, skill, and discretion. In that spirit, the Lamas of the Vajrayāna guard much of their knowledge by transmitting it orally to selected disciples or even in silence from mind to mind. Such knowledge of delicately balanced skillful means would, if wrongly used, do irreparable harm; the powerful techniques of mind control employed without a teacher could result in insanity; and the techniques for hastening Liberation by transmuting the force generated by the passions could, if misapplied, easily lead to debauchery. All sorts of evils and excesses would result, producing the very antithesis of ego-negation. Therefore it is said: “On entering the Tantric path, you are surely bound for Buddhahood or for the Avīci Hell!” On the other hand, these dynamic methods, properly applied, are held to be capable of magically transforming the world of here and now into a universe of unimaginable splendor. In the process, anxiety and fear are banished; the dullest object becomes a symbol of vast meaning; commonplace surroundings are transmuted into realms of enchantment; and the passions, instead of having to be painfully exterminated, are yoked like snarling tigers to the adept’s carriage. The dangers of such a course are obvious. There are people ignorant of the reasons for discretion who seem eager to suppose that the secrecy guards some sordid mystery. The visits to the Tibetan borderlands of writers gifted with remarkable imaginations have had unfortunate results. The authorities in the Himalayan Kingdom of Bhutan, always slow to welcome foreigners, view with suspicion an interest in the Vajrayāna, and, if they do admit visitors, prevent their having fruitful contact with the Lamas. Worse still, the degrading notions associated with bodily functions in the West have proved infectious. A former President of the Buddhist Society recorded that, during a visit to Beijing, China, long before the Communist regime was established, a young novice showed him sacred pictures that for centuries had elicited reverential awe, sniggering over them as if they had been filthy postcards!

There is no doubt whatever that the sexual symbolism in Tantric works constitutes a hindrance to the transplanting of the Vajrayāna to a Western milieu. Among Tibetans, this aspect of the symbolism was not until recently regarded as a reason for secrecy, because, in countries where the Tantras are revered, sex is seen as a wholesome function productive of power that can be transmuted to serve lofty ends. Furthermore, as the term Yab-Yum (Father-Mother) implies, representations of deities embracing are treated with profound respect; they symbolize the union of the forces of wisdom and compassion by analogy to a physical union that is the source of the highest bliss next to spiritual ecstasy.

Symbols are needed because spiritual ecstasy is too abstract to be movingly portrayed.

Apart from the physical, psychological, and spiritual dangers inherent in the unskillful use of Tantric methods, there are other reasons for secrecy. Some of them may seem bizarre because they relate to forces belonging to the supernatural world in which it is no longer fashionable to believe. To Tibetans, the universe is alive with invisible beings, who, in fact, constitute four of the six orders of existence, the other two being human beings and animals. On the whole, devotees avoid having close relations with semi-divine or demonic forces, all the more so since gods and demons have no power to assist them towards Enlightenment; but it is believed that the invisible powers are not slighted with impunity. Some beings of this kind have been converted and serve as Guardians of the Dharma. From their effigies in the temples all over Tibet, it can be seen that their aspect is terrifying; true, they have enrolled among the followers of the compassionate Buddha and threaten no one but subverters of the Dharma. Even so, they may retain enough of their former nature to make it inadvisable to try their patience. As with former commandos who have become peaceful doormen or butlers, they do not make good enemies. So, in Tibet, everything to do with them is kept secret.

Each Vajrayāna sect has its special Guardians to whom new disciples are introduced at an appropriate time. Their chief function is to discourage initiates from breaking their Samaya-oath. People who keep Guardians in their houses respectfully offer them food on certain days of the month. Whether they are regarded as demonic beings existing independently of people’s minds (in the relative sense that anything in the universe can be so described), or whether they are identified with the beings lurking on the threshold of the human consciousness whom Carl Gustav Jung calls “archetypes,” it is as well to enjoy their goodwill. Tibetans were not surprised when the distinguished author of Oracles and Demons of Tibet came to an untimely end soon after completing that monumental but dullish book. The subject of Guardians is one on which nothing detailed should be said; to write at length about demons is always held to be unwise; but his ultimate crime was to make them seem boring!

The Guru

In Tantric Buddhism, with its powerful techniques, finding a personal teacher, or Guru, is of prime importance. Besides paying the respect due to him as the giver of the most precious of all gifts, besides serving him with the devotion that Asian children accord their parents, his disciples perform Guru-Yoga, during which they meditate upon their Guru’s form as embodying the Three Precious Ones: Buddha, Dharma (the Sacred Doctrine), and Sangha (the Sacred Community). To speak ill of one’s Guru, to slight him, or to injure him would be held a heinous crime. Perhaps with people less sincere than Tibetans and Mongols, such extreme devotion would lead to abuse; but few Lamas genuinely accomplished in Tantric skills would dare take advantage of the sacred relationship. To be accomplished, they must believe in what they teach and, therefore, fear of appalling karmic consequences would deter them. Lamas may err, as fathers sometimes err towards their children, but seldom with intent.

Various Types of Adept

An important reason for attempting the arduous Short Path is that a more leisurely quest, since it involves a whole sequence of lifetimes, increases the opportunities for relapsing and negating previous achievements. The requirements for Short Path adepts are not rigid; they may be monks, nuns, yogis, hermits, married clergy, or laymen, but few ordinary laymen are in a position to give themselves single-mindedly to the rigorous training that is essential to success in so gigantic a task. There are many Tibetans who do not aspire to the Short Path, because they are too busy or feel otherwise incapable; even monks may sometimes be too much involved in the duties of administering a monastery. For them, the Vajrayāna provides other practices suited to their circumstances. There are also some people who employ Tantric techniques to achieve goals other than Liberation. Buddhists may choose to devote their efforts to making their lot in Sagsāra more pleasant, though this is not considered a wise choice. There are special techniques for gaining or enhancing health, wealth, power, or fame; and, though it is thought appalling to wish to harm others, there have been cases of backsliding adepts who have misused their knowledge, heedless of the consequences to themselves in this or future lives. Indeed, Tibet’s poet-saint and Tantric adept, Milarepa, wreaked fearful havoc on his enemies before he was taken in hand by Lama Marpa. Besides, however well the secrets are guarded, some leak out. In themselves, Tantric methods are like swords — good or bad according to what use is made of them.

The Short Path

My knowledge of the Short Path is that of an initiated but insufficiently instructed layman; that is to say, I cannot write with much authority and, even if I could, I should not be authorized to say much more than I have done.

Devotees entering upon the Short Path are taught that, henceforth, they must do more than practice virtue and avoid evil. They must strenuously cultivate a revolutionary and, as it were, magical attitude to life that will transform their responses to their surroundings. Regarding conduct, whatever karmic defilements, desires, and appetites cannot be quickly discarded must be skillfully utilized. What cannot be vanquished must be ennobled or, failing that, yielded to in special ways. Vanquishing is best, but not if it entails mental confusion and dangerous frustration. Ennobling means transferring the force of the desire to an object identified with the goal of Liberation. Yielding means either observing the act, its causes, and results in such a way that lessons can be drawn that will henceforth diminish the desire’s appeal, or else employing a technique that will render it harmless. Neophytes, lacking sufficient strength of character and skill, should not attempt the Short Path but adhere to the ordinary Mahāyāna code of conduct, which requires three virtues of body, four of speech, and three of mind: namely, compassion, generosity, and restraint; speech that is truthful, kindly, gentle, and profitable; eagerness to be generous and helpful and, above all, faith in spiritual values. These rules may not be set aside unless for lofty reasons.

The Short Path practice is divided into physical, mental, and combined categories, most of them conjoined with the specifically Tantric form of meditation known as visualization, which involves body, speech, and mind simultaneously. By the manipulation of forces conjured up by means of mental power, Mudrās, Mantras, and Dhārazīs, Samādhi is rapidly attained, and the influx of intuitive wisdom (Prajñā) accompanied by advanced mystical states follows. A proper orientation of the adept’s mind converts all virtues and vices into stepping-stones to spiritual achievement. Nothing can frighten or disgust him, for the vilest dross is transmuted into pure spiritual essence; the “animal” processes — excretion, eating, drinking, sexual intercourse, breathing, and the pulsing of the blood — are transformed into divine functions. All sounds — the clatter of passing cars, buses, and trucks beneath a bedroom window, the thunder and scream of bombardment, the whine of a dentist’s drill, or the howling of demons — become sweeter than the music of wind in the pines or the thrilling voices of Dākinī. Whatever meets the eye — the glow of massed chrysanthemums, factory chimneys, or brick walls seen across a prison courtyard — all these take on a mysterious meaning. The ordinary recluse needs the support of tranquil surroundings, perhaps a hillside hermitage where he can delight in the blooming of alpine flowers and pass his nights in contemplation of the moon; whereas those who tread the Adamantine Way distil peace and beauty from within; withdrawing from nothing, irked by nothing, they are gradually immersed in a plenitude of bliss.

The combination of swift, dynamic techniques involving attitude, conduct, and practice, has nothing to do with the relative wisdom needed for dealing with mundane affairs, nor with scholarly knowledge. The adept’s intention is to construct for himself a “diamond-body” that can sustain repeated entry into exalted states of consciousness and not be burnt up by the influx of extraordinary forces. With such a body and with his new powers of intuition, he can mystically experience reality and thereby attain immediate Liberation.

Attitude

One of my Lama teachers summed up the general requirement for developing a Tantric attitude in three injunctions: “Recognize everything around you as Nirvāza; hear all sounds as Mantra; see all beings as Buddhas.”

Recognizing everything as Nirvāza means becoming aware of the void and non-void nature of objects experientially. Everything must first be regarded and then experienced in two novel ways: as intrinsically void, since Nirvāza is void; as intrinsically perfect, since reality even in its non-void aspect can be recognized as a realm of unimaginable perfection if the consciousness is, so to speak, transposed to another key. An absolute conviction that everything is void, reinforced by the experience of its voidness during meditation, obliterates fear, anxiety, and disgust. The adept learns to disengage himself from terrifying or revolting circumstances as easily as a theatergoer can cease to be involved in the action of the play. His tranquility becomes unshakeable. By an inner transformation of his way of perceiving things, the adept comes to see everything as pregnant with beauty, as though the world had been magically

transformed. This is not just a matter of piously telling oneself that it is beautiful but of experiencing this as a fact. That it can be done is illustrated by an unsought experience of my own. Once I happened to be driving towards a long low walk backed by trees, at the sight of which my heart leapt, for, since my last visit, they appeared to have burst into a mass of scarlet blossoms; but on coming nearer, I discovered that there were no blossoms; a corrugated zinc fence treated with a coating of red lead had been erected to heighten the wall. Few things could be uglier, yet the sight had entranced me for as long as my mind mistook the hideous painted metal for massed flowers. By a revolution of mind, beauty can be perceived even in formerly repellent objects such as dung, intestines, or decaying corpses — all of them manifestations of the immaculately pure non-substance. One of several reasons for the prevalence in Tibetan iconography of such objects as corpses, skulls, and blood relates to the technique of perceiving everything in the universe as holy.

Hearing all sounds as Mantra requires the same technique. Mantras are sacred invocations recited in a special tone of voice; here, however, the word signifies divine melody. Again, an example comes from my own experience. At one time, my meditations in the early hours of the morning used to be interrupted, time after time, by learners driving motor-tricycle-taxis in low gear around a square near my window. By mentally converting the horrid din into the rattle of the Lamas’ hand drums heard above the noise of a cataract, I made it most helpful to my meditation. In the Vajrayāna practice, sound plays a very great part. The thunder of the eighteen-foot trumpets of the Lamas, the liturgical use of drums, gongs, and cymbals, the deep-throated chanting and the sonorous recitation of Mantras — all are potent in producing valuable psychic effects of a different order from the effects of music as ordinarily understood.

Seeing all beings as Buddhas is an injunction familiar to Zen followers. It is based on the understanding that every being has within him Buddha-nature (Tathāgatagarbha), the meaning of which is: (1) that all beings, including Buddhas, are ultimately manifestations of the undifferentiated non-substance, and (2) that each being is endowed with the urge to and capability of Enlightenment. In practice, the injunction means that we must treat everyone with the consideration and respect due to a potential Buddha, be eager to serve him, and loath to do him harm. A subsidiary result is that we shall seldom incur enmity, but the main purpose is to develop the Tantric attitude of mind that leads to actual perception of the holiness of beings and to the negation of the ego.

In the carrying out of these injunctions, a dual process is at work. Intent on causing his mind to leap into another dimension wherein he perceives things not as potentially but actually perfect, the devotee first imagines them so and thereby promotes the influx of intuitive wisdom that causes him to see them so. The first process involves an element of make-believe; the second is intensely real. As time goes on, he reaches a point at which he sees each grain of sand as containing the entire universe. This blissful vision, normally attainable only under the influence of yogic trance, or drugs, or at moments of intense romantic feeling, becomes a permanent possession the adept’s only mode of vision.

Conduct

The conduct proposed for Tantric adepts is, since it pertains to the principle of non-duality, beyond the dualism of good and evil; but the object of relaxing the ordinary rules is to attain to perfection as rapidly as possible. Descent into the libertinism practiced by certain Hindu Tantrists in Bengal or by the medieval Christian antinomians is fraught with peril and, in any case, unthinkable, for it would involve a breach of the Samaya-pledge; it is taught that the Tantric adept, having set powerful forces in motion, would be destroyed by their misuse as surely as an electrician is burned up when the current from the mains is accidentally diverted through his body.

However, before proceeding to discuss Tantric conduct, it is necessary to understand the ordinary Buddhist attitude to wrongdoing. Buddhists of all schools are enjoined to refrain from killing, stealing, and improper sexual conduct; from lying, slander, and harsh or idle talk; and from covetousness, malice, and doubts about the Dharma’s excellence. If they are monks or strict laymen, they must also abstain from intoxicants and, in China, they do not eat meat. This conception of good conduct differs from Christian morality in two ways: (1) it is not God who is offended by, but man who has to pay the price of, wrongdoing; (2) there is no idea of sin, but only of grievous folly — ignorance (Avidyā), in fact. This difference is significant. A Buddhist is not weighed down and frightened by a burden of sin. If he has erred, he must pay, but the debt can be paid in full; he does not face eternal damnation, and his redemption lies firmly in his own hands. In practice, this absence of the sin concept means that each action will be regarded not as good or bad per se, but in relation to its whole context. Thus, for example, “improper sexual conduct” signifies sexual activity that has harmful results for those concerned or for others indirectly involved.

Buddhist morality hinges on two separate concepts, the duty of compassion and the need for self-control. Whatever harms others is wrong; whatever harms the doer is wrong. If no one is harmed, there is no wrong. The special Tantric practices with regard to conduct are principally concerned with avoiding harm to the adept himself. As regards harm to others, all Buddhists, Tantric or otherwise, abhor it equally. The purpose of conventional Buddhist self-control is to conserve one’s mental and physical energies for attaining Enlightenment and to decrease T0[zā (craving, or inordinate desire) as a means of diminishing Du­kha (suffering). For Short Path adepts, so much energy is needed that conserving it and acquiring more become a prime concern. Owing to karmic accretions from past lives, most beings have passions and desires that are stronger than their power of control; eliminating them is the work of many lifetimes, and their persistence a grave obstacle to Liberation. Merely willing oneself to be passion-free does not help. Therefore, the Tantric adept is instructed to make use of three methods — vanquishing, ennobling, and yielding in a special way.

Vanquishing is ideal, if it can be done safely. Merely refusing to yield to a desire without uprooting it may bring about severe psychological disturbances. A cobra swept out of sight under the bed disturbs the tranquility of the man who sleeps there. Desires can sometimes be uprooted through clear recognition of their consequences. Some drug addicts manage to cure themselves for fear of prison and disgrace or because they resent their state of dependency. Then, the cobra is secured and can do no more harm; but it is not often that the victim of powerful desires can banish them abruptly without danger to health and mental equilibrium. There have been Christian priests ready to die rather than break their vows of celibacy who have developed grave psychological maladies. Such people can abstain from “sin” but not vanquish desire. Yet others have succumbed.

Ennobling connotes something wider than sublimation, for it includes transference of the force of passion to objects mentally created. From the assumption that Nirvāza and Sagsāra are one, it follows that desires and their objects also partake of the holiness of reality’s manifestations. There are two methods of employing them as instruments for good, of which the first is ordinary sublimation like that which enables a school teacher to derive from his concealed love for one or more pupils an eloquence and inspiration that are of very great advantage to all his pupils. This kind of sublimation has often inspired heroism and self-sacrifice on the field of battle. It is well understood in the West.

The second method is of a somewhat different order. Essentially, what has to be done is to create mental symbols related to the spiritual goal, transfer the force of desire to the symbol, and then banish the symbol so that the desire is concentrated directly on the goal. If the adept is accomplished in the art of visualization, there will not be much of an element of make-believe, for he will have learned to produce mental creations that are more real to him than the ordinary objects of his environment. It is possible to create a lovely female form for which the adept feels all the ardor and chaste devotion that medieval knights reputedly felt for their ladies. Mental creations can also call forth the blazing emotion of a bloodstained warrior for the objects of his hate. The emotion of love is skillfully transferred to the immaculate goal and that of hate to whichever of the monsters of greed, hatred, and envy is to be overcome. That mental creations can become so real for the adept is because the very nature of reality is void, and all phenomena are the creations of mind; it follows that visions, dreams, and imaginings are not less but “more real” than the objects against which we may stub our toes, for their non-void forms are more akin to the real state of void. (Naturally, such comparisons have only a relative significance, since, ultimately, there cannot be more or less of any quality or thing.)

The Vajrayāna symbolism and iconography contain many indications of the importance attached to ennobling. Both sex and the dark, bloody passions are represented in stylized or symbolical form. We have seen that the union of the mighty forces of wisdom and compassion is often depicted by direct stylized analogy to the YabYum (Father-Mother) figures of deities locked in ecstatic embrace. A symbolical representation of the same concept is the ritual vajra-scepter and vajra-bell, the significance of which is much less obvious. In both cases, the innate holiness of energy is implied. For non-dualists, there can be no distinction between energy that is holy and unholy. All that proceeds from the immaculate Void is sacred. The harnessing of every force to serve a high spiritual end is fundamental to Tantric practice.

Yielding is of two kinds: (1) yielding accompanied by sustained attention to the act, its causes, and its consequences; (2) yielding accompanied by mental transference of the object of desire into something else — a process related to, but not the same as, ennobling. The former is relatively easy. The goals of desire, once attained, seldom come up to expectation; they prove to be a poor reward for the wealth, time, and energy expended. Repeated attainment diminishes satisfaction until a point is reached where none remains. What is worse, the pursuit may set in motion unfortunate results that persist long after desire has turned to ashes. The lessons drawn help to dissipate the desire.

The second and more difficult way of turning yielding to profit requires special techniques taken from the Upāya-Marga, or Way of Skillful Means. No general description will suffice, but I am not in a position to give details. At the superficial level, the practice is that of keeping the high goal in mind at all times night and day. For example, while eating, the adept equates his own body with the ultimate goal by visualizing it as a deity and mentally converts each mouthful of food into an offering that must be made with reverence, the resulting pleasure being a reflection of “BlissVoidness.” During sexual intercourse, he withdraws his mind from his immediate environment, equates his urge with the urge for Liberation, and directs the force of it to his longing for the goal. At a profounder level, by the use of symbols, he transmutes his perceptions so that, while his physical action proceeds in the normal way, his mind functions in a different dimension: doer, act, and object are all visualized in abstract forms not closely related to their physical counterparts; the only links between them are the force of desire and the bliss of enjoyment.

On this subject, a great Nyingmapa Lama said: “When desire arises, it must be seen as the companion to ‘Bliss-Voidness’ and regarded accordingly. If the adept is skilled in utilizing the expression of his desires as part of the Path of Enlightenment, then this expression is to the benefit of himself and all beings. If not, the desire must be relinquished. As soon as desire arises, the attractiveness and the perception of its attractiveness must be seen as void in reality — voidness arising in the form of bliss. Next, voidness and bliss must be combined by thinking back and forth from one to the other until their identity is fully apparent. (The attraction is liberated into voidness and the voidness arises as bliss, of which the attraction is the basis. With this realization, one should enter Samādhi. The deity visualized, i.e., the transmuted object of desire, being of the Bliss-Void Nature, is of the nature of one’s own mind. By this meditation, desire is rendered harmless.)”

Scholars with access to Tibetan and Sanskrit texts have mentioned another technique — the creation of opportunities for yielding. This is a very different matter from making the best of necessity. Deliberate stimulation of strong attraction or repugnance would be justified by the belief that immorality is a necessary stage in reaching the amoral conduct that is consonant with the principle of non-duality. That this technique was used at some time in the past is clear from ancient texts and from the vestiges that remain: the offerings used in some rites, though now composed of wholesome substances, are described in the liturgy as being made of various repulsive materials. Such offerings are subsequently consumed by the participants; that people should have been willing to offer revolting foods to deities and eat them points to the notion of destroying aversion as well as desire so as to achieve a mental state of non-duality. However, I have never heard a Lama speak of this technique, and I am inclined to think it rare now, though, to be sure, not hearing of something is no sure guide to its absence when we are dealing with esoteric matters.

Visualization

For mental practice, the Vajrayāna utilizes all the traditional Buddhist meditational methods — thought control, achieving one-pointedness of mind, and cultivating awareness; but these are chiefly for beginners. The characteristic Tantric method of meditation is visualization, which involves the three faculties of body, speech, and mind. There are, besides, some difficult Hathayoga-type physical practices of which visualization forms a part; the results they produce fall not far short of miraculous, for example, the melting of thick ice by contact with the body of a naked man, though the air temperature be sub-zero. Some of these yogas are briefly mentioned in the second part of this book.

Visualization is normally performed in a meditation cell or in the shrine room of a monastery or private house. However, some adepts, especially those of the Kargyupa (Kagyupa) sect, prefer solitude while they are mastering it. Walled up in a room or cave for a specified time — say, three or seven years — the adept hears no human voice but his own. Food is passed in and slops removed through a hole in the wall, and his days are devoted to a chosen Sādhana (visualization practice). By the time he emerges, he has become so skilled in creating mental constructions that he clearly perceives the exterior world in its real character as a manifestation of mind. After some twenty years of concentrated study followed by perhaps seven years practicing in solitude, a Guru knows what he is talking about; he does not need to rely on books and hearsay.

The purpose of visualization is to gain control of the mind, become skilled in creating mental constructions, make contact with powerful forces (themselves the products of mind), and achieve higher states of consciousness in which the non-existence of own-being and the non-dual nature of reality are transformed from intellectual concepts into experiential consciousness, non-duality is no longer just believed but felt. In short, visualization is a yoga of the mind. It produces quick results by utilizing forces familiar to man only at the deeper levels of consciousness, of which ordinary people rarely become aware except in dreams. These are the forces wherewith mind creates and animates the whole universe; ordinarily, they are not ours to command, for, until the false ego is negated or unless we employ yogic means to transcend its bounds, our individual minds function, as it were, like small puddles isolated from the great ocean. How visualization achieves its results is hard to convey because it is based on assumptions foreign to Western thought (although not quite unfamiliar to the

Jungian school of psychology). The methods bear a more than superficial resemblance to magic arts generally dismissed as hocus-pocus. By Vajrayāna adepts, however, the fundamental identity and interpenetration of all things in the universe is accepted as self-evident, and the MazTala (great circle of peaceful and wrathful deities), on which visualization is often based, is recognized as a valid diagram of the interlocking forces that, in their extended form, comprise the entire universe and, in their contracted form, fill the mind and body of every individual being. Each of the deities with whom union is achieved has a vital correspondence with one of those forces; therefore, the mind-created beings can be used to overcome all obstacles to our progress. Dr. Edward Conze, in his concise work Buddhism: Its Essence and Development, has lucidly expressed the essence of the method in these words: “It is the emptiness of everything which allows the identification to take place — the emptiness which is in us coming together with the emptiness which is the deity.” By visualizing that identification, we actually do become the deity. The subject is identified with the object of faith. “The worship, the worshipper, and the worshipped, those three are not separate.”

The Sādhanas, or specific visualization-rites, are taught individually so as to suit the disciple’s personal characteristics, strengths and weaknesses, degree of intelligence, and level of attainment. (In certain cases, particular Sādhanas are used to achieve more limited objectives than Nirvāza, but we are not concerned with these here.) After initiation and instruction, the adept performs his Sādhana as often as possible. Ranging from about one to several hours in length, they are performed several times a day until a point is reached at which a more advanced Sādhana can be undertaken. Each of them has a set pattern designed to bring body, speech, and mind into play. They begin with some preliminary rites and meditations — worship, offerings, breathing exercises, generating Bodhicitta (Enlightened Mind), and meditating discursively on: the voidness of being and of oneself, the brevity of life and need to attain Enlightenment while the opportunity offers, the harm caused by our ill-considered actions, and our debt of gratitude to the Buddha and our Guru. Reviewing our shortcomings, we vow to transcend them and to work unceasingly for the Liberation of ourselves and all beings.

Like the visualization that follows, these preliminaries involve the use of Mudrās (sacred gestures), Mantras (invocations), Bīja-mantras (the seed-syllables from which the visualizations spring), and whirling Dhārazīs (revolving strings of syllables). The Mudrās, Mantras, and visualizations correspond to body, speech, and mind.

The deity, or personified mind-force, invoked varies with the Sādhana. As the rite progresses, this deity enters the adept’s body and sits upon a solar-disc supported by a lunar-disc above a lotus in his heart; presently, the adept shrinks in size until he and the deity are coextensive; then, merging indistinguishably, they are absorbed by the seed-syllable from which the deity originally sprang; this syllable contracts to a single point; the point vanishes, and deity and adept, in perfect union, remain sunk in the Samādhi of voidness, sometimes for hours and occasionally for days. The “reality” of the deities mentally created becomes apparent as the adept progresses. Without experience, visualization is difficult. A minute description has to be memorized: posture, clothes, ornaments, hair, body-color, eyes, expression, arms, hands, fingers, legs, feet, and, sometimes, environment. Beginners have to create the parts separately, and, as more and more are envisioned, those created first vanish. It is as though a sculptor’s statue were to begin melting while he was still at work on it. With practice, however, the adept learns to evoke instantaneously a figure complete in all its parts. This is easier if the figure is, like a Buddha-statue, symmetrical; but there are some like Ārya Tārā’s, which have arms, legs, and fingers all in different positions. Some visualizations require the conjuring up of a whole panorama of brilliantly colored figures that undergo transformations as the rite progresses, before

merging into the deity that enters the adept’s skull and alights in his heart. Mastering the art of visualizing a colored figure that is perfect in every detail is only the first step, for the figure will be static — a mere picture. With further practice, it comes alive like a being seen in a dream. Even that is not enough. As higher states of consciousness supervene, it will be seen to exist in a much more real sense than a person, let alone a dream; moreover, persons, like other external objects of perception, are of little consequence to the practice, whereas this shining being has power to confer unspeakable bliss and, after union, to remain one with the adept and purify his thoughts and actions. In time, the sense of its reality may become too strong and endanger the adept’s concept of everything (the mind created deity included) as being intrinsically void. The Lama will now order him to banish the deity — a task more difficult than its creation.

The Interplay of Body, Speech, and Mind

Some of the means whereby body and speech are conjoined with the mental activity taking place during the Sādhana have no close counterparts in religious practice in the West and have, therefore, been ignorantly classed with magic.

The body takes part through prostrations, offerings, and Mudrās. Offerings are made by holding or touching with the fingers symbolical objects such as flowers, incense, lights, water, and grain while mentally creating what they symbolize. Mudrās are symbolical gestures made with hands and fingers not unlike the gestures of an Indian dancer. They must be conjoined with their mental equivalents, for their power is derived from the adept’s own mind, which alone can evoke the mystical forces to which they correspond. Their chief function is to help in the achievement of higher states of consciousness. Speech, in this connection, means mantric sound. Mantras help to call into being the mental creations and to bring about their transformation. There are others for converting material offerings into their subtle equivalents and special ones for focusing the mind upon difficult conceptions, such as the Mantra that runs: “Spotlessly pure (void) is the nature of all Dharmas (components of being); spotlessly pure am I.” The majority, however, are strings of sound that have no verbal meaning, or at least no meaning detectable from the arrangement of the syllables. They range from three to a hundred and three syllables and are generally recited in multiples of 3, 7, or 108.

The principle underlying the use of Mantras is not easy to grasp, but it is not totally unknown in the West. The word “amen” has a mantric significance; and striking evidence that the creative quality of sound was once understood is furnished by the first sentence of the gospel of St John: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was made flesh.” Most sensitive people recognize that certain arrangements of sound induce an exaltation out of all proportion to their verbal meaning; the strange effect of certain lines of poetry composed of simple, familiar words cannot be wholly explained in terms of meaning. To use a Mantra, the adept dissolves his mind into emptiness and, with the Mantra’s aid, conjures from the shining Void the force with which he intends to unite. Its exact sound will have been communicated to him by his teacher, for its written form gives no indication of such matters as stress or tone of voice. The idea of people solemnly reciting a string of apparently meaningless syllables perhaps a thousand and eighty times at each sitting may seem ludicrous; but it is not difficult to discover that mantric sound is a more efficient means of communication than prayer. The meaning of a prayer distracts the mind and limits its thought content to whatever is said; whereas, if, say, the sacred sound Og is repeated over and over again in a deep (but not loud) voice, concentration on what lies beyond the limitations of thought and speech is marvelously promoted.

Mantras skillfully used produce results ranging from minor changes in the state of consciousness to changes of startling magnitude. Used by advanced adepts, they can bring about temporary material changes in objects. These are not miracles, but extensions of the principle that causes certain thin, high sounds to shatter glass. Mantras have no magic of their own; divorced from related mind processes, they become mere abracadabra. Their maximum effect is achieved by the co-ordination of body, speech, and mind in Mudrā, Mantra, and Dhyāna (meditative absorption). Besides reciting Mantras or combining their recitation with yogic breathing exercises, it is usual to visualize their component syllables in color. For use in this way, there are Bīja-mantras and Dhārazīs. A Bīja, or seed-syllable, is visualized as springing from a void “spotless as a turquoise autumn sky” and magically transforming itself into a

same deity. For example, both Amitābha and Amitāyus, respectively, the Transformation and Bliss Bodies of the same Buddha, are depicted with upturned hands resting upon each other in the Mudrā of meditation. Often, the Mudrā identifies a deity’s function or significance: Ārya Tārā, the personification of the saving power of Wisdom and Compassion, has her right palm extended outwards and pointing down with thumb and finger forming a circle to symbolize protecting power; her left hand is held palm outwards and pointing upwards with thumb and middle fingers joined so that three fingers are erect, symbolizing the Three Precious Ones of which she is an emanation.

lotus. This unfolds to disclose a second Bīja-syllable, which instantly assumes the form of a deity. In the deity’s heart shines yet another Bīja, and, within the tiny circle at its top (representing the nasal “g” [or “ng”] with which the syllable ends), is one so small that only the mind can perceive it. This is the essence within essence that connects the manifestation with the Void. Dhārazīs, or written Mantras, are often visualized in the form of a circle. At times, one of them is seen whirling round in the deity’s heart; or, if adept and deity have merged, in the heart of both of them. Their whirling produces the perfect, limitless stillness of the Void. Like Bījas, Dhārazīs glow with color whether white, blue, yellow, red, or green will depend on the part of the MazTala to which the deities belong.

The Signifcance of Rites

Ritual for its own sake was held by the Buddha to be one of the four great hindrances to Enlightenment. In his day, there were Brahmins who believed in the magical efficacy of rites, supposing that a Vedic ritual perfectly performed would have the desired material effect whether or not the minds of the officiants were properly concentrated. The current Western distaste for empty religious forms reflects the Buddha’s attitude. The Tantric view is that rites are a hindrance to progress when looked to for mechanical results, whereas those employed to help in evoking desired states of consciousness are of inestimable value, especially to adepts still in need of symbolic aids. Such traditional aids as the use of ritual implements or offerings of incense, flowers, and lights are never deemed essential. The Sādhanas can be well performed in a bare cave and, if some sort of support is still required, Mudrās and Mantras can be used to create in the mind whatever is necessary.

In the early stage of most Sādhanas, the adept mentally creates an offering in the form of “Mount Sumeru, the four continents, the sun and moon as ornaments.” Throwing rice grain into the air, he envisions a miniature of the entire universe glittering with colored rays that leaps from his hands, scatters in a million beads of light and returns to the Void. This is no worthless offering, for it symbolizes the adept’s willingness to make sacrifices as vast as the universe itself for sentient beings, and it reminds him that the entire universe is the void creation of his own mind. In the two-hour Sādhana I was first given to perform, there were rites serving as symbolic reminders of almost every vital aspect of the Buddha Dharma, which, set out in full, occupies several hundred volumes.

In the West, there are people who suppose that “pure Buddhism” involves no rites. If that is so, there is no pure Buddhism anywhere. Even the Theravādins and Zen followers, who are the most austere Buddhists, perform quite elaborate rites morning and evening. In the eyes of Buddhists of all schools, rites with the proper mental accompaniment are an absolute necessity; deprived of its supernatural content, Buddhism would be no more than a system of ethics and psychology. With meditation but no rites, it would fortify the ego-consciousness it sets out to negate; its followers would be likely to herald each trivial success in meditation with such thoughts as “I have achieved this; I have reached such-and-such a stage.” Spiritual power has to be recognized and worshipped — though certainly not thought of as a creator-god. What is paid reverence is the Buddha as the principle of Enlightenment, the urge thereto, and the power by which it is won. Between the Buddhist schools that emphasize self-power and those that stress other-power, there is no difference. Man, as his own savior, depends on self-power, that is to say, his power of mind; but Mind is not his exclusive possession, it is everywhere — the container of the universe and, therefore, other-power. What is inside is also outside; what is self is also other.

To maintain a proper balance, Buddhists pay reverence to the Buddha as symbolized by statues and sacred pictures; but, in meditation, they look to the Buddha in their own minds. Reverence paid to sacred symbols teaches awe and humility; reverence accorded to Mind — the Buddha within — teaches reliance on one’s own effort to achieve Liberation. Most Buddhists perform rites in a temple or household shrine, whereas meditation can be done in secular places — a balcony, an alcove set aside for that purpose, or even a bedroom. Tantrists combine worship and meditation in one by means of the Sādhanas.

Fruits of the Path

It is taught that the ultimate fruit is Enlightenment (Bodhi). Earlier fruits are increasing control over body, speech, and mind, the progressive negation of the ego, and the development of ever higher states of consciousness — all of them accompanied by an increasing influx of intuitive wisdom. The degree of progress is obvious to the adept himself. The extent to which the deities visualized are purely imaginary or correspond to real universal forces is a matter of opinion; that their visualization produces results is a matter of fact. When a small degree of progress has been made, as soon as the visualization begins, the adept is transported into a magical world that defies description. It is as though every object were imbued with the very quality that characterizes whatever it is that gives him the keenest possible aesthetic pleasure combined with the quality of whatever it was that aroused his emotion to the highest pitch in his experience. While he is in that magical state, the most ordinary object — say, a door-knob — gives him as much joy as the loveliest form imaginable.

Fake progress may deceive and impress others, but never an accomplished Lama. The adept’s Guru has merely to ask him a few questions framed in the light of his own spiritual experience to discover the precise extent of his attainment. He will grade his future teaching accordingly. Marked progress in spiritual communion brings with it what are generally termed psychic powers, of which telepathy is the most common. Adepts are warned against cultivating such powers for their own sake or deliberately using them except in case of dire emergency. Telepathy, which does not depend on deliberate use and is, therefore, regularly employed, is valuable to a Lama in gauging his disciples’ achievement.

Unconventional Morality

Tantric followers have to face the fact that their attitude to life offers unusually wide scope for abuse and calumny. In judging its spiritual value, it must be borne in mind that the Tantric path is not for sinners but for saints. Short Path adepts generally find it easier to become monks or recluses. A Nyingmapa Lama who marries chooses a wife who is willing to give most of her time to spiritual tasks, not one who will delay his quest by frivolity. Practioners are forbidden to depart from Buddhist conventional morality unless their conduct truly proceeds from the desire to attain experientially to the voidness of

opposites. They must never lose sight of their prime objective. Subject to these conditions, advanced adepts are permitted to do what seems good to them, regardless of the normal rules of conduct. To consider abiding by the rules as necessarily good or transgressing them as necessarily evil would be to tie themselves down with the dualism they have set out to transcend. On the other hand, the injunction to go beyond rules does not mean that there is merit in breaking them; rather it is an injunction to recognize their emptiness. The hair-raising allegories about Guru Rinpoche are intended to shock people into this recognition.

A libertine is one who responds eagerly to the promptings of his desires for the sake of immediate pleasure. It is quite another matter to respond soberly in order to profit from the subsequent disillusion and gradually lay desire to rest, especially if the alternative is to stifle them and suffer the severe consequences of a too rigid suppression. Ceasing to think in dualistic terms, the adept must bring awareness and understanding to bear on every one of his actions, judging each on its own merits and in terms of the causative and concurrent circumstances, so that valuable experience can be gained from each. He should care not at all for convention, let others judge him as they will. For an act in itself cannot properly be considered good or bad (unless another being

is made to suffer). Its quality will depend on the intention and on the use made of it. These are matters which only the adept himself can judge save perhaps for his Lama who has, through the years, gained an intimate knowledge of his mind. Inevitably, such conduct is open to condemnation from some quarters. Sordid people judge others by their own standards, reading crude motives into every sort of action. Hypocrites will be likely to see their own vice in every unconventional act of a man sincerely seeking spiritual advancement. It is hard to convince them that others may act from lofty motives. A true adept, however, will not be put out by misguided criticism. So long as he can conscientiously approve of his own behavior and be in no doubt of his Lama’s approval, all will be well. The Tibetans have a fund of humorous stories that make this point — some of them refreshingly earthy.