Also referred to as Pure Land Buddhism, grew directly out of the broader world of Mahayana, but its doctrine is arguably the farthest removed from the original teaching. Pure Land has consistently been the largest of all Buddhist sects.
Each of the many Buddhas preside over his own celestial Buddha-realm. A Buddha realm is also known as a "Pure Land" (Jingtu in Chinese, Jodo in Japanese). The Pure Lands are identified with the direction of the compass. Most popular is the Pure Land of the West, presided over by Buddha Amitabha (Amida in Japanese). This "western paradise," an unimaginably great distance from Earth is known as Sukhavati.
The first organization of Pure LandBuddhist organization named the White Lotus Society in the year 402B.C.E. The purpose of this organization was to form a community of people - monks and laypersons-who were dedicated to being reborn in Sukhavati, the western Pure Land of Buddha Amitabha. The doctrine of the White Lotus Society was based on the teaching of various sutras, the most important of which was the Sukhavati-vyuha.
All Buddhist sutras address the matter of enlightenment; achieving enlightenment is the bottom line in Buddhism. The Sukhavati-vyuha also deals with the path to enlightenment, but in a very special way. It holds out the possibly of awakening for everyone, not some distant future after many rebirths as a monk, but here and now, at the end of this lifetime, and it matters not in the least how great a sinner a person may have been. The prevailing view was that the road to enlightenment is long and difficult; one has to slowly overcome the enormous burden of negative karma that has accumulated over time. But Hui Yuan and those who followed him taught that there is another way, a faster and easier way. Incredible though as it may seem, it is possible, even for the worst sinners, to be rescued from the ignorance and depravity of this life at the time of death be reborn in the Pure Land of Buddha Amitabha, where the fullness of enlightenment is assured. Thus did reverence of Buddha Amitabha become the central concern of the Pure Land Buddhism. Note that in Pure Land the word "Buddha" by itself refers not to Shakyamuni Buddha, but to the Buddha Amitabha. Shakyamuni's importance is limited to his role as deliverer of the sutras upon which the Pure Land doctrine is based. According to the teaching of the sutras, Amitabha began his career toward Buddhahood immeasurable ages ago when he lived as a king. He lived during the time of an early Buddha, Lokesvara-raja, and after hearing one of this Buddha's sermons, he gave up everything and became a monk, taking the name Dharamakara. Dharamakara became a genuine bodhisattva and was reborn countless times before finally achieving perfect enlightenment, at which time he became properly known as Buddha Amitabha (the Buddha of "infinite light"). Amitabha's Buddha-realm is Sukhavati, the Pure Land of the West, where he has presided over a vast number of followers ever since.
Dharamakara had taken a special vow. Every bodhisattva declares vows. One of these vows, though (the 18th to be exact), stated that he would not become enlightened unless he were to make good on a promise to welcome into his Buddha-realm all beings who trusted themselves to him with sincere devotion: "If all beings in the ten quarters, when I have attained Buddhahood, should believe in me with all sincerity of heart, desiring to be born in my country, and should say ten times, think of me, and if they should not be reborn there, may I not obtain enlightenment."
The answer to rebirth in the Pure Land of Sukhavati was simple: he couldn't. No one could do such a thing on his own-but Buddha Amitabha could! By compassionately sharing his infinite store of merit, built up over eons of time, Buddha Amitabha could wipe out the negative karma of anyone, and transform that person into a being suitable for entry into his Buddha-realm, where enlightenment was assured. Indeed, he had vowed to do exactly that for any person who came to him with a sincere heart. It's a can't lose situation. No wonder this school of Buddhism grew rapidly among the common folk!
This approach of enlightenment might seem to involve a very basic change in the teaching of Buddhism, perhaps even a contradiction. From the very beginning, Buddhism had taught that one is capable of transforming him or herself on the road to enlightenment; no outside supernatural help is necessary. Shakyamuni himself had said, "Be ye lamps unto yourselves; be ye a refuge to yourselves; betake yourself to no eternal refuge!" But now, advocates of Pure Land Buddhism were proclaiming that no amount of self-directed effort could ever be sufficient. There will always be an inescapable taint of ego in everything we do. Many people continue for a long time to have confidence that they can achieve enlightenment on their own. But they are fooling themselves. Eventually, each person will reach a point, like someone who is drowning, where he or she will realize that one's own efforts are simply not enough. When that point is reached, the person will finally be willing to give up the struggle and appeal to the compassionate Buddha for help. Buddha - and Buddha alone - can save us. Buddha can, and will, pluck us out of the water-but we have to ask for help. We have to have faith in Buddha.
How similar this is to the teaching of Martin Luther. One cannot achieve "salvation" - that is, awakening-through self-power, but one can achieve salvation through "other power." All that is required is faith-loving faith in the goodness and infinite compassion of Buddha Amitabha. He has vowed to bring salvation to every person who is sincerely devoted to him.
Devotion to Buddha Amitabha is demonstrated in many ways, but one is of crucial importance. It is generally identified by its Japanese name, nembutsu (nienfo in Chinese). Nembutsu is the distinguishing feature of Pure Land Buddhism, so much so that in fact, that some simply refer to Pure Land as Nembutsu Buddhism. Nembutsu, the repeated invocation of the name of Amitabha is the operative agent in brining about salvation in the Pure Land.
It would be inaccurate to think of nembutsu as some sort of magical device; it's not really a spiritual "sesame." Nembutsu is an external manifestation of what comes from within, the power of faith. A sincere, loving faith is what it's all about. But nembutsu, the external expression of that faith, plays an important role. Another valuable external in Pure Land is "visualization." It is believed by the faithful that the practice of nembutsu becomes especially powerful if one is trying to visualize Buddha Amitabha or his Pure Land. Visualization helps to deepen one's devotion and thus the bond between oneself and Buddha Amitabha. If a person experiences a spontaneous vision of Amitabha, it is taken as evidence that the person is certain to be free of terror at the time of death and will be reborn in Sukhavati. According to traditional belief, when death occurs, Amitabha's companion, the much-loved bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara, will come to ward off fear and guide the spirit of the deceased to its splendid rebirth in the Pure Land.
In general, the Pure Land is a place of blissful happiness; there is no suffering of any kind. It's basically a paradise and therefore an ever-popular subject in the temple art of Buddhism. Perhaps the designation "paradise" would depend upon whom you are talking to. This may come as a surprise, but there are no women in Pure Land! This doesn't mean that women are barred from entry; what it means is that an earthly female is reborn a male. Well, strictly speaking, that's not entirely true. In the Pure Land, all beings are transcendent beings (referred to as "golden bodied"). They have risen above the practical considerations of gender; there is no need for sexual difference. Everyone is a perfected being would naturally exhibit male characteristics if there's a choice between male and female. This probably seemed perfectly reasonable in the early days of Pure Land, but it has caused problems through the ages, and you can imagine the problem it causes today!
It must be remembered that the overriding value of being reborn in the Pure Land is that, in that way, one can achieve enlightenment. The object of being reborn in the Pure Land is to be brought to enlightenment; that's ultimately what it's about. When a person admits that he cannot do it on his or her own, that person surrenders voluntarily to the infinite power of the compassionate Buddha Amitabha, who has vowed to share his enlightenment in the Pure Land, with all who have faith in him. Not only would a person be brought to enlightenment in the Pure Land, but also then he or she might expect to return to Earth as a compassionate bodhisattva in order to help others. This being the case, the heavenly body that transcends gender makes perfectly good sense. However accurate this interpretation of the Pure Land may be, though, it must be admitted that in the minds of most people, achieving enlightenment has not necessarily been their prime concern. Throughout the ages, most have seen this "western paradise" as a permanent abode, a sort of heaven where one will be reunited with ancestors and deceased family members and live together blissfully until the end of time in the loving company of Buddha Amitabha.
But there is another way of interpreting all of this that needs to be recognized. The great popularity of Pure Land may indeed have been anchored in the common folk from the beginning, but there are also followers of Pure Land who in no way would be described as naive or gullible. In somewhat surprising way, Pure Land is not likely to attract the strongly rational and philosophically minded, but it is pure enchantment for the person of a more mystical frame of mind. Pure Land represents the more emotional, artistic, "spiritual" side of Buddhism. More than any other sect, Pure Land is the bhakti of Buddhism.
As far as Mahayana Buddhism is concerned; everyone plugs in at the level that they where they feel most comfortable. If one wishes to conceive of Avalokiteshvara as a distinct being-a distinct spiritual being-who, in the company of Buddha Amitabha presides over the Pure Land of Sukhavati, a genuine paradise into one's spirit may be reborn, then Mahayana Buddhism has not the slightest problem with that. If such a belief and the practices that go with it help one grow in Buddha's lotus pond, where is the problem? Isn't this what it's all about?

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Arhat

The goal of a Theravadin monk was to become an arhat - that is, a fully enlightened person. Mahayanists criticized the Theravadins for being self-centered; the enlightenment of an arhat was simply for himself.

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Avalokiteshvara

The very popular bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara (pronounced Ahv-a-loh-keet-esh-VAR-a), for example, is identified with perfect compassion. Skill in visualizing Avalokiteshvara, it is believed, will increase the quality of compassion in the person practicing this exercise. Note that in performing the exercise, the student does not believe that he has created an actual vision of Avalokiteshvara. Not at all; the visualization is accepted as a purely psychic experience, but an extremely powerful one.
By far the most popular mantra of Tibetan Buddhism is Om mani padme hum. This mantra, an invocation to Avalokiteshvara, is repeated endlessly by all Tibetan Buddhists. It is ubiquitous in Tibet, inscribed everywhere in the arts, as well as in the minds and hearts of all Tibetans. Om mani padme hum is printed on prayer flags, amulets and long chains of paper that fill the ever turning prayer wheels. The mantra translates literally as "Om-the jewel in the lotus-hum." The lotus can be seen as referring to human consciousness, and the jewel is the enlightened mind that is embraced within the lotus.

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Bardol Thödol

Known to the West as "Tibetan Book of the Dead", which was translated to English by the Oxford scholar W.Y. Evans-Wentz.
The literal expression of the teaching holds that a person's spirit will be reborn following death of the body. How it all turns out depends to a very large degree on how the person responds to a series of perceptions he or she will experience in the hours and days immediately after death. It is believed that the person, whose body is now dead, will nonetheless pass through several distinct planes of consciousness (called bardos in Tibetan). Some are alluring and some are terrifying, but all call for some kind of response, and as mentioned, the quality of the rebirth is the direct result of how successful (or unsuccessful) the response is.
In this matter, the help of a trained spiritual assistant can be immediately valuable. Consequently, it has long been the custom in Tibet that many monks are trained to be expert guides whose task it is to help the dying prepare for death and, after death, to help the disembodied spirit successfully navigate the bardos and be reborn in the finest possible condition. Bardo literally is the state between death and rebirth. The plural is used referring to various stages that can be identified. In the case of the layperson, the monks go to the home of the dying and conduct an elaborate ritual that may go on for days. The spirit is talked to and given instructions, even though the body may be dead and cold. Eventually, the body is disposed of, according to ritual. In the high country of Tibet, where firewood for cremation is scarce, the body is customarily taken to a place where it is cut up and offered to hungry vultures. Tibetans see nothing morbid or repulsive in this at all.
The character of the bardo experiences and instructions for dealing with them are discussed in an ancient Tibetan work known as the Bardo Thödol. It is widely believed that Padmasambhava himself was the author of this work. The Buddhologist W.Y. Evans-Wentz translated the work into English, giving it the imaginative title, "The Tibetan Book of the Dead." It's intriguing work and has become very popular in the West. Perhaps the most intriguing thing of all about the Bardo Thödol is the suggestion that, at the deepest level of meaning, it is an esoteric work that is really directed at the living, not the dead. In this interpretation, death, as it is ordinarily understood, is a metaphor for death of another kind-death of the ego. The Bardo Thödol, then, becomes a powerful guidebook in the hands of a spiritual master to help the initiate "die" to his ego-self, pass successfully through the stages of psychic resistance (the bardos), and be reborn (i.e., "awakened") in the new life of enlightened consciousness.
Seen in the light, the Bardo Thödol provides the student of Tibetan Buddhism with a glimpse into the fabulous insights that this tradition has produced with regard to the nature of consciousness and the ways in which a person may overcome his own psychic fears. The Bardo Thödol becomes a guidebook for passing from ordinary ignorance to the freedom of perfect understanding.

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Bodhisattva

The goal of a Mahayanist monk was to become a bodhisattva. Bodhisattva in Sanskrit means "one who has achieved the goal," the goal of enlightenment. A bodhisattva is also an enlightened person but the meaning of the term embraces far more than what the arhat stood for. For one thing, it is the intention of a bodhisattva to achieve enlightenment not for his own good alone, but for all beings.
Strictly speaking, a bodhisattva is one who has achieved awakening, but the word is sometimes used to include as well those who have not yet become fully awakened, but have made some progress and are destined ultimately to achieve it. Whereas a Theravadin monk is dedicated to the Eight-Fold Path, a Mahayana monk works on the "Six Perfections" (eventually increased to ten in some Mahayana sects). There is much similarity between the two. The "perfections," also known as paramitas, are to be fully mattered by the bodhisattva-to-be in the course of his or her development.
The Six Perfections are as follows:
1. Dana-paramita (becoming a giving, other-directed person)
2. Shila-paramita (developing correct moral discipline)
3. Kshanti-paramita (cultivating patience and tolerance)
4. Virga-paramita (striving for determination and perseverance)
5. Dhyana-paramita (developing skill in meditation)
6. Prajna-paramita (seeking supreme wisdom that sees Reality as it is)
Each of these paramitas nourishes all of the others, but the apex, of course, is Prajnaparamita, mastery of which makes the person a fully realized bodhisattva -an "awakened one." In the Mahayana tradition, it was widely understood that achieving mastery of the Six Perfections could take a very long time-many lifetimes, in fact. Consequently, a fully bodhisattva was believed to be one who had lived through many previous lives.
The preceding statement may come as something of a shock. "Many previous lives"? Is this not a bold reassertion of the idea of atman, the very heart of avidya that Buddha had sought to liberate humankind from? Not really: For one thing, Buddha never had a defined doctrine; he assiduously avoided answers to metaphysical questions. He was much more interested in the right way of life. Much of what we are told to be the philosophical character of Buddha's teaching is what has been inferred by various traditions, beginning with the Theravada. The Doctrine of Shunyata had undermined the either-or approach to truth. It was no longer a question of whether atman did or did not exist; all conclusions based on conceptual thinking were ultimately irrelevant. They could go either way. Mahayana simply opened the door to a much wider spectrum of interpretations. If there are to be many paths - something for everyone - then it should come as no surprise that humanity's infatuation with the idea of reincarnation would find some place for expression in Mahayana Buddhism.
Philosophically speaking, the Mahayana tradition has always been steadfast in denying the existence of any permanent, self-standing essence that endures through time. If, however, there is no "self" (in the sense of atman) to be reborn, then how does one explain the "many previous lives" of a bodhisattva?
In Mahayana, the word samsara refers to the cycling of existence-a great cycling process that is a continuous flow of energy. What we call human life is a part of that process, but human ""life" in its totality is a process that extends over many "lifetimes." Rebirth, then, is an aspect of a process that is going on all the time-every moment, in fact. The word does not refer to the rebirth of an atman; rather, it refers to the repetition of an identifiable and enduring pattern within the process. In this way, a particular process of energy (like a wave, which can be seen to have an individual identity) can roll on, continuing to express the same pattern over several "lifetimes." But again, it is not someone who is being reborn; it is the process itself that is reborn-that is continuously regenerating itself. The term "mindstream" is often used in this connection. A given bodhisattva having many "lives" is that the process of development that leads to mastery of the Six Perfections takes a very long time. Over time, positive karma that influences subsequent development is generated. Eventually, karma sufficient to the genesis of awakening is accumulated.
The life of compassion (karuna) generates the karma that leads to awakening. The importance of compassion cannot be exaggerated; it is a truly distinguishing feature of Mahayana. Compassion, however, cannot be separated from prajna; indeed, perfect compassion is prajna. Prajna is the wisdom that sees reality as it is, which is to say, that opens in awakening. But the ultimate victory of prajna over the entrenched power of avidya does not come easily. It is growth in compassion, not discipline that, little by little, loosens the grip of avidya. Thus, in seeking to extend compassion until it has no limits, the bodhisattva is dissolving all illusions of separation and is daily moving closer to the point at which karuna and prajna merge in awakening.
A bodhisattva is, in fact, defined by the ultimate and perfect act of compassion. He or she, just like the Buddha, willingly postpones entry into the perfect and permanent reality of nirvana. In fact, the Mahayana monk takes a vow not to accept the final perfection of nirvana until all other beings may also enter into it. This is done out of a spirit of pure and unlimited compassion; it would be unthinkably selfish to accept the fullness of nirvana until all other beings can do so too. The decision reflects Buddha's decision to put off the perfect solitary enjoyment of his awakening, choosing instead to return to the everyday world and dedicate his life to helping others along the path to freedom. Also, the decision to postpone nirvana is evidence that one has fully awakened to the truth that there is no self apart from the whole; there really can be no other course for a genuinely awakened man or woman. We can express the difference by saying that in the Theravada tradition, one seeks to become totally enlightened, whereas in the Mahayana tradition one seeks to become totally compassionate.
To sum it up, a fully realized bodhisattva is a man or woman who, through dedication to the spirit of the Dharma, has seen through the illusion of the separate ego. The bodhisattva is a liberated person, free from fear and attachment, one who genuinely sees the underlying truth in the unity of being. Such a one could, to put it in the clumsy way of words, go on to extinguish his or her ego individuality completely, dissolving perfectly - at least at the time called death-into the universal emptiness that is the underlying reality of all that is. But to allow this would be to put the interests of the self first, which is unthinkable (and impossible) to one who has truly come to realize that the separate self is an illusion. The whole is all that matters-all that is. Only the wholeness of being can enter into perfect nirvana; nothing else really exists. So, out of boundless compassion for all beings who have not yet made the discovery, the bodhisattva must choose to wait at the brink, being of service to others, until nirvana is available to all.
"...to remain at the brink till all shall go before him, amounts to a vow to remain as he is forever." The concept of a bodhisattva as an enlightened person of infinite compassion who lovingly puts off the completed perfection of nirvana so long as any other being needs help is, a magnificent ideal. It would be a mistake to picture the bodhisattva as a lofty, distantly removed from the humdrum affairs of daily life. The true bodhisattva is a very down-to-earth person, a friendly, caring, compassionate man or woman. And the bodhisattva's caring extends not only to other people, but also to everything in nature. The true bodhisattva is the finest example of a human being that we can imagine.
Another important matter concerning the compassion of the bodhisattva has to do with the huge store of positive karma that he or she accumulates. According to popular belief, that karma is available to be shared with less enlightened folks and thus help them along the path to their own liberation. (In a sense, this parallels the Christian concept of "grace," which can be dispensed among the faithful.) As a predictable result of the potential sharing of karma, certain eminent bodhisattvas have become cult figures, attracting large and devoted followings among the laity. Such revered bodhisattvas play the role of "saints" within Mahayana Buddhism. Many bodhisattvas have risen to this role in the history of Mahayana. Three of the most beloved are Avalokiteshvara (Kannon in Japanese), the embodiment of compassion; Manjushri (Monju in Japanese), the embodiment of wisdom; and Maitreya (Miroku in Japanese), who is believed to be a bodhisattva who will eventually achieve Buddhahood and become the next and last earthly Buddha.

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Bon

The old religion of Tibet before Buddhism.
The spirits of the ancient Bon were wreaking havoc on the land because they were displeased by the growing interest of its people in Buddhism - and things promised to get worse, not better. Many Tibetans, including some powerful nobles, were eager to uproot the new growth and exterminate it altogether. This presented King Trisong Detsen with a dilemma. He personally favored Buddhism and wanted to see it prosper in Tibet, but under the circumstances, he could not openly oppose the hostile nobles. With great reluctance, Trisong Detsen was forced to ask Shantarakshita to give up his mission and depart from Tibet, at least temporarily. Shantarakshita agreed, but before he left he suggested to the king that he invite in his place the much respected Vajrayana master, Padmasambhava (pronounced Pahd-ma-sahm-BAH-va). This luminary was known to not only a very learned man, but a master of the arts of sorcery as well. If there was anyone with the power to control the demons, it was Padmasambhava, and if successful, he would greatly advance the cause of Buddhism in Tibet.
In many ways, the arrival of Padmasambhava (or Guru Rinpoche) marks the real beginning of Buddhism in Tibet; what came before amounts to something of a prelude. Before Padmasambhava, Buddhism was a small and disorganized movement; the traditional Bon was everywhere dominant. After Padmasambhava, Buddhism rapidly became dominant and assimilated much of Bon into itself.
It must be remembered, through, that Tibetan Buddhism is an amalgam of Vajrayana Buddhism and the ancient tradition of Bon. The beliefs and practices of Bon were never exterminated. Rather, the outlook of Bon came to be something of a "ground" upon which Tibetan Buddhism was built. At a deep level, the belief system of Bon continued to live on, especially among the common people. Fundamental to that system is the acceptance of a world of spirits. More than anything else, this acceptance defines the basic worldview of the ordinary Tibetan.
Nature, spirits, demons, gods, ghosts, departed ancestors-the unsophisticated Tibetan has always earnestly believed that he lives his life surrounded by the vast number of spiritual beings some benign and some malicious, and that they influence every aspect of daily life. The spirits must be dealt with; there is no question about that. The only question is, how best to deal with them. It is in this area, dealing with the spirit world, that the most significant contribution of the Buddhist tradition is to be found, at least among the common people.
The Buddhist establishment embraced the role of dealing with the spirits from the earliest times, taking over (but never entirely replacing) the functions of the Bon priesthood. In the land were superstition pervades everything, perhaps it was only natural that some Buddhist monks would become specialists in astrology, necromancy, sorcery, and all of the occult arts. Propitiating the spirits while holding the dangerous ones at bay has always been an obsession with the people of Tibet.

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Buddha

"The awakened one," usually refers to Gautama Shakyamuni, was a itinerant guru of the sixth century B.C.E. who experienced a profound mystical intuition of truth (his "awakening") while in his thirties and dedicated the rest of his life to traveling about North India teaching his way of liberation to as many as would listen.

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Chan Buddhism

(Zen Buddhism) the Chinese predecessor of Zen Buddhism, which would become Zen in Japan, matured in China during the Tang and Song dynasties. The relative stability of the times was the opportunity the Confucians had been waiting for.
Chan is the name of a school of Buddhism that developed in China. The word is derived from the Sanskrit dhyana, a term that refers to the practice of meditation. "Chan" is simply the Chinese version of the Sanskrit word. An emphasis on dhyana practice was introduced into China from India in the fifth century. The school of Chan Buddhism was the result; it flourished for several centuries before declining and all but dying out in its Chinese homeland.
In the twelfth century the school of Chan Buddhism was transplanted from China to Japan, where it also took root and flourished. In Japan, the tradition is known as Zen Buddhism. Just as Chan is the Chinese pronunciation of the Sanskrit dhyana, Zen is the Japanese pronunciation of the Chinese word Chan. Thus, Chan and Zen are fundamentally the same word; both are variants of the root word dhyana.
In essence, the Zen tradition is a continuation of the Chan tradition; there is a seamless flow between them. Because of the decline of the Chan tradition in China, though, the modern world is far more familiar with the tradition in its Japanese form. For this reason, many modern writers choose to avoid confusion by simply referring to the entire tradition - the Chinese part as well as the Japanese - by the name Zen. There is logic in doing this. After all, it is one continuous tradition, and the names Chan and Zen both refer equally to that tradition. Zen has, in fact, become something of a universal world in modern times.
Both Chan and Zen, derived from the Sanskrit dhyana, refer to the practice of meditation. Considering the central place of meditation in the development of Eastern traditions - especially Zen Buddhism - it is appropriate to begin with a closer look at the nature of this often mysterious and elusive subject.
To begin with, we must make a distinction between the state of meditation and the practice of meditation. By itself, the word meditation refers to a particular state of mind, a state of consciousness. Meditation as a practice, however, refers to various techniques and disciplines that are designed to help one enter into the meditative state of mind. The many different schools of meditation - Zen, yoga, "transcendental" and so on-are concerned primarily with differences in technique. They offer different ways of arriving at the center, but the center - the state of mind in meditation - is essentially the same for all.

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Dalai Lama

The spiritual (and former political) leader of Tibet, before the Chinese invasion in 1959. The Tibetan word dalai translates into English as "vast ocean"; thus, the term Dalai Lama means, more or less, the Grand Lama whose greatness is as "vast as the ocean. "Sonam Gyatso, the third Grand Lama of Gelug-pa, was the one to receive the title, but he liked it so much that he wanted it to be more than merely his personal possession; he wanted it to become synonymous with being the Grand Lama of Gelug-pa. Consequently, he made the title retroactive to his two predecessors, and he, at least officially, became not the first Dalai Lama, but the third.
This matter of the search for the reincarnated spirit of the Dalai Lama would become one of the most intriguing aspects of Tibetan Buddhism. Tibetan men and women, just like everyone else, face the inevitability of death. As mentioned before, the common Tibetan yearns, though, to be reborn after death in Sukhavati, the western paradise" of Buddha Amitabha. If this can't be, then the next best thing is to be reborn in human form, but in the best possible human form - that is, the one that is most likely to achieve rebirth in Sukhavati next time around. In this regard, it may be necessary to try again and again. One of the most important services of the Buddhist priest, as we have seen, is to assist a person at the time of death so that his or her spirit will achieve either Sukhavati or the most favorable rebirth that can be had. In any case, the possibility of reincarnation is a common belief among the Tibetan people. It is an accepted fact that virtually everyone is a reincarnated being.
Some few, however, are very special reincarnations. They are already enlightened beings who, out of deep compassion, choose to be reincarnated in human form in order to be of help to their still-unenlightened brothers and sisters. Such a person, generally a lama, is called a tulku. A tulku, then, is a reincarnated lama who is reborn in order to help lead others to enlightenment. A tulku, then, gives signs that others can use to identify the specific person in which the spirit has been reborn. In this way, a lineage can be established. The faithful can feel confident for example, that over many generations the Grand Lama of a particular monastery has been one great spirit, reincarnated over and over, each time successfully identified by the leading lamas of that monastery. For the past five centuries, the most important lineage in Tibet has been that of the Dalai Lama. There have been fourteen historical Dalai Lamas. To the faithful, however, there has really only been only one Dalai Lama, incarnated and re-incarnated fourteen times, and not merely the reincarnation of a highly enlightened lama, but of Avalokiteshvara himself, the bodhisattva of infinite compassion.
Here again, we confront the dichotomy between the basic Buddhist teaching that ultimately there is no "one" to be reborn and the custom of behaving as if reincarnated in the body of a newborn baby. It thus becomes a matter of prime importance to locate that child and see to it that he is properly groomed for the life that is his destiny. To this end, the leading lamas of Gelug-pa gather at the time of the death of a Dalai Lama. The very first order of business is to conduct an investigation into the deceased's words and activities in the days just preceding death. Perhaps the words will hold some clues that will help in the search-some repeated utterance, for example. Or perhaps the dying lama has exhibited some unusual behavior. The leading lamas will also examine the embalmed corpse carefully. In one case, we are told, the embalmed body kept realigning its position as if by magic. It was laid out each night so that the head was pointing to the north, but in the morning the position of the body had changed so that the head was pointing east. This was interpreted as a clear sign that the search should be made to the east of Lhasa.
The search committee also consults with the official oracle of Tibet, located at Nechung Monastery in Lhasa, and by long-standing tradition visits the sacred lake of Hlamo Latso, approximately ninety miles southeast of Lhasa. Committee members might spend several days at the lakeside, contemplating its surface with almost trance-like attention. It is believed that apparitions produced by mists rising from the lake can provide powerful clues. One might see a vision of particular kind of house, for instance, or a tree in bloom, or a geographic landmark. Finally, when all of the preliminary information has been gathered and studied, the real search is ready to begin. This might take many months or even years. Advance units of the search group are likely to travel in disguise, dressed as ordinary pilgrims. At last, a promising candidate is identified. This, of course, will be a little boy, often about two years old by the time he is found. Now he is put to the test.
The highest lamas conduct the examination of the child. They watch with the keenest interest to see if he exhibits any of the knowledge or personal traits of the recently deceased Dalai Lama. Part of the procedure is to place before the child various objects that belonged to the deceased-things such as rosaries, scarves, prayer wheels, and perhaps a walking stick. Mixed in with these will be exact replicas. If the boy is truly the tulku they are looking for, he will, it is presumed, recognize his own things and pick up the right ones. When the little boy succeeds in convincing these visiting dignitaries that he is indeed the reincarnation of the Dalai Lama, it is a cause for great rejoicing.
When all is ready, an entourage of notables will escort the young tulku to Lhasa, where, during a lengthy ceremony of investiture, he will be officially presented as the new Dalai Lama. (His family will most likely accompany him and take up comfortable residence nearby.) Now begins the long process of grooming the child so that by the time he is a man he will be fully able to take his place as the leader of the country. He will be thoroughly educated in all of the traditional disciplines, including philosophy and theology. Eventually, he must pass grueling oral examinations in order to win his scholarly degrees. In addition, he will be trained in all of the monastic disciplines. The Dalai Lama is a full-fledged ordained monk of the Gelug-pa order; it is expected that he will observe all of the vows, including celibacy. The young Dalai Lama grows up in a highly controlled environment, and if all goes well, by the time he is a young adult he will have been molded into a man of exceptional abilities. As Dalai Lama, he will be able to play the role of priest-king with wisdom and virtue.
Defenders of this unique way of producing a national leader argue that it is the best of all possible ways. To begin with, the risky problems of hereditary rule are totally avoided. From out of the rich variety of the general population, a child of sound mind and body is selected and then most carefully educated for the role of leadership. He is tutored by the best in every field and is raised in an environment of Buddhist monastic ideals of Buddhist teaching. Not only are the risks of hereditary rule avoided, but also the risks of the elective system. There are no rival cliques promoting their candidates - no cliques, no political parties, no feuding aristocratic families-all of this is avoided. The entire system gets a fresh start each time.
One potential problem with this system, though, is that the new Dalai Lama must necessarily be a young child. Hence, for many years the tasks of leadership will have to be in the hands of others. These others are called regents, and although every effort may be made to appoint dedicated and selfless men to the post of regent, there remains nonetheless the real possibility that self-serving individuals may come to occupy these powerful positions. Throughout much of the past five centuries, the regents, not the Dalai Lama, have been in control of Tibet's government, and their rule has not been entirely innocent of palace intrigues and feuding factions. Still, for the most part, this very unusual system has worked well and has enjoyed the passionate support of the Tibetan people. Incidentally, the obvious advantages of the tulku system were not lost on the other sects. Before long, the leading lamas of virtually all monasteries were proclaimed to be tulkus. The Dalai Lama, however-the reincarnation of Avalokiteshvara - has remained the paramount tulku of the land down to modern times.

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Doctrine of Anatman

Shakyamuni Buddha (Siddhartha Gautama), his great insight was not fundamentally in conflict with the traditional teaching of Hindu spirituality. Buddha did not use the term Brahman in his teaching, but in a section of the Pali Cannon known as the Udana, he is said to have referred to "the unborn, the unformed, the unbecome." Some would see this as carrying essentially the same meaning as the concept of Brahman. Interpreted in this way, Buddha's awakening was a reaffirmation of the essential truth of the Hindu tradition; he simply saw more deeply and clearly and thus was able to give new life and meaning to the age-old wisdom. He was not so much a revolutionary as he was a reformer.
There is another, quite different interpretation. Some maintain that what Buddha discovered in that moment of perfect insight was in stark contradiction to the fundamentals of the traditional teaching. It was a new departure, and it was the moment of birth of a revolution in human thought. This interpretation can be summed up in what is generally referred to as the Doctrine of Anatman. The Doctrine of Anatman is the philosophical centerpiece of several closely related principles that concern the nature of reality.
In Sanskrit, the prefix a or an is a negative; it negates the noun. Therefore, the word anatman technically means "no atman," "no Self." According to that teaching, all is Brahman, the creator and the upholder of the universe. Brahman, as atman, is the core, the soul, of every sentient being. The Brahman-Atman is the core consciousness; ego is the role. Our own role-playing enthralls us and blinds us to the deeper truth. The ignorance (avidya) of ego identification and the hopeless effort to satisfy the cravings of ego burden us with all of life's suffering.
The Vedanta tradition taught that the way to freedom from suffering is to break out of the cage of ego delusion and discover the real Self, the Atman. Such discovery was called moksha. It might take many lifetimes, but eventually all would climb to the summit of the mountain, and Brahman would rediscover itself perfectly.
During his sadhu years, Buddha (then Siddhartha) gave himself over completely to freeing himself from the shackles of ego and to discovering the pure vision of atman in the depths of mediation. He put forth as fine an effort as any human being possibly could, but, as we know, didn't happen. Thus came about what we may call his second great realization: there is no self-fulfillment through self-denial. The second great realization goes hand in hand with the first. Seemingly, they are the two sides of one coin. First Buddha discovered that he couldn't find self-fulfillment in self-indulgence; then he found that its the opposite, self-denial, didn't work either. What else is there?
In desperation, Buddha withdrew into deep meditation, determined not to leave the spot until he penetrated through the ignorance and discovered the true nature of his Self. What set the stage for the great moment of his awakening was what we might refer to as a third and final insight regarding self-fulfillment. Buddha saw that his first two insights, though truthful in themselves, were founded on a fundamental error that we may put in the following way:
- First great realization: Buddha concluded that there is no self-fulfillment through self-indulgence.
- Second great realization: He concluded that there is no self-fulfillment through self-denial.
- Third great realization: The sudden awareness that there is no self-fulfillment at all, there is no self-fulfillment, period! There can be no self-fulfillment because there is no self to be fulfilled!
His heroic quest had become an impossible one from the beginning because there is no atman to be discovered (anatman; no atman). It's shocking thought; let me repeat it. His quest had been an impossible one from the beginning because there is no atman to be discovered! There is no atman-Self to be fulfilled. The whole notion of atman, the cornerstone of Vedanta philosophy, was simply a fantastic error. However appealing, however enticing, however reasonable, however enshrined in tradition, Buddha saw in a flash of insight that it was all a construction of the human mind, without any objective reality at all.
The concept of atman had developed as a logical necessity. I am a conscious being. What I am conscious of (aware of) are my own experiences. I am aware of what I see, what I taste, what I think. In other words, I am the conscious subject of my own experiences; that seems self-evident and undeniable. My sight cannot be aware of itself; "I am aware of what I see! According to the Vedanta view, the "I" that is aware is atman, the conscious core, the subject of all conscious experiences, the hearer of sounds, the see-er of sights, the feeler of feelings, the thinker of thoughts. The ego role is part of the world of maya; it dances before the atman, so entrancing it that atman is hypnotized into falsely identifying with it. Thus evolved yoga, whose goal it became to shed the layers of ego until one discovered the atman, the seed at the core of one's being.
A similar line of thinking developed in modern Western Philosophy. The British empiricist John Locke introduced the concepts of what he called primary qualities and secondary qualities. Secondary qualities are the things that we perceive with the senses: color, texture, smell, etc. We never directly perceive the primary qualities, such things as extension in space, but they are what "hold" or express, the secondary qualities, which we do perceive. Someone once asked Locke how he could be sure that the primary qualities really did exist if we never perceive them. His answer was classic: "My God, man, they have to!"
Well, given Locke's system of reasoning, they do have to exist. But that doesn't mean they really do. The same could be said with regard to the concepts of atman. Buddha, like virtually everyone else in his culture, had accepted the reality of atman without question because it seemed so reasonable and necessary. The only problem was that it was nowhere to be found. Buddha (Siddhartha) had become a master of all disciplines of yoga, yet try as he might, he never experienced any state of consciousness that he could honestly identify as the atman. Buddha concluded that there is no such thing as atman. There is no subject of the role; there is only the role. That insight finally freed him from all ignorance. Suddenly, the dreamlike state that is ordinarily consciousness dissolved, and Buddha saw clearly the true nature of his being. He was awake.
Buddha saw that there is no "substanding" self of any kind-that is to say, no substantive enduring reality "standing beneath" and supporting the changing appearances. There is movement; there is change; there is development over time. But there is nothing that is doing all of this. There is just the process itself, no do-er thereof. Reality, you might say, is a constant flow of patterns of energy. But there is nothing that is doing it; there is just the flow. All underlying "things," including the notion of atman are simply illusions of the imagination, Buddha is supposed to have said, "There is liberation, but no one who is liberated."
According to the Doctrine of Anatman, Buddhism was saying, in effect, that not only does the concept of self lack substantial reality, but everything lacks substantial reality. Anything you can think of is, at bottom, a fleeting process of change. Nothing can really stand on its own as a permanent, self-explaining entity. This teaching is expressed in two principles: The Doctrine of Anitya, which holds that impermanence is a characteristic of all existence, and the Doctrine of Dependent Origination, which explains that the intelligibility of anything is dependent on a variety of causes and conditions outside itself. In other words, nothing can explain itself. The existence of every single thing a house, a star, or whatever - can be understood only in terms of other things that define it and cause it to be. These two matters, then - impermanence and dependency - are said to be of the fundamental character of existence. They explain the insubstantiality of everything, including, of course, the concept of atman.
The concept of anatman can sometimes seem to stand common sense on its head. And it does! But sometimes common sense can mislead us, the discoveries of modern physics make abundantly clear. Remember that the most important thing is that you understand the concept of anatman. The Doctrine of Anatman holds that this error-virtually universal among humans-is the root cause of suffering.
Virtually every normal person has a strong sense of "myself"—a strong sense of "I am." And the "I" here refers to the purportedly substantive entity with which the person identifies. It is the conscious "me" that is the subject of all personal experience, of all memories; it is the feeler of feelings and the thinker of thoughts. It is the underlying "me" that remains constant through time from birth to death and perhaps beyond death as well. It is the ego, the "me," that makes decisions and hence gives me a sense of control and direction in life. When I make a fist, "I" make a fist; when I walk across the room, "I" walk across the room.
We are conditioned from infancy to se ourselves in this way. A baby receives a distinct name right on his or her birth certificate and is encouraged in myriad ways to identify with it. One of the first words a child learns to say, usually loudly, is "mine." The language is full of such subtle conditionings: "Let yourself go." "Be yourself!" "Collect yourself!" And then there's always "self-esteem," "self-pity," and even "self-loathing."
Everywhere we turn, the culture supports our unquestioned conviction that the sense of self—a substantive, enduring self—is real and beyond question; it is self-evident. This fixed the belief was given the seal of authority by French philosopher René Descartes, who laid the cornerstone of modern Western philosophy with his famous dictum, Cogito, ergo sum" "I think, therefore I am."
Try to let the thoughts drop away so that, as far as possible, you're not doing anything mentally, you're simply aware of the fact of your existence, your act of being. This exercise in self-consciousness can lead to a dramatic experience, and the deeper you're able to go, the more dramatic it will become. As the activity, the play of the mind settles down, you will become more aware of yourself as a watcher, an observer, of what it is that you do. This subtle sense of self, usually lost in the background of our active daily life, can become very profound when the activity is turned off and the awareness is turned inward. It is as though the real me, down at the core, is some silent, unblinking, wise being from which emanates all this ego role-playing that I endlessly engage in. Thus, the sense of the underlying, enduring self is supported not only conceptually, but experientially as well.
Buddha was a master of meditation. He plumbed the depths of his own inner being, convinced originally that the silent self at the center was atman, and he would not rest until he saw perfectly, until he was one with it. But as we know, all his efforts came to nothing. In this, the most important goal of life, he came up empty. Buddha concluded that the whole concept of atman was only that: a concept. He didn't find the atman because there was no atman to be found. Those who claimed otherwise were simply deluding themselves. Atman is just another trick of the thinking human mind. It's nothing more than a subtle way to conceptualizing the self-image, the ego.
Ego is at the heart of the problem. Buddha believed that the attachment to ego is what human suffering is all about. It is the core attachment; all others relate to it because, ultimately, all cravings seek to satisfy the wants of the ego. Awakening depends on liberating oneself from the bondage of attachments. Most of all, this means liberation from the prison that is the delusion of the ego-self. There is no substantive underlying "me" at all. We are urged to awaken from the dreamlike delusion that we take to be real and cling to desperately.
Of course, the authors of the Upanishads had also taught that liberation means liberation from the delusion of the ego role. Both Buddha and the Upanishads taught that the road to ruin lay in man's hunger to identify with the ego. Awakening depends on liberating oneself from the bondage of attachments. Most of all, this means liberation from the prison that is the delusion of the ego-self. There is no substantive underlying "me" at all. We are urged to awaken from the dreamlike delusion that we take to be real and cling to desperately.
Of course, the authors of the Upanishads had also taught that liberation means liberation from the delusion of the ego role. Both Buddha and the Upanishads taught that the road to ruin lay in man's hunger to identify with is to be found in the matter of atman. The Upanishads proclaimed that one broke through the illusion of ego by discovering the real self, the conscious subject, the atman. Buddha proclaimed that this was an impossible dream. There is no atman! Faith in its existence only perpetuates the delusion of a sub-standing self. Faith in the existence of atman tragically increases one's attachment to ego. In smashing the idol of atman, Buddha was breaking with the most cherished belief of the past and stepping out onto entirely new ground. This matter of the revolutionary nature of the Doctrine of Anatman is summed up very nicely by the Buddhist scholar Walpola Rahula:

What in general is suggested by Soul, Self, Ego, or to use the Sanskrit expression atman is that in man there is a permanent, everlasting and absolute entity, which is the unchanging substance behind the changing phenomenal world. According to some religions, each individual has such a separate soul which is created by God, and which, finally after death, lives eternally either in hell or heaven, its destiny depending on the judgement of its creator.
According to others, it goes through many lives till it is completely purified and becomes finally united with God or Brahman, Universal Soul or atman, form which it originally emanated. This soul or self in man is the thinker of thoughts, feeler of sensations, and receiver of rewards and punishments for all its actions good and bad. Such a conception is called the idea of self.
Buddhism stands unique in the history of human thought in denying the existence of such a Soul, Self, or atman. According to the teaching of Buddha, the idea of self is an imaginary, false belief which has no corresponding reality, and it produces harmful thoughts of 'me' and 'mine', selfish desire, craving, attachment, hated, ill-will, conceit, pride, egoism, and other defilement's, impurities and problems. It is the source of all the troubles in the world from personal conflicts to wars between nations. In short, to this false view can be traced all the evil in the world.
It certainly emphasizes why the Doctrine of Anatman is regarded by many as a key to understanding the teaching of Buddha. He urges us, as did those before him, to seek liberation through discovering the truth about our real nature. And the first order of business is to proclaim that the traditional path is a false path: There is no atman; it is just an idea created by the human imagination.
There was a wonderful line in the movie Total Recall. A very bewildered Arnold Schwarzenegger asks, "If I'm not me, then who the hell am I?" That question expresses the frustration that one often feels at first in trying to comprehend this whole matter of anatman. You may well be asking the same sort of question: If there is no me, then who am I? If I am being asked to believe that I am deluding myself by believing that I, at the core, am a substantive being, then who is it that is doing the deluding? And who is it that is being deluded? Who is it that decides to walk across the room? Who is it that remembers events from the past and makes plans for the future? Who or what am I really? If I'm not me, then who the hell am I? Is Buddha saying that I don't really exist?
Certainly not. It's not that you don't exist; obviously, you do exist. It's that you as a substantive entity do not exist. According to this interpretation, you are the "doing" itself, not someone doing-the-doing. Another way of putting it is to say that there is no you; there is a "you-ing." Words at best are awkward in trying to capture the meaning of this. One needs to get a feeling for it, as well as an intellectual definition.
Consider the word "drift." It's a noun, a fixed idea. We speak, for example, of glacial drift. But when we look closely at it, we see that there is really no such thing as drift, it's always drift-ing. In fact, there is really no such thing as a glacier that is drifting; the drifting is the glacier. Everything is like that, including you and I. According to this interpretation, all of the things of experience are patterns of movement (or should I say pattern-ings). Patternings often give the illusion of substantiality, as, for example, when a wave crosses a wheat field on a breezy day. It is obvious that the wave is not a thing that crosses the field; the wave is really a wave-ing.
This is obvious in such perceptions as a whirlpool, or a circle of flame made by a fast-spinning torch. It's just as true, through perhaps not as immediately obvious, in the case of your own being. The real you is a pattern of energy flowing through the "wheat field" of time. The concept of self-identity is rooted in the continuity of the movement of the pattern, exactly as we perceive-continuity in the wave that the breeze creates in the wheat field or the sustained spiral form that the wind creates in a hurricane.
As mentioned earlier, Buddha is said to have proclaimed, "there is liberation, but no one who is liberated." He might also have said, "there is birth, but no one who is born. There is death, but no one who dies." Buddha wanted to wake us up to the illusory nature of the separate self that we cling to. He probably would have smiled at Descartes' dictum, I think, therefore I am. What a preposterous unquestioned assumption is inherent in that statement! How would Buddha have finished Descartes' declaration? "I think, therefore... there is thinking."
Still, that unquestioned assumption, the belief that your idea of self realistically represents a sub-standing being that is the real you, doesn't easily roll over and die. This feeling is unquestionably very strong. But, as Buddha would surely point out, it never actually goes beyond feeling, never goes beyond an idea of self. Ultimately, it comes down to being only an inference, a mental image. We never, never directly confront the reality of this being whom we tenaciously assert to be the real me, the thinker of my thoughts, the controller of my actions. What we do experience-and all that we ever experience-is a never-ending succession of discrete mental and sensory events. From these events, we infer the existence of a substantive me that is the subject of these events. But again it is only an inference.
In reflecting on this succession of discrete mental and sensory events, Buddha described them collectively as the Five Skandhas, or as it is often put in English, the Five Aggregates. Put simply, the Five Aggregates are sensations, perceptions, feelings, memories, and volitions. They are the ever-fleeting bits and pieces of consciousness, and they are all that we ever know and experience directly:
Buddha said that he found only a conglomeration of the five skandhas or aggregates, material body, feelings, perception, predisposition's, and consciousness. At any one moment, according to him, we are but temporary composition of the five aggregates, and as these change every moment, so does the composition. Therefore all that we are is but a continuous living entity which does not remain the same for nay two consecutive moments, but which comes into being and disappears as soon as it arises. Why then should we attach so much importance to this transitory entity, in which there is no permanent self or soul? Once we accept this truth of the nonexistence of a permanent self, when we see that what we call the self is nothing but a stream of perishing physical and psychical phenomena, then we destroy our selfish desires and self-interests, and instead of suffering from the anxieties and disappointments, we will enjoy peace of mind and tranquility.
The Doctrine of Anatman is not simply a theoretical curiosity, something merely to amuse scholars, but not really concerned with matters of practical importance. The implications of anatman are profound and important. Perhaps the most important implication concerns the matter of the reality of spirit. Some (but not definitely not all) maintain that, by denying the reality of atman, Buddha was implicitly denying the fundamental reality of spirit. This is a matter of tremendous significance, both in Buddha's times and all times. Men and women of virtually all-human societies in all times of history have been terribly burdened by their belief in, and fear of, the world of spirits. Typically the spirit world has been believed to be more real, and much more powerful, than the perceived world of everyday experience.
An extremely important liberation was involved in this attitude regarding the reality of spirits. The caste system was posited on the reality of atman and, more specifically, belief in reincarnation (samsara). It was an accepted belief that a person was born into a given caste because his atman, due to past karma, had ascended (or descended) to that particular level and no other. For any individual to attempt to defy his destiny was a grievous sin and would generate a devastating burden of negative karma. The rigid hierarchy of the caste system was governed by this dogma. Buddha saw the caste system as a great evil. The elite few took advantage of this belief to suppress and exploit the suffering masses. In Buddha's eyes, there were no caste distinctions. Every man and woman was equally a glorious part of the one seamless whole of humanity. He yearned to liberate his people from the evil of caste, but so long as the hypnotic spell of atman endured, there would be no hope for change.
According to this interpretation, then, the Doctrine of Anatman denies the reality of a substantive self and, by implication, denies also the reality of spirit. And there is more: In sweeping away the reality of a spirit world, the Doctrine of Anatman has special significance with regard to the awesome matter of death. Death, the frightening mystery, the great nightmare-what's it all about? What a horrible thought-that I, this infinitely wonderful being, this personal center of the universe, could eventually, just stop existing. Reflecting on it leads to a feeling of despair. How hopeless and meaningless it all ultimately is if at some point I simply go out of existence forever.
Buddha would answer that our fear has no basis; death has no real meaning. There is nothing to die-no thing that can come to an end and be annihilated. "There is death, but no one who dies." Worry about death is based on attachment to our idea of the substantive self, the "me" that exists for the time and then may be annihilated in death. But to those who have seen through the illusion of the separate self, death is nothing more than the cessation of a particular flowing pattern of energy. The wave across the wheat field comes to an end, but nothing has "died"; nothing has been destroyed.
The concept of Anatman places the unreality of death on a new plane. No one dies, not really, because there is no one to die. Death is the cessation of a doing, not the annihilation of a being. It is the running out of a pattern of energy, as when we say the music "died" out.
At this point, we must take note that many people in this world who call themselves Buddhists do not personally accept the Doctrine of Anatman as explained here. Instead, they consider reincarnation to be real and consequently accept reality of an individual spirit that is reincarnated. Others, including some that do accept the Doctrine of Anatman, choose to see a real and continuing presence in the succession of generations. Death can be interpreted as a sort of transfer of karmic energy. A personal, individual soul may not migrate from one life to the next, but the great pattern of energy that is any given personal life endures in one way or another and continues to influence the condition of succeeding lives. There is thus a sense in which "rebirth" is real.
What it comes down to is simply this: Either Buddha was an exponent of traditional Upanishadic philosophy, in fundamental agreement with its teaching, or he was a revolutionary, a man who parted with the past and struck out on a new path. It all comes down to the character of his awakening. If this awakening was a powerful reaffirmation of what was traditional regarded to be truth, the life and teaching of Buddha can be seen as the flowering of the Hindu tradition. On the other had, if the essence of Buddha's awakening is that he saw a whole new meaning in the ultimate truth of self, then his life and teaching can be seen as the beginning of a new path of liberation.
Did Buddha affirm atman or did he deny atman? Or is there another possibility? An interpretation that has gained favor in recent times is that he neither affirmed nor denied atman. Rather Buddha took the position that is all completely irrelevant. One could never know atman even if it did exist, no more than your eye can see itself. Since atman would be completely unknowable, even if it was to be real, the only sensible thing for us to do is to ignore the whole subject and get on with our lives.

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Doctrine of Anitya

Holds that impermanence is a characteristic of all existence.

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Doctrine of Shunyata

The Doctrine of Shunyata recast the philosophy of Buddhism in a very fundamental manner. In varying ways it would shape the character of the many disparate "schools" of Buddhism that make up the Mahayana. Shunyata was a powerful shaping influence in Zen Buddhism; in different ways, though, it equally influential in sects far removed from the spirit of Zen. Turning again to the image of a wheel, we may say that Theravada and Pali Canon are the hub of the wheel and the various expressions of Mahayana are the spokes. It might be helpful in this metaphor to picture shunyata as a circle that surrounds the hub. Shunyata is physically separate from the hub, but closely associated with it, and, like the hub, it joins the spokes together.
It is important to keep reminding ourselves that awakening is what the teaching of Buddha is all about. Be it Theravada or Mahayana, Buddhism is given meaning by the achievement of awakening. Mahayana, influenced by the Doctrine of Shunyata, gave a new meaning in turn to the quest for awakening. Mahayana, influenced by the Doctrine of Shunyata, gave a new meaning in turn to the quest for awakening. Freed from the strict interpretation of Theravada - indeed, freed from all conceptual interpretations - Mahayana Buddhism could follow any and every path that led to the opening of prajna. These paths might even seem contradictory in some ways, but that would be of no consequence.
The value of the Doctrine of Shunyata is simply this: It established the fact that awakening consists in the opening of prajna. That's the bottom line. Shunyata clears the ego's thinking mind out of the way and focuses on the rising of prajna. This is the teaching of Buddha; the Prajnaparamita and Nagarjuna are simply expounding on it. But prajna by itself is not the whole story. You may recall that Buddha linked prajna with karuna (compassion). They are two elementary facets of one reality. In seeking the opening of prajna, seeing the insufficiency of ordinary knowledge may be helpful, but the cultivation of compassion is essential.

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Doctrine of Trikata

Mahayana teaching regarding the nature of Buddha is summed up in the Doctrine of Trikata, which translates literally as "three bodies." The flesh-and-blood body is referred to as the nirmanakaya ("body of transformation"). This was the "body" known as Shakyamuni, the man who lived and taught in north India. Just like any other man, Shakyamuni was born, grew old, and died. But Shakyamuni was not just an ordinary human being, albeit one with extraordinary gifts. Rather, Shakyamuni was the incarnation - the temporary, human incarnation - of "Buddha," who, on a higher plane of understanding, is seen to be a transcendental being, the embodiment of wisdom and compassion.
This higher order of being is sambhogakaya ("body of joy"). This is the aspect of Buddha that is pictured in the Mahayana sutras and consequently, explains the use of superhuman descriptions by the authors of the Prajnaparamita. When Shakyamuni died, his nirmanakaya ceased, but sambhogakaya transcends earthly time. In sambhogakaya, Buddha is seen as a transcendent, godlike being - the embodiment of enlightenment - who does not die, but exists throughout time in a paradise (known as the "Buddha-realm" or "Buddha-field") over which he presides. And there is not just one such Buddha, but countless number of them, all presiding over their respective Buddha-realms, which are populated by vast numbers of devoted followers, including some who are on the path to becoming future Buddhas. (In the Pure Land Buddhism, the word "Buddha" does not refer to Shakyamuni Buddha at all, but rather to Amitabha Buddha, a completely different Buddha, into whose Buddha-field, the "Pure Land," his devotees yearn to be reborn.)
According to this view, from time to time over the ages, A Buddha will be moved by compassion for the suffering of mortals and choose to be born among them in the form of nirmanakaya. By means of this selfless act, he can bring the liberating truth of Dharma directly to the people in a time of special need. According to Mahayana teaching, this is how Shakyamuni came to be. It should be pointed out that the Mahayanists believe that the world we live in is only one of great many worlds. Since the beginning of time, incarnate Buddhas have been arising in this and myriad other worlds. Shakyamuni was only the most recent occurrences in this world - and, we are told Shakyamuni will not be the last. The next Buddha - who will appear when the time is right - will be known by the name Maitreya.
Mahayana teaching holds that Buddha chose to incarnate himself as Shakyamuni purely out of a spirit of love and compassion for suffering humanity. Clearly, this is a theme of broad scope in human history. Can we doubt that Mahayana Buddhism, heavily influenced as it was by the traditions and beliefs of Hinduism, is here reflecting the Hindu teaching regarding Vishnu, who became incarnate on several occasions in order to be of help to a world in trouble? In fact, Hinduism's final accommodation with Buddhism was to declare that nirmanakaya himself was one of Vishnu's incarnations. Another obvious parallel is to be found in the Christian story of the incarnation of Jesus, who became man for the express purpose of bringing "salvation" to a wayward humanity. Jesus could be described as the nirmanakaya of God "the Father." The Mahayana interpretation of the incarnation of Shakyamuni Buddha is very much in this spirit.
To sum up, the nirmanakaya, then, is the manifestation of a sambhogakaya Buddha. This manifestation, or incarnation, appears in the world as a flesh-and-blood man for the purpose of teaching the Dharma in a time of need. The historical Shakyamuni was the nirmanakaya, who, as a sambhogakaya Buddha, is a transcendent being of supernatural powers that is the embodiment of the Dharma and, like a myriad other Buddhas, presides over a divine domain known as a Buddha-realm. It is Buddha in the sambhogakaya mode that is represented in the Mahayana sutras.
The apex of the Doctrine of Trikaya is dharmakaya (the "universal body"). Dharmakaya is one of the truly sublime terms in the lexicon of Mahayana. It is where everything-literally everything-comes together. Dharmakaya refers to the ultimate metaphysical nature of all being. The ultimate nature of being - the essence of the universe - is oneness; ultimately, All is One. This universal oneness is identified with Buddha, the Buddha-nature. Dharmakaya, then, refers to the essential nature of Buddha, which is identical with the indwelling oneness of all Reality. Thus, all Buddhas, all mortals-indeed, all of the universe-is joined in dharmakaya. In the most final sense that we can imagine, dharmakaya is the unity of Buddha within all that exists.
Largely as a result of this abstract nature, the concept of dharmakaya came to be represented by a symbol that the human mind could more easily take hold of. One of the more important Buddhas - Vairochana by name-came to symbolize the dharmakaya. This was especially helpful in artistic representations. The dharmakaya, of course, transcends all individual entities, including Buddhas, so it is important to remember that Vairochana was not identified with the dharmakaya; rather, Vairochana represents the dharmakaya (in much the same way that a statue depicting Brahma might be intended to represent the principle of Brahman).
Speaking of Brahman, this description of the trikaya may bring to mind a similar teaching in Hinduism. Certain similarities do indeed exist. The dharmakaya can be likened to Brahman and the sambhogakaya to various Hindu deitiesi - Vishnu becoming Krishna. The most important difference, though, concerns the dharmakaya. Buddha as dharmakaya is not a being that does the universe, such as Brahman was conceived to be. That is there is no "Buddha-atman;" dharmakaya is the process itself, seen in its simplest, most universal essence.
It is this universality of the Buddha-nature that is at the heart of the Mahayana revolution. This is the Buddha of the Mahayana sutras, so different from the very human teacher of the Theravada sutras:

Buddha is now conceived as a being that transcends all boundaries of time and space, an ever-abiding principle of truth and compassion that exists everywhere and within all beings.
"An ever-abiding principle of truth and compassion that exists everywhere and within all beings" - this theme, the universal Buddhahood of all reality, is especially stressed in the Avatamsaka Sutra, in which we are encouraged over and over to see the Buddha-nature in everyone and everything. A love of Buddha and a love of the harmony of Nature are one and the same thing. The harmony of Nature is the larger context within which human life takes its meaning.
Thus, the natural order has certain sanctity about it and is deserving of reverence. Even the smallest thing contains the mystery of the entire universe. The author of the Avatamsaka Sutra uses many humble analogies to illustrate the universal indwelling of the Buddha-nature. We are assured that we can know the entire ocean in a drop of water and see the entire universe reflected in one grain of sand.
The teaching of dharmakaya has profound implications. It grew out of Buddha's view regarding the unity of being. The Mahayanists believed that everything and everyone possesses the Buddha-nature; or put it more precisely, everything and everyone is an expression of the Buddha-nature. Differences and separations are only superficial. Given this view of truth, each person's underlying reality is, but its very nature, complete and perfect. It remains only for one to sweep away the cloud of ignorance (avidya) to see that reality. The illusion of ego and its fierce attachments are what stand in the way of our seeing the real truth of our nature. Buddhahood is not something separate from us, to be acquired through long, hard work; it is our very nature and remains only to be uncovered.
Another way of putting it this is to say that everyone is "Buddha" by nature, but, through ignorance and fear, our true nature - our "Buddhahood" - is hidden from us, and we falsely identify with ego. The goal is to see through the stifling illusion of ego and wake up to what we really are. Buddhahood is uncovered, not acquired. This difference of opinion had already had a long history in Buddhism. It was, as you may recall, the major issue that divided the members of the second Great Council held only a century after Buddha's death. The Buddhologist Nancy Wilson Ross makes the following interesting comment on the matter:
A modern Zen roshi has suggested a further point of compassion between the two great divisions which also warrants careful consideration. In his view, Theravada emphasizes the humanity of the Buddha; Mahayana emphasizes the Buddha-nature of humanity. Whereas Theravada stresses the following of a moral life and high-principled behavior as the road to eventual Buddhahood, Mahayana inclines more toward tapping an intuitive wisdom to achieve the realization that one already possesses the Buddha-nature; it has simply to be "recovered" or uncovered, so to speak."
The reason I maintain that this difference is of great significance is that it focuses on the very basic question: Is the human problem of suffering due to a real imperfection in our nature, albeit one that can be healed, or is the result of a self-created illusion about what we really are? There's a great difference in these two alternatives. Mahayana takes the position that all beings possess the Buddha-nature, and that it is only ignorance which stands in the way of realizing it. Overcoming this ignorance - uncovering one's Buddhahood - is what the Buddhist way of life is all about, and the Buddhist way of life, thanks to the Mahayana Doctrine of Trikaya, was free to find almost limitless forms of expression. Trikaya was open to every imaginable kind of interpretation, everything from the cult veneration to highly sophisticated philosophy - and all of it brought together by dharmakaya.

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Duhkha

The First Noble Truth of Buddhism: Sarvam Duhkha is a Sanskrit term that generally translated as "All is suffering." This is square one in Buddha's philosophy of life, the recognition of the fact that of human suffering. Suffering is a universal reality, pervasive throughout life and the spoiler of human existence. Liberation from suffering is the endless quest of all human beings.
Because of this fundamental emphasis on the universality of suffering, Buddhism is sometimes said to be a pessimistic philosophy, as if Buddha had taught that life is nothing but suffering and pain. Nothing could be further from the truth. Such an accusation rests on a misunderstanding of Buddha's characterization of suffering. Buddha's teaching is in fact realistic, not pessimistic with regard to suffering. It is an undeniable fact that suffering plays, and always has played, a major role in the lives of human beings. But it is also an obvious fact that not all of life is suffering, not in the usual sense of the word, anyway. Life is a mixed bag, an interplay of the sweet and the bitter. Buddha, of course, did not say, "all is suffering"; he didn't speak English. What he said was that all is "duhkha."
Sarvam carries the meaning of universality, but duhkha is not quite so precise. In addition to meaning "suffering," duhkha can also imply incompleteness, impermanence, and dissatisfaction. It is the antonym of the Sanskrit word duhkha, which means "happiness" in the sense of sweetness or pleasure. In his very first discourse, the famous "Turning of the Wheel of Dharma," Buddha had this to say about the nature of duhkha: "Birth is duhkha; aging is duhkha; sickness is duhkha; dying is duhkha; care, distress, pain, affliction, and despair are duhkha; the nonattainment of what one desires is duhkha."
This statement reveals that Buddha was getting at something far more profound than simply the states of anguish that we customarily call suffering. Duhkha certainly refers to states of terrible pain and grief, but it refers as well to other kinds of experiences, including ones that we ordinarily call happy. In other words, duhkha is a feature of human consciousness that pervades all of our experiences, not simply the painful ones that we want to escape from.
The final statement in the foregoing quote of Buddha's provides the key: "Duhkha [suffering] is the non-attainment of what one desires." Let me refer back to the concept of the "gap" discussed earlier. There is always a gap between the world as we want it to be and the world as it actually is. In our yearning for happiness, we wish for the world to be a certain way and to remain that way. Nothing less than perfect happiness will fully satisfy us, but perfect happiness must be beyond all that threatens it. This, of course, is impossible in the real world. Even if we were somehow able to arrange all of the things of life exactly as we wanted them, it would still be imperfect because they simply wouldn't stay put for very long. All things are impermanent; all of life is in a constant state of flux. No state of life can be held permanently; life itself is transient. Thus, the gap can never be closed. The gap itself is duhkha. When it is manifest as some terrible pain, such as the death of a loved one, duhkha is clearly suffering in the usual sense of the word. But even when it is manifest as a happy experience, such as pleasure in the company of a loved one, it is still duhkha, because rumbling underneath the temporary experience of pleasure is the disquieting knowledge that it is temporary; its continuation is always uncertain, and its loss-over which I have ultimately no control-would be devastating.
At the deepest level, duhkha is the inescapable awareness that everything is transitory and always in flux. This applies even to the perception of my own being. I yearn for reality-especially my own reality-to be a permanent and perfect, but the undisguised fact of impermanence stares me in the face. This is duhkha, and in the attempt to flee from it, I try to find happiness (suhkha) in myriad distractions. Talking, including thinking, becomes a wonderful form of escape. Music, partying, and television can work well for a while. When all else fails, there are always drugs and alcohol. But ultimately nothing can work perfectly: The unblinking fact of impermanence swallows even the happiest moments.
Thus at root, duhkha permeates all of ego life. It is the irrepressible dissatisfaction that arises from the ever-present gap that exists between the world as it is and the world as we wish it to be. It is a worrisome fear that I will not acquire - or, if I do, will not sustain-what it is that I deem necessary for my happiness. Duhkha is a mental conditioning, and it is present in all of our experiences, from the most sorrowful to the most joyful.

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Five Skandhas

In reflecting on this succession of discrete mental and sensory events, Buddha described them collectively as the Five Skandhas, or as it is often put in English, the Five Aggregates. Put simply, the Five Aggregates are sensations, perceptions, feelings, memories, and volitions. They are the ever-fleeting bits and pieces of consciousness, and they are all that we ever know and experience directly:
Buddha said that he found only a conglomeration of the five skandhas or aggregates, material body, feelings, perception, predisposition's, and consciousness. At any one moment, according to him, we are but temporary composition of the five aggregates, and as these change every moment, so does the composition. Therefore all that we are is but a continuous living entity which does not remain the same for nay two consecutive moments, but which comes into being and disappears as soon as it arises. Why then should we attach so much importance to this transitory entity, in which there is no permanent self or soul? Once we accept this truth of the nonexistence of a permanent self, when we see that what we call the self is nothing but a stream of perishing physical and psychical phenomena, then we destroy our selfish desires and self-interests, and instead of suffering from the anxieties and disappointments, we will enjoy peace of mind and tranquility.

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Four Noble Truths

Shortly after Buddha's awakening, his five sadhu companions caught up with him and were startled by the change that had come over him. They begged their friend to share with them what he had discovered. So, according to the story, the freshly awakened Buddha delivered his first discourse. This great event occurred at a palace called the Deer Grove, not far from the town of Sarnath, which itself is near the holy city of Varanasi. To his five companions, Buddha laid out what would become the essence of his teaching.
Arya-satya is the Sanskrit term that identifies this foundation piece of Buddha's teaching. Literally, the term translates into English as "noble truth," and since there are four facets of its presentation, it has come to be known as the Four Noble Truths. Perhaps you recognize the Sanskrit word arya in there. This was the Aryans' name for themselves, the "noble ones." Hence, it is technically accurate to say the Four "Noble" Truths. Some find the word noble misleading in modern English, believing that it wrongly implies a kind of aristocratic meaning. These individuals prefer to say "the Four Great Truths." There is some logic in this interpretation, but in the present work I will stay with the traditional usage, the Four Noble Truths.
In the Four Noble Truths, Buddha succinctly lays out the problem of human suffering and what can be done about it. He goes right to the heart of the problem: human suffering. If it weren't for suffering, there would be no problem; everything would be perfect. Suffering, as everyone ever born knows, is the spoiler of life, and yet, Buddha assures us suffering is totally unnecessary. Suffering is not inevitable; it is not inherent in the nature of life. Suffering can be overcome and left behind forever. This is the promise of awakening; freedom from suffering.
The First Noble Truth deals with the reality of suffering. It is universal, and it is the essence of the human problem. In the Second Noble Truth, Buddha identifies the cause of suffering. He then goes on in the Third Noble Truth to assure us that release from suffering is possible, that every man and woman is capable of awakening to the truth that brings freedom from suffering. The Fourth Noble Truth lays out the way of life that can lead one to awakening. This way of life is referred to as the Noble Eightfold Path.
The character of the Four Noble Truths reveals why it has been popular through the ages to compare Buddha to a doctor. He has a patient: humanity. The patient is suffering. He examines the patient and determines the nature of the illness and its cause. Then he makes a prognosis: A cure is possible, even though it may not be certain. Finally, he prescribes a course of treatment, which if followed faithfully, has a very good chance of resulting in full recovery. Like a genuinely good and compassionate doctor, Buddha does not depend on drugs; his treatment encourages the working of the patient's own natural healing power. Buddha can't make us get well, but the medicine of his teaching can be certainly help us to heal ourselves.
The Four Noble Truths are separate, but closely related, facets of one subject: suffering. For this reason, it would be best-before going into the Four Noble Truths separately - to examine this topic as a whole - that is, to present a general exposition of the whole matter of suffering. Following that, we can examine suffering in terms of the Four Truths separately. Understanding the Doctrine of Anatman is key to understanding the Four Noble Truths.
Some, indeed, may wish to claim that they have known suffering in the past, in the odd belief that it somehow builds character. But no one looks forward to the likelihood of suffering in the future. As a matter of fact, we will do almost anything to avoid it. If it were not for suffering, life would be paradise. But life, of course, is a mixed bag. There are bound to be both good times and bad times. Not all of life is suffering - at least not in the usual sense of the word. Certainly, life can have its bitter times, but it can also be sweet. We all sometimes - maybe even most of the time - know the joy of living.
Nevertheless, misery and suffering never fail to claim their share. A survey of human society at any time and place reveals the same dreary story of widespread violence and agony. We humans have a long history of exploiting, and torturing, and slaughtering one another. Suffering - indeed, just the threat of it-is a very real and disturbing fact of life. We even devastate the natural environment on which we depend. In the present age, human society has managed to totally dislocate itself from the original harmony within the natural order. Incredible though it may seem, we are actually in danger not only of destroying ourselves, but also of taking the entire natural order of life on Earth with us. Something has gone terribly wrong!
Buddha was very sensitive to the problem of human nature. He was passionately aware of the ubiquity of suffering in human life. Indeed, it was personal suffering that propelled him, step by step, to his own awakening, and once he realized that liberation was possible, it was the suffering of others that moved Buddha in a spirit of compassion to return to the world of everyday life. He would devote his life to trying to help others find their own path to liberation. Buddha would show us how to win freedom from suffering.
But is that really possible? Each of us has personal knowledge of suffering; we experience it in our own lives. If that is what Buddha is referring to, how can he truthfully speak of eliminating it? Is not suffering an inevitable part of the great duality of nature, like youth and age, winter and summer, night and day-joy and suffering? Is freedom from suffering really possible?
To answer this question, let's examine the way in which the problem develops. As we know all too well by now, the human mind - and, presumably, only the human mind - is very good at creating an idea of itself, the ego, with which it identifies tenaciously. In doing this, I have separated "myself" out from everything else, and once I have fashioned this "myself"-this ego-and placed it upon its throne at the center of the universe. I naturally yearn for it to be happy - in fact, to be perfectly happy. Memories of past experiences record that when I wanted something, I was happy (temporarily, at least) if I satisfied that desire. It might be a desire to get something, like food or sex, or it might be a desire to avoid something, like hunger or loneliness. If satisfying some of my desires makes me partially happy, then isn't it reasonable to conclude that satisfying all of my desires will make me perfectly happy? It seems logical enough: The way to banish suffering from my life is simply to satisfy all of my desires and to do that consistently. Thus do I embark on the quest of the perfectly "good life" by attempting to satisfy all of the desires of the ego.
There's only one problem: It's impossible to be completely successful in such a quest. In order to be successful, I need control. But it is painfully obvious that, to a large degree, I lack control over that world out there. In order to satisfy the desires of the ego, I need control, and if I am a reasonably normal human being, I will work hard at fashioning a mini-universe over which I do have imperial control. But even the most successful effort is doomed to fall short of perfection. I want to control everything, but I can't even come close.
Desire creates a dislocation in the human mind. On one hand, we have the world as it is perceived to be - reality the-way-it-is, in other words. On the other hand, we have an imaginary view of the world the-way-it-is-desired-to-be. The desired world and the real world are not the same world; there is a gap between them. The driving power of desire seeks ceaselessly to close that gap, but it can never be done. One can become a control freak, but no matter how much control one succeeds in acquiring, it will never be perfect control. Some things-such as freedom from old age and death-are beyond our power to control. Therefore, so long as desire rules, the gap will persist, and it is in the gap that the problem of human suffering is to be found. To close the gap, I need control. I want to control everything, but I can't even come close. So what happens?
What happened can be nicely summed up in the term" a sense of insecurity." Once we have created the ego-self and identified with it, a deeply felt sense of insecurity is inevitable. This is at the core of the human problem: a pervasive sense of insecurity. Sometimes it is felt very strongly, sometimes it lurks in the background, but it is always present in human thought. At least, it is always present in the mental states of humans who are held in the grip of ego. I hope you see why it is true to say that a sense of insecurity is inevitable. The ego perceives certain needs in order to be happy. The gap between the desired world and the real world opens up. The ego tries to gain control over its own little universe in order to close that gap and ensure that the ego's needs are satisfied. But it is at the mercy of forces that it can't possibly control. Life is threatening. A sense of insecurity is the result.
The sense of insecurity breeds fear. The ego years for lasting happiness, but happiness is conditional, its continuation is uncertain. Thus, the anxiety of insecurity expresses itself in the feeling of fear. It may be very great, as in the fear of death or the loss of a loved one, or it may be less dramatic, as in the fear of loneliness or failure. It may even be relatively insignificant, as in the fear that dinner will be overcooked. But the common element throughout is a disquieting anxiety born of the fear that what we want in order to satisfy the ego might not be attained. The gap may never be closed.
I think it's important in this discussion to distinguish between the words fear and fright. Fright is a kind of fear, but it has to do with the perception of a clear and present danger, as, for instance, when one suddenly sees a snake in the path. This is a natural and good thing; it moves one to take appropriate defensive action. Fear, on the other hand, is born out of the act of thinking about a perceived threat, brooding over it, and worrying about it. Fear, then, is a form of thought, and the word fear is indeed synonymous with the more common word, worry.
Worry is at the heart of suffering. Examine your own experiences with suffering. I think you will find that by far the greatest part of anguish is the mental state of fear, worry. Thinking about that which we fear is what worry is, and the continuing fear - the continuing worry - is that I, this ego-person, will not achieve and preserve what is thought to be necessary for happiness.
The key point here is that fear (as distinct from fright) is a form of thought, a creation of the thinking mind. It arises from the deeply felt concern that the desires of the ego will not be satisfied - that the gap between desire and reality will not be closed. And of course, satisfying the desires of the ego is what is perceived to be essential for the state of mind called happiness. But the concept of ego is also a product of the thinking mind. My sense of self and my worry about it are both but forms of thought! In seeing this, the way to a solution of the problem should reveal itself.
It is of the essence of Buddha's awakening that he saw through the illusory nature of the separated self. He proved that it is possible for human consciousness to transcend the order of thinking mind and to see clearly a higher truth, expressed as the underlying unity of all being. In the Hindu tradition that Buddhism grew out of, this cosmic awareness is referred to as the "unitive state"; it is the state of consciousness in which one perceives the seamless unity of all being clearly and directly. In the unitive state, one is free from the chains of fear. The Buddhist tradition, although denying that any substantial being (such as Brahman) is responsible for the underlying unity, would continue at its heart to hold the indivisible oneness of reality. This would come to be called the Buddha-nature. To be fully aware of the Buddha-nature is, in fact, to be in the unitive state." The illusory character of the separate ego is clearly beheld. It is like waking from a dream - a nightmare - and the terrors of the dream melt away in the sun of this higher knowledge. How can one worry about satisfying the needs of an ego that has no real existence?
Buddha freed himself, but how does someone who was not Buddha do that? To begin with, it is inherent in the meaning of the Buddha-nature that we are all One; at the deepest level, we are Buddha. The Buddha-nature is universal. We have only to clear away the cobwebs of ignorance to see what already exists. This is precisely what Shakyamuni did, and he then dedicated all of his vital energy to showing all others how to do it, too.
Siddhartha Gautama Shakyamuni, the Buddha, had already fully exploited the two extreme paths - the path of self-indulgence and the path of self-denial - and found them to be dead ends. We do not need to repeat that experience; he has done it for us. Buddha proposes instead a path between extremes, a "middle path." In Sanskrit, it is known as madhyamarga. Walking this path will not lead to a dead end; it will take one all the way to liberation. But it is not an easy path to follow: In the words of Buddha, the middle path is "the razor's edge."

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The First Noble Truth: Sarvam Duhkha:

Sarvam Duhkha is a Sanskrit term that is generally translated as "All is suffering." This is square one in Buddha's philosophy of life, the recognition of the fact of human suffering. Suffering is a universal reality, pervasive throughout life and the spoiler of human existence. Liberation from suffering is the endless quest of all human beings.
Because of this fundamental emphasis on the universality of suffering. Buddhism is sometimes said to be a pessimistic philosophy, as if Buddha had taught that life is nothing but suffering and pain. Nothing could be further from the truth. Such an accusation rests on a misunderstanding of Buddha's characterization of suffering. Buddha's teaching is in fact realistic, not pessimistic, with regard to suffering. It is an undeniable fact that suffering plays, and always has played, a major role in the lives of human beings. But it is also an obvious fact that not all of life is suffering, not in the usual sense of the word, anyway. Life is a mixed bag, an interplay of the sweet and the bitter. Buddha, of course, did not say, "all is suffering"; he didn't speak English. What he said was that all is "duhkha."
Sarvam carries the meaning of universality, but duhkha is not quite so precise. In addition to meaning "suffering," duhkha can also imply incompleteness, impermanence, and dissatisfaction. It is the antonym of the Sanskrit word duhkha, which means "happiness" in the sense of sweetness or pleasure. In his very first discourse, the famous "Turning of the Wheel of Dharma," Buddha had this to say about the nature of duhkha: "Birth is duhkha; aging is duhkha; sickness is duhkha; dying is duhkha; care, distress, pain, affliction, and despair are duhkha; the nonattainment of what one desires is duhkha."
This statement reveals that Buddha was getting at something far more profound than simply the states of anguish that we customarily call suffering. Duhkha certainly refers to states of terrible pain and grief, but it refers as well to other kinds of experiences, including ones that we ordinarily call happy. In other words, duhkha is a feature of human consciousness that pervades all of our experiences, not simply the painful ones that we want to escape from.
The final statement in the foregoing quote of Buddha's provides the key: "Duhkha [suffering] is the non-attainment of what one desires." Let me refer back to the concept of the "gap" discussed earlier. There is always a gap between the world as we want it to be and the world as it actually is. In our yearning for happiness, we wish for the world to be a certain way and to remain that way. Nothing less than perfect happiness will fully satisfy us, but perfect happiness must be beyond all that threatens it. This, of course, is impossible in the real world. Even if we were somehow able to arrange all of the things of life exactly as we wanted them, it would still be imperfect because they simply wouldn't stay put for very long. All things are impermanent; all of life is in a constant state of flux. No state of life can be held permanently; life itself is transient. Thus, the gap can never be closed. The gap itself is duhkha. When it is manifest as some terrible pain, such as the death of a loved one, duhkha is clearly suffering in the usual sense of the word.
But even when it is manifest as a happy experience, such as pleasure in the company of a loved one, it is still duhkha, because rumbling underneath the temporary experience of pleasure is the disquieting knowledge that it is temporary; its continuation is always uncertain, and its loss - over which I have ultimately no control - would be devastating.
At the deepest level, duhkha is the inescapable awareness that everything is transitory and always in flux. This applies even to the perception of my own being. I yearn for reality - especially my own reality - to be a permanent and perfect, but the undisguised fact of impermanence stares me in the face. This is duhkha, and in the attempt to flee from it, I try to find happiness (suhkha) in myriad distractions. Talking, including thinking, becomes a wonderful form of escape. Music, partying, and television can work well for a while. When all else fails, there are always drugs and alcohol. But ultimately nothing can work perfectly: The unblinking fact of impermanence swallows even the happiest moments.
Thus at root, duhkha permeates all of ego life. It is the irrepressible dissatisfaction that arises from the ever - present gap that exists between the world as it is and the world as we wish it to be. It is a worrisome fear that I will not acquire - or, if I do, will not sustain - what it is that I deem necessary for my happiness. Duhkha is a mental conditioning, and it is present in all of our experiences, from the most sorrowful to the most joyful.

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The Second Noble Truth: Trishna:

In its original usage, trishna (tanha in Pali) meant "thirst." By Buddha's time, though, it had come to have the derived meaning of "desire." Trishna does not mean desire in the everyday sense, such as a desire for world peace. Rather, trishna refers to strong selfish desire. "Craving" would be the best English equivalent. It is craving - selfish craving - that is the cause of suffering.
Ordinary desire can grow to become craving, but the difference is profound; it's not simply a matter of degree. I might, for example, desire to spend my vacation in Hawaii. That's a simple desire, and I can remain happy even if it not fulfilled (well, maybe). Craving, on the other hand, guarantees suffering. Craving breeds attachment, which can be defined as a state of mind in which a particular craving has grown so strong that one is convinced that he or she cannot be happy unless that which is desired is also possessed. For example, let's say that I have experienced pleasure in some of the expensive things of life and can easily imaging that a rich lifestyle would make me wonderfully happy all of the time (a common enough example). I desire wealth with which to live this rich lifestyle. Even if I am largely successful in the pursuit, it will never be enough. Desire begets desire and grows to craving. Craving breeds attachment, which, once again, is nothing less than the conviction that I cannot be happy unless I am in possession of what it is that is desired. The desire for more and the desire for permanence are doomed to be something less than perfectly satisfied (to say the least). And in that frustration of desire is suffering, duhkha. It may be very great - especially if I should lose my wealth and know the agony of the desire to recover it - or it may be relatively less dramatic. But so long as attachment is present, the anguish of unsatisfied craving is inevitable. There are many species of attachment; attachment to wealth is only one of the most visible. There can also be attachment to youth, or to one's home or job; one can become attached to comfort, to drugs, to a loved one, to fame, or even to some object, such as a beautiful eel-skin belt. The greatest attachment of all, though, is attachment to oneself - to one's self - which is to say attachment to the much-beloved ego identity. Whatever form it takes, attachment guarantees suffering and selfish desire that grows to craving guarantees that attachment will follow.
We have seen that our normal human obsession with ego results in a split, a gap, between the world as it is and the world as we wish it to be. We desire to close that gap in myriad ways. Some of these desires will become obsessive; that is to say, they will become bona fide attachments. To extent that we are successful in satisfying our desires, a state of partial and temporary happiness will result. It will never be perfect, though, because the gap between desire and reality can never be perfectly closed. Thus does Buddha say that trishna, selfish craving, is the cause of suffering.

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The Third Noble Truth: Nirvana:

The Third Noble Truth concerns the cessation of suffering, the total liberation from suffering. Buddha's awakening was the prototype of such liberation, and the whole point of his teaching was to show others how to duplicate his experience in their own lives. His choice of term was nirvana (nibhana in Pali). Literally, nirvana means "extinction" or "extinguishment," as in the extinguishing or blowing out the flame of a candle. In nirvana, what is to be blown out is the last trace of the illusion of the separate self, the lordly ego that holds us in its grip.
Buddha would not attempt to describe the nature of nirvana. It is a reality that is inexpressible, beyond the power of thought and words. Nirvana cannot be captures by the imagination. Nevertheless, although we cannot describe the nature of nirvana, we can say some meaningful things about the subject by way of indirect abstraction. To begin with, we can say that nirvana is perfect Reality, perfect Truth. Absolute Truth, in which all illusion of fundamental separateness is overcome, is what we mean by the unitive state. Nirvana, the final and perfect expression of that state, can be apprehended only by awakening of an intuitive wisdom that transcends ordinary human consciousness. Such intuitive wisdom is known as prajna. The power of prajna is latent in everyone, but only when it is awakened is the truth of nirvana revealed.
In Buddhism, the full realization of the Buddha-nature is likened to a river returning to the sea. There are many individual rivers, but their separateness is something of am illusion: They are really all expressions of one great system that begins in the sea and is destined ultimately to return to the sea. Perhaps for this reason, many in the West have wrongly assumed that nirvana refers to the extinguishment or annihilation of the person altogether, a sort of melting away into nothingness. This is certainly a false view. Once again, what ceases to exist is ignorance (avidya) - the attachment to the separate self born of ignorance that fuels the arising of duhkha.
So long as the grip of the ego illusion persists, one will necessary center his or her quest for happiness on satisfying the cravings of the ego. But as we have seen, this will inevitably create a gap that no amount of manipulation can close. The self, though - the sense of a separate, enduring self - is an illusion. Buddha saw the truth of this perfectly at the time of his awakening. There is no enduring self - no ego, no ego player, no atman - of any kind. Thus, there is no objective self to be satisfied. The attempt to satisfy the cravings of the ego can never be successful because, fundamentally, there is no ego-self to be satisfied. It's all a great hoax that we perpetuate on ourselves. Once this illusion is unmasked - which is essentially what nirvana entails - the cravings associated with attachment must necessarily melt away as dream images do upon one's waking from one's sleep. The flame of selfish desire is "blown out" with the extinction of the ego illusion.
But if an objective self does not exist - and is ultimately seen to be an illusion - who is it then that does the seeing? Who is it that experiences nirvana? This is a very good question. It might seem that the concept of nirvana affirms the ultimate reality of the individual self. Such a conclusion, however, is a complete misunderstanding of the Buddhist view. Strictly speaking, nirvana is not an experience; there is, indeed, no one to experience it. Nirvana is simply the final and natural expression of the process that, in its developmental stages, is manifest as what we call individual life. Like the river returning to the sea, the process we call a person is not complete - and thus will continue to cycle on - so long as ego-based desire continues to generate unresolved effects.
Referring to the process "continuing to cycle on" brings up a matter that is worth considering briefly at this point. You sometimes read that nirvana is defined as the cessation of samsara, which is to say that the cycle of rebirth, but - at least according to the Doctrine of Anatman - didn't Buddha deny the reality of atman? How can there be rebirth it there is no permanent self to be reborn? It all comes down to how you define "rebirth." Unlike Hinduism, Buddhism does indeed deny the reality of a permanent self, but the process of change that we identify with individual life does nonetheless generate karma, both positive and negative, as a result of all volitional acts. The effects of this karma will be played out over time, affecting the character of successive "rebirths." What is reborn is not, for example, an atman that endures through time, but the process itself Life is "reborn" every moment. Each of us is "reborn," in a sense, every morning when we wake up. Shakespeare referred to sleep as a "little death." Looked at another way, one life process is "reborn" in another though the continuation of the karmic influence one person's life has on another. It is like the flame of one candle lighting that of another. In case of human beings, desire creates karma, and karma keeps the "Wheel of Samsara" turning. Only with the end of desire - nirvana, in other words - does the wheel come to a stop, and we can speak of the cessation of samsara."
To sum up, nirvana is they realization of perfect freedom, perfect unending joy. Nirvana is the "blowing out" of the ego illusion and hence the "blowing out" of desire (craving). With the end of desire comes the end of suffering. How that is to be achieved is the subject of the Fourth Noble Truth.

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The Fourth Noble Truth: Madhyamarga:

In the First Noble Truth, Buddha nailed down the universality of suffering. In the Second Noble Truth, he identified selfish craving as the cause of suffering. Then in the Third Noble Truth, Buddha affirmed that liberation from suffering is possible. Liberation does not depend on a power outside oneself; it arises from the personal realization of nirvana. Nirvana is rare, and the way to it is difficult, but liberation is available to every man and woman. Buddha's teaching, the Dharma will show the way; it is known as Madhyamarga, the "Middle Way." The well-known "Eightfold Path" is how one walks to the eight fundamental elements of the lifestyle of one who seeks to walk the Middle Way.
Buddha said that the true Middle Way is a "razor's edge" between the false ways of self-indulgence and self-denial. Certainly, he should know, having devoted many years of his life to the full exploration of both extremes. It is important to see that self-indulgence can never lead to lasting happiness. It is important for the simple reason that the vast majority of men and women fool themselves into believing that really will work - if only it is done right. This is clearly the prevailing philosophy of our own age and probably all other ages, too. But Buddha would insist that, so long as the quest for happiness is founded on the satisfaction of desires, it is ultimately a hopeless quest.
In a like manner, the quest for transcendent happiness through a life of self-denial is also doomed to failure. The very effort to expunge the self by ascetic self-disciplines only increases its psychological strength. Here, too, the basic problem lies in the cultivation of self-centered desire as the desire to please the self. So what's left?

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Gompa

While it is true to say that Tibetan Buddhism - Vajrayana - became the defining spirit of the entire culture on Tibet and deeply affected the daily lives of all the people, it is also true the wellspring of this culture, as well as the place where it all comes together, is the monastery-the gompa. Since Padmasambhava founded Samye Gompa in 747 C.E., the monastery has been the matrix of Vajrayana Buddhism in Tibet.
This is an appropriate place to take a brief look at the character of the Tibetan Buddhist monastery. Such a picturesque structure is the only image that many people have of the Himalayan world. Unlike the early gompas, which were built after the fashion of Indian and Chinese monasteries, the ones we see today are more representative of a native Tibetan style architecture. Typically, one picture an attractive - looking jumble of multi-storied buildings arranged in tiers on a hillside, the whitewashed walls sloping gently inward as they rise.
Dark wood trim and narrow balconies on the upper stories the rooftops, sometimes gilt, are likely to be festooned in colorful pendants and prayer flags offset the gleaming white of the walls. It's a highly attractive sight, and-at least until recent times - it was a sight to be found with great frequency in the Himalayan world. Over the course of time, thousands of monasteries came into existence in all parts of Tibet and the neighboring Himalayan lands. At the beginning of the twentieth century more than three thousand monasteries were functioning. Many, of course, were very small and local, but some were huge, counting thousands of monks in their membership.
Dark wood trim and narrow balconies on the upper stories the rooftops, sometimes gilt, are likely to be festooned in colorful pendants and prayer flags offset the gleaming white of the walls. It's a highly attractive sight, and - at least until recent times - it was a sight to be found with great frequency in the Himalayan world. Over the course of time, thousands of monasteries came into existence in all parts of Tibet and the neighboring Himalayan lands. At the beginning of the twentieth century more than three thousand monasteries were functioning. Many, of course, were very small and local, but some were huge, counting thousands of monks in their membership.
Indeed, some of Tibet's monasteries became enormous, more like full-fledged towns than religious hermitages. Perhaps the best comparison of all would be to a university. In many important ways, the traditional gompa is like a university, albeit one that is solidly organized around a religious core. In addition to the pursuit of the spiritual life, all of the members of the community are involved to some extent in other fields of learning as well. Over time, several areas of study became standard, scriptural study being only one of them. Philosophy was another, and so was medicine. In Tibet, one of the most important fields of study-and to the Western mind the strangest one of all - is the field of ritual magic. Only the most prestigious monasteries have offered advanced study in the occult sciences. The masters of these mysterious arts became the ones charged with the crucial responsibility for controlling the wrathful spirits and attending to the needs of the Bon demons. Beyond these rather lofty offices, they also served the general population as sorcerers, exorcists, astrologers, diviners, and prophesiers - whatever was needed in the daily lives of a population obsessively concerned with the machinations of a potentially threatening spirit world. In traditional Tibet few undertakings were begun without first consulting an experienced sorcerer. For some Tibetan monks, mastery of ritual magic would become a full-time profession.

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Hinayana Buddhism

Proper name is Theravada Buddhism, the "doctrine of the elders." The Mahayanists referred to the older, orthodox tradition Theravada Buddhism as "Hinayana Buddhism" which was something of a derogatory term, and implied that it had a lesser status. Due to the great influence of Mahayana Buddhism, the terms Mahayana and Hinayana are used by many even to this day to distinguish between the two great Buddhist traditions. In modern times, however there is a growing preference for the term Theravada in place of Hinayana. For one thing, Theravada is the only part of the original tradition to survive into modern times.
Mahayana is a Sanskrit word; literally, it means "great vehicle," as noted in the previous paragraph. One popular interpretation of "great vehicle" is that it refers to the kind of vehicle that serves as a ferryboat, in this case, a very "large ferryboat." Buddha compared his teaching to a raft (a yana) that could ferry a person across the river of ignorance. It was an apt metaphor to use; India is a land of many rivers and few bridges. The traveler, especially in ancient times, often needed the services of the ferryman. Ordinarily, ferryboats are small, just a simple raft or dugout that carries only a few people. Such a craft was known as a "hina-yana," a small ferryboat. The adherents of the new wave Buddhism, the self-styled "Mahayana," labeled the traditional school of Theravada the "Hinayana." They themselves would pilot the large ferryboat, the "mahayana," which had room enough for everyone, while the conservative Theravadins would make do with the little ferryboat that had only room for an elite few. It was logical to use symbols that the people were familiar with. In the movement were occurring today, we might instead refer to minivans and city buses.

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Kensho

Hakuin (Hah-koo-in) was born in 1685, and lived during the Tokugawa Period Also referred to as the Edo Period 1603-1867) in Japan. This was a time when Japanese civilization had to adjust to the wrenching changes brought about by the coming of the Europeans. Hakuin is often said to represent the culmination of the development of Rinzai Zen in Japan. Although he was a Rinzai master and his contribution was directed specifically to the Rinzai tradition, his teaching has profoundly affected all of Zen Buddhism - in fact, all Buddhism. Hakuin reaffirmed the fundamentals of Buddhism, but he did it in a new way.
Hakuin was a true mystic. He longed for the joy of the transcendental experience, and he found myriad opportunities in the ordinary events of daily life. By his own account, Hakuin experienced rapture in such mundane things as the sound of gentle rain, the sight of freshly fallen snow, the song of a bird, or even the slow movement of a spider waving its web. In other words, contact with anything, if the experience were entered into completely, could give rise to a transcendental moment. For Hakuin, these were the many gateways that opened the way to kensho, the experience of "seeing into one's nature." Literally speaking, kensho is synonymous with satori. In customary usage, though, kensho refers to a "little satori," a powerful insight into the nature of reality, but one that is still short of full awakening.
Achieving kensho was all that mattered to Hakuin - achieving it and deepening it. That was his idea of a life well spent. It seems that in the earlier years of this life's quest. Hakuin was most affected by the deeply emotional experience. As his life matured, the intuitive experience came to be even more important.

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Koan

Beginning in the time of Linji, the Tang Dynasty 867 (B.C.E.), the Rinzai tradition was grounded solidly on the basic Zen premise of satori: sudden enlightenment. Thus, Rinzai teachers were interested in methods that would get at satori in a more direct way than the path of meditation would. They preferred techniques that would jolt the mind out of its customary fixation on discursive thought. Blows and shouts could be helpful, but there was another method, which was seen to be far more effective in the long run. In time, it would become the very trademark of the Rinzai approach. We can most simple describe this method as the "Zen paradox." By skillfully employing paradoxical statements and questions, the Zen Master attempts to jolt the mind of the student out of its normal rational process, culminating ultimately in the opening of prajna, perfect satori.
The finest form of the "Zen paradox" is the koan (gongan in Chinese), a particular kind of question or riddle that cannot be solved rationally. In the hands of a skillful master, the koan becomes a razor-sharp knife for cutting though the knots of the thinking mind. The "Zen paradox," though, includes much more than the koan. There is a great wealth of Zen stories and one-liners out of which most of the popular koan has evolved. ("Koan, pronounced "ko-ahn," is the preferred form for both singular and plural.) Before examining this matter of the koan, let's look at a few representative Zen stories. Again, these are popular tales, drawn from the long tradition of Zen, which are paradoxical in nature. They might seem ridiculous in the everyday rational sense, but it is that very nonsensical feature which attempts to open the mind to a meaning in the Zen story.
In their search for ways to jolt the student into satori, no device served Rinzai masters better than the koan. This is the most unusual and intriguing aspect of Rinzai Zen Buddhism. As mentioned earlier, the word koan is the Japanese form of the Chinese term gongan, which originally referred to a public announcement. In the Zen tradition, though, the word came to refer to a sort of riddle that was designed to defeat the dominance of the discursive intellect and thus allow the student to open up to an insight into the greater non-rational nature of reality. A koan exercise is given to a student by a Zen teacher. In "solving" the koan, the student, in effect, comes to share the state of mind of the teacher. The koan therefore is a dynamic tool that the skilled teacher uses to bring the student to satori.
To a large degree, the Rinzai tradition developed out of an effort to put new life - new direction - into the Zen movement and prevent it from slipping into the "quietism" that could lead to stagnation. Masters such as Linji scoured the accumulated lore of the Zen tradition, looking for stories and insightful saying that could be used as pointers in the guidance of Zen disciples. Items that emphasized the "Zen paradox" were particularly favored, and out of this, the way of the Zen koan was born.
A koan can be a simple question, such as the one that has become a veritable cliche: "What is the sound of one hand clapping?" One of Huineng's questions became a very popular koan, often assigned to beginning students in Rinzai monasteries. "What is your original face, even before your parents were born?" Much more often though, a koan is a combination of a question and the response. The question may be quite reasonable, but the response is what makes it a koan. For example, Zhao Zhou (Chao-chou) was asked, "What is the Buddha-nature?" His reply, "Three pounds of flax." Another koan, even more obscure, begins, "In what way do my feet resemble the feet of a donkey?" The answer is, "When the heron stands in the snow, its color is not the same."
A vast number of "official" koan have been collected in the Rinzai tradition - perhaps more than two thousand. The ones noted are just a few representative samples. They illustrate, though, the essential feature of all koan: There is absolutely no way that the rational mind can "make sense" of them, and a serious effort to do so will drive the rational mind into a fit of anxiety.
The koan exercise may seem harmless, but it's not meant to be fun and games at all. The appropriate place for it is within the monastic community, where the master can personally monitor the student's progress. In the routine of the monastery each student meets privately from time to time with the master. This practice is called dokusan in Japanese. The master may choose a koan exercise for the student, one that he judges to be appropriate to that particular student's state of mind. The student is then expected to give all of his time and energy to trying to understand the meaning of the koan. The master will check the student's progress during dokusan. It can be a terribly frustrating and exhausting ordeal for the student. For days, or even weeks, the rational mind tries to "figure out" a solution. No amount of cleverness, though, will ever fool the master, who insists that the student demonstrate in some fashion his understanding of the koan. Eventually, the discursive mind may give up and collapse in despair. And then-eureka! -The thing is had (maybe).
The whole point of the koan exercise rests on the premise that the rational thinking mind is capable, at best, of giving us a very imperfect knowledge of true reality. This is not to say that the rational thought process does not have an important role to play in the practical affairs of daily life - of course, it does-but it is to say that when we allow ourselves to become transfixed on thought, believing that the world of thought encompasses the whole of reality, we are very, very much self-deluded.
The role of the koan exercise, then, is to grapple with the rational mind, wrestle it to the floor, and pin it there. Only then can consciousness break free from its self-imposed prison.
Well, this is only the tantalizing glimpse into the mysterious world of the koan. All the words in the world wouldn't begin to really explain it. That's the way it is with koan. We must not underestimate its importance, though, in the evolution of Zen Buddhism. D.T. Suzuki maintained that the koan exercise was critical to the success of Zen Buddhism. "To my mind it was the technique of the koan exercise that saved Zen as a unique heritage of Far Eastern culture."

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Lama

There is a hierarchy of rank in the gompa. Properly speaking, only the highest-ranking monks are known as lamas. The name lama originated at Samye, the very first Buddhist monastery of Tibet. In founding Samye, Padmasambhava referred to the community as the "order of lamas." Literally, the term means "the superior ones," but it should be understood in the sense of those who have chosen the "superior" path of the Buddhist discipline. Within the Tibetan world, the word lama is used out of respect for all elderly and learned monks, regardless of rank, but outside of Tibet it has become customary to refer to all Vajrayana monks as lamas. From this word also comes the term Lamaism, which is yet another popular name for Tibetan Buddhism.

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Mahayana Buddhism

Mahayana Buddhism differs from Theravada in many important respects. Fundamentally, though, all of Buddhism emerges from the same original core. The essential teachings are given in the Pali Cannon. In Mahayana Buddhism, the teaching of the Noble Eightfold Path would become somewhat transformed, though never renounced.
From the earliest times of Buddhism there had been a minority - an "opposition party," whose views did not neatly conform to those of the majority. These were the Buddhists of a more spiritual, more mystical fame of mind. The writings of the Pali Canon do not give us much information about these "dissenters," but there are allusions to their existence in references to protesting groups who "walked out" of various councils. This dissenting minority, in existence from the very beginning, provided the background out of which the Mahayana movement would grow.
What initially fueled the rise of Mahayana was a deep dissatisfaction on the part of some with the traditional interpretation of Buddha's teaching by the dominant majority, the Theravadins. An attitude was developing among some Buddhists that the Theravada tradition had become too conservative, too rule bound, too elitist, and too narrow a scope. It seemed that the only genuine Buddhists were the members of the monastic orders; the laity played hardly any part at all. Buddha, though, had directed his teaching at everyone, not just a select few, and within the orders, which seemed to attract members almost exclusively from the upper classes, each monk directed virtually all of his attention to his own personal goal of achieving nirvana. In other words, the whole thrust of Buddha's teaching had been directed at overcoming, the prison of self. Yes, it seemed to a growing number that the Theravadins had become too concerned with discipline and had lost sight of Buddha's real concern, the nurturing of compassion.
Mahayana, however, was far from being only an opposition party, only a protest movement. It was a positive revolutionary movement in its own right. Mahayana would reinterpret the meaning of the Dharma. During the first century C.E., the movement, somewhat diffuse up to that time, began to coalesce around a powerful new body of writings known as the Prajnaparamita (Prahg-na-pahr-a-MEE-ta). A collection of about forty separate works, the Prajnaparamita was declared to be a sutra by its votaries. In essence, the Prajnaparamita purports to be a series of discourses between Shakyamuni Buddha and some of his closet disciples. The philosophical foundation Mahayana is laid out in these discourses. In fact, the name Mahayana itself is derived from the Prajnaparamita. Subhuri, one of Buddha's disciples, asks Buddha, "O Lord Buddha, what is this Great Vehicle, the Mahayana? What is its point of departure? Its destination? Through what realm does it move? How can one who travels in the Great Vehicle be recognized? Who is the person courageous enough to travel this way?" Buddha begins his reply by saying that, Mahayana is synonymous with immeasureablity." He then expands on this theme for the remainder of the dialogue, spelling out what the adherents of Mahayana regard to be a new and deeper interpretation of the meaning of his teaching.
Mahayana is a Sanskrit word; literally, it means "great vehicle," as noted in the previous paragraph. One popular interpretation of "great vehicle" is that it refers to the kind of vehicle that serves as a ferryboat, in this case, a very "large ferryboat." Buddha compared his teaching to a raft (a yana) that could ferry a person across the river of ignorance. It was an apt metaphor to use; India is a land of many rivers and few bridges. The traveler, especially in ancient times, often needed the services of the ferryman. Ordinarily, ferryboats are small, just a simple raft or dugout that carries only a few people. Such a craft was known as a "hina-yana," a small ferryboat. The adherents of the new wave Buddhism, the self-styled "Mahayana," labeled the traditional school of Theravada the "Hinayana." They themselves would pilot the large ferryboat, the "mahayana," which had room enough for everyone, while the conservative Theravadins would make do with the little ferryboat that had only room for an elite few. It was logical to use symbols that the people were familiar with. In the movement were occurring today, we might instead refer to minivans and city buses.
There is undoubtedly some appeal in this metaphorical understanding of the words Mahayana and Hinayana, seeing them as referring to larger and smaller vessels, respectively. The Hinayana has room only for the elite few, while there is room on board the Mahayana for the whole population. Perhaps, though, it is more accurate to understand Mahayana as simply meaning "greater vehicle," in the sense that the doctrine and teaching of Mahayana, expressing the profound and true meaning of the Dharma, constitute a greater vehicle than what came before them. In the sense, Hinayana is simply a lesser, and therefore inferior, vehicle (at least in the opinion of the Mahayanists).
The Theravadins - insensitively referred to as Hinayanists by the self-styled Mahayanists - complained that the Prajnaparamita and other so-called sutras that soon followed it were not sutras at all. By definition, a sutra is a record of the words of Buddha himself, the teaching of the master directly from his own lips. The Pali Canon, the Theravadins would argue, was a careful compilation of sutras that had been composed shortly after the death of Buddha and lovingly preserved over the centuries. But the Mahayana "sutras" were brand-new productions. How could they be the authentic words of Buddha? They were, in fact, nothing more than the heretical imaginings of contemporary authors. Now it was the turn for outraged Theravadins to walk out of meetings in which Mahayanists insisted on recitation from the new works.
Mahayanists responded to attacks on the veracity of their sutras by arguing that the Prajnaparamita and other sutras were not new at all. They had been passed directly from Buddha to some specially chosen disciples, but deliberately not committed to writing. Instead, they had been most carefully preserved in memory and passed along from generation to generation in the grand oral tradition. The reason for this, the Mahayanists argued, was that they preserved the deep and esoteric heart of Buddha's teaching. At the time of Buddha's death, most of the world simply was not ready to receive that teaching. Hence, sutras of an important, but less profound, nature were promulgated first. This "lesser vehicle," the Hinayana, was what found in the Pali Canon. But now, the Mahayanists would say, after five centuries of evolution, the Buddhists world was ready to hear the deeper truth; it was time to commit the secret teaching to writing and make this "greater vehicle," the Mahayana, available to all. Nevertheless, there is probably more than a grain of truth in the Mahayana argument. In premodern times, it was not all that unusual for scriptural works to be memorized and preserved orally. After all, the Upanishads were passed along for centuries in the oral tradition before being written down. Many of the themes that appear in the Mahayana sutras very likely were passed along orally, a sort of secret tradition, before being finally incorporated into the Prajnaparamita and other sutras. But on the whole, these compositions, however faithful they may have been to the spirit of Buddha's teaching, were essentially the product of the genius of the time when they were written.
The Mahayana sutras made their appearance in the first and, at the latest, the second century C.C. All originated in India and were written in Sanskrit. Some, however, have survived only in Chinese and Japanese translations. Taken together, they constitute a Mahayana canon that established the spiritual and philosophical foundation of the new tradition. The Mahayana sutras build upon and overshadow - but do not replace - the Theravada sutras of the Pali Canon.
First, in both time and importance, is the great Prajnaparamita. Prajna refers to "intuitive wisdom," the wisdom that sees into the deepest truth of reality. Paramita literally means "attaining the farther shore." The derived meaning is "perfected," transcendent," or "supreme." Put them together, the Prajnaparamita becomes "the Sutra of Transcendental Wisdom." As mentioned earlier, the Prajnaparamita purports to be a series of discourses between Buddha and certain of his disciples. These conversations are not exercises in discursive reasoning, such as we find in the dialogues of Plato. Rather they are discussions that provoke intuitive responses. The Prajnaparamita is revelation not exposition.
Two sections that are excerpted from the Prajnaparamita are known as sutras in their own right and have been immensely popular over the ages: the Diamond Sutra and the very short Heart Sutra.
Probably second in the order of time was the Avatamsaka Sutra (short for Buddhavatamsaka Sutra, which translates as the "Garland of Buddha Sutra"). This sutra, focusing on the oneness of all being, was traditionally believed to have been delivered by Buddha only a short time after his awakening; it dealt with matters to deep for most followers to understand at the time.
Another sutra of major importance is the Lankavatara Sutra. The dialogue of this sutra takes place at an imagined assembly of notables convened by the king of Sri Lanka (as the name implies). In response to various questions, Buddha enunciates the Doctrine of Tathagata-garbha, which holds that the Buddha-nature dwells in all sentient beings. It remains only to be uncovered. This is accomplished purely by removing the ignorance that hides its realization. This highly psychological sutra, along with the Diamond Sutra, would later have a profound influence on the development of Zen Buddhism.
Finally, there is the much-loved Saddharma-pundarika Sutra, popularly known as the Lotus Sutra (or, to be more precise, the "Sutra of the Lotus of the Good Dharma"). Among the last of the sutras to be written down, the Lotus Sutra is something of a summary or compendium of the essential teachings of Mahayana Buddhism. The setting here is also an assembly of notables, both worldly and supernatural, gathered at Vulture Peak, a highly dramatic setting at Mount Gridhrakuta near the Indian city of Rajagriha. The Lotus Sutra would exert a powerful influence over the development of Buddhism in China and Japan. Among its many notable features, the Lotus Sutra emphasizes the dignity of woman and teaches that enlightenment is open to women as well as men.
These four sutras - the Prajnaparamita, the Avatamsaka, the Lankavatara, and the Saddharma-pundarika (six if we include the Diamond Sutra and the Heart Sutra) constitute the core group of Mahayana scripture. Many other important writings are peripheral to the core four (or six); two in particular deserve to be mentioned: the Vimalakirti Sutra and the Sukhavati-vyuha Sutra. These two sutras deal extensively with the way in which a layperson can achieve enlightenment, a subject almost totally ignored in the Theravada tradition. Vimalakirti was in fact the name of the householder, not a monk. The sutra that bears his name lays out a picture of the ideal way of life of a layperson who is devoted to following the path of Buddha and confirms very clearly the cornerstone of Pure Land Buddhism, which is by far the most "religious" of all Buddhist sects. The Sukhavati Sutra proclaims the way in which all men and women, whatever their status, can achieve Buddhahood.
The five most fundamental aspects are:
1. Diversity and Religious Elements of Mahayana
2. The Nature of Buddha
3. The Doctrine of Shunyata
4. The Bodhisattva
5. Artistic Expression in Early Mahayana

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Maitreya

The Bodhisattva who is to appear as a Buddha 5000 years after the death of Siddhartha Gautama. Siddhartha Gautama, founder of Buddhism; c 563-483 B.C.E.; worshiped as a god.

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Mandala

Another highly important element in the performance of sadhanas in general and the visualization exercise in particular is the mandala (kyilkor in Tibetan). The creation and use of mandala are major features of Tibetan Buddhism; it is doubtful that any other tradition in human history has put so much emphasis on the value of the mandala. Its use goes well beyond the specific practices of meditation, but in sadhana practice the mandala plays a very powerful role.
In Tibetan Buddhism, the mandala that is designed to be an aid to meditation is often painted on a wall hanging known as a thangka, a symbolic representation, in mandala form, of a theme that is meaningful in the context of Tibetan Buddhism. The thangka may be something as simple as a pictorial arrangement of scenes from the life of an important Buddha or bodhisattva. Often, wrathful demons and mythical characters are depicted, each of them representing some particular psychic aspect of life. The "Wheel of Life" is a popular thangka theme. Another common theme is the "palace" of a celestial Buddha. The mandala architecture of the palace, together will all of the beings that inhabit it, is a way of symbolically portraying the Buddha-realm of the particular Buddha, presented in the appropriate mudra at the center of the madala. The use of the angka such as this is profoundly influenng a sadha visualization exercise. The depiction, of course, is not meant to be interpreted literally; rather, the symbols and images are used to represent an enlightened state of mind. Through creative visualization, the mediator unites psychically with the mandala, becoming one with the state of consciousness that it represents.
The production of thangkas has always been a highly skilled, busy profession within the monasteries of Tibet. The thangkas come in a great variety of sizes and types, some entirely abstract and highly complex. Usually, they are painted or inked on linen cloth, but sometimes on paper, silk, or wood. Some of the most elaborate are made entirely with sand of various colors. Only the most skilled (and patient) artists work on the sand mandalas, which are typically quite large, up to ten feet in diameter. The sand mandala originated as part of a sadhana ritual at the conclusion of which the mandala would be swept up and seen no more (which is trife. The "Wheel of Life" is a popular thangka theme. Another common theme is the "palace" of a celestial Buddha. The mandala architecture of the palace, together will all of the beings that inhabit it, is a way of symbolically portraying the Buddha-realm of the particular Buddha, presented in the appropriate mudra at the center of the mandala.
The use of the thangka such as this is profoundly influencing a sadhana visualization exercise. The depiction, of course, is not meant to be interpreted literally; rather, the symbols and images are used to represent an enlightened state of mind. Through creative visualization, the mediator unites psychically with the mandala, becoming one with the state of consciousness that it represents.
A dramatic event concerning a sand mandala in San Francisco in 1993. Two Tibetan monks were constructing the highly complex Kalichakra sand mandala at the Asian Art Museum located in Golden Gate Park. It takes many days to complete a big mandala, and a large number of people would gather around the platform to watch its progress. All of a sudden, a woman, apparently mentally disturbed, jumped up on the platform shouting angrily about witchcraft. Before the guards could seize her, she kicked the sand in all directions. Everyone was stunned - everyone, that is, except the two monks. The most interesting part of this little drama was their reaction. Without being flustered in the least, they both bowed deeply to the woman, who was by this time being held tightly by the guards, and began calmly to sweep up the remaining sand. Then, as if nothing had happened at all, they patiently began work on the mandala again, starting at square one.

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Metempsychosis

The passage of the soul, as an immortal essence, at the death of the animal body it had inhabited, into another living body, whether of a brute or a human being.
The transmigration of souls.
Class Notes: Like reincarnation it involves transmigration of the spirit into another body of the same or different species. The difference between Metempsychosis and Reincarnation is in Reincarnation the spirit will eventually be released through a purification process. The process of Metempsychosis does not include purification. Originated in India from the Dravidian people (A large family of languages spoken especially in southern India and northern Sri Lanka that includes Tamil, Telugu, Malayalam, and Kannada), including the ancient teachings of the Jains and was adopted by Hinduism/Buddhism, then adopted by the Egyptians and then by the Greeks. (Pythagoras believed in reincarnation.)

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Middle Way

In the First Noble Truth, Buddha nailed down the universality of suffering. In the Second Noble Truth, he identified selfish craving as the cause of suffering. Then in the Third Noble Truth, Buddha affirmed that liberation from suffering is possible. Liberation does not depend on a power outside oneself; it arises from the personal realization of nirvana. Nirvana is rare, and the way to it is difficult, but liberation is available to every man and woman. Buddha's teaching, the Dharma will show the way; it is known as Madhyamarga, the "Middle Way." The well-known "Eightfold Path" is how one walks to the eight fundamental elements of the lifestyle of one who seeks to walk the Middle Way.
Buddha said that the true Middle Way is a "razor's edge" between the false ways of self-indulgence and self-denial. Certainly, he should know, having devoted many years of his life to the full exploration of both extremes. It is important to see that self-indulgence can never lead to lasting happiness. It is important for the simple reason that the vast majority of men and women fool themselves into believing that really will work - if only it is done right. This is clearly the prevailing philosophy of our own age and probably all other ages, too. But Buddha would insist that, so long as the quest for happiness is founded on the satisfaction of desires, it is ultimately a hopeless quest.
In a like manner, the quest for transcendent happiness through a life of self-denial is also doomed to failure. The very effort to expunge the self by ascetic self-disciplines only increases its psychological strength. Here, too, the basic problem lies in the cultivation of self-centered desire as the desire to please the self. So what's left?

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Mudra

The recitation of a mantra is often accompanied by its appropriate mudra, which is a particular posture or symbolic hand gesture. The practice of mudra has evolved into a highly complex and refined art. There are specific mudras associated with virtually every important emotion and state of consciousness. Typically, in the art of Vajrayana, every important figure is represented in the form of a mudra appropriate to his or her role. This is often subtle to the eye, but it is of essential importance to the meaning of the work. Each Buddha and bodhisattva, for example, is often shown seated in meditation with crossed hands in his lap, in the position of the dhyana mudra. Sometimes Shakyamuni Buddha is shown in the bhumisparsha mudra, which is the posture he assumed when, tempted by Mara, he summoned the Earth to be his witness and authority. In this mudra, the left hand remains in the lap, while the right hand, palm inward, is extended over the knee and points at or touches the ground. It is believed that skill in mudra, just as skill in mantra, will greatly intensify the effect of a meditation exercise, especially a visualization exercise.

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Nembutsu

Devotion to Buddha Amitabha is demonstrated in many ways, but one is of crucial importance. It is generally identified by its Japanese name, nembutsu (nienfo in Chinese). Nembutsu is the distinguishing feature of Pure Land Buddhism, so much so that in fact, that some simply refer to Pure Land as Nembutsu Buddhism. Nembutsu, the repeated invocation of the name of Amitabha is the operative agent in brining about salvation in the Pure Land.
It would be inaccurate to think of nembutsu as some sort of magical device; it's not really a spiritual "sesame." Nembutsu is an external manifestation of what comes from within, the power of faith. A sincere, loving faith is what it's all about. But nembutsu, the external expression of that faith, plays an important role.
According to Honen, the 12th century monk who is credited with founding Pure Land Buddhism in Japan, one can achieve salvation simply through the ceaseless invocation of the name of the loving and compassionate Buddha Amida (from the Sanskrit and Chinese Amitabha.) Called nembutsu, this continual chanting of the name was said to result in a spiritually meditative state of mind that would lead to one's being reborn after death in the western paradise of the "Pure Land" of Buddha Amida. Much like the early Protestant reformers, Honen taught that all that is required is faith-faith in the compassionate Buddha and the consequent ritual practice of nembutsu.

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Nirvana

What Siddhartha Buddha experienced when his moment of enlightenment was achieved. Naturally the experience is ineffable; it cannot be expressed in words. Each person must experience it personally; no one can tell another what it is. The word nirvana literally means "to blow out," as to blow out a flame of a candle. What Buddha blew out was the last vestige of the ego illusion, and with it, the last remnant of ego craving. And in that moment, all illusions having gone, he saw perfectly the truth of his own nature: that his being was one with all Being. He saw the truth of life and death. He saw that human fear arises from a nightmare of illusion. But now he was awake, and the nightmare was gone forever.
The Third Noble Truth: Nirvana: Literally, nirvana means "extinction" or "extinguishment," or blowing out the flame of a candle. In nirvana, what is to be blown out is the last trace of the illusion of the separate self, the lordly ego that holds us in its grip.
Buddha would not attempt to describe the nature of nirvana. It is a reality that is inexpressible, beyond the power of thought and words. Nirvana cannot be captured by the imagination. Nevertheless, although we cannot describe the nature of nirvana, we can say some meaningful things about the subject by way of indirect abstraction. To begin with, we can say that nirvana is perfect Reality, perfect Truth. (Of course, the absolute truth is that there is nothing absolute; everything is conditioned and impermanent.) Absolute Truth, in which all illusion of fundamental separateness is overcome, is what we mean by the unitive state. Nirvana, the final and perfect expression of that state, can be apprehended only by the awakening of an intuitive wisdom that transcends ordinary human consciousness. Such intuitive wisdom is known as prajna. The power of prajna is latent in everyone, but only when it is awakened is the truth of nirvana revealed.
Perhaps for this reason, many in the West have wrongly assumed that nirvana refers to the extinguishment or annihilation of the person altogether, a sort of melting away into nothingness. This is certainly a false view. Once again, what ceases to exist is ignorance (avidya) -the attachment to the separate self born of ignorance that fuels the arising of duhkha.
So long as the grip of the ego illusion persists, one will necessary center his or her quest for happiness on satisfying the cravings of the ego. But as we have seen, this will inevitably create a gap that no amount of manipulation can close. The self, though - the sense of a separate, enduring self-is an illusion. Buddha saw the truth of this perfectly at the time of his awakening. There is no enduring self - no ego, no ego player, no atman - of any kind. Thus, there is no objective self to be satisfied. The attempt to satisfy the cravings of the ego can never be successful because, fundamentally, there is no ego-self to be satisfied. It's all a great hoax that we perpetuate on ourselves. Once this illusion is unmasked - which is essentially what nirvana entails - the cravings associated with attachment must necessarily melt away as dream images do upon one's waking from one's sleep. The flame of selfish desire is "blown out" with the extinction of the ego illusion.
But if an objective self does not exist - and is ultimately seen to be an illusion - who is it then that does the seeing? Who is it that experiences nirvana? This is a very good question. It might seem that the concept of nirvana affirms the ultimate reality of the individual self. Such a conclusion, however, is a complete misunderstanding of the Buddhist view. Strictly speaking, nirvana is not an experience; there is, indeed, no one to experience it. Nirvana is simply the final and natural expression of the process that, in its developmental stages, is manifest as what we call individual life. Like the river returning to the sea, the process we call a person is not complete - and thus will continue to cycle on - so long as ego-based desire continues to generate unresolved effects.
Referring to the process "continuing to cycle on" brings up a matter that is worth considering briefly at this point. You sometimes read that nirvana is defined as the cessation of samsara, which is to say that the cycle of rebirth, but - at least according to the Doctrine of Anatman - didn't Buddha deny the reality of atman? How can there be rebirth it there is no permanent self to be reborn? It all comes down to how you define "rebirth." Unlike Hinduism, Buddhism does indeed deny the reality of a permanent self, but the process of change that we identify with individual life does nonetheless generate karma, both positive and negative, as a result of all volitional acts. The effects of this karma will be played out over time, affecting the character of successive "rebirths." What is reborn is not, for example, an atman that endures through time, but the process itself Life is "reborn" every moment. Each of us is "reborn," in a sense, every morning when we wake up. Shakespeare referred to sleep as a "little death." Looked at another way, one life process is "reborn" in another though the continuation of the karmic influence one person's life has on another. It is like the flame of one candle lighting that of another. In case of human beings, desire creates karma, and karma keeps the "Wheel of Samsara" turning. Only with the end of desire - nirvana, in other words - does the wheel come to a stop, and we can speak of the cessation of samsara."
To sum up, nirvana is they realization of perfect freedom, perfect unending joy. Nirvana is the "blowing out" of the ego illusion and hence the "blowing out" of desire (craving). With the end of desire comes the end of suffering. How that is to be achieved is the subject of the Fourth Noble Truth.

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Noble Eightfold Path

In Sanskrit, it is arya-astangika-marga; we know it as the Noble Eightfold Path. It constitutes the basic elements of the total way of life of one who seeks to follow Buddha's Middle Way to enlightenment. When we consider the Noble Eightfold Path, we must not think that it consists of eight separate activities, eight steps to be followed consecutively. Rather, the path compromises the interwoven aspects of the daily life of one who seeks to awaken intuitive wisdom.
As usually presented, the Noble Eightfold Path seems to be surprisingly mundane stuff, more like a list of common platitudes than great spiritual insight. This is due partly to the fact that the elements of the Noble Eightfold Path actually are concerned with rather common, down-to-earth behaviors. Perfecting these behaviors, though-fully integrating them into one's life - is not common at all. Also, it is important to see the eight elements in the context of the whole - a viewpoint that is often overlooked. They are the facets of one reality, one total life, which is greater than the sum of its parts. Seeing the Eightfold Path in relation to the larger reality gives meaning to the individual parts.
This is the breakdown of the Noble Eightfold Path in the way that one usually encounters it:
1. Right Understanding
2. Right Resolve
3. Right Speech
4. Right Action
5. Right Livelihood
6. Right Effort
7. Right Mindfulness
8. Right Concentration
1) Right Understanding: is square one in the Eightfold Path because, if a person is going to address the problem of human suffering, he or she must address the real problem, not some imaginary problem. Thus, "seeing things as they really are" is what is meant by Right Understanding.
Buddha wanted men and women to see - to understand - that we ourselves are the cause of the problem. The root cause of suffering (duhkha) originates in our minds, not somewhere outside of us, as we tend to believe. Therefore, the solution to the problem also lies inside of us.
What it boils down to is this: Buddha wants us to see reality as it really is - that is, as a unified process of constant change, constant flux, in which there simply are no separate, permanent essences of any kind. The mind's yearning to see reality as made up of separate, permanent essences is a self-generated illusion born of ignorance and insecurity. This illusory view of reality - particularly as it applies to the concept of the separate self, the ego - is what gives life to the web of desire and hence to the inevitable companion of desire, suffering. To see this relationship is to have "right understanding." To see it perfectly is, to be liberated. The development of Right Understanding is fundamental, and that's why it's presented first.
2) Right Resolve: In Sanskrit, the second principle is known as samyak-samkalpa (samma-samkappa in Pali). Generally, that way is described as a sincere renunciation of the mental patterns that through right understanding, one has come to see as being the underlying source of the problem of suffering. Prime among such negative mental patterns are selfish desire, hatred, and violence. Not only odes one resolve to renounce negative mental attitudes, but to nourish positive ones in their place. A follower of Buddha's teaching resolves that metal attitudes of compassion, goodwill, and nonviolence-qualities, in other words, that promote growth toward the unitive state - will replace mental attitudes that serve to strengthen the illusion of the separate self.

The mental attitude that one seeks to develop can be summed up in the word ahimsa, one of the most important words in the Sanskrit lexicon. Gandhi loved the term and seemed to feel that it summed up the essence of all virtuous action. "Nonviolence" is the customary English translation of ahimsa, but it is something of a weak choice, because ahimsa is a positive concept, not a negative one. What should not be violated are the rights - the natural rights - of all beings. This is accomplished, not by the negative process of avoidance, but the positive effort to love and identify with all other beings. Consequently, ahimsa is compassion in action. Seen in this way, ahimsa identifies the very essence of the spirit of action that Buddha is promoting in the Eightfold Path.
Right Resolve must be understood as a total dedication to the task of changing one's mental attitude. It calls for a kind of rebirth; nothing short of total dedication is sufficient. Following the path of Buddha must be the most important thing in one's life. In fact, if it is truly right or perfect resolve, one must be willing to completely renounce his or her previous way of living in whatever way is judged necessary to do so. Right Resolve is the attitude of a man or woman who is like a starving person who will do anything to find food. In this case, the food of life is the Dharma, the teaching of Buddha.
3) Right Speech: simply means applying the principle of ahimsa to all the utterances of the mind, whether spoken aloud to another or quietly to oneself (which is what we ordinarily call thinking"). Unflagging honesty and goodwill are the defining characteristics of Right Speech. Buddha specifically warned his followers to be on guard against the temptation to lie, to speak ill of others, and to engage in idle gossip.
4) Right Action: (often refered to as Right Conduct) is also a matter of applying the principle of ahimsa to what one does. The scope is broader than speech, though, extending out to embrace one's relationships with all other beings. In the way we relate to other beings, we can either break down or build up the existing sense of separation. Action that breaks down the sense of separation, such as behavior that is respectful and compassionate, is in the spirit of ahimsa. Contrary action, including such obvious examples as stealing, wounding, and killing, are clearly to be renounced. Some things are not quite so obvious, however: Buddha denounced "immoral sexual activity," s subject that probably needs to be defined anew by men and women of each new age.

Right Action applies not only to a person's dealings with other people and not only to his or her dealings with other sentient beings; it concerns a person's relations to the entire universe of being. Ahimsa means respect and compassion for the entire environment. The unity of being is seamless; an enlightened person knows his or her identity with all of existence.
5) Right Livelihood: is also an application of the principle of ahimsa. If one is to follow the path of Buddha with total dedication, it's pretty clear that he or she will have to structure the ongoing work of daily life in a way that is in harmony with the spirit of Buddha's teaching, specifically with the Noble Eightfold Path. Any kind of work that is in conflict with the spirit of goodwill toward the environment and other sentient beings will obviously not do at all. Buddha pointedly denounced such professions as trading in weapons, drugs, or poisons; or procuring others for prostitution; and working in a field that involves the killing of animals. These, of course, are only a few of a myriad possible examples, the point being that any kind of work that potentially hurts others or deliberately causes suffering is in conflict with the teaching of Buddha and will sidetrack one from the path that leads to liberation.

In Buddha's time, the work that a person did was largely a family matter and was tied up with one's birth and place in society. It was the defining centerpiece of a whole way of life. Clearly, that's not the case in today's world. Therefore, it might make more sense for us to speak of "Right Lifestyle" instead of the narrower term "Right Livelihood." What's really here is a person's entire way of life, which certainly includes one's profession, but involves much more than just that. In an important way, the choices one makes at home, a neighborhood, and even the car one drives, are all tied together with the work one does; it's all one package. And of course, work is not necessarily limited to a job. For many, work may mean being a student, for many others, it may mean being a homemaker, and for some, it may mean nothing more than merely being an interested observer of the unfolding, drama of life. In other words, "livelihood" has a richer meaning within the context of Buddha's teaching if we broaden it to include all of those elements that go into making up a total "lifestyle."
Many of those who chose to follow the path of Buddha, especially in the early centuries, gave up everything in order to become Buddhist monks. It was widely believed that only total dedication to the disciples of the monastic life was sufficient to the challenge of achieving nirvana. Is, therefore, the really "right" livelihood, the "right" lifestyle, that of the Buddhist monk? Not Necessarily. For some, it may undoubtedly be the right source, but clearly, Buddha did not feel that becoming a monk was essential. If he did feel that way, he would have said so. The fact that he denounced certain specific kinds of livelihoods implies that he accepted others as appropriate. Without question, the way of the monk is a powerful lifestyle for one who wishes to live the Dharma, but liberation is not the exclusive prize of the monk: Anyone of sincere heart and dedication can make the grade.
6) Right Effort: The sixth principle is called samyak-vyayama in Sanskrit. This term is usually translated as "Right Effort." Buddha's meaning of the term, however, is not easy to pin down neatly. The Buddhist scholar Walpola Rahula (and others who have followed his lead) explains Right Effort as the will to get rid of existing habits of thought that give rise to evil and unwholesome states of mind, and to prevent new ones from forming. Also, Right Effort involves developing existing states of mind that are good and wholesome. But what as well as encouraging new states of mind that will be good and wholesome. But what does this mean?
Right Effort is associated with the principle of karma, a concept that weaves through the evolution of Buddhist thought from the very beginning. Karma is the continuing influence that ethical decisions have on the course of subsequent events. Karma is not the effect itself, as many mistakenly believe; it is the influence the character of a person's life at any given time. Most simply put, Right Effort refers to the determined will of a man or woman to replace existing negative karma with positive karma. This is accomplished by a consistent act of will which determines that all of one's behavior - in thought, word, and deed-will be motivated by a spirit of selfless compassion. (That, at least, is the ideal.) In this way, a person can more easily escape from the bondage of selfish attachment and thus become receptive to the experience of awakening.
7) Right Mindfulness: The seventh principle is Right Mindfulness, or, as it is sometimes called, Right Attentiveness. This is a wonderful quality of mind, much emphasized in Buddhist teaching. Right Mindfulness concerns the cultivation of the habit of mind of being consciously one with the present experience, being aware of thoughts, feelings, and sensations as they occur - in other words, being here now. Living with one's awareness rooted in the present is not as easy as it may seem. Despite the fact that one never lives anywhere other than in the present moment, the typical human mind seems determined to give as little attention to it as possible. We substitute instead a fantasy world of imaginings about the past and future. This thought - based fantasy world, the home and support of the ego illusion, becomes more real that reality itself, which is to say the continuing reality of the present moment. To locate oneself in the reality of the experience of the present moment, just as it is, is to begin to free oneself from the ignorance of the separate self.
8) Right Concentration: Right Mindfulness is the compassion of the final principle, which is nearly always referred to as Right Concentration. It is somewhat baffling that this has come to be the widely accepted word. The Sanskrit term is samyak-samadhi. Samadhi refers, not to concentration in the usual sense of the word, but to that meditate state of consciousness, which has risen to the unitive state. As there is no word in the English language that carries this meaning, perhaps it would be best simply to say "Right Dhyana," or Right Meditation. Nevertheless, it has become customary to refer to the eighth principle as Right Concentration. What is to be concentrated on is growth in the practice of dhyana, which involves what we ordinarily call the practice of meditation. Buddhist teaching identifies four stages in the growth of dhyana, the final one leading to, and becoming one with, nirvana. Dhyana is thus the culmination of The Eightfold Path; it is the way in which a dedicated Buddhist lifestyle ultimately transcends itself in nirvana.
When looks over these eight separate principles and views them as a group, the mind seeks to see relationships among them. One traditional way of doing this is to divide the eight principles into three groups known as Mental Discipline, Moral Conduct, and Intuitive Wisdom. Through Mental Discipline-which includes Right Effort, Right Mindfulness, and Right Concentration - one becomes free of bondage to Right Livelihood - one develops compassion, which has the effect of breaking down the sense of the separate self. Finally, in Intuitive Wisdom - which includes Right Resolve and Right Understanding - one engenders prajna (the intuitive wisdom itself), which ultimately issues in nirvana.
There is no one necessary way of interpreting the Noble Eightfold Path. Each person is free to be personally creative in making sense of it. Let me suggest a way of looking at it in which it is seen not so much as a list of behavioral guidelines, but rather as a simple description of the overall way of life that leads to awakening. The path begins and ends in Right Understanding, seeing reality as it really is. Initially, this seeing is of a rational sort - seeing that selfish attachment is the cause of suffering - but ultimately, rational understanding will transcend itself in the perfect understanding of prajna.
Once one has Right Understanding of the problem, Right Resolve enters the picture. A true follower of Buddha must dedicate himself or herself to walking the path. Buddha's teaching involves a transformation of consciousness; Right Resolve means dedicating oneself to replacing the mental attitude of separation with the mental attitude of compassion.
Understanding the problem and resolving to do something about it are preliminary matters, in a way: The actual doing begins in Right Lifestyle, the reconstitution of the elements of one's way of living so that it serves rather than hinders the goal of living in harmony with the teaching of Buddha. Right Effort involves putting that chosen lifestyle into execution on an ongoing daily basis. It is the actualization of ahimsa in all that one does - in thought, in word, and in deed. Right Speech and Right Action simply focus on the working of Right Effort in these two major aspects of human behavior.
These six principles in themselves, if lived to the full, describe a rather remarkable person. But the goal is to go beyond this, to work a transformation of consciousness through the enkindling of intuitive wisdom - to break down completely the illusion of mindfulness trains the mind to live in the present reality and prepares the ground for the planting the stages of dhyana to the point where the ripening of intuitive wisdom (prajna) "sees reality as it really is." Thus does consciousness become nirvana.
An even more fundamental way of analyzing the Noble Eightfold Path is to boil it down to the two essential qualities that define the character of the Buddhist lifestyle: prajna (wisdom) and karuna (compassion). These are the two sides of the coin that is the Dharma, the teaching of Buddha. Ultimately, they amount to one and the same thing, but in the ongoing affairs of daily life we speak of them separately. Compassion is the ongoing behavioral side of life. It seeks to "feel with," to be one with all other beings. Prajna is the inner side of life. It is the intuitive state of consciousness - influenced by compassion - in which one comes to see the unity of all being. The two go together; one nourishes the other. Seen in its most fundamental sense, the Noble Eightfold Path is simply a description of the way of life that is ideally suited to the engendering of wisdom and compassion.

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Om Mani Padme Hum

By far the most popular mantra of Tibetan Buddhism is Om mani padme hum. This mantra, an invocation to Avalokiteshvara, is repeated endlessly by all Tibetan Buddhists. It is ubiquitous in Tibet, inscribed everywhere in the arts, as well as in the minds and hearts of all Tibetans. Om mani padme hum is printed on prayer flags, amulets and long chains of paper that fill the ever turning prayer wheels. The mantra translates literally as "Om—the jewel in the lotus—hum." The lotus can be seen as referring to human consciousness, and the jewel is the enlightened mind that is embraced within the lotus.

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Pali Canon

Oldest and most important document committing to writing the teachings of Siddhartha Gautama Shakyamuni Buddha, in 80 B.C.E. (1000 yrs before the birth of Jesus Christ) It is a carefully assembled collection of the then-existing scriptural works and traditions regarding Buddha.
The Pali Canon is the scripture core of Theravada, the first great-organized movement in the evolution of Buddhism. The Pali Canon constitutes the definitive core of Theravada Buddhism.
The Pali Canon is known by that name because scholars within the council reproduced all of the agreed-upon works in the written language of Pali. Although not the spoken language of the common people of Sri Lanka, Pali had come to the island with invaders from North India. Pali was a derivative of Sanskrit in much the same way that Italian is a derivative of Latin, and it was widely believed by the members of the council that Pali was the language that Buddha himself had spoken.
The Pali Canon is of enormous value to the student of Buddhism. It is where the documentary history of Buddhism really begins. Almost everything before that time is speculation, but with the Pali Canon, the fundamental teachings and practices of Buddhism were written down and preserved for all time. Since they were written in Pali, that language became a sort of quasi-official language of Theravada Buddhism. This creates something of a problem, because the original writings of Mahayana were typically in Sanskrit. Thus, both Pali and Sanskrit terms will often appear in the study of Buddhism. Usually, they are quite similar: Dharma in Sanskrit becomes dhamma in Pali, for instance, and nirvana in Sanskrit becomes nibhana in Pali.
Note that 80 B.C.E. is a long time after the death of Shakyamuni Buddha — four hundred years, to be exact. So how can we be sure that the writings of the Pali Canon do in fact faithfully preserve the teaching of Buddha as Buddha meant it to be understood? We can't, of course, but there is broad consensus among modern scholars that the tradition was carefully preserved in the centuries following Buddha's life and that the scholars at Anuradhapura council (the capital city of Sri Lanka) used great care in their research and textual criticism. We can be reasonably confident that the Pali Canon does indeed give us an accurate presentation of Buddha's teaching, true to the intentions of the founder.
- Theravada means "The Doctrine of the Elders," but in more everyday language we could translate it simply as "the orthodox tradition." The Theravada tradition, given form in the Pali Canon, is spelled out in the scriptural writings that make up the Tripitaka, which literally means "three baskets." The various books were written on palm leaf sheets, which were carefully bound and stored in separate collections, one for each of the three great categories.
The first of the categories is the sutras — sayings and discourses believed to have been handed down directly from the lips of Buddha. The sutras constitute an extensive collection of writings. Included among the sutras is the well-known Dhammapada. The second category is the vinaya, the rules of organization and everyday life for the members of the sangha. These too, were believed, at least essentially, to have come from Buddha. The third "basket" held the abhidharma, works of a more speculative and philosophical nature that were held in high respect. Such writings were later than Buddha, but were important interpretations of the tradition and added to its full development.
By definition, a sutra is a record of the words of Buddha himself, sayings, discourses, and the teaching of the master directly from his own lips. The Pali Canon, the Theravadins would argue, was a careful compilation of sutras that had been composed shortly after the death of Buddha and lovingly preserved over the centuries.

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Panchen Lama

In Tibetan Buddhism, Tsong Khapa was a powerful voice in 16th century Tibet. Feeling that the existing sects were hopelessly mired in the depravity and superstition, Tsong Khapa focussed his reform effort on the establishment of an altogether new sect that would embody correct and rigorous principles of Buddhist monasticism, including the vow of celibacy. The new sect was called Gelug-pa, the "virtuous ones."
The traditional monk's robe in Tibet was reddish brown in color, but to distinguish themselves from these others, the Gelug-pa adopted a robe and hat that were somewhat yellowish. Since a conical hat was their most identifiable part, this difference led to the Gelug-pa being known as the "yellow hat" sect as opposed to the "red hats." Among the "red hats" were the men of Kadam-pa, the sect begun by Atisha three centuries before. As the Gelug-pa reform movement grew, the Kadam-pa was effectively absorbed into it; thus, the number of major sects remained at four.
Tsong Khapa founded several new Gelug-pa monasteries, the first of these being Ganden, which begun in 1409 C.E. in the mountainous country about twenty five miles east of Lhasa. Ganden became the preeminent Gelug-pa monastery and thus the place where the mortal remains of the founder were interred when he died ten years later. Before his death, though, Tsong Khapa created several other monasteries, among them Sera and Drepung, which were both close to Lhasa. Drepung grew to an incredible size. In the seventeenth century it was home to more than ten thousand monks, making it by far the largest monastic community ever to have existed anywhere.
Tsong Khapa also turned the first spade at what would become the large and beautiful monastery of Tashi Lhunpo. This famous center of Tibetan Buddhism was established on the south bank of the Tsangpo, near the city of Xigaze (Shigatze), about one hundred and thirty miles southwest of Lhasa. The Grand Lama of Tashi Lhunpo would later be known as the Panchen Lama and would rival the Dalai Lama is spiritual authority.

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Prajna

Prajna refers to “intuitive wisdom,” the wisdom that sees into the deepest truth of reality.

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Prajnaparamita

Mahayana Buddhism, however, was far from being only an opposition party, only a protest movement. It was a positive revolutionary movement in its own right. Mahayana would reinterpret the meaning of the Dharma. During the first century C.E., the movement, somewhat diffuse up to that time, began to coalesce around a powerful new body of writings known as the Prajnaparamita (Prahg-na-pahr-a-MEE-ta). A collection of about forty separate works, the Prajnaparamita was declared to be a sutra by its votaries. In essence, the Prajnaparamita purports to be a series of discourses between Shakyamuni Buddha and some of his closet disciples. The philosophical foundation Mahayana is laid out in these discourses. In fact, the name Mahayana itself is derived from the Prajnaparamita. Subhuri, one of Buddha's disciples, asks Buddha, "O Lord Buddha, what is this Great Vehicle, the Mahayana? What is its point of departure? Its destination? Through what realm does it move? How can one who travels in the Great Vehicle be recognized? Who is the person courageous enough to travel this way?" Buddha begins his reply by saying that, "Mahayana is synonymous with immeasureablity." He then expands on this theme for the remainder of the dialogue, spelling out what the adherents of Mahayana regard to be a new and deeper interpretation of the meaning of his teaching.
The Theravadins — insensitively referred to as Hinayanists by the self-styled Mahayanists — complained that the Prajnaparamita and other so-called sutras that soon followed it were not sutras at all. By definition, a sutra is a record of the words of Buddha himself, the teaching of the master directly from his own lips. The Pali Canon, the Theravadins would argue, was a careful compilation of sutras that had been composed shortly after the death of Buddha and lovingly preserved over the centuries. But the Mahayana "sutras" were brand-new productions. How could they be the authentic words of Buddha? They were, in fact, nothing more than the heretical imaginings of contemporary authors. Now it was the turn for outraged Theravadins to walk out of meetings in which Mahayanists insisted on recitation from the new works.
Mahayanists responded to attacks on the veracity of their sutras by arguing that the Prajnaparamita and other sutras were not new at all. They had been passed directly from Buddha to some specially chosen disciples, but deliberately not committed to writing. Instead, they had been most carefully preserved in memory and passed along from generation to generation in the grand oral tradition. The reason for this, the Mahayanists argued, was that they preserved the deep and esoteric heart of Buddha's teaching. At the time of Buddha's death, most of the world simply was not ready to receive that teaching. Hence, sutras of an important, but less profound, nature were promulgated first. This "lesser vehicle," the Hinayana, was what found in the Pali Canon. But now, the Mahayanists would say, after five centuries of evolution, the Buddhists world was ready to hear the deeper truth; it was time to commit the secret teaching to writing and make this "greater vehicle," the Mahayana, available to all. Nevertheless, there is probably more than a grain of truth in the Mahayana argument. In premodern times, it was not all that unusual for scriptural works to be memorized and preserved orally. After all, the Upanishads were passed along for centuries in the oral tradition before being written down. Many of the themes that appear in the Mahayana sutras very likely were passed along orally, a sort of secret tradition, before being finally incorporated into the Prajnaparamita and other sutras. But on the whole, these compositions, however faithful they may have been to the spirit of Buddha’s teaching, were essentially the product of the genius of the time when they were written.
First, in both time and importance, is the great Prajnaparamita. Prajna refers to “intuitive wisdom,” the wisdom that sees into the deepest truth of reality. Paramita literally\ means, “attaining the farther shore.” The derived meaning is “perfected,” transcendent,” or “supreme.” Put them together, the Prajnaparamita becomes “The Sutra of Transcendental Wisdom.” As mentioned earlier, the Prajnaparamita purports to be a series of discourses between Buddha and certain of his disciples. These conversations are not exercises in discursive reasoning, such as we find in the dialogues of Plato. Rather they are discussions that provoke intuitive responses. The Prajnaparamita is revelation not exposition.
Two sections that are excerpted from the Prajnaparamita are known as sutras in their own right and have been immensely popular over the ages: the Diamond Sutra and the very short Heart Sutra.
- Probably second in the order of time was the Avatamsaka Sutra (short for Buddhavatamsaka Sutra, which translates as the “Garland of Buddha Sutra”). This sutra, focusing on the oneness of al being, was traditionally believed to have been delivered by Buddha only a short time after his awakening; it dealt with matters to deep for most followers to understand at the time.
Another sutra of major importance is the Lankavatara Sutra. The dialogue of this sutra takes place at an imagined assembly of notables convened by the king of Sri Lanka (as the name implies). In response to various questions, Buddha enunciates the Doctrine of Tathagata-garbha, which holds that the Buddha-nature dwells in all sentient beings. It remains only to be uncovered. This is accomplished purely by removing the ignorance that hides its realization. This highly psychological sutra, along with the Diamond Sutra, would later have a profound influence on the development of Zen Buddhism.
Finally, there is the much-loved Saddharma-pundarika Sutra, popularly known as the Lotus Sutra (or, to be more precise, the “Sutra of the Lotus of the Good Dharma”). Among the last of the sutras to be written down, the Lotus Sutra is something of a summary or compendium of the essential teachings of Mahayana Buddhism. The setting here is also an assembly of notables, both worldly and supernatural, gathered at Vulture Peak, a highly dramatic setting at Mount Gridhrakuta near the Indian city of Rajagriha. The Lotus Sutra would exert a powerful influence over the development of Buddhism in China and Japan. Among its many notable features, the Lotus Sutra emphasizes the dignity of woman and teaches that enlightenment is open to women as well as men.
These four sutras — the Prajnaparamita, the Avatamsaka, the Lankavatara, and the Saddharma-pundarika (six if we include the Diamond Sutra and the Heart Sutra) constitute the core group of Mahayana scripture. Many other important writings are peripheral to the core four (or six); two in particular deserve to be mentioned: the Vimalakirti Sutra and the Sukhavati-vyuha Sutra. These two sutras deal extensively with the way in which a layperson can achieve enlightenment, a subject almost totally ignored in the Theravada tradition. Vimalakirti was in fact the name of the householder, not a monk. The sutra that bears his name lays out a picture of the ideal way of life of a layperson who is devoted to following the path of Buddha and confirms very clearly the cornerstone of Pure Land Buddhism, which is by far the most “religious” of all Buddhist sects. The Sukhavati Sutra proclaims the way in which all men and women, whatever their status, can achieve Buddhahood.

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Pure Land Buddhism

Also referred to as Amitabha Buddhism, grew directly out of the broader world of Mahayana, but its doctrine is arguably the farthest removed from the original teaching. Pure Land has consistently been the largest of all Buddhist sects.
Each of the many Buddhas preside over his own celestial Buddha-realm. A Buddha-realm is also known as a "Pure Land" (Jingtu in Chinese, Jodo in Japanese). The Pure Lands are identified with the direction of the compass. Most popular is the Pure Land of the West, presided over by Buddha Amitabha (Amida in Japanese). This "Western Paradise," an unimaginably great distance from Earth is known as Sukhavati.
The first organization of Pure Land doctrine was accomplished by a Chinese monk named Hui Yuan, who founded a Buddhist organization named the White Lotus Society in the year 402B.C.E. The purpose of this organization was to form a community of people — monks and laypersons — who were dedicated to being reborn in Sukhavati, the Western Pure Land of Buddha Amitabha. The Doctrine of the White Lotus Society was based on the teaching of various sutras, the most important of which was the Sukhavati-vyuha.
All Buddhist sutras address the matter of enlightenment; achieving enlightenment is the bottom line in Buddhism. The Sukhavati-vyuha also deals with the path to enlightenment, but in a very special way. It holds out the possibly of awakening for everyone, not some distant future after many rebirths as a monk, but here and now, at the end of this lifetime, and it matters not in the least how great a sinner a person may have been. The prevailing view was that the road to enlightenment is long and difficult; one has to slowly overcome the enormous burden of negative karma that has accumulated over time. But Hui Yuan and those who followed him taught that there is another way, a faster and easier way. Incredible though as it may seem, it is possible, even for the worst sinners, to be rescued from the ignorance and depravity of this life at the time of death be reborn in the Pure Land of Buddha Amitabha, where the fullness of enlightenment is assured. Thus did reverence of Buddha Amitabha become the central concern of the Pure Land Buddhism. Note that in Pure Land the word "Buddha" by itself refers not to Shakyamuni Buddha, but to the Buddha Amitabha. Shakyamuni's importance is limited to his role as deliverer of the sutras upon which the Pure Land doctrine is based.
According to the teaching of the sutras, Amitabha began his career toward Buddhahood immeasurable ages ago when he lived as a king. He lived during the time of an early Buddha, Lokesvara-raja, and after hearing one of this Buddha's sermons, he gave up everything and became a monk, taking the name Dharamakara. Dharamakara became a genuine bodhisattva and was reborn countless times before finally achieving perfect enlightenment, at which time he became properly known as Buddha Amitabha (the Buddha of "infinite light"). Amitabha's Buddha-realm is Sukhavati, the Pure Land of the West, where he has presided over a vast number of followers ever since.
Dharamakara had taken a special vow. Every bodhisattva declares vows. One of these vows, though (the 18th to be exact), stated that he would not become enlightened unless he were to make good on a promise to welcome into his Buddha-realm all beings who trusted themselves to him with sincere devotion: "If all beings in the ten quarters, when I have attained Buddhahood, should believe in me with all sincerity of heart, desiring to be born in my country, and should say ten times, think of me, and if they should not be reborn there, may I not obtain enlightenment."
The answer to rebirth in the Pure Land of Sukhavati was simple: he couldn't. No one could do such a thing on his own — but Buddha Amitabha could! By compassionately sharing his infinite store of merit, built up over eons of time, Buddha Amitabha could wipe out the negative karma of anyone, and transform that person into a being suitable for entry into his Buddha-realm, where enlightenment was assured. Indeed, he had vowed to do exactly that for any person who came to him with a sincere heart. It's a can't lose situation. No wonder this school of Buddhism grew rapidly among the common folk!
This approach of enlightenment might seem to involve a very basic change in the teaching of Buddhism, perhaps even a contradiction. From the very beginning, Buddhism had taught that one is capable of transforming him or herself on the road to enlightenment; no outside supernatural help is necessary. Shakyamuni himself had said, "Be ye lamps unto yourselves; be ye a refuge to yourselves; betake yourself to no eternal refuge!" But now, advocates of Pure Land Buddhism were proclaiming that no amount of self-directed effort could ever be sufficient. There will always be an inescapable taint of ego in everything we do. Many people continue for a long time to have confidence that they can achieve enlightenment on their own. But they are fooling themselves. Eventually, each person will reach a point, like someone who is drowning, where he or she will realize that one's own efforts are simply not enough. When that point is reached, the person will finally be willing to give up the struggle and appeal to the compassionate Buddha for help. Buddha — and Buddha alone — can save us. Buddha can, and will, pluck us out of the water—but we have to ask for help. We have to have faith in Buddha.
How similar this is to the teaching of Martin Luther. One cannot achieve "salvation" — that is, awakening — through self-power, but one can achieve salvation through "other power." All that is required is faith — loving faith in the goodness and infinite compassion of Buddha Amitabha. He has vowed to bring salvation to every person who is sincerely devoted to him.
Devotion to Buddha Amitabha is demonstrated in many ways, but one is of crucial importance. It is generally identified by its Japanese name, nembutsu (nienfo in Chinese). Nembutsu is the distinguishing feature of Pure Land Buddhism, so much so that in fact, that some simply refer to Pure Land as Nembutsu Buddhism. Nembutsu, the repeated invocation of the name of Amitabha is the operative agent in brining about salvation in the Pure Land.
It would be inaccurate to think of nembutsu as some sort of magical device; it's not really a spiritual "sesame." Nembutsu is an external manifestation of what comes from within, the power of faith. A sincere, loving faith is what it's all about. But nembutsu, the external expression of that faith, plays an important role. Another valuable external in Pure Land is "visualization." It is believed by the faithful that the practice of nembutsu becomes especially powerful if one is trying to visualize Buddha Amitabha or his Pure Land. Visualization helps to deepen one's devotion and thus the bond between oneself and Buddha Amitabha. If a person experiences a spontaneous vision of Amitabha, it is taken as evidence that the person is certain to be free of terror at the time of death and will be reborn in Sukhavati. According to traditional belief, when death occurs, Amitabha's companion, the much-loved bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara, will come to ward off fear and guide the spirit of the deceased to its splendid rebirth in the Pure Land.
In general, the Pure Land is a place of blissful happiness; there is no suffering of any kind. It's basically a paradise and therefore an ever-popular subject in the temple art of Buddhism. Perhaps the designation "paradise" would depend upon whom you are talking to. This may come as a surprise, but there are no women in Pure Land! This doesn't mean that women are barred from entry; what it means is that an earthly female is reborn a male. Well, strictly speaking, that's not entirely true. In the Pure Land, all beings are transcendent beings (referred to as "golden bodied"). They have risen above the practical considerations of gender; there is no need for sexual difference. Everyone is a perfected being would naturally exhibit male characteristics if there's a choice between male and female. This probably seemed perfectly reasonable in the early days of Pure Land, but it has caused problems through the ages, and you can imagine the problem it causes today!
It must be remembered that the overriding value of being reborn in the Pure Land is that, in that way, one can achieve enlightenment. The object of being reborn in the Pure Land is to be brought to enlightenment; that's ultimately what it's about. When a person admits that he cannot do it on his or her own, that person surrenders voluntarily to the infinite power of the compassionate Buddha Amitabha, who has vowed to share his enlightenment in the Pure Land, with all who have faith in him. Not only would a person be brought to enlightenment in the Pure Land, but also then he or she might expect to return to Earth as a compassionate bodhisattva.

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Rinzai

(Sudden Awakening) The split in Zen was expressed in the formation of Soto Zen and Rinzai Zen. Soto and Rinzai are the Japanese names, which are more familiar to the modern reader. The development of Soto and Rinzai, though, began during the late Tang period in China, where they were, of course, known by their original Chinese names. (In Chinese, Soto becomes Caodao in the pinyin system, Ts'ao-tao in the Wade-Giles system. Rinzai becomes Linji in pinyin; Lin-chi in Wade-Giles.)
The split between Soto and Rinzai is suggestive of the earlier division between the Northern School and the Southern School. In this comparison, Soto would be more akin to the Northern School, Rinzai to the Southern School. The resemblance, though, is only superficial; Soto and Rinzai have always been in fundamental agreement as to the nature of enlightenment. The difference between the two are almost entirely concerned with what are seen to be appropriate disciplines, especially with regard to the place of meditation practice.
Soto's resemblance to the Northern School is due largely to the great importance placed on sitting meditation, zazen, in daily life. But Soto did not revert to the "dust-wiping" interpretation of meditation practice that we found in the Northern School. Rather, Soto emphasized what was called "quiet illumination," meaning long practice of zazen could create the perfectly "quiet" state of consciousness most conducive to the arising of satori. The rival Rinzai school took very strong exception to the position, contending that a preoccupation with zazen did not encourage illumination, "quiet" or otherwise; it produced only a state of peaceful tranquilization:
Recently a type of heterodox Zen has grown up in the forest of Zen. By confusing the sickness with the remedy, they have denied the experience of enlightenment... Because they have not experienced enlightenment, they think others have not either. Stubbornly they contend that an empty silence and a musty state of unconsciousness is the original realm of the absolute. To eat their rice twice a day and to sit without thoughts in meditation is what they call complete peace.
And so the argument continues: to sit or not to sit. Perhaps, as mentioned before, the controversy ultimately boils down to a basic difference in human personalities. One type, which benefits tremendously from the more conservative and introverted approach, will incline toward Soto. Another, which prefers a more active approach, will choose Rinzai. Both Soto and Rinzai, though, respect the elementary power of zazen; it's a matter of emphasis. The debate is as much alive today as it ever was. By coincidence, two modern Japanese Zen Masters who have had much to do with transplanting Zen to the West were both named Suzuki. Daisetz T, Suzuki, of the Rinzai school, was a Zen scholar whose writings have greatly influenced Western students of Zen. He was personally opposed tot he practice of sitting meditation and may have inadvertently created a somewhat mistaken impression regarding the attitude of Zen in general on this matter. Shunryu Suzuki Roshi, a modern Soto Zen Master and founder of the Zen Center of San Francisco, put the whole matter of zazen very nicely in perspective:
If you think you will get something from practicing zazen, already you are involved in impure practice...When you practice zazen, just practice zazen. If enlightenment comes, it just comes. We should not attach to the attainment. The true quality of zazen is always there, even if you are not aware of it. Just do it.
Soto and Rinzai are the right and left hands of Zen Buddhism. It would be seriously missing the point to think of one as better or more correct than the other. It comes down to a matter of where a given individual fits best.
The putative founder of the Rinzai school was one of the truly great characters in the history of Zen Buddhism. His name was Linji (Lin-chi). Linji was also a product of the 9th century, that final and most splendid time of the Tang period. He died probably in his mid-fifties, in 867 C.E. Most of what we know about his teachings are preserved in the Rinzairoku, Japanese name for the collection of Linji's discourses.
Where his own students were concerned, Linji would employ a very different approach. Linji felt only scorn for those schools of Zen which emphasized long hours of meditation: "Having stuffed themselves with food, they sit down to meditate and practice contemplation; arresting the flow of though they don't let it rise; they hate noise and seek stillness. This is the method of the heretics!"
"Heretics" may be overstating it, but it certainly wasn't overstating the intensity of Linji's personal feelings on the subject. He wanted a dynamic approach to Zen, as opposed to what he saw as quietism in others. Linji kept urging his disciples to believe in themselves, to give up running around searching for the truth outside of themselves. His way of encouraging his students was also new and was the beginning of a tradition in Zen instruction that is often rather shocking to a person new to Zen study. Linji was not at all reluctant to strike his students with his staff, and strike them hard. Or he would come up close and shout at them, so loudly that one student complained that he couldn't hear anything but ringing in his ears for three days. Linji really loved the technique of shouting. Considering this passage from the Rinzairoku:

Sometimes a shout is like a jeweled sword of the Vajra King;

sometimes a shut is like the golden-haired lion crouching on the ground;

sometimes a shout is like a weed-tipped fishing pole;

sometimes a shout doesn't function as a shout.
A shout "doesn't function as a shout," presumably, when it's intended that it functions as something else. The real purpose of the blows and the shouts was to jolt the student out of his state of ego self-hypnosis. Naturally, this had to be artfully timed and delivered. Only a Zen Master like Linji could work such a technique effectively. Actually, Linji learned to use the rough stuff from his own guru, Ma Zi (Ma-tsu), another interesting personally who was said to be able to stick out his tongue so far that he could cover his nose. In addition to kicks and shouts, Ma Zi would sometimes grab a student's nose and twist it so hard that the person would cry in pain.
I'm sure you're wondering whether all this violence is really necessary. The answer is no., but it was a specialized technique that became enormously popular as Linji's reputation spread. It was a dramatic way of emphasizing the new active approach to Zen, as opposed to the more traditional passive approach. There is something intriguing about it all. Direct physical involvement can break through in a way that mere words never will. Sometimes a student can be on the verge of awakening, but somehow he is unable to go the final step. The discomfort of a blow from the master's staff is a trifling matter if it succeeds in breaking the mental knot of ego frustration. Let's face it; nothing jolts one into the here and now more abruptly than a sudden kick or blow on the head. This technique remained popular, particularly in Rinzai monasteries, when Zen spread to Japan, but the modern Western world would seem to have no part of it.
Beginning in the time of Linji, the Rinzai tradition was grounded solidly on the basic Zen premise of satori: sudden enlightenment. Thus, Rinzai teachers were interested in methods that would get at satori in a more direct way than the path of meditation would. They preferred techniques that would jolt the mind out of its customary fixation on discursive thought. Blows and shouts could be helpful, but there was another method, which was seen to be far more effective in the long run. In time, it would become the very trademark of the Rinzai approach. We can most simply describe this method as the "Zen paradox." By skillful employing paradoxical statements and questions, the Zen Master attempts to jolt the mind of the student out of its normal rational mode of thinking and open it to an insight of a higher truth. This can be a progressive process, culminating ultimately in the opening of prajna, perfect satori.

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Sangha

A doctrine.
The ever-turning cycle or wheel of birth, death, and rebirth.
The slow progress of the Brahman-Atman to ever higher levels of consciousness through the procession of successive rebirths.
Samsara is Brahman's long quest for ultimate perfect rediscovery of Self.

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Samsara

The original group of Buddha's companions was five and eventually grew to ten. Buddha referred to them as the sangha. The sangha would become a permanent and basic element of Buddhist life. The communal group, living closely together under the direction of a spiritual leader and helping one another along the path, was seen from the earliest times to be a powerful help in the quest for awakening. The sangha was very much like an ashram. The word sangha referred to a representative body of nobles that consulted with a king. There was something of a democratic element in a sangha. Perhaps Buddha chose the word because he encouraged a more individual, democratic spirit in his group and thus wanted to distinguish his ashram from the more traditional type. Although Buddha retained much of the Hindu tradition, in fundamental way he was making a break with the past.

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Satori

If it's the real thing, it happens all at once — sudden enlightenment. In Chinese, "sudden enlightenment" is called wu men. Most people in the Western world are more familiar with the Japanese term, satori. The central and essential importance of satori is what the teaching of Bodhidharma was all about. As D.T. Suzuki bluntly puts it, "The coming of Bodhidharma to China in the early sixth century was simply to introduce this satori element into the body of Buddhism."
Suzuki calls satori "an intuitive looking into the nature of things" and, more poetically, "the opening of a mind flower." In this sense, any sudden powerful insight is a kind of satori. Everyone has had this sort of experience at one time or another. Even insights that relate to he meaning of life can be "great satoris" or small satoris," but the experience that gives Zen its meaning is the ultimate insight that banishes all the clouds of unknowing: perfect awakening. This is perfect, unlimited satori and is usually what is being referred to when the word is used.
In focusing on the essential place of sudden enlightenment, Bodhidharma set the course of this beginning of the chapter, Buddhist teaching in China had emphasized the gradual approach to Buddhahood. The idea of sudden enlightenment, though, did not exactly originate with Bodhidharma. In fact, we find both the sudden and the gradual approach discussed in the sutras. The gradual approach, though, had been dominant in the tradition of Buddhism, at least up to the time of Bodhidharma.
What made Bodhidharma something of a revolutionary and the founder of a new way of Buddhism, is that he flatly disagreed with the traditional disciplines. Far from it: He himself was an ardent practitioner of sitting meditation. All of the disciplines, he would argue, are good and helpful, but by themselves they are empty in value. They lack the central, essential element without which true awakening cannot occur.
It is not possible to exaggerate the importance of satori. Unfortunately, it is very possible to miscast the precise meaning of the term, since, once again, we are attempting to talk about that which by definition cannot be expressed in words or thoughts. The best policy is to keep things simple and allow the intuition faculty an opportunity to sense the meaning of the word.
" The fruit drops when it is ripe." In other words, satori is not something that can be achieved, not something that can be won by diligent effort. It occurs when it occurs, if it occurs at all, just as the fruit drops when it is ripe. No amount of effort can have any effect at all. You can no more force yourself to "wake up" than you can force yourself to remember something, But when one is ready — just as when Buddha was ready — almost anything may trigger the dropping of the fruit. The simple sound of someone stepping on a dry leaf can do it, a long-forgotten aroma can do it, or, as was the case for Buddha, it can be triggered by the sight of the morning star (Venus) in the predawn sky.
The main thrust of Zen training is to help the student break free of the normal human attachment to discursive thinking. Zen teaches that one will never discover the truth of one's own nature (the Buddha-nature) through the thought processes of the reasoning mind. Awakening is an intuitive leap of insight that completely transcends thought; in fact, it can't occur until one is willing to let go of the grip of the thinking mind. Only when one does that is the eye of prajna free to see the truth. Prajna is intuitive wisdom. We might say that the opening of the eye of prajna is what satori is all about.
Establishing the central importance of the satori experience was the combined work of Bodhidharma and Huineng. Bodhidharma, the first patriarch of Zen, began the formative process. Huineng completed the work begun by Bodhidharma. By the time of Huineng's death in 713 C.E., the fundamental nature of Zen was established. Zen (Chan) had become a unique expression of Buddhism within the broad umbrella of Mahayana. Zen would continue to grow and evolve, and it is evolving even today, but remained a solid and unchanging foundation. This is known as the Zen of the Patriarchs.
Whereas Bodhidharma introduced the concept of satori, sudden enlightenment, into China and taught that that was the correct understanding of how awakening occurs, Huineng went on to clarify, in the sense, the nature of an authentic satori experience. One could conceivably be fooled by the dramatic impact of a powerful insight. Genuine awakening, genuine satori has about it a particular character. Huineng said it best in his famous wall gatha:
Originally there is no tree of enlightenment,

Nor is there a stand with a clear mirror.

From the beginning not one thing exists;

Where, then, is a grain of dust to cling?
Several features of Zen gave it its distinct character within the broad umbrella of Buddhism. Most fundamental of all was the Zen emphasis on satori, sudden awakening. Various Buddhist disciplines, including meditation, might have a role to play, but no practice can achieve awakening. Through the guidance of an already awakened teacher, an individual can be urged to the state wherein he or she the real truth of one's nature. The real truth is, of course, the Buddha-nature, which is the common essence of all beings, hidden from us only by our ignorance and the fear born of that ignorance.

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Shakyamuni Buddha

(Proper name = Siddhartha Gautama Shakyamuni = Buddha = "the awakened one") Was himself a Hindu sanyasin for many years before his "awakening", loved practices of Raja Yoga. Whereas he would part company with many of the cherished beliefs of the Hindu tradition, he never abandoned the practice of meditation, which was to become the core of his teaching.

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Shikan-taza

Chanting, repetition of a mantra, koan, and all other kinds of activity were ruled out in Dogen's method of zazen. They might have a place at other times, but not at the time specifically set aside for zazen. The mediator was to do one thing and one thing only; he was to completely focus his consciousness on the existential reality of the moment and stay with that. Thoughts images feelings of desire and everything else were to be immediately dropped whenever they formed in consciousness, and the mind was to return gently to its focus on the present moment's fact of existence. This practice, which requires great energy and can be totally exhausting for the novice, is called shikan-taza; it is to fully grasp the moment. The dedicated practice of shikan-taza, so Dogen believed, was the way par excellence for "seeing into one's nature."

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Soto

(Sudden Awakening) The split in Zen was expressed in the formation of Soto Zen and Rinzai Zen. Soto and Rinzai are the Japanese names, which are more familiar to the modern reader. The development of Soto and Rinzai, though, began during the late Tang period in China, where they were, of course, known by their original Chinese names. (In Chinese, Soto becomes Caodao in the pinyin system, Ts'ao-tao in the Wade-Giles system. Rinzai becomes Linji in pinyin; Lin-chi in Wade-Giles.)
The split between Soto and Rinzai is suggestive of the earlier division between the Northern School and the Southern School. In this comparison, Soto would be more akin to the Northern School, Rinzai to the Southern School. The resemblance, though, is only superficial; Soto and Rinzai have always been in fundamental agreement as to the nature of enlightenment. The difference between the two are almost entirely concerned with what are seen to be appropriate disciplines, especially with regard to the place of meditation practice.
Soto's resemblance to the Northern School is due largely to the great importance placed on sitting meditation, zazen, in daily life. But Soto did not revert to the "dust-wiping" interpretation of meditation practice that we found in the Northern School. Rather, Soto emphasized what was called "quiet illumination," meaning long practice of zazen could create the perfectly "quiet" state of consciousness most conducive to the arising of satori. The rival Rinzai school took very strong exception to the position, contending that a preoccupation with zazen did not encourage illumination, "quiet" or otherwise; it produced only a state of peaceful tranquilization:
Recently a type of heterodox Zen has grown up in the forest of Zen. By confusing the sickness with the remedy, they have denied the experience of enlightenment...Because they have not experienced enlightenment, they think others have not either. Stubbornly they contend that an empty silence and a musty state of unconsciousness is the original realm of the absolute. To eat their rice twice a day and to sit without thoughts in meditation is what they call complete peace.
And so the argument continues: to sit or not to sit. Perhaps, as mentioned before, the controversy ultimately boils down to a basic difference in human personalities. One type, which benefits tremendously from the more conservative and introverted approach, will incline toward Soto. Another, which prefers a more active approach, will choose Rinzai. Both Soto and Rinzai, though, respect the elementary power of zazen; it's a matter of emphasis. The debate is as much alive today as it ever was. By coincidence, two modern Japanese Zen Masters who have had much to do with transplanting Zen to the West were both named Suzuki. Daisetz T, Suzuki, of the Rinzai school, was a Zen scholar whose writings have greatly influenced Western students of Zen. He was personally opposed to the practice of sitting meditation and may have inadvertently created a somewhat mistaken impression regarding the attitude of Zen in general on this matter. Shunryu Suzuki Roshi, a modern Soto Zen Master and founder of the Zen Center of San Francisco, put the whole matter of zazen very nicely in perspective:
If you think you will get something from practicing zazen, already you are involved in impure practice...When you practice zazen, just practice zazen. If enlightenment comes, it just comes. We should not attach to the attainment. The true quality of zazen is always there, even if you are not aware of it. Just do it!"
One of the great figures in the history of Japanese Zen Buddhism is Dogen Kigen, the founder of Soto Zen in Japan. Dogen was a disciple of Eisai. Whereas Eisai is something of a shadowy figure, Dogen stands out as a strong personality, and we know a good deal more about him. Much of our knowledge about Dogen and his thinking comes from his extensive writings, collectively known as the Shobogenzo, a ninety-two-book compendium of this thoughts on a great variety of subjects. Brilliant philosopher, Dogen has often been compared to the great Western philosopher Martin Heidegger.
Dogen fell in love with this total dedication to zazen, and he believed that it finally resolved his struggle for enlightenment. It happened one evening when one of the monks in the meditation hall fell asleep. Rujing gently chastised him, saying (in a rather koan-like way), "If your mind and body are sloughed off in meditation, how can it be that you sleep" These words, according to Dogen, jarred him out of his ego illusion, and he became instantly enlightened. This was later verified by Rujing, who gave Dogen a document "certifying" his enlightenment and naming him a Dharma heir in the house of Caodao. The followers of Dogen regard this event as the official beginning of the school of Japanese Soto Zen.
Dogen was precise about the way zazen was to be practiced, His method, fundamentally, is still the method practiced in Soto Zen. If we could enter his meditation hall, we would see rows of monks dressed in loose-fitting robes. Unlike a Rinzai meditation hall, in which the monks sit facing inward, Dogen's monks would be facing the wall. They would sit on low platforms, in the cross-legged posture, using only a mat and a small, firm cushion, known as a zafu, to sit on. Their posture would be upright, but not tense, and the hands would rest in the lap formed by crossed legs. Dogen took exception to the traditional yogic practice of closing the eyes in meditation. His monks were to keep their eyes open, but downcast. The wall covering was bare straw mat or shoji screen, so there was nothing visual to catch the eye. Dogen emphasized the importance of regulated easy breathing, but only to help relax and center the body-mind. He had no interest in yogic breathing exercises in which the exercise was itself the meditation practice.
The difference in style between Japanese Zen Soto and Rinzai was expressed in three ways. First, of course, was the matter of social class. Speaking very generally, Rinzai was the Zen of the ruling class, and Soto was the Zen of the common people. This was broadly true, but there was room for lots of exceptions in both cases. The second difference concerns the place of meditation in Zen. Both Soto and Rinzai held zazen in high regard, but Soto emphasized the practice to a far greater degree than did Rinzai. In fact, Rinzai masters often gently (and sometimes not so gently) ridiculed Soto monks for their "excessive" love of sitting meditation. Of course, the Soto people returned the favor, chastising Rinzai for its attachment to the koan exercise. It was a case of "wall-gazing" versus "koan-gazing," "quiet illumination" versus "dynamic enlightenment." The word dynamic identifies the third difference. Rinzai took a dynamic, energetic approach to Zen, whereas Soto was more contemplative. A person might join a Rinzai community for a short period, but the Soto monastery was more likely to attract the dedicated person who wished to make the way of the monk his life's work.
Rinzai and Soto became established in Japan during the 13th century. From that time to the present, both have continued to grow and develop; in modern times they have begun to take root in places far beyond the boarders of Japan. Many important names have been added to the history of Zen Buddhism since the time of Eisai and Dogen, but one stands out in a special way, the name of Hakuin. Even in a broad survey such as this, it would be unthinkable not to pause and consider the enormously significant contribution of this man.

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Sukhavati

Each of the many Buddhas preside over his own celestial Buddha-realm. A Buddha-realm is also known as a "Pure Land" (Jingtu in Chinese, Jodo in Japanese). The Pure Lands are identified with the direction of the compass. Most popular is the Pure Land of the West, presided over by Buddha Amitabha (Amida in Japanese). This "Western Paradise," an unimaginably great distance from Earth is known as Sukhavati.
The first organization of Pure Land doctrine was accomplished by a Chinese monk named Hui Yuan, who founded a Buddhist organization named the White Lotus Society in the year 402 B.C.E. The purpose of this organization was to form a community of people — monks and laypersons — who were dedicated to being reborn in Sukhavati, the Western Pure Land of Buddha Amitabha. The doctrine of the White Lotus Society was based on the teaching of various sutras, the most important of which was the Sukhavati-vyuha.
All Buddhist sutras address the matter of enlightenment; achieving enlightenment is the bottom line in Buddhism. The Sukhavati-vyuha also deals with the path to enlightenment, but in a very special way. It holds out the possibly of awakening for everyone, not some distant future after many rebirths as a monk, but here and now, at the end of this lifetime, and it matters not in the least how great a sinner a person may have been. The prevailing view was that the road to enlightenment is long and difficult; one has to slowly overcome the enormous burden of negative karma that has accumulated over time. But Hui Yuan and those who followed him taught that there is another way, a faster and easier way. Incredible though as it may seem, it is possible, even for the worst sinners, to be rescued from the ignorance and depravity of this life at the time of death be reborn in the Pure Land of Buddha Amitabha, where the fullness of enlightenment is assured. Thus did reverence of Buddha Amitabha become the central concern of the Pure Land Buddhism. Note that in Pure Land the word "Buddha" by itself refers not to Shakyamuni Buddha, but to the Buddha Amitabha. Shakyamuni's importance is limited to his role as deliverer of the sutras upon which the Pure Land doctrine is based.
According to the teaching of the sutras, Amitabha began his career toward Buddhahood immeasurable ages ago when he lived as a king. He lived during the time of an early Buddha, Lokesvara-raja, and after hearing one of this Buddha's sermons, he gave up everything and became a monk, taking the name Dharamakara. Dharamakara became a genuine bodhisattva and was reborn countless times before finally achieving perfect enlightenment, at which time he became properly known as Buddha Amitabha (the Buddha of "infinite light"). Amitabha's Buddha-realm is Sukhavati, the Pure Land of the West, where he has presided over a vast number of followers ever since.
Dharamakara had taken a special vow. Every bodhisattva declares vows. One of these vows, though (the 18th to be exact), stated that he would not become enlightened unless he were to make good on a promise to welcome into his Buddha-realm all beings who trusted themselves to him with sincere devotion: "If all beings in the ten quarters, when I have attained Buddhahood, should believe in me with all sincerity of heart, desiring to be born in my country, and should say ten times, think of me, and if they should not be reborn there, may I not obtain enlightenment."
The answer to rebirth in the Pure Land of Sukhavati was simple: he couldn't. No one could do such a thing on his own — but Buddha Amitabha could! By compassionately sharing his infinite store of merit, built up over eons of time, Buddha Amitabha could wipe out the negative karma of anyone, and transform that person into a being suitable for entry into his Buddha-realm, where enlightenment was assured. Indeed, he had vowed to do exactly that for any person who came to him with a sincere heart. It's a can't lose situation. No wonder this school of Buddhism grew rapidly among the common folk!
This approach of enlightenment might seem to involve a very basic change in the teaching of Buddhism, perhaps even a contradiction. From the very beginning, Buddhism had taught that one is capable of transforming him or herself on the road to enlightenment; no outside supernatural help is necessary. Shakyamuni himself had said, "Be ye lamps unto yourselves; be ye a refuge to yourselves; betake yourself to no eternal refuge!" But now, advocates of Pure Land Buddhism were proclaiming that no amount of self-directed effort could ever be sufficient. There will always be an inescapable taint of ego in everything we do. Many people continue for a long time to have confidence that they can achieve enlightenment on their own. But they are fooling themselves. Eventually, each person will reach a point, like someone who is drowning, where he or she will realize that one's own efforts are simply not enough. When that point is reached, the person will finally be willing to give up the struggle and appeal to the compassionate Buddha for help. Buddha — and Buddha alone — can save us. Buddha can, and will, pluck us out of the water — but we have to ask for help. We have to have faith in Buddha. LI> How similar this is to the teaching of Martin Luther. One cannot achieve "salvation" — that is, awakening — through self-power, but one can achieve salvation through "other power." All that is required is faith—loving faith in the goodness and infinite compassion of Buddha Amitabha. He has vowed to bring salvation to every person who is sincerely devoted to him.
Devotion to Buddha Amitabha is demonstrated in many ways, but one is of crucial importance. It is generally identified by its Japanese name, nembutsu (nienfo in Chinese). Nembutsu is the distinguishing feature of Pure Land Buddhism, so much so that in fact, that some simply refer to Pure Land as Nembutsu Buddhism. Nembutsu, the repeated invocation of the name of Amitabha is the operative agent in brining about salvation in the Pure Land.
It would be inaccurate to think of nembutsu as some sort of magical device; it's not really a spiritual "sesame." Nembutsu is an external manifestation of what comes from within, the power of faith. A sincere, loving faith is what it's all about. But nembutsu, the external expression of that faith, plays an important role. Another valuable external in Pure Land is "visualization." It is believed by the faithful that the practice of nembutsu becomes especially powerful if one is trying to visualize Buddha Amitabha or his Pure Land. Visualization helps to deepen one's devotion and thus the bond between oneself and Buddha Amitabha. If a person experiences a spontaneous vision of Amitabha, it is taken as evidence that the person is certain to be free of terror at the time of death and will be reborn in Sukhavati. According to traditional belief, when death occurs, Amitabha's companion, the much-loved bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara, will come to ward off fear and guide the spirit of the deceased to its splendid rebirth in the Pure Land.
In general, the Pure Land is a place of blissful happiness; there is no suffering of any kind. It's basically a paradise and therefore an ever-popular subject in the temple art of Buddhism. Perhaps the designation "paradise" would depend upon whom you are talking to. This may come as a surprise, but there are no women in Pure Land! This doesn't mean that women are barred from entry; what it means is that an earthly female is reborn a male. Well, strictly speaking, that's not entirely true. In the Pure Land, all beings are transcendent beings (referred to as "golden bodied"). They have risen above the practical considerations of gender; there is no need for sexual difference. Everyone is a perfected being would naturally exhibit male characteristics if there's a choice between male and female. This probably seemed perfectly reasonable in the early days of Pure Land, but it has caused problems through the ages, and you can imagine the problem it causes today!
It must be remembered that the overriding value of being reborn in the Pure Land is that, in that way, one can achieve enlightenment. The object of being reborn in the Pure Land is to be brought to enlightenment; that's ultimately what it's about. When a person admits that he cannot do it on his or her own, that person surrenders voluntarily to the infinite power of the compassionate Buddha Amitabha, who has vowed to share his enlightenment in the Pure Land, with all who have faith in him. Not only would a person be brought to enlightenment in the Pure Land, but also then he or she might expect to return to Earth as a compassionate bodhisattva.

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Sutra

By definition, a sutra is a record of the words of Buddha himself, the teaching of the master directly from his own lips. The Pali Canon, the Theravadins would argue, was a careful compilation of sutras that had been composed shortly after the death of Buddha and lovingly preserved over the centuries. But the Mahayana "sutras" were brand-new productions. How could they be the authentic words of Buddha? They were, in fact, nothing more than the heretical imaginings of contemporary authors. Now it was the turn for outraged Theravadins to walk out of meetings in which Mahayanists insisted on recitation from the new works.

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Svabavata

All of this reasoning led Nagarjuna to what is summed up the wonderful Sanskrit word svabavata, which means, "empty of self-existence." Svabavata is at the heart of shunyata, the "Doctrine of Emptiness." If the reality of any given thing (at least conceptually) is conditionally dependent upon its relationship to other things, then nothing can stand by itself. Everything is "empty" of self-existence. Any given "thing" is the result of the causes and conditions that define it. Take these causes and conditions away and the "thing" ceases to exist:
The world perceived through the senses, the phenomenal world as we know it, was described in early Buddhism as "empty" because it was taught that all such phenomena arise from causes and conditions, are in a constant state of flux, and are destined to change and pass away the time. They are also held to be "empty" in the sense that they have no inherent or permanent characteristics by which they can be described, changing as they do from instant to instant."
Everything — everything that we can imagine — is bound up in the conceptual relationships that give meaning. Thus, nothing is fundamentally real unto itself. There is no such thing as night; "night" is a concept only, and it has meaning solely in relation to other concepts, such as "day." This notion poses no problem with such concepts as night and day, but the heat gets turned up when we direct Nagarjuna's spotlight on such concepts as the Doctrine of Anatman. Nagarjuna would insist that, no less than any other concept, that of anatman has meaning only in relation to atman; both are aspects of one conceptually relative reality. Is this to say that atman is real or unreal. Atman is what it is, a concept — and the same goes for anatman. Both are empty of substantive reality; neither represents absolute truth. Thus did shunyata clear the way for Mahayana to break free of the narrow orthodoxy of Theravada and be able to follow many different paths — even seemingly contradictory paths.

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Tantra

A religion that enormously influenced the evolution of both Hinduism and Buddhism.
The beginnings of Tantra as a definable tradition can be traced back to Buddhist communities of Northern India in the 6th century CE.
Tantra was a radical counter-movement in both Hinduism and Buddhism. Tantra may have retained much of the old and may even show evidence of some roots that go back to pre-Vedic times, but what was new was such departure from the orthodox, that Tantra was vigorously condemned by the traditionalists of both Hinduism and Buddhism.
The name "tantra" refered to the various texts that formed the scripture base of the movement. This Sanskrit word, taken originally from the weaving craft, refers literally to the weft, the strands that weave the yarn into a unified whole, a fabric. Tantra texts did the same sort of thing: They wove the various strands of the tradition into a unified whole, a philosophical system.
In Tantra, as in orthodox Hinduism (and Buddhism), the ultimate goal is the same: full awakening. Freedom from suffering of attachment. In more practical terms, we might say that the ultimate goal is the creation of that state of consciousness within which the awakening can arise. In traditional Hinduism, this state of consciousness is known as samadhi. To Tantarists this amounted to something much too passive, too body rejecting, too withdrawn from the fullness of human life.
In the metaphor of Mount Meru, the base is associated with the animal roots of human nature. This is where happiness is equated with the pleasures of the flesh: eating, drinking, copulation, etc. there's nothing wrong with that; it's neither moral nor immoral. It's just the way things are at the root. Where human consciousness is concerned however, the happiness is capable of ascending to a much higher states, but the base is where it starts.
What gave Tantra its special characteristic was its effort to involve the whole person in the adventure of spiritual growth, in place of the more traditional approach of Self-discipline and transcendence of desire. Tantra developed a host of ritual practices that embraced the body as an impedance to growth, rather than renouncing desire, Tantra sought to harness the energy of desire and use it to generate higher states of awareness.

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Tharpa

Awakening to knowledge of the perfect unity of being is, of course, what it's all about. This is enlightenment, which, in the Tibetan language, is called tharpa. The ultimate goal of all practice is tharpa, but in accordance with Vajrayana, this great goal was not to be ascended to slowly, by denying the flesh-and-blood realities of human life. In contrast to other schools of Buddhism, Vajrayana offered a dynamic path, an active "fast track" to enlightenment. Awakening was to be had by grappling with life - all of it - and bursting through the illusions and restraints created by the self-loving ego. As in all Buddhist traditions, meditation was seen as a most important part of the path, but in Vajrayana, meditation would become active and dynamic, involving the whole person. Consequently, a vast body of meditation techniques and ritual practices developed in Vajrayana.

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Theravada Buddhism

"The doctrine of the elders." Strictly speaking, the name Theravada (pronounced tair-a-VAH-da) refers to only one school - the dominant school - within the closely related parts of the early development of Buddhism.
The elucidation of the Four Noble Truths and the Noble Eightfold Path was central to the teaching of the first great organized movement in the history of Buddhism this movement is known as Theravada Buddhism.
Pali Canon is the oldest and most important document committing to writing the teachings of Siddhartha Gautama Shakyamuni Buddha, in 80 B.C.E. (1000 yrs before the birth of Jesus Christ) It is a carefully assembled collection of the then-existing scriptural works and traditions regarding Buddha.
The Pali Canon is the scripture core of Theravada, the first great-organized movement in the evolution of Buddhism. The Pali Canon constitutes the definitive core of Theravada Buddhism.
The Pali Canon is known by that name because scholars within the council reproduced all of the agreed-upon works in the written language of Pali. Although not the spoken language of the common people of Sri Lanka, Pali had come to the island with invaders from North India. Pali was a derivative of Sanskrit in much the same way that Italian is a derivative of Latin, and it was widely believed by the members of the council that Pali was the language that Buddha himself had spoken.
The Great Council convened in 80 B.C.E., during the reign of King Vattagamani, and as we know, the outcome of its work was the Pali Canon. The intention was to set the practice of Buddhism on a solid scriptural foundation, one that would permanently provide a reliable link with the life and words of Buddha himself. The council would give a specific character to the tradition of Buddhism, is known by the name Theravada.
Literally, Theravada means "Doctrine of the Elders," but in more everyday language we could translate it simply as "orthodox tradition." The Theravada tradition, given form in the Pali Canon, is spelled out in the scripture writings that make up the canon. These writings are divided into three groups that together are known as the Tripitaka, which literally means "three baskets." The various books were written on palm leaf sheets, which were carefully bound and stored in separate collections, one for each of these great categories.
The first of the categories is the sutras - sayings and discourses believed to have been handed down directly from the lips of Buddha. The sutras constitute an extensive collection of writings. Included among the sutras is the well-known Dhammapada. The second category is the vinaya, the rules of organization and everyday life for the members of the sangha. These, too, were believed, at least essentially, to have come from Buddha. The third "basket" held the abhidharma, works of a more speculative and philosophical nature that were held in high respect. Such writings were later than Buddha, but were important interpretations of the tradition and added to its full development.
Through his teaching, Buddha had shown humanity how to liberate itself from suffering. Theravada's reason for being was to preserve and promote that teaching. The goal of Theravada, therefore, was to provide a nourishing context within which any person who wished to make the effort could strive to become an arhat - that is, a fully awakened man or woman. The vinaya was the way this worked out in daily life.
Lay people were not entirely out of the picture. They too, could generate karma that could affect their own lives in positive ways. This was done by observing certain moral rules and engaging in devotional practices. Most of all, though, lay people gained merit by helping the Order through giving of alms. The laity, therefore could play a supporting role and would benefit enormously from this in their personal lives, but realistically speaking, only the monk stood a reasonable chance of reaching the farther shore. More than that, the farther shore was attainable only to the monk who lived scrupulously by the rules of vinaya. We must not think of these rules as some kind of moral code handed down from a divine authority. Instead, they were very practical, time-tested guidelines derived from the teaching of Buddha and centuries of experience.
Vinaya, therefore, was a matter of most immediate practical concern. Although all men and women - indeed, all living beings-were considered to be within the embrace of the Buddhist way of living, it was clearly the underlying conviction of the Middle Way had any realistic hope of achieving nirvana. The Theravadin monk, free from family entanglements and worldly concerns, was thus able to devote his life to the way of poverty, study, and discipline.
Buddha taught that it is ignorance that is at the root of human suffering. Ignorance (avidya) leads us down the path to the bondage of attachment. The path that leads to freedom from attachment is long and difficult; it is, indeed, the razor's edge. Only by living every day in perfect accord with the Dharma - that is to say, with the ideals of the Eightfold Path - can one hold his balance on the razor's edge and avoid falling into the fatally self-destructive impulses of "lust and hatred and confusion." (Interestingly, these appear similar to the terrible triad that Krishna introduces in the second book of the Bhagavad Gita, "lust and fear and anger.") Thus, all of the rules of the Buddhist monastic orders were directed at helping each member do the best job he or she could in becoming a living expression of the Eightfold Path. The rules of vinaya were designed to keep the traveler narrowly on that path.
The essence of the Theravadin rules of vinaya are summed up in the "Five Dedications": no killing, no stealing, no lying, no unlawful sex, and no alcohol. This is not as arbitrary a list as it might first seem. Although expressed in the negative, it pretty well sums up the Theravadin monk's way of life. The rules were meant to guide the life of anyone who wished to follow the way of Buddha, but it was primarily the monk who was expected to adopt them with dedication. Let's look at each rule briefly.
1. No Killing: Buddha taught compassion and respect for all living beings. Life is one; there are no real separations. How could anyone dedicated to living according to the Dharma even think of deliberately taking the life of another living being? For this reason, Buddhists strove to develop a love not only for all men and women, but also for all life - for all of Nature. Understandably, Theravadin monks lived according to a strictly vegetarian diet. But aren't plants living beings, too? Yes, but most would follow the traditional Hindu interpretation and take living beings to mean only sentient beings," in other words, animals. But there was really no need to kill plants anyway. Monks lived on an extremely simple diet. It was possible to take from the plant world what some plants naturally produce to be food, such as fruits and the fleshy parts of seeds. The important thing, though, was to show love and respect for all living beings. Like Jain monks, one of the few simple possessions of a Theravadin monk was a small piece of gauze, which he would use to strain liquids before drinking. After all, there might be some tiny living beings in the liquid.
2. No Stealing: This might seem like a rather odd rule for a Buddhist monk. Can't we take it for granted that a monk will not be a thief? Not necessarily: Stealing can take many forms. Greed is a form of stealing. Even envious thoughts are a kind of mental stealing. Hoarding something may be legitimate from the legal point of view, but from the moral point of view it's really stealing if someone else is in need. In fact, do I have a right to anything more than I need if someone else is lacking what he or she needs? The total solution to this dilemma is simply give up worldly wealth altogether; become totally poor and thus drop out of the acquisitive game completely. Stealing in thought and deed, will than have no meaning. Buddhist monks, following the example of Buddha himself, were to own nothing except the absolute basic necessities, and strictly speaking, in most cases such necessities were really "owned" by the monastic order to which the monk belonged. A Buddhist monk was allowed two robes, a pair of sandals, and a begging bowl - that's all. There were two robes so that one could be worn while the other was being cleaned. In modern times, it countries where the Theravadin tradition continues, one other item has become common: an umbrella (a practical necessity in tropical climates). By reducing his possessions to the absolute basic necessities of life, the monk was totally freed from the prison of acquiring, managing, protecting, worrying about - and lusting for - material possessions. He or she could give full time and energy to practicing the Dharma.
3. No Lying: Obviously, this rule involves more than what we ordinarily mean by lying. Lying in speech is preceded by lying in thought, and that's what this precept is directed at. The Buddhist monk was expected to make every effort to be completely truthful, not only in dealings with others, but in dealing with himself as well.
4. No Unlawful Sex: To the Theravadin Buddhist of old, unlawful did not refer to the civil law of the state; it refered to what was understood to be the moral law of Dharma. If the great power of sexual desire was not to hurl one off path, it must be controlled. For the householder or the parent, this meant one thing, but for the Theravadin monk, it meant simply that there was no legitimate place whatsoever for sexual thoughts or sexual deeds. So long as one was a monk, one was to be entirely celibate. This outlook is not new. In the Hindu tradition, the person who left his family home and took up the life of yoga was expected to commit himself to brahmacharya, which meant total abstinence from sexual behavior in thought and deed. And, of course, celibacy has always played an important part of the religious life in the Western tradition. The reason for this is fairly obvious: It's not necessarily that sex has been seen as evil or corrupting; it's just that one is to have any hope of reaching the goal of freedom from attachment, sexual desire must be controlled, and all experience shows that, particularly among the young, the only realistic way of controlling sexual desire is to eliminate it from one's life altogether. Not to do so would be like trying daily to thread a needle in the middle of a raging forest fire. You may well be thinking that this expectation is ridiculous. Certainly, it's not for everyone, but for those who are willing and able to sacrifice, the promised reward will be infinitely great (or so we're told). The incredible energy of the sex drive can be channeled into the all-consuming effort to walk the path of Dharma.
5. No Alcohol: Like other Theravadin rules, this simple dictate is really something of a symbolic way of getting at a much larger concern. This is not to say that alcohol was not forbidden, it was strictly forbidden, but the rule went further than that: Any intoxicating influence was forbidden. The purpose was not to prevent the monks from partying; it was to help each monk avoid the kinds of powerful enticements that could lure him off the path and ensnare him (or her) in the fatal briar patch of attachment. Freeing oneself from attachments was (and is) the sine qua non of the Buddhist way. And there is a more subtle aspect to the rule about alcohol as well. The practice of meditation is at the core of the Eightfold Path, A community of Buddhist monks would spend part of each day meditation together. Meditation looks so calm form the outside, but internally it can sometimes be a ferocious struggle. To succeed in meditation, one must concentrate tremendous energy into the act of consciousness. That's the why all other forms of energy use are temporarily shut down. Anything that lessens the available energy is to be avoided. Long experience shows that alcohol and drugs, without necessarily being bad things in themselves, rob the body of energy to some degree, thereby compromising the meditation experience. For this very practical reason, they can have no place in the life of one who loves meditation and is declared to exploring its possibilities.
These Five Dedications, taken as a whole, constitute a broad program of guidelines intended to help the monk stay true to the spirit of the Eightfold Path throughout the routine of daily life, which began early for the Theravadin monk. We can observe that routine today in the daily life of Buddhist monks, particularly in southeast Asian countries such as Burma (Myanmar) and Thailand, where the underlying influence of Theravada has endured over the centuries.
Theravada Buddhism, as it originally took form, was not a religion. It was a powerful secular movement, based on the very practical teachings of Buddha, which aimed solely at helping a person become an arhat, a fully awaked man or woman. As such, it is one of the truly sublime achievements of the human spirit. Theravada Buddhism emerged out of the common beliefs and practices of the early centuries of Buddhism and was given solid, enduring expression in the Pali Canon. By the time the Pali Canon, Buddhism had been growing and evolving for four centuries and its influence had spread far beyond the Indian homeland. Sri Lanka had become a bastion of Theravada Buddhism, and it became a new fountainhead of missionary activity, particularly in the Southeast Asia, where it has endured through the ages and evolved into one of the major schools of Buddhism in the world today. As recently as 1955, a great council of Theravadin scholars was held in Burma (Myanmar). The council remained in session for two years.

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Tulku

(Tarthang Tulku), The founder of the Tibetan Buddhist monastery in California known as the Odiyan, is regarded as being a reincarnate lama, Odiyan itself may be seen as the reincarnation of the spiritual essence of Samye Gompa, the very first Buddhist monastery of Tibet.
A tulku is a reincarnated lama who is reborn in order to help lead others to enlightenment. A tulku gives signs that others can use to identify the specific person in which the spirit has been reborn. In this way, a lineage can be established. The faithful can feel confident, for example, that over many generations the Grand Lama of a particular monastery has been one great spirit, reincarnated over and over, each time successfully identified by the leading lamas of that monastery. For the past five centuries, the most important lineage in Tibet has been that of the Dalai Lama. There have been fourteen historical Dalai Lamas. To the faithful, however, there has really been only one Dalai Lama, incarnated and re-incarnated fourteen times, and not merely the reincarnation of a highly enlightened lama, but of Avalokiteshvara himself, the bodhisattva of infinite compassion.

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Vairochana Buddha

One of the more important Buddhas — Vairochana by name — came to symbolize the dharmakaya. This was especially helpful in artistic representations. The dharmakaya, of course, transcends all individual entities, including Buddhas, so it is important to remember that Vairochana was not identified with the dharmakaya; rather, Vairochana represents the dharmakaya (in much the same way that a statue depicting Brahma might be intended to represent the principle of Brahman.)
In Vajrayana Buddhism, as in Mahayana Buddhism generally, the place of Shakyamuni Buddha was overshadowed by the various transcendent Buddhas, among whom Vairochana Buddha occupied the place of greatest importance.
Philosophically minded Buddhists have in all ages interpreted the matter of Pure Lands in a metaphorical way. The different Pure Lands represent the various aspects of enlightenment. This approach has been popular in Buddhist art, particularly in the use of mandalas to represent the totality of the Dharma. The mandala becomes like a great compass, with many Buddhas appropriately located. Often, the central position is occupied by Buddha Vairochana, who represents dharmakaya. Less sophisticated folks however, have tended to interpret the concept of Pure Land, and the possibility of personal rebirth in a Pure Land, in a literal way.

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Vajrayana Buddhism

The Evolution of Mahayana Buddhism into Tibetan Buddhism, known as Vajrayana Buddhism.
Padmasambhava was a Vajrayana Buddhist, and it was this great school of Mahayana Buddhism that became established in Tibet, A third great branch of Buddhism, the other to being Theravada and Mahayana. Vajrayana is derived from the Sanskrit word vajra (dorje in the Tibetan language). Varja was originally an Indian term referring to a personal "weapon" associated with the god Indra. The vajra, a short shaft with a symbolized trident head at each end, became the symbol that identified Indra. It is often described as a "thunderbolt", but this is most likely a mistaken notion arising from the western association of the Hindu god Indra with the Greek god Zeus, whose personal weapon was indeed a lightening bolt.
Indian Buddhists adopted the symbol of the vajra, but it took on a whole new meaning. The vajra became the symbol of Enlightenment. The word vajra, which literally means, "diamond," came to be associated with the indestructible (that is, "diamond-like") union of wisdom and compassion. The Buddhist vajra, generally made of metal or bone and small enough to be held in the hand, is a highly symbolized art object. At the center of the short shaft circular ball that, like the hub of a mandala, represents the emptiness from which all things emerge. At each end, the shaft blossoms into lotus-like form from which five prongs emerge — a straight central one and four curved prongs, all of which close back together at the tips. There is a great beauty in the simplicity and symmetry of the vajra.
Vajrayana developed out of the Tantra movement that was growing strong in north India in the 6th century, and from there it was carried to the highlands of Tibet. In large measure, Tantra grew out of the movement to incorporate the rich variety of esoteric folk beliefs and rituals into Mahayana Buddhism. This went so far as to include a great deal of what were frankly magical and superstitious elements.
For all practical purposes, the tantras amounted to a further addition to the body of Buddhist sutras, but the followers of Tantrayana regarded the traditional sutras to be inferior to the tantras. Not so, however, with regard to the great Prajnaparamita, which was much loved and became the very centerpiece of the Vajrayana system. Because of the central importance of the Prajnaparamita, the Doctrine of Shunyata, as enunciated by Nagarjuna, became the philosophical foundation of Vajrayana Buddhism. Awakening was (and still is) seen as the opening of consciousness to the ultimate reality of "emptiness."
In Vajrayana, as in Mahayana Buddhism generally, the place of Shakyamuni Buddha was overshadowed by the various transcendent Buddhas, among whom Vairochana Buddha occupied the place of greatest importance. Each of the principle Buddhas was associated with various bodhisattvas, as well as with a specific female consort. All were properly venerated. A special affection was felt, though, for Amitabha, the Buddha of Sukhavati, the "western paradise." The great goal of awakening was commonly described as "rebirth" in Amitabha's realm, where enlightenment was assured. Whether this was interpreted literally or metaphorically depended, then as now, on the particular mind-set of the individual.
The metaphorical interpretation of Mahayana teaching became profoundly important in the development of Vajrayana. It led to the creation of a very rich symbology, much of it frankly sexual in nature. This is an aspect of Vajrayana that has puzzled and even shocked many Westerners. Some have even grossly misinterpreted Vajrayana, confusing sexual symbolism with sexual practice. The widespread use of sexual symbolism results from the tradition of associating wisdom (prajna) with the female principle and compassion (karuna) with the male principle. Because enlightenment is synonymous with the union of perfect wisdom and compassion, it follows that the ecstatic sexual union of man and woman provides a wonderfully rich field of symbolic possibilities. Sexual union is something that most men and women are familiar with, and this most earthly of acts can thus be used metaphorically to represent knowledge of the perfect unity of all being.
The vajra itself, the symbol of Enlightenment, includes sexual symbolism. In a highly stylized way, the arrangement at each end of the vajra represents the union of male and female sexual organs, the central prong being the male enclosed within the lotus form, which is often employed to represent the female organ. Note, however, that although this may be highly erotic in its essential meaning, it was not intended to arouse erotic feelings, at least not in the usual sense of the word. In both Vajrayana and the Tantric tradition that produced it, the sexual theme was seen to be an excellent metaphor for the unity of being in which all duality is dissolved. To the puritanical mind, this might seem shocking, but clearly, the creators of Vajrayana were not troubled by that problem at all.
The most widely recognized employment of sexual symbolism in Vajrayana is found in the Yab-Yum. Whereas the symbolism may be subtle in the vajra, it's not in the least subtle in the Yab-Yum (which literally means "father and mother"), a depiction of a man and woman joined together in the ecstasy of sexual union. Typically, the couple represented are a Buddha, or bodhisattva, and his female consort. They sit face-to-face in a yoga posture, their bodies intertwined. The theme of the Yab-Yum is very highly regarded; it appears over and over in sculpture and painting. Properly understood this is an extremely powerful theme that represents the state of perfect union.
Awakening to knowledge of the perfect unity of being is, of course, what it's all about. This is enlightenment, which, in the Tibetan language, is called tharpa. The ultimate goal of all practice is tharpa, but in accordance with Vajrayana, this great goal was not to be ascended to slowly, by denying the flesh-and-blood realities of human life. In contrast to other schools of Buddhism, Vajrayana offered a dynamic path, an active "fast track" to enlightenment. Awakening was to be had by grappling with life — all of it — and bursting through the illusions and restraints created by the self-loving ego. As in all Buddhist traditions, meditation was seen as a most important part of the path, but in Vajrayana, meditation would become active and dynamic, involving the whole person. Consequently, a vast body of meditation techniques and ritual practices developed in Vajrayana.
Generally speaking, the various meditation practices of Vajrayana are derived from what are known as the sadhanas. These are lengthy and involved sections from the Tantric texts that the guru uses to initiate the student into successfully higher states of meditative consciousness. The principle element of the practice of sadhana is what is called "visualization." In a visualization exercise, the mediator concentrates on visualizing, and identifying with, a particular Buddha or bodhisattva. In this way, the mediator seeks to instill within himself (or herself) the particular qualities of the one being visualized. The very popular bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara (pronounced Ahv-a-loh-keet-esh-VAR-a), for example, is identified with the perfect compassion in the person practicing this exercise. Note that, in performing the exercise, the student does not believe that he has created an actual vision of Avalokiteshvara. Not at all; the visualization is accepted as a purely psychic experience, but an extremely powerful one.
Associated with the visualization exercise, and nurturing it, are many other elements of meditation practice. Chief among them is the recitation of mantras. The mantra plays a big part in the life of Vajrayana Buddhism — so much so, in fact, that Vajrayana is sometimes refered to as Mantrayana, the "way of the mantra," A mantra is a spiritually powerful syllable or string of syllables that a person repeats (often chants) in order to forge a strong psychic connection between himself and the force or deity that the mantra represents. Om ("aum"), for example, is the fundamental mantra of the Hindu tradition and was transposed into Buddhism, whereupon it evolved into new forms. By far the most popular mantra of Tibetan Buddhism is Om mani padme hum. This mantra, an invocation to Avalokiteshvara, is repeated endlessly by all Tibetan Buddhists. It is ubiquitous in Tibet, inscribed everywhere in the arts, as well as in the minds and hearts of all Tibetans. Om mani padme hum is printed on prayer flags, amulets, and long chains of paper that fill the ever turning prayer wheels. The mantra translates literally as "Om — the jewel in the lotus — hum." The lotus can be seen as referring to human consciousness, and the jewel is the enlightened mind that is embraced within the lotus. Of course, there is the possibility of sexual symbolism here, too. The verbal meaning though, is not terribly important; the power of a mantra transcends its verbal meaning.

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Yab Yum

Literal meaning is "father and mother."
Sexual symbolism in Vajrayana Buddhism.
A depiction of a man and woman joined together in the ecstasy of sexual union. Typically, the couple represented are a Buddha, or Bodhisattva, and his female consort. They sit face-to-face in a yoga posture, their bodies intertwined. The theme of the Yab-Yum is very highly regarded; it appears over and over in sculpture and painting. Properly understood this is an extremely powerful theme that represents the state of perfect union.

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Zen Buddhism

The school of Buddhism associated with the name of Bodhidharma was known simply by the Sanskrit term dhyana. In Chinese, this became Chan-a, ultimately shortened to Chan. Thus began Chan Buddhism, a wonderfully rich tradition within the great wheel of Mahayana. The tradition of Zen Buddhism teaches that Buddha chose the brilliant monk, Kasyapa, to be his successor, and he in time chose another, and so on in a long unbroken succession down to the time of the founding of Zen Buddhism.
Of the many Buddhist sects that flourished in China, two were destined to dominate the scene in the long run. One of these was Pure Land Buddhism. The other, which developed under the name Chan Buddhism, is known to most people in the modern world as Zen Buddhism. Th word Zen is simply the Japanese rendering of Chen. Zen is the product of a tradition that matured in China and then continued to develop in Japan. In modern times it has spread out of Japan and taken root in many parts of the world.
The Chinese predecessor of Zen Buddhism, which would become Zen in Japan, matured in China during the Tang and Song dynasties. The relative stability of the times was the opportunity the Confucians had been waiting for.
Chan is the name of a school of Buddhism that developed in China. The word is derived from the Sanskrit dhyana, a term that refers to the practice of meditation. "Chan" is simply the Chinese version of the Sanskrit word. An emphasis on dhyana practice was introduced into China from India in the fifth century. The school of Chan Buddhism was the result; it flourished for several centuries before declining and all but dying out in its Chinese homeland.
In the twelfth century the school of Chan Buddhism was transplanted from China to Japan, where it also took root and flourished. In Japan, the tradition is known as Zen Buddhism. Just as Chan is the Chinese pronunciation of the Sanskrit dhyana, Zen is the Japanese pronunciation of the Chinese word Chan. Thus, Chan and Zen are fundamentally the same word; both are variants of the root word dhyana.
In essence, the Zen tradition is a continuation of the Chan tradition; there is a seamless flow between them. Because of the decline of the Chan tradition in China, though, the modern world is far more familiar with the tradition in its Japanese form. For this reason, many modern writers choose to avoid confusion by simply referring to the entire tradition - the Chinese part as well as the Japanese - by the name Zen. There is logic in doing this. After all, it is one continuous tradition, and the names Chan and Zen both refer equally to that tradition. Zen has, in fact, become something of a universal world in modern times.
Both Chan and Zen, derived from the Sanskrit dhyana, refer to the practice of meditation. Considering the central place of meditation in the development of Eastern traditions - especially Zen Buddhism - it is appropriate to begin with a closer look at the nature of this often mysterious and elusive subject.
To begin with, we must make a distinction between the state of meditation and the practice of meditation. By itself, the word meditation refers to a particular state of mind, a state of consciousness. Meditation as a practice, however, refers to various techniques and disciplines that are designed to help one enter into the meditative state of mind. The many different schools of meditation - Zen, yoga, "transcendental" and so on - are concerned primarily with differences in technique. They offer different ways of arriving at the center, but the center - the state of mind in meditation - is essentially the same for all.
According to the tradition of Zen Buddhism, the reality of Buddha's enlightenment was transmitted personally and directly by him to his disciples. All other things might be helpful in clearing the way so that the experience could happen, but the experience itself is initiated in the discipline as the result of a sensed personal connection between disciple and master. This connection is commonly referred to as a "transmission," but it is not meant to be understood as a spiritual something that is given from one person to another. The awakening is personal; it arises within each individual, but it can be initiated by a "transmission," a deeply felt sense of shared consciousness, between an enlightened master and a disciple. The intimacy of the master - disciple relationship in Buddhism clearly has its roots in the Hindu tradition out of which Buddhism developed.
In the Zen tradition, the way that the purity of Buddha's enlightenment was to be preserved through the ages would be direct, personal transmission between teacher and student, master and disciple. Through his personal influence, Shakyamuni Buddha undoubtedly nudged many into that state of being wherein they were at last willing to let go completely and become awakened. But according to the tradition, when his life was nearing its end, Buddha made a point of identifying one of his disciples whose enlightenment was perfect. That disciple, Kasyapa by name, was chosen to be Buddha's personal successor; he would be the leader and unifying center of the sangha, the community of monks, after Buddha was gone. In time, he would name his own successor, choosing the person whom he deemed to be perfectly enlightened and best suited to become the custodian of the tradition.
In the Zen tradition, the designated successors of Buddha are called "patriarchs." Kasyapa, Buddha's immediate successor, was the first patriarch. Ananda the second patriarch, and so on. Altogether, the patriarchs formed an unbroken line of continuity, beginning with Buddha and preserving over time the authenticity of Buddha's awakening.
Although historical verifiability has to be stretched a little, the Zen tradition accounts for a line, a "lineage," of twenty-eight patriarch of India is listed by name in the archives of Zen history. The great second-century Indian philosopher, Nagarjuna, is designated the fourteenth patriarch. Thus did Bodhidharma come to be known as the first patriarch of Zen. Although the living roots of Zen go directly back to Buddha himself, the distinct Buddhist tradition that bears the name Zen by common agreement is said to begin with Bodhidharma. Zen was an outgrowth of Mahayana, but the Zen tradition maintains that it alone has preserved the essential purity of Buddha's teaching.
Suzuki calls satori "an intuitive looking into the nature of things" and, more poetically, "the opening of a mind flower." In this sense, any sudden powerful insight is a kind of satori. Everyone has had this sort of experience at one time or another. Even insights that relate tot he meaning of life can be "great satoris" or "small satoris," but the experience that gives Zen its meaning is the ultimate insight that banishes all the clouds of unknowing: perfect awakening. This is perfect, unlimited satori and is usually what is being referred to when the word is used.
The main thrust of Zen training is to help the student break free of the normal human attachment to discursive thinking. Zen teaches that one will never discover the truth of one's own nature (the Buddha-nature) through the thought processes of the reasoning mind. Awakening is an intuitive leap of insight that completely transcends thought; in fact, it can't occur until one is willing to let go of the grip of the thinking mind. Only when one does that is the eye of prajna free to see the truth. Prajna is intuitive wisdom. We might say that the opening of the eye of prajna is what satori is all about.
Establishing the central importance of the satori experience was the combined work of Bodhidharma and Huineng. Bodhidharma, the first patriarch of Zen, began the formative process. Huineng completed the work begun by Bodhidharma. By the time of Huineng's death in 713 C.E., the fundamental nature of Zen was established. Zen (Chan) had become a unique expression of Buddhism within the broad umbrella of Mahayana. Zen would continue to grow and evolve, and it is evolving even today, but remained a solid and unchanging foundation. This is known as the Zen of the Patriarchs.
Whereas Bodhidharma introduced the concept of satori, sudden enlightenment, into China and taught that that was the correct understanding of how awakening occurs, Huineng went on to clarify, in the sense, the nature of an authentic satori experience. One could conceivably be fooled by the dramatic impact of a powerful insight. Genuine awakening, genuine satori has about it a particular character. Huineng said it best in his famous wall gatha:
Originally there is no tree of enlightenment,

Nor is there a stand with a clear mirror.

From the beginning not one thing exists;

Where, then, is a grain of dust to cling?
Zen Buddhism maintains that emptiness is ultimately reality. Conceptually, this may seem negative. Actually, it is not negative at all; it seems negative only because the thinking mind cannot form a concept of emptiness; we must mentally negate every possible "thing," every possible form that can be an object of thought. What's left is the emptiness out of which the forms of reality are forever becoming. The matter of central importance in the teaching of emptiness (shunyata) is that nothing-no thing-is real in any substantive sense. Everything is a doing out of emptiness, from whence it comes and shall return. (Does this remind you of the Vedanta interpretation of maya?) No thing - nothing! - is real unto itself. Yet thinking mind greedily conceptualizes a reality for all that it fastens upon. The thinking mind creates its own personal reality and then creates an attachment to it. (No wonder we have troubles!)
The idea of "mind" is itself one of the things that the thinking mind conceptualizes. In an insidious way, this is the strongest of all mental illusions. After all, this is home base. Mind ("my" mind) is what one ordinarily identifies as self and clings to with a psychological death grip. To deny the substanding reality of mind is to pull the rug-indeed, the rug and the floor - out from under one. There is nothing for the ego to stand on. But that is exactly what the Doctrine of Emptiness does. It flatly denies the substantive reality of mind, thus removing this illusory psychological foundation. True, there is nothing left to stand on, but this is seen as the necessary condition for the awakening of true knowledge.
The lifestyle of a Zen Buddhist, in accord with the general principles laid down by Shakyamuni Buddha himself, is geared to freeing oneself from bondage to the ego attachments and aversions generated by the thinking mind. The whole Zen Buddhist way of life works to achieve this transformation of consciousness. Properly understood, everything becomes a meditation exercise: working, eating, walking, studying, sweeping - everything! Little by little, one is loosening the grip of the ego-centered thinking mind and thus creating a more receptive condition for the occasion of satori. This may or may not occur; one has no control over that, but one does have a measure of control with regard to a lifestyle that is more or less receptive to it. I would compare it to the matter of love. There is nothing in the world that you can do to make love happen. It springs into being, or it doesn't; it's not under your control. But there are many things you can do to influence the environment (so to speak), to improve the conditions for it.
Practicing meditation must be seen in this light. Again, everything becomes a meditation practice. But sometimes - not all the time, but some of the time - it is appropriate, and profoundly enjoyable, to sit quietly for a while doing nothing, allowing your consciousness to turn deeply inward. Not everyone responds in the same way to this, but most people once they get used to it, find the practice of sitting meditation to be a wonderful part of the total lifestyle of Zen Buddhism. The goal, of course, is not to find that "mind-mirror" down there beneath all the rubble of the thinking mind; Huineng took care of that misconception long ago. In fact, there is no goal; meditation is an experience that can be a boundless joy unto itself. Perhaps more than any other activity, sitting meditation provides the opportunity to turn inward and peer into the emptiness - the awesome emptiness - that is the fountainhead at the center of all that is.
Several features of Zen gave it its distinct character within the broad umbrella of Buddhism. Most fundamental of all was the Zen emphasis on satori, sudden awakening. Various Buddhist disciplines, including meditation, might have a role to play, but no practice can achieve awakening. Through the guidance of an already awakened teacher, an individual can be urged to the state wherein he or she may be willing to let go of attachment-to-self and suddenly and spontaneously see the real truth of one's nature. The real truth is, of course, the Buddha-nature, which is the common essence of all begins, hidden from us only by our ignorance and the fear born of that ignorance.

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What is (are) the main idea(s), claim(s), or theme(s), or historical significance, of the following persons?

Bodhidharma

520 C.E. A Buddhist revolutionary who is associated with a very different approach to the role of meditation, also the founder of Zen Buddhism. Believed that the "sudden approach" versus "gradual meditation" = Shakyamuni Buddha was the way to achieve enlightenment. Bodhidharma was a meditation master from India. The school of Buddhism associated with the name of Bodhidharma was known simply by the Sanskrit term dhyana.
Bodhidharma was the twenty-eight patriarchs of India, and when he began his mission in China, he became the first patriarch of China. It is likely that Bodhidharma introduced a new technique into meditation practice. Traditional meditation exercises in India were generally practiced with the eyes closed and often included chanting or other kinds of yogic techniques to still and center the mind. Bodhidharma's method was to sit before a blank wall with the eyes at least partly open and to empty the mind of thought by concentrating on the simple nonverbal reality of the moment. One's ordinary mind - in perfect harmony with the oneness of the moment - is the mind that is truly in meditation.
A special transmission outside of scriptures;

No dependence on words or letters;

Direct pointing at the mind of man;

Seeing into one's nature, and the attainment of Buddhahood.
"Direct pointing at the mind of man; seeing into one's nature and the attainment of Buddhahood." The gatha (the verse) is saying that true awakening is a sudden and direct experience; it is not simply the end result of a long process of mental cleansing. This point is all-important. The tradition of Zen teaches that the basic gatha gives expression to the central matter of Bodhidharma's revolutionary teaching. The function of Zen is to preserve and re-create the genuine experience of Buddha's awakening. Awakening is the great flash of insight in which one suddenly "sees into one's nature." Absolute Being is perfectly simple, one, indivisible. It can be understood only in its totality, all at once. Therefore, it makes no sense to talk about gradual enlightenment; rather, "The fruit drops when it is ripe."
The experience of enlightenment is not dependent on meditation; there is no casual connection between the two. Meditational practice is neither the cause nor the condition for coming to a realization. Once awakened to wisdom, the mind sees nature, its own nature, which is identical with the Buddha nature.
The gatha proclaims that the living experience of enlightenment can be awakened in one only by a direct, personal transmission from an already awakened man or woman. In sharing his or her state of consciousness with the disciple, the master arouses awakening in that person. In other words, the influence of the master excites the satori experience in the disciple. The satori experience is the opening of the "mind flower" to the awakened state of consciousness. Bodhidharma, we may assume, would have taken the position that the "transmission" between master and student is the only reasonable way in which a genuinely perfect satori can be aroused. The master need not be physically present at the moment, though; it is the character of the relationship that matters, and that relationship will bear fruit when the person is ready - that is to say, when the person is finally willing to let go completely.

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Dogen Kigen

One of the great figures in the history of Japanese Zen Buddhism. Dogen was a disciple of Eisai. Whereas Eisai is something of a shadowy figure, Dogen stands out as a strong personality, and we know a good deal more about him. Much of our knowledge about Dogen and his thinking comes from his extensive writings, collectively known as the Shobogenzo, a ninety-two-book compendium of his thoughts on a great variety of subjects. A brilliant philosopher, Dogen has often been compared to the great Western philosopher Martin Heidegger.
Dogen fell in love with this total dedication to zazen, and he believed that it finally resolved his struggle for enlightenment. It happened one evening when one of the monks in the meditation hall fell asleep. Rujing gently chastised him, saying (in a rather koan-like way), "If your mind and body are sloughed off in meditation, how can it be that you sleep" These words, according to Dogen, jarred him out of his ego illusion, and he became instantly enlightened. This was later verified by Rujing, who gave Dogen a document "certifying" his enlightenment and naming him a Dharma heir in the house of Caodao. The followers of Dogen regard this event as the official beginning of the school of Japanese Soto Zen.
Dogen was precise about the way zazen was to be practiced, His method, fundamentally, is still the method practiced in Soto Zen. If we could enter his meditation hall, we would see rows of monks dressed in loose-fitting robes. Unlike a Rinzai meditation hall, in which the monks sit facing inward, Dogen's monks would be facing the wall. They would sit on low platforms, in the cross-legged posture, using only a mat and a small, firm cushion, known as a zafu, to sit on. Their posture would be upright, but not tense, and the hands would rest in the lap formed by crossed legs. Dogen took exception to the traditional yogic practice of closing the eyes in meditation. His monks were to keep their eyes open, but downcast. The wall covering was bare straw mat or shoji screen, so there was nothing visual to catch the eye. Dogen emphasized the importance of regulated easy breathing, but only to help relax and center the body-mind. He had no interest in yogic breathing exercises in which the exercise was itself the meditation practice.
Chanting, repetition of a mantra, koan, and all other kinds of activity were ruled out in Dogen's method of zazen. They might have a place at other times, but not at the time specifically set aside for zazen. The mediator was to do one thing and one thing only; he was to completely focus his consciousness on the existential reality of the moment and stay with that. Thoughts, images, feelings of desire, and everything else were to be immediately dropped whenever they formed in consciousness, and the mind was to return gently to its focus on the present moment's fact of existence. This practice, which requires great energy to its focus on the present moment's fact of existence. This practice, which requires great energy and can be totally exhaustion for the novice, is called shikan-taza; it is to fully grasp the moment. The dedicated practice of shikan-taza, so Dogen believed, was the way par excellence for "seeing into one's nature."

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Eisai

A Tendai scholar-monk named Myoan Eisai (pronounced "Ay-sigh") is credited with introducing Zen Buddhism into Japan. Troubled by what he perceived to be a decline in the vigor of Japanese Buddhism, Eisai concocted a wonderful plan. His dream was to trace the development of Buddhism backward in time from his own age in Japan, through the stages of evolution in China, all the way to its roots in India. And he would not do this through books, but on foot. Eisai would travel through China all the way to India, leisurely studying the development stages of Buddhism at important sites along the route. In this way, he hoped to gain a deep, personal understanding of the true nature of the Dharma practice. Ultimately, he would drink the very wellspring of the tradition. Finally, he would return to Japan, prepared to reinvigorate the Buddhism of his native land.
Well, Eisai never got as far as India but he did make two trips to China, and in the process he fell deeply in love with the teaching and practice of Zen Buddhism - specifically, the Linji school of Zen (which would become known as Rinzai in Japan). During his second Chinese trip, a four-year sojourn from 1187 to 1191, he studied "Rinzai" exclusively, finally receiving the Dharma seal at the monastery of Tiandong. When Eisai returned to Japan in 1191, he was determined to recast the character of Buddhist practice. His goal was to reinvigorate Japanese Buddhism by emphasizing the strict adherence to the precepts that he had observed among Chinese Buddhists.
Eisai, as the legitimate heir of a recognized Zen Master, was in effect introducing a new Buddhist sect into Japan, but it seems that he wanted to play down that fact. Eisai did not seek to replace Tendai; what he wanted most of all was to launch a genuine reform movement that would reinvigorate all of Buddhism in Japan. Perhaps he naively believed that Tendai could be absorbed into the reform movement and integrated into a Zen-oriented Buddhism. In any case, he avoided using the term "Zen," speaking instead of the "School of the Buddha Mind." Also he remained technically a Tendai monk. None of this, however, could long hide the fact that something new was in the air. Zen Buddhism had at last arrived in Japan.
Eisai's reform movement caught fire immediately, and he lost no time in organizing Buddhist monasteries on the new model. The honor of being the first Zen monastery in Japan goes to Shofuku-ji, established in 1195 at Hakata (now known as Fukuoka), on the north shore of the island of Kyushu. Before long, though, Eisai was back at Kyoto; the center of the nation was to be the center of the Zen movement. With the help of the royal family, he established Kennin-ji, the first Zen monastery at Kyoto.
To mollify worried Tendai leaders, Kennin-ji was "officially" designated a Tendai monastery, and Eisai even agreed to include both Tendai and Shingon shrines on the grounds. Another little addition to the grounds of Kennin-ji was to have far-reaching effects. It was a tea garden, presumably the first to be planted in the soil of Japan. Eisai had acquired a taste for tea while studying in China, and he brought that taste home with him. Not only did he find tea an excellent aid to Zen practice, but he was also impressed by its general medicinal qualities. Technically speaking, the monk Kukai, the founder of Shingon Buddhism, introduced tea into Japan, but nothing much came of his efforts. The real credit belongs to Eisai; his little tea garden launched a thirst that soon engulfed Japan.
Zen Buddhism, with its emphasis on simple virtues, self-disciplines, and self-reliance, was speaking right to the heart of the samurai. This helps to explain the close association that developed between the ruling class - that is, the warrior class - and Zen Buddhism. Rinzai Zen monasteries became, among other things, the training grounds of the samurai. This is certainly not to say that that was the only function they served, but definitely was an important one. Samurai families were typically associated with a particular Rinzai monastery, at which they trained from time to time in the disciplines of Zen, especially when young. Zen discipline was seen as an excellent foundation for training in, and mastery of, all the skills that made up the samurai way of life. For this reason Rinzai Zen monasteries were generously supported by the ruling class.
Rinzai Zen became the Buddhism of the aristocracy, whereas Pure Land became the Buddhism of the common people. To say that the Gozan System became a network of "military academies" for the samurai is overstating things, but there is a measure of truth in it. Our use of the word monastery is a little misleading. The Zen monastery was not a "religious" institution in the present-day sense of the word; it was a specialized community dedicated to a highly disciplined manner of living aimed at perfection of the human character. It is easy to see why such an institution would have great appeal to the samurai class.

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Hakuin

(pronounced "Hah-koo-in", Born 1685). Hakuin is often said to represent the culmination of the development of Rinzai Zen in Japan. Although he was a Rinzai master and his contribution was directed specifically to the Rinzai tradition, his teaching has profoundly affected all of Zen Buddhism - in fact, all of Buddhism. Hakuin reaffirmed the fundamentals of Buddhism, but he did it in a new way.
Hakuin was a true mystic. He longed for the joy of the transcendental experience, and he found myriad opportunities in the ordinary events of daily life. By his own account, Hakuin experienced rapture in such mundane things as the sound of gentle rain, the sight of freshly fallen snow, the song of a bird, or even the slow movement of a spider waving its web. In other words, contact with anything, if the experience were entered into completely, could give rise to a transcendental moment. For Hakuin, these were the many gateways that opened the way to kensho, the experience of "seeing into one's nature." Literally speaking, kensho is synonymous with satori. In customary usage, though, kensho refers to a "little satori," a powerful insight into the nature of reality, but one that is still short of full awakening.
Achieving kensho was all that mattered to Hakuin - achieving it and deepening it. That was his idea of a life well spent. It seems that in the earlier years of this life's quest. Hakuin was most affected by the deeply emotional experience. As his life matured, the intuitive experience came to be even more important.
Hakuin began where Buddha began, with an assessment of the human condition in general, sarvam dukkham. To a very large degree, the general condition of humankind is fear, insecurity, and suffering. We start out in life as perfectly fine natural beings little beings, but something goes horrendously wrong. What is it that goes wrong? It is, Buddhism proclaims, the nearly irresistible tendency of self-absorbed state of consciousness leads inevitably to the all-too-familiar human life of the ego-centered human mind to create a prison of self-delusion. Once fashioned, this anxiety and dissatisfaction. But it doesn't have to be that way. Human life can be - and, in fact, should be - a state of abiding joy, the truly natural state for men and women; the more familiar alternative is an aberration.
It is possible for every person to free himself or herself from the prison of ego - to awaken to the real truth of one's nature and thus to know freedom from fear, the basis of abiding joy. Long ago, Buddha showed the way to freedom. The tradition that he founded preserved that teaching. But the way to freedom is very difficult; once hardened into our world of self-centered delusions, we humans resist mightily any effort to change the situation. "Many are called, but few are chosen." Nonetheless, every person has at least the inner capacity to achieve liberation. The person who chooses to take up the great challenge must, as Buddha declared, become totally dedicated to the effort. Nothing short of total dedication can hope to succeed. A prisoner attempting an escape from jail doesn't dawdle along the way - at least, not those who make good an escape.
The quest for liberation is a process of total immersion. At the end of it is the great awakening to the truth of one's nature. It is the ultimate satori that sweeps away all delusions, opening consciousness to the clear knowledge of the "identity of one's own nature with all reality in an eternal now." In this case of freedom is found the abiding joy that is the natural fulfillment of human existence. But before that can occur, it is necessary that the unenlightened person experience a kind of death - a "Great Dying" as Hakuin put it. Satori, in fact, is the character of the "rebirth" that follows the act of finally letting go of everything, of "dying" to the old person, and being reborn as the new person. In the words of Hakuin: "If you wish to know the true self beyond ego, you must be prepared to let go your hold as if hanging from a sheer precipice, to die and return again to life."
The Great Dying is itself preceded, and in fact brought to fruition, by what Hakuin called the "Great Doubt." This is a matter of the most profound importance. Whatever the trials and tribulations of ordinary life may be, at least a person normally feels some measure of security regarding the things he believes in and takes for granted. Most of all, his strong sense of self seems solid, inflexible, enduring. There is comfort in this; it is at least a dependable home base. But when one "leaves home" to follow instead the path of Buddha, one truly becomes a homeless person in the deep, inner sense of the word. Whatever may be the pleasing initial experiences of this choice, the path must ultimately lead into a dark interior forest where the demons of fear reside. A genuine seeker of enlightenment has to face the fact that undreamed-of-dreads - even terror - await the pilgrim who abandons the artificial comforts of ordinary life and ventures into the realm where that artificially comes to be revealed. It is no easy matter to give up the deep-seated senses of substantiality that we are unconsciously associate with familiar things, most of all with one's self. A growing sense of uncertainty and lack of control can result in a terrible anxiety, in some cases even leading to suicidal thoughts. And there's no turning back! In the Zen tradition, this familiar condition is referred to as the "Zen sickness." Given the normal character of human consciousness, it is to some degree the necessary and inevitable precondition of enlightenment. Hakuin called it the Great Doubt.
So what's to be done? Hakuin would answer that, first of all - and it is absolutely essential - the seeker must have the guidance of a genuinely enlightened teacher. Buddha could go it alone, and perhaps a few others have done so, but only a very few. The vast majority of men and women need the close and personal guidance of an already awakened teacher, but a Zen Master who employs only the techniques of meditation will not, in Hakuin's judgement, be successful. Hakuin fired many arrows at the Soto school. He denounced what he considered to be their excessive dependence on zazen. He called them tree stumps. Hakuin wanted a person to grapple with the Great Doubt in a dynamic way, to be like a blazing fire, not cold ashes:
They foolishly take the dead teachings of no-thought and no-mind, where the mind is like dead ashes with wisdom obliterated, and make these into the essential doctrines of Zen. They practice silent, dead sitting as though they were incense burners in some old mausoleum and take this to be the treasure place of the true practice of the patriarchs.
What then, would Hakuin have the Zen Master do in properly guiding the student into and through the Great Doubt? He would have the Zen Master skillfully employ the koan exercise. In Hakuin's judgement, the koan exercise is the perfect solution, a wonderful tool that can be used in a series of stages to adroitly navigate the student into, and all the way through, the Great Doubt. After all, the Great Doubt is a product of the rational mind struggling hopelessly with new experiences that it can't comprehend. The special beauty of the koan exercise is that it produces a state of psychological tension that finally bursts through the blockage created by discursive thought, thus dissolving the Great Doubt. The solution of the koan clears one's consciousness of the rational mind's doubts and tension, thus opening the way to satori:
When a person faces the Great Doubt, before him there is in all directions only a vast and empty land without birth and without death, like a huge plain of ice extending ten thousand miles. As though seated within a vase of lapis lazuli surrounded by absolute purity, without his senses he sits and forgets to stand, stands and forgets to sit. Within his heart there is not the slightest thought or emotion, only the single word mu. It is just as though he were standing in complete emptiness. At this time no fears arise, no thoughts creep in, and when he advances single-mindedly without retrogression, suddenly it will be as though a sheet of ice were broken or a jade tower had fallen. He will experience a great joy, one that never in forty years has he seen or heard.
In the preceding passage, Hakuin is making reference to Mu, the famous response in Zhao Zhou's koan, "Does a dog have the Buddha-nature?" But many other koans would work just as well. Hakuin loved the koan, "What is the sound of one hand clapping?" Actually this koan was formulated by the Chinese Zen Master Baiyin (Pai-yin), but Hakuin revived it and popularized it. Fully immersed in the traditions of Rinzai Zen, Hakuin was convinced that the koan exercise was the key to success in the quest for enlightenment. He reinvigorated the artful use of the koan, gathering together the best from the tradition and formulating a system that could be used by other Zen Masters. In Hakuin's system, the koan are hierarchically arranged in a series of gradations that correspond to the stages of growth that a Zen student will experience. The student starts at the beginning, usually with Mu, and then progressively moves through more and more difficult koan. Each solution produces a greater kensho experience, but thereby sets the stage for that much greater doubt, until finally the teacher guides the student into the koan exercise that results in perfect satori, the perfect "seeing into one's nature."
It's a wonderful ideal, and undoubtedly, in the hands of skillful Zen Masters Hakuin's system has produced impressive results over the centuries. Hakuin certainly did much to establish the koan exercise as an important and fundamental part of Zen Buddhism. As the modern Zen scholar D.T. Suzuki said, "To my mind it was the technique of the koan exercise that saved Zen as a unique heritage of Far Eastern culture." To the degree that that statement is accurate, Hakuin deserves much of the credit.

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Honen

Pure Land Buddhism was founded in Japan in the late 12th century by the monk Honen, who preached a simple, unsophisticated doctrine that quickly became enormously popular with the common people. As we have seen, Pure Land Buddhism is the most "religious" of Buddhist sects in the ordinary sense of the world, Following the tradition of Chinese Pure Land Buddhism, Honen taught that one can achieve salvation simply through the ceaseless invocation of the name of the loving and compassionate Buddha Amida (from the Sanskrit and Chinese Amitabha). Called nembutsu, this continual chanting of the name was said to result in a spiritually meditative state of mind that would lead to one's being reborn after death in the western paradise of the "Pure Land" of Buddha Amida. Much like the early Protestant reformers. Honen taught that all that is required is faith - faith in the compassionate Buddha and the consequent ritual practice of nembutsu.

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Linji

The putative founder of the Rinzai school was one of the truly great characters in the history of Zen Buddhism. His name was Linji (Lin-chi). (To be more technically accurate, his name was Yi Xuan; Linji was the name of the monastery he headed, but he is universally referred to by the name Linji. "Rinzai" is simply our spelling for the way in which the Chinese name Linji was pronounced in Japanese.) Linji was also a product of the 9th century, that final and most splendid time of the Tang period. He died, probably in his mid-fifties, in 867C.C. Most of what we know about his teachings are preserved in the Rinzairoku, the Japanese name for a collection of Linji's discourses.
Linji was interested in nothing less than creating a new kind of person, a genuine man or woman of Zen. He used the term "true human." Linji borrowed this term from Daoism, which philosophy heavily influenced his thinking. In a way Linji brought to fruition the long Buddhist affair with Daoism. Zen Buddhism, as a way of daily life, was seen to be an excellent vehicle for becoming a true man or woman of Dao.
According to the teaching of Linji, the true human is first and foremost an ordinary person. Linji insisted that "in no way is the true human anything special," meaning that he or she is not interested in such artificial things as wealth or rank in society. The true human is free of attachments, is natural and simple in lifestyle, moving through daily life in a relaxed, cheerful manner. Linji further described such a person as "without root, without source, and without any dwelling place, yet brisk and lively." Linji's true human is a natural man or natural woman at peace with the ultimate emptiness of reality and thus free to wander cheerfully through the mysterious adventure of human life.
Linji's true human was the beginning of that characteristically Zen type that gives a special and refreshing kind of charm to Zen Buddhism even to this day. This Zen bikkhu was a very different kind of person from the more traditional monk, who, by comparison, was something of a monastic recluse withdrawn into an interior world of meditation. The character of the traditional Buddhist monk, including Zen monks, may well have played a part in the negative attitude that allowed Wu Zung's persecution to occur, and that very attitude may have influenced Linji's eagerness to fashion a "new man", a Buddhist monk who really was an embodiment of the Daoist ideal. Linji's dates would certainly support this speculation.
The way of the true human nature (the "Zen person") was, of course, opened up through awakening to the truth of one's nature-through seeing experimentally that one's personal being is one with the universal Buddha-nature. Linji played down the use of such terms as "enlightenment" and "satori." Awakening, however, whether talked about or not, was naturally a matter of prime concern to him. Where his own students were concerned, however, he would employ a very different approach. Linji felt only scorn for those schools of Zen (including the newly forming Soto) which emphasized long hours of meditation: "Having stuffed themselves with food, they sit down to meditate and practice contemplation: arresting the flow of thought they don't let it rise; they hate noise and seek stillness. This is the method of the heretics!
"Heretics" may be overstating it, but certainly wasn't overstating the intensity of Linji's personal feelings on the subject. He wasted a dynamic approach to Zen, as opposed to what he saw as quietism in others. Linji kept urging his disciples to believe in themselves, to give up running around searching for truth outside themselves. His way of encouraging his students was also new and was the beginning of a tradition in Zen instruction that is often rather shocking to a person new to Zen study. Linji was not at all reluctant to strike his students with his staff, and strike them hard. Or he would come up close and shout at them, so loudly that one student complained that he couldn't hear anything but a ringing in his ears for three days.
A shout "doesn't function as a shout," presumably, when it's intended that it function as something else. The real purpose of the blows and the shouts was a jolt the student out of his state of ego self-hypnosis. Naturally, this had to be artfully timed and delivered. Only a Zen Master like Linji could work such a technique effectively. Actually, Linji learned to use the rough stuff from his own guru, Ma Zi (Ma-tsu), another interesting personality who was said to be able to strike out his tongue so far that he could cover his nose. In addition to kicks and shouts, Ma Zi would sometimes grab a student's nose and twist it so hard that the person would cry out in pain.
I'm sure you're wondering whether all this violence all this violence is really necessary. The answer, of course, is no, but it was a specialized technique that became enormously popular as Linji's reputation spread. It was a dramatic way of emphasizing the new active approach to Zen, as opposed to the more traditional passive approach. There is something intriguing about it all. Direct physical involvement can break through in a way that mere words never will. Sometimes a student can be on the verge of awakening, but somehow be unable to go the final step. The discomfort of a blow from the master's staff is a trifling matter if it succeeds in breaking the mental knot of ego frustration. Let's face it; nothing jolts one into the here and now more abruptly than a sudden kick or blow on the head. This technique remained popular, particularly in Rinzai monasteries, when Zen spread to Japan, but the modern Western world would seem to want no part of it.

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Nagarjuna

(Mahayana Buddhism) The body of teachings known as shunyata is given expression in the Mahayana sutras, most of all in the Prajnaparamita. The teachings of shunyata, though, are diffused throughout the sutras, where they are never presented in a concise form. It remained for the India philosopher Nagarjuna to pull the various ideas together. Nagarjuna (pronounced na-GHAR-joo-na), on of the most important names in the history of Buddhism, was the founder of the philosophical school known as Madhyamika (mah-dya-MEE-ka), the "middle way" to the truth of reality — that is, middle between all dualities, including being and nonbeing. All of this is laid out in his seminal work, Madhyamika-karika.
Nagarjuna took as his starting point that suffering is the result of ignorance (avidya) — that is, a fundamentally false view of reality. Ordinarily, though, one clings to his ignorance and believes it to be the truth. But liberation from avidya is possible. Buddha did it and urged all men and women to follow him. Buddha gave us his teaching, the Dharma, as the path to follow. But how does it work? Granted ordinarily state of human consciousness is a condition of ignorance, and granted that that following the way of life recommended by Buddha may result in an awakening from that ignorance, what actually happens that brings about the awakening?
In exploring this question, Nagarjuna carefully observed human consciousness and concluded that there are two kinds of knowledge, two fundamentally different ways of knowing. First, there is ordinary knowledge, which is conceptual and rational and which sees relationships among things. This kind of knowledge is very practical and is good at discerning relative incapable of knowing the deeper essential truth of reality. Second, there is transcendent knowledge, known by its Sanskrit name, prajna — an intuitive, direct seeing into the nature of reality. Prajna is different in kind from ordinary knowledge; it is not simply a matter of degree that separates the two. The action of prajna is the only way of knowing the absolute truth. Although the rising of prajna is rare — so rare that few even know of its existence — its potential is inherent in human nature and lies dormant in the consciousness of every person, waiting only for the right conditions to bring it to life. Truly seeing for oneself the insufficiency of ordinary knowledge is a right condition that can clear the way for the rising of prajna.
Thus did Nagarjuna attempt a critique of ordinary knowledge. He was not offering a new theory of knowledge; in fact, Nagarjuna wanted to reveal the ultimate absurdity of all theories of knowledge, insofar as none is capable of uncovering absolute truth — at least, not a level of ordinary knowledge. His method, referred to as a "dialectic," consisted of a critical examination of all opposing positions and, through a process of reductio ad absurdum, revealing that no imaginable position can stand by itself as a revelation of absolute truth. Once again, Nagarjuna was not dismantling existing theories of knowledge so as to offer a new and better way of arriving at the truth. Instead, he was attempting to demonstrate that no method at the level of ordinary knowledge is capable of revealing more than the relative truth of ordinary experience. Let's clarify this claim by looking at the general conclusions that Nagarjuna reached.
Ordinary knowledge is conceptual. We don't often think about it — and in the practical affairs of daily life it's better that we don't — but when we sit back and reflect on the nature of our knowledge, it becomes clear that all we know is a body of concepts. Concepts are ideas — interior, subjective states. These, of course, include such things as sensations and feelings. The important point is that everything we experience, everything we know, ultimately comes down to a subjective state of consciousness. Putting it very loosely, all we ever know are our own ideas. (Or, as a modern-day biologist might put it, "all that one ever knows is the constantly changing electrochemical conditions of his central nervous system.") Naturally, we wish to believe that our internal ideas faithfully represent the reality of eternal existences in the phenomenal world, and the seeming reliability of our way of experiencing things reinforces this belief strongly. Nevertheless, it is undeniably true that when I "know" something. I know it (if I know it at all) indirectly, not directly. Take that tree over there, for example. I may say that by observing it, I know that it exists, and although this is certainly true at the practical level of everyday experience, it remains nonetheless a fact that what I know is not the tree itself, but only my idea of the tree. Whether or not my idea presents accurate information about the tree is not the point; the point is that what I know — and all that I ever know at the level of ordinary knowledge — is my own collection of ideas, my own concepts. This is true of all concepts, including those that seek to interpret reality.
To come to see that all our knowledge is conceptual is a tremendously important understanding, because concepts are a product of the way the mind works. In other words, what we call ordinary knowledge is determined not by objective existential reality, but rather the character of the human mind. Mental processes have evolved to be practical, not to be instruments of philosophical speculation. In forming concepts, the human mind by its very nature seeks to find meaning in relationships. A concept has meaning in relation to other concepts. This is quite obvious is some cases, such as night and day, and hot and cold. But it is equally true for all concepts, although often the relationship is more subtle. Take the concept of "house," for example. "House" doesn't stand in clear opposition to something else the way night or day do, but "house" does stand in opposition to "all that is not house." It may seem a little far fetched at first to suggest that we understand the concept of a house by contrasting it with all that is not house, but when you think about it, I'm sure you will see why Nagarjuna would argue that this is exactly how the human mind works. We get so good at contrasting things in this manner that we don't even think about it. And if we break "house" down into the elements that make it up — doorknobs, nails, windows, etc. — the same mental process continues to apply. No matter how far we go, any element that can be conceptualized cannot be known, except in terms of the conditions that caused it and that relate it to other elements. This, as mentioned earlier, is given expression in the Doctrine of Dependent Origination: Nothing can explain itself; everything is intelligible only in relation to the causes and conditions that bring it about.
The important thing to understand here is that conceptual knowledge is always relational knowledge. No matter what we think we know, we know it only in relation to other things. Nothing can stand entirely by itself. In this world of ceaseless flux — and the knowing mind is itself an integral part of that flux—things have meaning only in concepts. Even our concept of the entire universe — call it "being" — has meaning only in relation to the concept of nonbeing.
All of the reasoning led Nagarjuna to what is summed up in the Sanskrit word svabavata, which means, "empty of self-existence." Svabavata is at the heart of shunyata, the "Doctrine of Emptiness." If the reality of any given thing (at least conceptually) is conditionally dependent upon its relationship to other things, then nothing can stand by itself. Everything is "empty" of self-existence. Any given "thing" is the result of the causes and conditions that define it. Take these causes and conditions away and the "thing" ceases to exist:
The world perceived through the senses, the phenomenal world as we know it, was described in early Buddhism as "empty" because it was taught that all such phenomena arise from causes and conditions, are in a constant state of flux, and are destined to change and pass away in time. They are also held to be "empty" in the sense that they have no inherent or permanent characteristics by which they can be described, changing as they do from instant to instant."
Everything — everything that we can imagine — is bound up in the conceptual relationships that give it meaning. Thus, nothing is fundamentally real unto itself. There is no such thing as night; "night" is a concept only, and it has no meaning solely in relation to other concepts, such as "day." This notion poses no problem with such concepts as night and day, but the heat bets turned up when we direct Nagarjuna's spotlight on such concepts as the Doctrine of Anatman. Nagarjuna would insist that, no less than any other concept that of Anatman must be seen as ultimately empty of self-standing reality. Anatman has meaning only in relation to atman; both are aspects of one conceptually relative reality. I this to say, then, that atman is real or unreal. Atman is what it is, a concept — and the same goes for anatman. Both are empty of substantive reality; neither of the narrow orthodoxy of Theravada and be able to follow many different paths — even seemingly contradictory paths.
Because nothing imaginable is exempt from conditional existence, ultimately all of being is reduced to a state of "emptiness." Thus, what we hold to be reality is actually emptiness, or, as it is stated. "Emptiness is form; form of emptiness." Emptiness, though, definitely does not mean nonexistence. To say that reality is empty of permanent self-standing forms is not to say that reality does not exist. In no way was Nagarjuna denying the existence of reality (a common misunderstanding of his teaching); instead, he was simply denying the ability of the conceptualizing mind to know reality in itself. With regard to ordinary knowledge.
Voidness does not mean nothingness, but rather that all things lack intrinsic reality, intrinsic objectivity, intrinsic identity or intrinsic referentiality. Lacking such static essence or substantive does not make them not exist — it makes them thoroughly relative.
Discovering the emptiness of the phenomenal world does not necessarily lead to negativity and nihilism. Instead, it can open the way for an altogether different order of knowing — and that brings us back to Nagarjuna's other way of knowing: the way of prajna. Prajna — intuitive wisdom — sees through emptiness and beholds the positive truth of reality. When the thinking mind is reduced ultimately to emptiness, it can at last be gently persuaded to stop and get out of its own way. When this happens, the eye of prajna is allowed to open. Prajna transcends the ordinary mind; it is a breakthrough to a higher hidden truth. Prajna sees reality as it is. Since absolute reality transcends all categories of existence that can be conceptualized, the ultimate nature of reality cannot be described in words:
The reality to which all names refer is utterly ungraspable and inconceivable, possessing absolutely no physical or metaphysical self-existence...Given this irreducible fact of unthinkability — not as a frustrating limit to our understanding, but as a beautiful, blissful openness and freedom from all limits — we know that no authentic expression of Perfect Wisdom will permit us to picture or conceptualize.
In effect we cannot conceptualize what is; we can only experience it. Doing so is the experience of awakening.
Prajna is completely different from the working of ordinary knowledge. No amount of discursive reasoning will ever open consciousness to the inner truth of reality. So then, what is the point of all this philosophizing, all this dialectic? Isn't it just a grand example of the very thing it criticizes? If the exercise were an intellectual end to itself, that would surely be true, but the real objective of the dialectic is to help free the mind from its attachment to concepts. By loosening the grip of the thinking mind a little at a time and coming to accept the seamless Unity of Being that shunyata proclaims, one is moving closer to the place and time when the great light of awakening can occur. The dialectic then becomes a form of upaya (skillful means).

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Padmasambhava

(pronounced Pahd-ma-sahm-BAH-va) A Vajrayana Buddhist Master this luminary was known to be not only a very learned man, but a master of the arts of sorcery as well. If there was anyone with the power to control the demons, it was Padmasambhava, and if successful, he would greatly advance the cause of Buddhism in Tibet.
It was a wonderful solution, and it turned out to be a total success. According to some chronicles, the venerable Padmasambhava arrived in Lhasa in the year 747 C.C, having made a long and difficult journey through the mountain passes of the west, Padmasambhava was his Sanskrit name, meaning "lotus-born one"; among the Tibetans he is generally referred to as Guru Rinpoche, which mean "very highly respected teacher." According to legend, Padmasambhava was a native of the Indian country of Oddiyana (from whence came the name Odiyan).
In many important ways, the arrival of Padmasambhava (or Guru Rinpoche if you prefer) marks the real beginning of Buddhism in Tibet; what came before amounts to something of a prelude. Before Padmasambhava. Buddhism was a small and disorganized movement; the traditional Bon was everywhere dominant. After Padmasambhava, Buddhism rapidly became dominant and assimilated much of Bon into itself.
Padmasambhava stayed in Tibet for about two years (although some legendary accounts put at fifty). The first thing he did was to confront the angry demons. His power proved to be superior to theirs, and to everyone's great relief he subdued them. The natural disasters ceased. The outcome, however, was more of a compromise than an unconditional surrender. Padmasambhava made a deal with the demons. They would desist from causing calamities and accept the superior position of the Buddhist powers, in return for being incorporated into the system and permanently cared for with appropriate offerings and sacrificial rites. As a result of this arrangement, Bon was not vanquished, but was assimilated; the ancient spirits of Bon, good and evil, would remain real to the common people of Tibet, and right down to modern times they would demand and receive their share of religious attention.
The most important thing that Padmasambhava did during his stay was to found the first of Tibet's Buddhist monasteries. It was officially concentrated about two years after his arrival in Tibet and was named Samye Gompa (Samye Monastery, after which California's Odiyan is fashioned). Padmasambhava — with the help of Shantarakshita, whose return to Tibet he had artfully managed — established Samye in a valley on the north bank of the Tsangpo, about sixty miles southeast of Lhasa. The monastery was built in the form of a great mandala, intended to replicate the Buddhist cosmological order of the universe.
Padmasambhava founded Samye Gompa, the first of Tibet's Buddhist monasteries.
Padmasambhava is regarded as being the founder of the Nyingma Buddhist sect.

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Siddartha Gautama

The teachings of Gautama Shakyamuni, who would later become known as the Buddha, "The Awakened One."
Buddha was an itinerant guru of the 6th century BCE, who experienced a profound mystical intuition of truth, while in his thirties and dedicated the rest of his life to traveling about North India teaching his way of liberation to as many as who would listen.
Buddhism denied the validity of such traditional values as the caste in Hinduism and the infallibility of the Vedas and questioning even the reality of atman.

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The Integral Worm • Christopher Paul • Independent Senior Technical Writer/Editor

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