Truth and methods

Buddhism is not big on Truth.

The major value of many Western religions is that they are The Truth. That is why, it is said, you should practice those religions. In many cases, believing in The Truth is the primary form of practice. So long as you believe, God will save you.

Buddhism is an atheist religion. There is no God. If you want to be saved, you have to do it yourself.

For this reason, Buddhism is pragmatic. It is a religion of methods, not of Truth. The methods are ways of approaching enlightenment.

(That is not to say that Buddhism endorses falsehood. One of the Five Precepts—the basic Buddhism ethics—is to tell the truth, rather than lies. But, as usually understood, this concerns primarily everyday truths and lies, not big religious Truths.)

there is only one Truth: non-duality

For Buddhism, there is, actually, only one big-T Truth: the non-duality of form and emptiness.

Any other religious statement is useful only if it helps on the path. That means that they are themselves methods. They are pragmatic approximations.

For any task, there may be many alternative methods. If you have a five-and-an-eighth inch-wide board, and you want a five-inch-wide one, you have several choices. You could use a band saw to cut off the extra eighth-inch. You could use a jack plane. You could use a power sander.

These methods have different characteristics, so they may work better or worse depending on the specifics of the board and what you are trying to accomplish. The band saw is fastest, but it will leave a ragged edge. It’s also dangerous unless you know exactly what you are doing. Using a sander will be slow if the board is thick, but might be quick enough if it is thin. It will leave a smooth edge, but it may be hard to judge the five-inch mark unless you pay close attention.

Often it is best to combine methods. You might take off a bit less than a eighth-inch with a jack plane, and finish the job with the sander, to get a smooth edge.

Methods differ, and it is often impossible to apply more than one at a time, because they have contradictory requirements. Attempting to use the band saw and jack plane simultaneously would be disastrous. They are incompatible, but they do not inherently conflict. The band saw is not right or wrong; the plane is not right or wrong.

What is important is to know when to apply which method.

Buddhism contains innumerable methods. All are valuable, in particular situations. None is right or wrong. Methods cannot contradict. However, they have contradictory requirements. For example, one usually cannot apply methods of Sutra and Tantra simultaneously.

religious statements are not True; they are useful

Buddhism regards religious statements as methods. They are not eternally True. They are approximations to reality that are useful to act on in particular circumstances.

When methods are misunderstood as potential Truths, their seeming contradictions become a problem.

As a slightly silly example, according to Kriya Tantra, onions are religiously impure, and one must never eat them. From point of view of other Buddhist yanas, onions have no religious significance. “Onions are impure—never eat them!” and “Onions are fine—enjoy them!” are superficially contradictory. But both of these statements are pragmatically useful methods. When practicing Kriya Tantra, there are excellent reasons not to eat onions. When practicing Inner Tantra, there are excellent reasons to eat them.

“So, are onions really impure, or not?!” That is not a useful question. Kriyta Tantra and Inner Tantra are like the jack plane and band saw. Both are useful, but you use them differently, and apply different safety precautions. This can be hard to grasp at first when one is familiar only with religions of Truth.

Absolute and relative truth

This explanation of truth and methods is the view of Dzogchen. Dzogchen means “utter completeness” in Tibetan. Dzogchen is the most inclusive of Buddhist approaches. It includes all other forms of Buddhism, as methods, that can be applied when useful.

Each Buddhist yana has its own, distinctive account of truth.

You might be familiar with the account from Sutra, in terms of absolute and relative truth. According to Sutra, the only absolute truth is emptiness. All other truths are relative.

This is absolutely correct. However, it can be misunderstood. The tendency is to equate “the relative truth” with the common-sense consensus view of the world, and to see the absolute truth as something abstract and incomprehensible that is accessible only to Buddhas. This leaves the everyday view of the world completely intact in practice. The truth of emptiness is acknowledged as a holy theory, but may have no effect on one’s view of everyday reality.

The Dzogchen explanation makes it clear that there is not one relative truth, but many, which superficially conflict. Having adopted that explanation, we cannot continue with business as usual. We learn to see the world in many different ways. That breaks up our ordinary way of operating.

Principles and functions

I find emphasis on principles and functions to be the most distinctive aspect of Aro teaching. Different teachers and lineages have different styles. Explanation in terms of “principle and function” is key to the Aro style.

Buddhism is a religion of innumerable methods, which are often incompatible with each other. Different methods are useful in different situations. Buddhists collect a “bag of tricks,” or “toolkit,” of religious practices that we can use when appropriate.

To use the kit effectively, we must pick the right tool for each job. Each practice has its own function, and should be used when that is the function that is needed. The function is the “how and why” of the practice.

Functions can be understood in terms of base, path, and result. The base is the kind of situation in which the practice is useful. (Most practices have prerequisites of various sorts.) The path is the practice itself: what we do in the situation. It leads to its result. Only when we want its particular result does it make sense to apply a practice.

all Buddhist practices follow from simple principles

Each practice, with its function, follows from a broad principle. Principles are the simple, core themes, or fundamental logic, of Buddhism. Principles explain how and why Buddhism works.

The various principles of Buddhism are frequently incompatible. Generally, one can combine practices that share a principle. Simultaneously applying practices whose principles differ is liable to have an unsatisfactory result—because they are pointing in fundamentally different directions.

For example, the fundamental principle of Sutra is renunciation. When practicing Sutra, one may adopt the practice of abstaining from sensual enjoyments. But enjoyment is a fundamental principle of Tantra. One revels in the delight of consumption. It is not possible to apply both these practices simultaneously—but a single practitioner may frequently switch between them, based on a clear understanding of which will be beneficial in particular cases.

We do not have to swear exclusive allegiance to particular principles, yanas, or practices. They are all valid and valuable. We only have to choose which to apply when.

I never stopped asking annoying “why” questions

I was the kind of kid who never stopped asking annoying “why?” questions. And I was lousy at learning facts by rote in school. I had to understand how the facts fit together in order to remember them. Unless a method made sense, I couldn’t use it to save my life. When taught a skill without explanation, I would complain “but it doesn’t get you anywhere!”

I haven’t grown out of this—and that is a large part of why I am an Aro apprentice.

My Lamas constantly refer back to principles when explaining the functions of practices. Once you understand a dozen or so fundamental principles, pretty nearly all of Buddhism makes sense.

And that is why I am a Buddhist. The details of Buddhism follow straightforwardly from the principles. If you accept that the principles are sensible—which I do—then there are no contradictions, and nothing you have to believe just because.

Teaching principles is uncommon

Unfortunately, teaching in this way is surprisingly uncommon. In the modern Aro lineage, it comes from Kyabjé Kunzang Dorje Rinpoche, pictured above. Ngak’chang Rinpoche (the Aro lineage holder) was sent to him by Kyabjé Dudjom Rinpoche to learn Dzogchen. Kunzang Dorje Rinpoche accepted him as a student only after weeks of quizzing about principles and functions.

Too often, the understanding of principles and functions is absent.

When Buddhist principles are lost, Buddhism reduces to a jumbled collection of arbitrary beliefs. There is no rhyme or reason; no real explanations. Buddhism becomes a mass of holy mysteries to be learned by rote and venerated without understanding.

When understanding of functions is lost, Buddhist practices reduce to an arbitrary morality of “thou shalts.” Without a clear presentation of base, path, and fruit, their only justifications are “because Buddha said so.”

Visionary truth, objective truth

The seeming conflict between the Tibetan visionary concept of truth, and the Western objective concept, causes upset and confusion. This is due to mistakenly believing that we have to choose one or the other.

I have explained that each Buddhist yana (approach) has its own concept of truth. For Tantra, “ordinary appearances” are illusions. They are a mistake. “Pure appearances” are real. Ordinary appearances are produced by deluded, ordinary vision. Pure appearances are produced by pure vision. Pure vision reveals that all beings are actually Buddhas with bodies of light; that our surroundings are actually a paradise of crystal palaces and luxuriant gardens; that all sounds are actually mantras, all tastes divine nectar, all smells sublime perfume; and so on. In pure vision, miracles occur constantly. We can walk through stone walls, communicate by telepathy, and see accurately events in the past, in the future, and at great distances.

As a method of Tantra, one actively rejects ordinary appearances, and works to replace ordinary vision with pure vision.

This visionary, Tantric worldview pervades Tibetan culture. For instance, according to Tantric geography, the earth is flat and has five continents arranged in a cross. Tibet and surrounding areas are on the southernmost continent. Grasping this visionary truth is necessary for certain Tantric practices. Confusing it with objective truth could be an obstacle to world travel.

Some Western Buddhists become “true believers.” They are Vajrayana scriptural fundamentalists. Every word in the book is literally true. They argue that the world really is flat. Applied wholeheartedly, this could dramatically accelerate your progress in Tantra. It could also make you stupid and crazy. And, it leads to conflicts between sects, because various Tantras give quite different visionary descriptions. There is no single visionary truth. There are many.

Some Western Buddhists reject anything that seems to conflict with Western common sense. Buddhism, they say, is a religion of rationality, not superstition. I agree with that: Buddhism is perfectly logical, and ought not to conflict with the Western scientific understanding in any way. However, confusing “scientific understanding” with “common sense” closes off the whole of Vajrayana. Nothing in it is “common sense.” To miss out on Vajrayana, because of a fundamentalist belief in Western consensus reality, is a great pity. It throws away the Tantric baby with the superstitious bath water.

The Dzogchen view includes both the visionary truth and the objective truth. According to Dzogchen, neither is the absolute truth. However, both are valuable as methods. We do not have to choose between them. We do need to know when to use which.

Because they are methods, the visionary and objective worldviews have functions. A main function of Tantric pure vision is to produce “divine pride”—the confidence, based on direct experience, that we are actually Buddhas. A main function of the objective worldview is to support practical activity in the physical world.

Some Lamas quote scripture to prove that demons are the cause of AIDS. Although I have not examined the scriptures myself, I have confidence that they are correct. That is the visionary reality. However, this is a case in which clarity about principles and functions could be valuable.

Reliable precautions against demons may be less effective against viruses.

The futile quest for certainty

What we want from religion is guarantees.

The mundane world is chaotic, risky, arbitrary and confusing. Efforts that should work fail. The good suffer and wrong-doers prosper. Life does not make sense.

What we want is an assurance that all this is an illusion. We want to hear that the real world, after death or in Nirvana or something, is orderly and consistently meaningful. We want answers—sometimes desperately.

We live in a world in which there are hundreds of religions and other ideologies that claim to have those answers. But, they do not agree with each other.

This just adds to the anxiety and confusion: the domain of religion, too, seems to be chaotic and uncertain. Unless—we hope—we can find the one true path that really does have the answers.

Serious spiritual practice does require committing to a single tradition. This is difficult: how do we know which is the right one? (That question is the essence of this web site.) Initially, many seem plausible, and all seem to have some defect or other. The stakes are high; religion is possibly the most important thing in life. Here, more than anywhere, certainty seems critical.

the kind of answers we want cannot be had, anywhere

Buddhism is unique, as far as I know, in insisting that the kind of answers we want cannot be had, anywhere. Emptiness—inherent uncertainty—is at the heart of Buddhism. For this reason, Buddhism is sometimes described as “The Way of Disappointment.” If we follow it sincerely, Buddhism repeatedly crushes our hope that somehow it will satisfy our longing for answers; for ground we can build on; for reliable order.

When our fantasies that we have found absolute answers are threatened by evidence, we may react by armoring ourselves against our own perception. We may deny the obvious. We may also react by attacking the messenger. Anyone who teaches something that might contradict what we believe must be a heretic, who must be silenced.

When we select a Vajarayana lineage, and commit to a lama, our hope that we have found The Right Answer may be accompanied by lingering fear that some other alternative would have been a better fit.

Throughout the world, the most vicious sectarian conflicts are between religious groups that differ the least. It is easy for Buddhists to be tolerant of Christians, because Christianity poses no threats to one’s identity as a Buddhist. It is just obviously a bad fit. Members of one Nyingma lineage may find the existence of other Nyingma lineages, whose teachings are virtually identical, intolerable—if lineage membership is used as a bulwark against uncertainty. This may lead to self-righteousness, self-justification, and witch-hunts.

we cannot use Buddhism to confirm our selves

If we take emptiness seriously, we must realize that we cannot use Buddhism to confirm our selves. There is never any way to be absolutely sure we have found the right lineage or teacher. We cannot rely on Buddhism to provide absolute certainty about anything other than the non-duality of form and emptiness.

The quandry of uncertainty is at the heart of Dzogchen. Dzogchen teaches us how to live joyfully and effectively in a world that is “empty display”—alternately horrifying and perfect, chaotic and crystalline, alienating and supremely meaningful.

That is why I am an Aro apprentice.

Yanas, contradictions, and understanding

“Yanas” are approaches within Buddhism. Different yanas appear to contradict each other. On this page, I discuss some implications of that.

If you are unfamiliar with the three yanas Sutra, Tantra, and Dzogchen, I would recommend the page “An uncommon perspective” on the Aro web site. (It uses the word “yana” only at the end, but its topic is their differing principles.) For a more extensive explanation, I have found this book exceptionally useful.

“Yana” means “vehicle.” A yana takes you from one place to another, spiritually. Which yana you should use depends on where you are and where you want to go. A submarine is a good way to get from shore to the bottom of the ocean. It is a bad way to get from Denver to Chicago. An airplane would be better. You can use an airplane to get to the bottom of the ocean, but I don’t recommend it.

In the same way, yanas are incompatible. They are all valid, but you can only use one at a time. Each yana has a few fundamental principles, which are entirely different.

When you read a Buddhist book or web page, or hear a Buddhist talk, it is critical to know which yana is acting as the framework of the discussion. A statement based on the principles of one yana often appears false or nonsensical if you try to understand it using the principles of another yana. This leads to serious confusion, or even yana shock.

violently insane . . . spaced-out blather

This is especially true when a student understands Sutra (general Buddhism) but not yet Tantra or Dzogchen. Tantra and Dzogchen each have their own beautiful logic. If you do not understand the logic of Tantra, it is likely to sound violently insane. Almost everything in Tantra is forcefully opposite to Sutra. If you do not understand the logic of Dzogchen, it is likely to sound like the spaced-out blather of a stoned hippie.

In order to understand Vajrayana (Tantra and Dzogchen), it is necessary to understand the relationship between truth and methods in Buddhism. The Buddhist perspective is that the contradictory statements of the various yanas are not a problem, because they are methods, not ultimate truths. It is also necessary to understand the principles that underlie each yana.

why it all makes sense

Aro Lamas frequently explain how specific teachings relate to the principles of particular yanas. This is one of the most distinctive features of the Aro teaching style, in my experience. I have found it enormously helpful in getting to understand how the whole of Buddhism fits together and why it all makes sense.

The Aro Lamas teach all the yanas, but especially concentrate on Dzogchen. (On another page, I explain why this emphasis on Dzogchen is important to me.)

fake, crazy, or evil

Lamas of all traditions generally teach mainly one yana. This can lead to unfortunate hostility between students of different Lamas. If one Lama teaches mainly Sutra, his students may understand mainly only Sutra. If another Lama teaches mainly Tantra, her students may understand mainly only Tantra. When students of the two Lamas meet, they cannot understand each other. Practically everything one of the Lamas said appears to contradict what the other one said. Soon the students may be hurling insults at each other and accusing each others’ Lamas of being fake, crazy, or evil. The Lamas themselves might have complete respect for each other, because they understand the principle that yanas do not actually conflict.

Aro teaches mostly Dzogchen, which is the least widely understood yana. That is one reason some people are confused about it. They do not understand that statements by Aro Lamas are perfectly accurate—as Dzogchen—even though they contradict Sutra or Tantra.

Essential Buddhism

This is worth pondering because:

1. It clarifies what you think is most important in Buddhism. There is far more Buddhism to learn than anyone ever could, so we have to pick. In the West, most of us have relatively little time to practice and must concentrate on essentials.
2. Buddhism moving from Asia to the West is similar: unnecessary details just have to be dropped. Much of what worked in Tibet or Japan seems not to function in Finland and America. However, there is little agreement on what is cultural baggage and what is essential to preserve.
3. I believe that Buddhism, world-wide, may be facing a catastrophe comparable to global nuclear war.

“Essential” can mean “unchanging, defining qualities,” or just “most important.” Buddhism teaches us to be skeptical of essences and definitions. Buddhism, like everything else, is empty; it has no defining characteristics. There is probably nothing that all Buddhists could agree on.

So I mean “essential Buddhism” in the sense of “Don’t leave home without it.” Different Buddhists would give entirely different answers as to what in Buddhism is most important—what is worth saving in an end-of-the-world scenario.

The Aro answer is that the fundamental principles and functions are the essential core of Buddhism. The reason is that, when those are understood, everything else makes sense. Without an understanding of principles and functions, Buddhist concepts become meaningless phrases. Buddhist practices become empty rituals.

Put another way, in a catastrophic scenario, a new Buddhism could probably be reconstructed from just the essential principles and functions. Here is an example. In Tibet, there are thousands of yidams (“awareness-beings”). Yidam practice is one of the most important in Buddhist Tantra. Over the course of Tibetan history, many yidams have been lost and forgotten. That’s a damn shame.

However, what really matters is an understanding of the function of yidams, supporting the essential principle of Buddhist Tantra: transformation. If all the specific yidams were lost, it would be tragic, but not a threat to the survival of Tantra. New yidams emerge from the dharmakaya frequently. We could trust that they would continue to do so.

This understanding of “essential Buddhism” is similar to a constitutional legal system. The U.S. Constitution is a short statement of fundamental legal principles and procedures. There are hundreds of thousands of pages of specific laws that derive from it. It would be a disaster if all those were lost. However, if the Constitution itself could be saved (and if it is as well-designed as we hope), then we should be equally happy with a new set of laws produced in accordance with it—even if they were quite different in detail.

Tibetan Buddhism has hundreds of thousands of pages of scripture, commentaries, and liturgy. In a catastrophe, if only a couple dozen pages of essential text survived, plus living lineages of a handful of essential practices—those might eventually develop into a Buddhism which would be quite different in detail, but that we ought to be equally happy with.

The question of how Buddhism should develop in the West is often asked in terms of “how much” of Asian practice should be preserved. From an “essential” perspective, what matters is not “how much,” but “which” and “why” and “for whom.”

Uncontroversial Buddhist lineages

There aren’t any.

That’s a pity. A nice, safe Major Leading Brand, generally considered reliable, would save the trouble of making a choice. Some adventurous souls could try out esoteric minor brands, but most of us wouldn’t bother.

Unfortunately, every form of Buddhism is considered illegitimate by many others. Some Theravadins say that only the Pali scriptures are valid, and all other “Buddhism” is heresy based on forgeries. Some Mahayanists consider that Theravada is based on a wrong understanding of a subset of fundamental Buddhist principles. Some regard Vajrayana as primitive ritual demon-worship that has no real connection with Buddhism. Some Vajrayanists say Mahayana is fine as far as it goes but cannot take you all the way to enlightenment.

The four Tibetan Vajrayana schools have been in heated political conflict for a thousand years. Some say privately that only their school is valid and the others should be suppressed. Some say that all termas are human creations and inauthentic. Some say that Tantra is not a proper yana and that its practices are simply methods for accelerating Mahayana. Some say that Dzogchen is a foreign heresy and not Buddhism at all.

This history of controversy fills volumes. To say more—or even this much—risks putting you off Buddhism altogether:

“Buddhism is supposed to be the religion of peaceful acceptance! If I had known that there was so much internal conflict, I would never have been interested in the first place!”

Fortunately, most Buddhists successfully ignore the politics, so it need not deter you.

the uncomfortable and delightful necessity of choice

In the East as well as the West, most people adopt the religion of their parents and neighbors without thinking about it. For Westerners attracted to Buddhism, that is usually not an option. We are faced with the uncomfortable (and delightful) necessity of choice.

That is the subject of this site: how to go about selecting, gradually entering, and perhaps eventually committing to a specific Buddhist tradition.

Buddhism and football

Sometimes people express strong opinions about things they know almost nothing about. Where do they get these opinions? Why do they seem to care so much? And if they do, why don’t they learn more about whatever it is?

Some people have passionate opinions about what kind of bag you should ask for at the supermarket check-out. If you ask for the wrong kind, you are a bad person. You probably whack endangered baby seals for fun.

I don’t have an opinion about which kind of bag is the right one. Paper and plastic bags both have environmental impacts, of different sorts that are hard to compare. Coming to a meaningful opinion would be difficult. The difference also seems insignificant relative to the environmental effect of other lifestyle choices. Still, these points don’t stop everyone. Fervent advocacy of paper or plastic is not usually based on knowledge, nor are advocates interested in learning more.

So why do some seem so sure? Because paper-versus-plastic is a way of proving that they belong to a particular social group, and that they are good people according to the standard of that group. As with so much in Buddhism, it comes down to anxiety about anatman—the fact that we do not exist in any definite way. We insist on the right kind of bag to prove that we are that kind of person. We demand paper (or plastic) to be accepted by a particular group. Being a member of the group defines us—as a member—and thereby proves that we do actually exist.

This is a big part of football fandom, as far as I can make any sense of it. (Pro ball has always been pretty mysterious to me.) It is intrinsically meaningless which team wins. Fans give it meaning by cheering their team and booing the other guys. Being on the side of the Snorklewacker team defines you as a particular sort of person. Supporting the Capital City Snorklewackers and hating their rivals makes you a good guy—among Snorklewacker fans. This is not too harmful, as long as fans recognize (at some level) the emptiness of their feelings. Occasionally, when that emptiness is misunderstood as form, violence erupts.

Unfortunately, people do this with religion, too. It is not enough to be happy with your sect. Dissing the members of other sects proves that you are a fervent and upstanding member of your own.

For some religions, this might possibly make sense. In the case of Buddhism, it is silly and self-defeating. Buddhism isn’t football. Recognizing that I am not any particular sort of person is one of the most important aspects of the path. Bearing good will to all sentient beings is one of the most important aspects of the path.

Yana shock

It is said that when Shakyamuni Buddha first taught Mahayana, a thousand Arhats (Hinayana saints) had heart attacks and died. It is said that when he first taught Tantra, a thousand Bodhisattvas (Mahayana saints) fainted.

These describe something real (although we need not take the stories too literally). I call it “yana shock.” Yana shock is like culture shock: the fear, disorientation, and anger that comes from being thrown suddenly into an alien value system. It can happen when Buddhists familiar with one yana first encounter another.

Some cultural differences are arbitrary, and easy to adjust to. People drive on the left or right side of the road in different countries. Some other cultural differences seem profound and non-arbitrary. In some places, women are expected to walk a few feet behind their husbands. In other cultures, women are expected to walk beside their husbands. Whichever of the two you are used to, you are likely to find the other shocking. This does not seem to be an arbitrary difference. The other expresses deep cultural values that seem severely wrong, and call into question the sanity and decency of the people who follow them.

I felt something like that when I first heard about Buddhist Tantra. A teacher at my local Buddhist center saw that I was pretty gung-ho about meditation, and taking a lot of classes. He suggested I start studying Vajrayana. “What’s that?” I asked. Part way into his explanation, I cut him off—quite rudely, I am afraid. I was appalled. Everything about it sounded repellent, crazy, and wrong.

The different yanas contradict each other profoundly. They are not superficially and arbitrarily different. Their fundamental principles are different. They have different concepts of truth, and especially of ultimate truth. For Mahayana, emptiness is the ultimate truth and ultimate goal. It is a shock to be told that in Vajrayana, emptiness is merely the starting point. The ethical systems of the yanas are at odds with each other. Pretty nearly everything that you must never do according to Sutrayana, you sometimes must do according to Vajrayana. To be thrown into Vajarayana when you know only Sutrayana is radically alienating.

The teacher who recommended Vajrayana to me was right, though. Over the next couple of years, I gradually realized that only Vajrayana could make sense of what I experienced in meditation. I came to find it fascinating and beautiful. Eventually I became a student in a Vajrayana lineage. I still find some aspects of Vajrayana frightening and repellent. I am no longer shocked by them, because I understand how and why they work.

Time, gradual exposure, and extensive study are the antidotes to yana shock.

The same is true for culture shock, I hear. However, although I try to have an open mind in general, I still think that women walking behind their husbands is wrong. I believe that all Buddhist yanas are valid; they are methods of liberation. Cultures often function instead to solidify oppression—political oppression, and the oppression of samsara.

Wrathful practice

“Wrathful practice” is an approach within Tantric Buddhism that can dramatically accelerate your progress. However, it is only workable if you are willing to have Buddhist practice be the sole important thing in your life, under close supervision of a lama, after many years of preliminary practice. And, it comes with a steep price, and a serious risk.

Tantric Buddhism is the path of transformation. The practices of Tantra transform negative emotions into positive, enlightened ones. Usually in Tantra we wait for negative emotions to occur, and then apply transformative methods. If you are sufficiently committed, however, you can deliberately stir up negative emotions in order to transform them. This makes it possible to practice transformation as much as you want—rather than having to wait around for something bad to happen.

The most negative emotion is hatred. Wrathful practice is called “wrathful” because hatred is the emotion you most stir up and attempt to transform. As part of the method, you rely on a “wrathful yidam,” or visualized enraged deity. (Dorje Phurba, shown at the top of this page, is an example.) With this practice, hatred can be transformed into the clarity of enlightenment.

According to Tibetan Buddhism, destruction is one of the four functions of a Buddha. Wrathful practice gives you the clarity to know what must be destroyed, and the ferocity to destroy it.

Generally, Buddhist practice makes your life work better—and for many of us, that is the main motivation. Wrathful practice is likely to make your life worse—at least for several years. Part of the wrathful method is to abandon, or even actively destroy, any aspect of your life that interferes with your practice. Everything in life except practice can fall apart. That is what I called the “steep price.”

The “serious risk” is that you will fail in the transformation—and fail to see that you have failed. This danger is spoken of frequently in Tibetan texts—and this outcome is common. Wrathful yidam practice can produce extraordinary arrogance. That is based on the perception that “I have transformed myself into an enlightened, wrathful being.” (Properly, yidam practice is the perception that “the yidam is occurring.” It is non-personal.)

It is easy to persuade yourself that you have succeeded when you have not. Then you believe you have complete, clear understanding of Buddhism, you are qualified to say who or what needs to be destroyed, and you are just the one to do it. That makes you dangerous to others.

I think this explains some of the online forum participants who viciously attack Buddhist traditions they dislike. They show the signs of missing the mark in wrathful practice (perhaps due to inadequate supervision). They are arrogantly full of themselves, absolutely certain of their narrow beliefs, claim to have the only correct understanding of Buddhism, and are willing to violate ethical standards in attempts to destroy their religious enemies. They might style themselves “dharma cops,” but act as self-appointed vigilantes.

Why Dzogchen?

The main unusual feature of the Aro gTér is its exceptional emphasis on Dzogchen.

In theory, at least, all Nyingma lineages and Lamas teach all the yanas: Sutra, Tantra, Dzogchen, and their subdivisions. However, most teachers concentrate on a particular yana, whose style flavors their teaching of other yanas.

Because the yanas are extremely different in approach, one of the most important factors in choosing a lineage and teacher is the yana they emphasize. So in approaching Tibetan Buddhism, a clear understanding of the principles and functions of the yanas—and their non-conceptual “feel”—is invaluable.

Buddhism is not a one-size-fits-all religion

Because we are each different, we find different Buddhist paths to be the best “fit” for our personalities and capabilities. Buddhism is not a “one size fits all” religion. This page is meant to help find a good “fit” on the basis of yana. To speak of the yanas in terms of practical advantages and disadvantages, as if I were reviewing bathroom cleaning products, is crass. It seems disrespectful. However, for Buddhism to be useful, it has to be a tool for everyday use–not a holy abstraction venerated on Sundays.

Each yana has a base, path, and result. The base is its prerequisites: where you need to be to begin. The result is where it takes you. It is only possible to practice a yana whose base you are at, and only useful it its result is where you want to go.

The path of each yana has a texture or style or flavor. Most of our time as Buddhists is spent not at the base or result, but on the path. Unless its texture suits us, we will not be motivated to practice.

Sutra

The base of Sutra (which includes most forms of Buddhism) is recognition that there is something wrong with our understanding of worldly satisfaction. That makes most Westerners qualified for Sutra. The path is renunciation. One withdraws from the world to prevent its pleasures and pains from roiling one’s emotions. Accomplishing this project is generally incompatible with having a family, job, or non-religious interests. (That is why there are monasteries.) The end point of Sutra is recognition of emptiness—which is not full enlightenment, according to some other Buddhist views.

Sutra is effective for many. It is impractical or unattractive for those who are unwilling to give up on full-spectrum living, or for whom emptiness does not seem to be the whole story.

Tantra

The base of Tantra is realization of emptiness. That generally requires several years of dedicated meditation practice. Accordingly, you may not yet be qualified to practice Tantra. However, you may be inspired by the prospect of the path: brilliant, dynamic, magical, tempestuous, awe-inspiring.

In that case, fortunately, you are qualified to practice Tantric ngöndro. A ngöndro is a set of practices that brings you to the base of a yana, and that have the same texture as the yana. Tantric ngöndro has the same result as renunciation—realization of emptiness—but feels like Tantra.

The path of Tantra is extraordinarily complex. It requires mastery of vast masses of unlikely-sounding doctrine and arcane ritual. It involves deliberately provoking your negative emotions, which can be horrifying, and can actually drive you crazy. Tantra is dangerous. For some, all this may be attractive; for others, not.

Dzogchen

Dzogchen is sometimes called the “highest teaching of Buddhism,” and “the fastest route to enlightenment.” Some are attracted to it for that reason. That would be a mistake. The best teaching is whichever is most useful to you, now.

The base of Dzogchen is rigpa, or momentary enlightenment. Rigpa is elusive, and few are qualified to practice Dzogchen. If you are now approaching Tibetan Buddhism, you are highly unlikely to be.

So what good could Aro be, if it is all about something you can’t do? Again there is a ngöndro, which brings you to the base (rigpa) while practicing in the Dzogchen style. Its only prerequisite is willingness to practice. So if the Dzogchen style seems a good fit, this is a good starting point.

elegant, clear, powerful, practical, and simple

Dzogchen is elegant, clear, powerful, practical, and simple. These are virtues beloved of scientists, engineers, and businessmen such as myself. Dzogchen is the yana that most inspires me.

It is, however, rather dry and abstract. To make sense of it requires inspired transmission and explanation from a Lama, plus probably either years of shinè meditation practice or unusual intellectual capacity.

Dzogchen’s world-view is exceptionally compatible with modern Western culture. So much so, in fact, that it may be misunderstood as simple common sense. That would be to miss how extraordinarily radical it is.

It is valuable to understand the Dzogchen view intellectually even if you practice other yanas. Understanding Dzogchen makes the other yanas make sense, for me at least, in a way they do not on their own terms.

I am not capable of practicing Dzogchen. I practice Dzogchen ngöndro; but I also practice aspects of each of the other yanas, including all eight of their subdivisions. In the Aro way, I practice them with Dzogchen style: with simplicity, clarity, and openness.

The scarcity of Dzogchen

Almost none of us are qualified to practice Dzogchen. As I explained earlier, this is not necessarily a problem, since no qualifications are required to practice Dzogchen ngöndro. And, there are good reasons to want to study Dzogchen even if we are not qualified to practice it.

Some teachers, however, take the view that Westerners’ interest in Dzogchen is a manifestation of our greedy materialism, spiritual immaturity, impatience, and unhealthy fascination with advanced technology. We want to jump directly to the “highest yana” and feel entitled to do so—whereas Tibetans might only be introduced to it after many years of full-time study and practice of lower yanas. There is some truth in this.

Some teachers—Tibetan and white folks—take the view that, since Westerners think they want Dzogchen but can’t use it, the best thing is to advertise Dzogchen but teach something else. Their books and talks, with the word “Dzogchen” prominent in the title, turn out to be about Madhyamika, or Tantric ngöndro, or Mahayana generation of compassion, or Mahamudra, or practically any other Buddhist topic. I don’t mean that anyone is actually deceptive; once past the title, the teacher generally states the actual subject.

Although the intention is undoubtedly compassionate, I am not sure this pattern is helpful. It leads to all kinds of confusion about what Dzogchen actually is.

It is now quite difficult to find Dzogchen teachings. They are almost drowned out by the mass of other, mis-labelled material.

In a sense, Aro does the same in reverse. Aro teachings on Sutric topics such as the Four Noble Truths, or Tantric topics such as Guru Yoga, might be Dzogchen in drag. The Aro teachers are open about this, however. It’s a hallmark of the Aro style to be clear and explicit about what yana a teaching belongs to, and from point of view of which yana it is being taught.

Dzogchen: a controversial yana

Dzogchen—the main teaching of Aro—has always been controversial. For a thousand years, it has been denounced as:

• Really Chinese Zen, not Vajrayana, so not OK
• Really Shaivite Hinduism, not Buddhism, so not OK
• Really Bön, not Buddhism, so not OK
• Invented by Aro Yeshé Jungné, a Tibetan, so not OK
• All written in Tibetan, not Sanskrit, so not OK
• Not found in India, so not OK

(You can read more about this in Part Seven of Dudjom Rinpoche’s The Nyingma School of Tibetan Buddhism, or from a Western perspective in Ronald M. Davidson’s Tibetan Renaissance.)

Dzogchen is now officially accepted by all schools of Tibetan Buddhism. It is taught by His Holiness the Dala’i Lama.

Yet there are some conservative Tibetans who still think it is not OK. There remains an atmosphere of suspicion. Some, who grudgingly agree that it in theory it is the highest Buddhist teaching, wish that in practice it could be made to go away.

No holiness—vastness!

This may be the most common reason newish apprentices leave Aro. It may be the main reason seriously interested folks decide not to become apprentices. So you might want to know about it.

Almost every culture, religion, ideology, or world-view holds some things as sacred, pure, holy, or unquestionably true—and others as profane, unclean, or taboo.

Among the few exceptions are Zen and Dzogchen. They hold that there is nothing that is inherently sacred. (This ought to be an obvious consequence of the Heart Sutra—but most Buddhists do not see it that way.)

If you spend enough time with Aro lamas, it is certain that they will at some point roast your sacred cows—whatever they are. They will contradict something you think every good person must believe. (That might be strongly-held political, religious, or cultural values.) Or they may do something you think no holy person ever should. (It might be an off-color joke, or eating meat, or ranting about how much they hate a kind of music you like.) They may violate fundamental assumptions you did not even know you had.

Some lamas do this systematically and deliberately. The Aro lamas tend more to do it just by being who they are—which will not be who you think they ought to be. None of them is the least bit holy.

I think Bodhidharma, the founder of Zen, said it best. When the Emperor of China asked him a stupid question about holiness, he replied:

Any fixed belief, or fixed emotional response, is a “reference point.” We use reference points as bricks to build the prison of identity. In meditation, we allow that structure to collapse. When the roof falls in, we see the boundless sky. That is the vastness of nonduality, where purity and impurity are equally meaningless.

We also must be willing to notice and let go of reference points when not meditating. That includes being willing to have our lamas poke fun at things we thought were very serious.

nothing is sacred
everything is sacred

Because nothing is inherently sacred, anything and everything can be experienced as sacred. Snot is sacred. The city skyline is sacred. A half-crushed plastic soda bottle floating in the gutter is sacred.

This is a bigger, brighter view than we are used to. In every situation, we have the opportunity to experience awe and beauty. This view is also more accurate. In Dzogchen, it is called kadag, or “primordial purity.” All reality is “primordially” pure because purification is impossible and unnecessary. Nothing has ever been impure. We only created the illusion of impurity as a reference point, to avoid the vertigo of vastness.

Kadag automatically reveals itself as we practice Dzogchen meditation. Dzogchen semde trains us to see the world as it is, without reference points. In Dzogchen trek-chod, we experience the brilliant energy of emotions without their conceptual content. Those unnecessary emotional judgements are the basis for dividing the world into pure and impure, sacred and profane.

Experiencing the breakdown of this division is extremely funny. Dzogchen teachers ridicule every sacred cow, to let you in on the joke. They encourage reverence for every ordinary thing, to let you in on the joke.

Until you understand this, it is easy to be offended. Students attracted to Buddhism are, naturally, kind and thoughtful. It is common to assume that anyone kind and thoughtful would have mostly “politically correct” views—and that anyone with other views could not be kind or thoughtful. Politically correct views are entirely compatible with Dzogchen—but the belief that they are necessary or absolutely true is not.

No cosmic justice

Dzogchen explicitly rejects the Law of Karma. This is the main reason Dzogchen is condemned by some Buddhists. Even for Westerners, who have no cultural belief in karma, it can be difficult to let go of hope for cosmic fairness. However, genuine ethical action is impossible if we are motivated by reward and punishment.

It seems obvious that the world is unjust. Bad guys often get away with it. Our own good deeds are rarely rewarded as we think they should be. Some other people fare even worse, through no fault of their own. One reason we turn to religion is to find out why the universe is so unfair and screwed up.

The answer of most major religions is that the universe is not screwed up. It seems that way because we only see part of the picture. The injustice we see is balanced by cosmic justice somewhere else—probably after we die. In some religions, God rewards or punishes the dead, according to His Law.

Buddhism is widely believed to have a similar view: the Law of Karma. According to this understanding, the apparent injustice of our present lives is actually the balancing reward or punishment for our actions in previous lives. Our actions in this life will be rewarded or punished in future ones.

there appears to be a contradiction here

This understanding of karma requires that the Law somehow be certain, eternal, external, constant, and universal. Yet it is a fundamental Buddhist principle—expressed for instance in the Heart Sutra—that nothing can be certain, eternal, external, constant, or universal. (Space/emptiness is the sole exception.) There appears to be a contradiction here. Buddhist systems have taken various approaches to resolving this contradiction; I do not find any of them coherent. They all seem to talk around the problem, and confuse the issue in order to distract attention from it.

Dzogchen is unique in biting the bullet and admitting that there is no Law of Karma. According to Dzogchen, there is no cosmic justice. Dzogchen does not deny karma altogether, but denies that its operation is certain, eternal, external, constant, or universal. The Dzogchen view is that karma is a matter of habit—and therefore empty. If we habitually act in particular ways, we tend to view the world in corresponding ways. If we act aggressively, out of anger, our victims are likely to retaliate. Then we will find the world dangerous. Our anger and paranoia are likely to increase, and this may escalate indefinitely. If we are generous, others may be inclined to reciprocate. So we live in a world partly shaped by our actions and perceptions. However, there is no guarantee in this.

This view is considered unacceptable by many Buddhist officials. Their immediate response is that the Law of Karma is the only possible basis for ethics. The reason not to kill other people is that if you do, you will go to hell. The reason to donate money to Buddhist officials (an important aspect of ethical behavior) is that if you do, you will be rich in your next life. If people did not believe in the absolute Law of Karma, social order would collapse.

calling Buddhism’s bluff

I think of Dzogchen as “calling Buddhism’s bluff.” Theoretically, all Mahayana and Vajrayana Buddhists accept the Heart Sutra as central and definitive—but its obvious implications are often ignored in practice. Dzogchen insists that we take it seriously, and not explain it away with hedges and obfuscations. This is what has made Dzogchen unpopular with some Buddhist officials—to the extent that at times they have banned it.

I suspect that they actually understood perfectly well that there is no Law of Karma. Their real concern was not that Dzogchen is wrong, but that it is administratively inconvenient. The important thing was that it not be taught to the masses—because the masses’ belief in the Law is, supposedly, what keeps them in line. Often a compromise was reached: Dzogchen was permitted, but only if it were kept Very Secret, and taught only to the elite.

the universe is
not about us

The assumption underlying both Buddhist and Christian ideas of cosmic justice is that the universe is about us. Because it is about us, it would be screwed up if it were unfair; and the universe shouldn’t be screwed up, so there must be some cosmic balancing that we can’t see. But the universe is not about us. It was not created for our benefit, so we can’t say the universe is wrong because it is unfair. We can’t rate it in terms of any human agenda.

Personally, I have found that a vague, incoherent expectation of cosmic justice is one of the hardest aspects of our Christian heritage to shake off. I am a life-long atheist, and have never actually believed in cosmic justice. Yet I still sometimes catch myself hoping that I will somehow be magically rewarded for good deeds.

I have noticed that acts I hope to be cosmically rewarded for are often rather useless. Most involve personal sacrifices that do not benefit anyone much. Deeds that have obvious beneficial effects seem just plain sensible—and so the hope for reward does not arise. This suggests that the assumption of cosmic justice leads to distorted, unrealistic ethical action.

In fact, if there were perfect justice, ethical action would be impossible. Far from being the basis for ethics, belief in cosmic justice negates it. There is nothing ethical about doing “good” in order to go to heaven, or to have a better rebirth. That is just self-interest.

I am against justice

Personally, I am against justice. The desire to punish others seems to me mean-spirited and self-righteous. I want everyone to live happily ever after. I would like to see a good outcome for war criminals, serial murderers, and child-rapists. If there were a heaven, I would want everyone to go there. Why not? Why be stingy? It wouldn’t cost any extra to let more people in.

Human justice and punishment are probably a pragmatically necessary evil, as a deterrent. Hell—if it existed—would be an abhorrent cosmic evil.

Yana slip

“Yana slip” is presenting higher Buddhist yanas in terms of lower ones. This can cause a lot of confusion until you understand the pattern.

A “yana” is an approach within Buddhism. Each yana has its own principles and methods. They are quite different, and even apparently contradictory. According to the Nyingma tradition, there are nine different yanas. Ultimately they are compatible. But they are compatible only when each is clearly understood in its own terms, and when the relationships between them are also clearly understood. This adds considerable complexity to Tibetan Buddhism. However, different yanas are valuable to different people, and to each of us at different times.

The nine yanas are ordered from “lower” to “higher.”

• The lower the yana, the easier it is to understand without experience of Buddhist practice. The higher yanas require more meditation practice to make sense.
• The lower yanas describe the ideal Buddhist as generic and bound by extensive rules. The higher yanas imply greater individuality and personal responsibility.
• The higher the yana, the more accurately it reflects ultimate reality. The higher the yana, the faster its methods can take you forward.

Each yana has its own conceptual framework—its own way of speaking and thinking. Each yana can also be explained using the concepts of any other yana.

Buddhism tends to “slide down” the yanas. Over time, the higher yanas come to be explained more and more in terms of lower ones. This is what I call “yana slip.” (I just invented the term; there doesn’t seem to be a standard word.)

There is a good reason for this, and a bad one. The good reason is that teachers want to make Buddhism as easy as possible for students. The lower yanas tend to make more emotional sense, especially for those with little education or experience of Buddhist practice. Yet, naturally, Buddhists want the “fastest, most powerful” teachings. Explaining the higher yanas in terms of the lower yanas seems a natural way of helping “ordinary people” understand them. Unfortunately, it may result in misunderstanding, not understanding.

The bad reason for yana slip is that the higher yanas threaten established religious and secular power structures. They empower individuals—ultimately, making them Buddhas. Those who practice the highest yanas see themselves as responsible ultimately only to their Lamas—not to any hierarchy. Hierarchies find that a problem.

Here are the most common yana slips in Tibetan Buddhism, from top to bottom:

• Dzogchen is presented as Mahayoga: that is, as a system of Tantric practice with yidam sadhanas, ritual empowerments, and so forth. This could obscure the fundamental principle of Dzogchen, which is instantaneous self-liberation.
• Inner Tantra (in which we recognize our own Buddha-nature) is presented as Outer Tantra (in which we worship external Buddhas).
• Tantra is presented as “esoteric Mahayana”: that is, as a set of advanced practices that accelerate the Mahayana path. That path ends with the recognition of emptiness. This slip may obscure the function of Tantra, which is to take us from emptiness (its starting point) to the non-duality of emptiness and form.
• Sutra is presented in terms of accumulating merit in order to obtain a better rebirth. This may obscure the function of all Buddhism, which is to liberate us from samsara, not to improve it.

Buddhist history shows a saw-tooth pattern of gradual slides and sudden upward leaps. Yana slip continues gently over a few centuries, without anyone really noticing, until the higher yanas are almost entirely forgotten. Then, suddenly, some inspired genius recalls, and recreates, and reestablishes the higher teachings. (Usually this is vigorously opposed by conservatives.) His disciples slip slightly, and their disciples slip slightly more, and so it goes, until again the situation becomes so dire that radical renewal is required.