Authorized to teach

In Buddhism, you need authorization from your teacher before starting to teach. You can’t just read a bunch of books and declare yourself a teacher when you think you’ve got it figured. This provides some “quality control.”

Ngak’chang Rinpoche, with his wife Khandro Déchen, are the Lineage Lamas (principal teachers) of Aro. Ngak’chang Rinpoche’s teaching has been approved by all his major teachers, and by several other prominent lamas.

• Lama Yeshé Dorje Rinpoche explicitly appointed Ngak’chang Rinpoche as a lama in a proclamation letter.
• Kyabjé Chhimed Rigdzin Rinpoche explicitly appointed Ngak’chang Rinpoche “to give empowerments,” which is the key official function of a lama, in a Foreword. In a letter, he refers approvingly to a student whom Ngak’chang Rinpoche ordained. (Only a lama can do that.) I have received ten eyewitness accounts that he explicitly approved verbally of Ngak’chang Rinpoche’s teaching.
• I have received numerous eyewitness accounts that Kyabjé Künzang Dorje Rinpoche and Jomo Sam’phel explicitly approve Ngak’chang Rinpoche’s teaching as a lama.
• Ngak’chang Rinpoche’s teaching has been described approvingly by several other Tibetan lamas, notably Kyabjé Thinley Norbu Rinpoche and Gyaltsen Rinpoche.

The other Aro lamas are authorized by the Lineage Lamas, with the support of Künzang Dorje Rinpoche and Jomo Sam’phel. Every year or two, a group of Aro lamas and their students visit Künzang Dorje Rinpoche and Jomo Sam’phel in Kathmandu. Künzang Dorje Rinpoche and Jomo Sam’phel have strongly upheld each of the Aro lamas in their teaching role.

My experience of Ngak’chang Rinpoche

It is difficult to describe someone you know well. The better you know someone, the more sides of their personality you see. If you have met someone only a few times, you might be able to say “he’s angry a lot” or “she’s kind and cheerful.” But when you get to see them in many different contexts, over a period of years, you find that the anger was a passing phase, or she is kind and cheerful in company but sometimes bitchy and depressed with close friends. In fact, all of us possess all human qualities—and all those qualities are ultimately empty.

It is especially difficult to describe an accomplished Vajrayana practitioner. The more you practice, the more obviously empty your personality characteristics become. Ultimately, in a fully realized master, there are no characteristics—only communicative “personality display.” I am not qualified to say whether Ngak’chang Rinpoche is a fully realized master, but I do believe that much of his apparent personality is display. So anything I can say is a description of some ways he chooses to appear, rather than a description of him.

what he is not like

Actually, most of what I can say is what he is not like. I hope a sense of what he is like will emerge by subtraction. In my experience, Rinpoche is not charismatic, humble, arrogant, wrathful, or intellectual, and has no persona.

Not charismatic

Rinpoche does not seem to be charismatic. I say “seem” because I personally found him fascinating from when I first met him. On the other hand, I have mostly had no emotional reaction to the supposedly charismatic politicians, entertainers, and gurus I have met or seen working a crowd. So I am probably skew when it comes to charisma. In any case, Rinpoche’s talks do not attract crowds. A hundred people, most of them “regulars,” is the most I have seen.

a paradoxical mix of repellent and delightful

To magnetize large numbers of students, you have to tell people what they want and expect to hear. A crowd wants a consistently upbeat, mostly-familiar message that reassures them that they are good people (if they obey the rules) and suggests that “if you follow me, everything will come out right.” Rinpoche has no interest in that. He would rather tell people something unexpected. Something that has a paradoxical mix of repellent and delightful aspects. That does not appeal to a crowd.

To gather students, you have to teach “Introduction to Buddhism” over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over. Rinpoche mostly leaves that to the Aro teachers-in-training. He would rather talk to a small committed group who have studied with him for many years. Then he can teach more advanced material, and have some hope that we can keep up.

I have slightly mixed feelings about Rinpoche’s non-charisma. I believe that many thousands of people could benefit from the Aro teachings. It is a pity that only a few hundred of us are able to. If Rinpoche were a charismatic figurehead, perhaps the thousands would recognize that Aro is indeed the best fit for their spiritual goals and capacities.

On the other hand, charismatic figureheading is a full-time job. If Rinpoche did that, he might not also be able to offer his small group of apprentices such depth. That would be a severe loss for me personally.

Not humble or arrogant

Rinpoche is not humble. This upsets some people.

Because of the emphasis on non-self in Sutric Buddhism, some teachers adopt an exaggeratedly humble personality display. This is useful when teaching Sutra, as a way of modeling behavior and magnetizing students who wish to become selfless. It is irrelevant to Vajrayana. Because Sutra is all most people know of Buddhism, it may seem shocking for a Buddhist teacher not to appear humble.

When teaching Tantra, some teachers adopt an exaggeratedly arrogant personality display. This is an outward manifestation of “vajra pride,” the certainty that one is the yidam. Such display shocks most people, but it is useful when teaching Tantra, as a way of modeling behavior and magnetizing students who wish to become powerful. It is irrelevant to Dzogchen.

Rinpoche appears neither humble nor arrogant. I have seen his non-humility upset Sutric Buddhists. I suspect that some Tantric Buddhists regard his non-arrogance with contempt. He may seem very ordinary in comparison with powerful Tantric lamas. Their students might not understand why anyone would take such a sane, down-to-earth guy seriously.

It might seem paradoxical to say “neither humble nor arrogant.” Don’t you have to be one or the other? No. Both are attitudes towards oneself, in relationship to others. It is not necessary to have any such attitude.

Rinpoche seems to have “unconditional confidence.” He attempts a vast number of peculiar, difficult projects. Many of them work out well. Many of them don’t. When he succeeds, it is no big deal. When he fails, it is no big problem. He doesn’t seem to keep score, or measure himself on the basis of his ratio of successes to failures.

Not wrathful

I have written about “wrathful teaching” elsewhere. Rinpoche is not a wrathful lama. At most I have seen him look mildly irritated. That was when someone at a public talk was asking hostile, clueless questions. I’ve never seen him appear angry at an apprentice. He expresses disapproval by looking vaguely doubtful and asking something like “Hmm . . . do you think it might be better to . . . ?” He says that he is “more direct” with ordained students, but I’ve observed that only once or twice. (I am not ordained.) I am sure he is capable of appearing massively wrathful if he chose to—but he doesn’t.

are you going to become real?

Despite this, I found Rinpoche frightening for several years. I was not afraid of what he might do. It did not take long to decide that he was not going to do anything harmful. I was afraid of what he was. It was obvious that he’s the real thing. The real thing is frightening because it is a challenge: are you going to keep behaving like a schmuck, or are you going to become real too?

I also had the idea that I ought to be afraid of him. That was part of the way Ngak’chang Rinpoche related to his own teachers. But those were wrathful teachers, and he is not.

He told me that being afraid of him wasn’t functional and I should stop. So I did.

Although Rinpoche is not a wrathful teacher, he is not exactly supportive in a New Age or therapeutic way. If we do a bad job of something, he doesn’t praise us for it. He looks dubious and says “Hmm . . . Do you think you could get those corners a bit shinier?” Then we know we have more work to do. When we get upset about something minor, he doesn’t agree that it is a cosmic catastrophe and that we are being heroes for continuing to exist. He is likely to abruptly change the subject and completely ignore the plea for sympathy.

No persona

Apparently, many charismatic gurus have an “on-stage” persona, in which they appear beatific and holy and full of universal love, and a different “backstage” behavior when not performing. The backstage behavior is generally less attractive.

I have stayed with Ngak’chang Rinpoche, Khandro Déchen, and their children several times for several days. Many of their apprentices have. I have the impression that they have a student staying with them as often as not. That means we see them in the midst of everyday hassles.

It is striking that they are the same people—when talking to an uncooperative telephone customer service person, or dealing with the failure of a taxi to arrive when it is needed, or putting reluctant children to bed—as when giving a public talk or teaching an apprentice retreat. There is just no difference in the way they appear. Either they are extraordinary actors, able to maintain an on-stage persona for days on end in sometimes-trying circumstances—or their public presentation is the natural one.

no separation between teaching and life

In fact, there seems to be no separation between teaching and life for them. When the children were younger, they would sometimes come and sit on the lamas’ laps during a public teaching. The lamas could smoothly divide their attention between the children and audience. They were literally parenting and teaching Vajrayana simultaneously.

In the same way, in their home, chopping vegetables for dinner might seamlessly segue into a clarification of a subtle point of Dzogchen long-dé, and back to carrots thirty seconds later.

Not intellectual

Rinpoche displays pride in having gotten 66 when his IQ was tested. I have never quite known what to make of that. He does not seem stupid. I suspect that he took the test questions extremely literally, and gave answers that were technically correct but not what the test designers expected.

When he took his first riding lesson with Melissa, his instructor, she told him to maintain a posture, without reins, at the trot: arms extended sideways at shoulder height. He did, until the horse went around a corner and he fell off. Melissa was surprised. It should have been obvious that if he didn’t shift position, he’d keep going in a straight line while the horse went elsewhere. Her instruction was meant to implicitly include “so long as you are going straight.” Any normal person would have understood that, and avoided falling. Rinpoche explained that she had said to hold the posture, so he did. He did not consider his opinion about what would happen at the corner relevant. Melissa learned to spell things out for him extremely literally.

Rinpoche related to Melissa rather as to a vajra master (tantric guru), and she came to relate to him rather as a wrathful lama. I watched him in a lesson with her once. She had him going around a set course with a series of obstacles. When the horse jumped the second fence, he fell off. It was a ridiculously large horse and quite a high jump. Rinpoche fell about eight feet and landed in a heap, motionless. I and another student watching were . . . concerned. After several seconds, he got up unsteadily. “Anything broken?” asked Melissa cheerfully. Rinpoche patted himself all over. “I don’t . . . think so,” he said. (He has repeatedly broken ribs and his tailbone this way.) “Right,” she said. “You let him cut the corner, so he wasn’t going fast enough when he got to the first jump. That made him jump too far toward the next jump and instead of taking two canter strides he jumped again immediately. That’s why the saddle came up and sent you flying over his head. Now, force him to the wall as you come into that corner.” It appeared that she meant for him to try again. He staggered over to the horse, got up, and went back around the course.

the slowest student she ever had

Several years into their relationship, Rinpoche asked Melissa if he was the slowest student she had ever had. He was not seeking reassurance, and could not have expected it from Melissa. He was just curious. Melissa thought for a moment. “You certainly have the least natural talent of any student I have ever had,” she replied. “But you are also the most persistent, and now you ride quite well.”

Rinpoche does not seem to think in the way of academic intellectuals. He is brilliant, in some way, but not that one. He likes obscure words, but he seems to delight in their unique flavors, rather than using them to intimidate. He explains Buddhism exceptionally clearly, but he does not produce the logical, linear arguments academics admire.

I have studied, worked, and/or partied with several Nobel Laureates, Fields Medalists, Silicon Valley wunderkind squillionaires, and other officially smart people. I have a pretty good idea of what they do and how. I cannot do Nobel-level science, but I have published scientific journal articles. The difference between geniuses and me seems one of degree, not kind. I know what it is possible to create using conceptual mind.

I have no idea how Rinpoche does what he does. The Aro gTér all makes sense once it is explained, but there is nothing in my intellectual experience that helps understand how you would come up with it. Being an academic genius would not let you produce something like it.

If I were to sit down to invent a fake terma, I think I could do a pretty good job, by imitating other termas conceptually. Maybe I could come up with something that would pass the duck test. It wouldn’t be very interesting, though.

where on earth did that come from?

The Aro gTér isn’t like that at all. It is continually astonishing in making useful connections between subtle aspects of experience for which I previously had no names. Over and over, I think “where on earth did that come from?” So, I don’t think the Aro gTér is the product of conceptual mind—Rinpoche’s or anyone else’s.

I don’t worry about where the Aro gTér came from. It wouldn’t bother me at all if Rinpoche did make it up, so long as it works. But I am quite sure that he did not make it up.

In Dzogchen terminology, it appears to come straight outta tha dharmakaya.

Ngakpa Chögyam

“Ngak’chang Rinpoche” and “Ngakpa Chögyam” are two names for the same person. He and his wife Khandro Déchen are the Lineage Lamas (principal teachers) of Aro.

It is the Tibetan custom to be given a new name whenever one has a significant change in religious status. For example, one is given a new name when one takes refuge or is ordained. Generally Tibetans retain their old names as well, and use different ones according to the role they play in a situation.

For example, “Kyabjé Düdjom Rinpoche” and “Jigdrel Yeshé Dorje” are two names for the same great Lama who was Head of the Nyingma (and who was one of the Root Lamas of Ngak’chang Rinpoche). He signed some of his works “Düdjom Rinpoche” and some “Jigdrel Yeshé Dorje,” according to the nature of the text.

It was only recently and by accident that I learned how and when Ngakpa Chögyam received the name “Ngak’chang Rinpoche”—by reading this page.

He has continued to use the name “Ngakpa Chögyam” as the author of his books, to prevent confusion.

Ngakpa Chögyam and his Lamas

This page is an overview of the history of Ngak’chang Rinpoche’s relationships with his five Root Lamas.

If you are interested mainly in the question “is Rinpoche formally qualified,” I recommend reading “authorized to teach.” It summarizes the details here, with pointers to relevant documents.

In past I followed this page with others that documented the history in detail. The reason was to help explain anti-Aro gossip on the web. Most came originally from other students of Rinpoche’s Root Lamas. Some of it was encouraged by one of his former lamas, who disowned him. Since most of the attacks on Rinpoche have been removed from the web, these pages no longer seem useful and I have removed them. If you would like to know more about this history, I can email them to you.

Below, I will use the alternate name “Ngakpa Chögyam” rather than “Ngak’chang Rinpoche.” That way I can use “Rinpoche” to refer unambiguously to his teachers without giving their full names each time.

Ngakpa Chögyam has had many Tibetan teachers. Five of them have acted as his Root Lamas, or principal teachers. In the order he met them, these were Düdjom Rinpoche, Dilgo Khyentsé Rinpoche, Künzang Dorje Rinpoche (with Jomo Sam’phel), Lama Yeshé Dorje Rinpoche (with Khandro Tendzin Drölkar), and Chhi’méd Rig’dzin Rinpoche. Only Künzang Dorje Rinpoche and Jomo Sam’phel are still alive.

All five acted as his lamas simultaneously. In the West, it is uncommon to have several lamas at once. In Tibetan culture, it is normal. If you look at the biographies of Tibetan lamas, you will find that they usually list many teachers.

Düdjom Rinpoche and Dilgo Khyentsé Rinpoche

Ngakpa Chögyam first went to the Himalayas to study Buddhism in 1971. During the 1970s and the first half of the 1980s he spent roughly half his time there. He would work for about six months in Britain, saving as much money as possible, and then would live on that for about six months in India or Nepal. He studied there with Tibetan lamas and practiced what he had learned in solitary retreats.

In 1971, Tibetan Buddhism was little-known in the West. The first Tibetan lamas (Trungpa Rinpoche and Tarthang Tulku) came to the West in the late 1960s, but they were obscure until their first books were published (1973 and 1976). In 1971, there were very few Western Buddhists visiting the Himalayas. That meant that Ngakpa Chögyam had a level of access to great lamas that was completely unavailable a few years later. Tibetan Buddhism then became hip, and a deluge of would-be students arrived.

Ngakpa Chögyam studied with several teachers in 1971. Two of them became Root Lamas: Kyabjé Düdjom Rinpoche and Kyabjé Dilgo Khyentsé Rinpoche.

Ngakpa Chögyam received the complete set of Düdjom Tersar empowerments from Dudjom Rinpoche. Under his guidance, Ngakpa Chögyam did his first long solitary retreat. During it, he had a vision of Aro Lingma, the tertön (discoverer) of the Aro gTér. He discussed the vision with Düdjom Rinpoche and with Dilgo Khyentsé Rinpoche. Both said that it was the first sign of terma. They both encouraged him to record carefully any related visions and dreams, because eventually he would need to teach the terma.

Dudjom Rinpoche told him to keep the terma secret for thirteen years, and to practice both it and the Tröma Nakmo section of the Dudjom Térsar during that period. After thirteen years, he should teach the Aro gTér. (This period of secrecy is a typical requirement on new terma discoveries. It gives enough time to practice the terma to fully understand how it works and how to teach it.)

Tröma Nakmo is a female yidam within the Düdjom Térsar. There are extensive teachings and practices in the Tröma Nakmo section. These include elaborate rituals, involving complex equipment, songs, dances, and so forth. Although Dudjom Rinpoche gave Ngakpa Chögyam all the Tröma empowerments, he did not have time to teach the ritual details. He also did not have time to teach him Dzogchen men-ngak-dé, which mostly can only be transmitted one-on-one or to small, dedicated groups.

Dudjom Rinpoche was Head of the Nyingma, and he had ever-increasing bureaucratic and teaching responsibilities. By the mid-1970s he had little time to teach Ngakpa Chögyam individually. He sent Ngakpa Chögyam to Künzang Dorje Rinpoche for detailed instruction in Dzogchen. Lama Yeshé Dorje Rinpoche gave him detailed instruction in ritual practice. Düdjom Rinpoche did, however, continue to act as the overall coordinator of Ngakpa Chögyam’s studies.

Künzang Dorje Rinpoche

Kyabjé Kunzang Dorje Rinpoche lived as a homeless wandering yogi in the 1970s. By choice, he had very few students. He accepted Ngakpa Chögyam only reluctantly at first, and only because of a letter of recommendation Ngakpa Chögyam brought him from Düdjom Rinpoche. He spent several weeks testing Ngakpa Chögyam’s understanding before actually teaching him anything. Eventually he relented and gave him transmission of Dzogchen men-ngak-dé.

Because Kunzang Dorje Rinpoche had no fixed address, Ngakpa Chögyam lost track of him each time he returned to Britain to work, and was often unable to locate him for years. In fact, they had no contact from 1981 to 1995, because Ngakpa Chögyam could not find him.

Lama Yeshé Dorje Rinpoche

So Ngakpa Chögyam spent more time with Lama Yeshé Dorje Rinpoche and his wife Khandro Tendzin Drölkar, who taught him the Tröma Nakmo ritual practices. Ngakpa Chögyam was more drawn to Dzogchen and to Künzang Dorje Rinpoche, and to Dudjom Rinpoche, but Lama Yeshé Dorje Rinpoche was available when his closer teachers were not.

Under Lama Yeshé Dorje Rinpoche and Khandro Tendzin Drölkar, from the mid-1970s to 1982, he mastered the full Tröma Nakmo system. Among other things, this involved spending more than three years in solitary retreat (in sections of several months at a time).

Beginning to teach

In 1976, Dudjom Rinpoche visited Britain for the first time. He met with Ngakpa Chögyam, and told him to start working to establish the White Sangha (non-monastic tantric ordination) in the West. He also told him to start teaching whenever someone requested him to do so.

People did start asking Ngakpa Chögyam to teach in 1978—occasionally at first, and then on a regular basis in the town of Bath, England. His teaching role became increasingly formalized; in 1982, some regular attendees at his classes asked him to be their personal teacher. On the recommendation of both Dudjom Rinpoche and Lama Yeshé Dorje Rinpoche, he agreed to do so.

This was the time when Ngakpa Chögyam first encountered opposition. Some other Britons who considered themselves “serious Tibetan Buddhists” did not think it was fair that he should be teaching when they were not. Apparently motivated by jealousy, they began the campaign of malicious gossip that has continued, on and off, until now.

Due to the strong interest in Ngakpa Chögyam’s classes in Britain, Rinpoche thought it was the time for them to establish a center there. For that, Ngakpa Chögyam would need unquestioned credibility. In 1983, Lama Yeshé Dorje Rinpoche wrote a “proclamation,” appointing Ngakpa Chögyam as his “vajra regent” (business representative), and authorizing Ngakpa Chögyam as a “root guru” (tantric lama).

Ngakpa Chögyam had intended to ask Düdjom Rinpoche to write a Foreword for his first book, Rainbow of Liberated Energy. However, Lama Yeshé Dorje Rinpoche offered to write one, and it would have been rude to refuse. His Foreword, written in 1983, praised Ngakpa Chögyam as a student and author.

Breakdown

Unfortunately, during the mid-80s, Lama Yeshé Dorje Rinpoche came into conflict with several other Nyingma teachers, and his marriage with Khandro Tendzin Drölkar broke up in a particularly difficult way. Ngakpa Chögyam did his best to stay out of these conflicts. Rinpoche would not allow him to stay neutral. He demanded that Ngakpa Chögyam take actions that would be seriously detrimental to Khandro Tendzin Drölkar. He also demanded that Ngakpa Chögyam break off his relationships with Künzang Dorje Rinpoche and Chhi’mèd Rig’dzin Rinpoche. Ngakpa Chögyam was unwilling to do either of those things, which made Rinpoche extremely angry.

Rinpoche then told many people that he had never authorized Ngakpa Chögyam to teach. Apparently he did this as a punishment. By this time, Ngakpa Chögyam had about twenty personal students. He told them what Rinpoche said, and told them to become students of Lama Yeshé Dorje Rinpoche, or to find another lama. However, most refused; they were not interested in being students of anyone else. As a tantric lama, Ngakpa Chögyam had taken vows to his students as well as to his teachers, and he could not refuse to teach if they insisted.

There was public evidence that Rinpoche did authorize Ngakpa Chögyam. The Foreword, written in 1983 when relations were very good, was only published in 1986, when Rinpoche was denouncing the author. Some people asked him about the Foreword, and other evidence. Rinpoche denied writing the Foreword. His explanation repeatedly shifted, and did not make sense. Nevertheless, many people believed him (perhaps because he was the teacher, and because he was Tibetan, and had a “Rinpoche” after his name) and not Ngakpa Chögyam.

Ngakpa Chögyam appealed to Düdjom Rinpoche. Düdjom Rinpoche would have been able to fix the situation—but unfortunately he became seriously ill in 1986 and died in January 1987.

Chhi’mèd Rig’dzin Rinpoche

Back in the late 1970s, Ngakpa Chögyam had become a student of Kyabjé Chhi’mèd Rig’dzin Rinpoche, the last of his five Root Lamas.

Ngakpa Chögyam spent increasing amounts of time with him during the 1980s, in Britain and Holland. Rinpoche visited Britain several times, and stayed at Ngakpa Chögyam’s house for several weeks on each visit. On those occasions, he taught Ngakpa Chögyam’s students as well as Ngakpa Chögyam, and a few students of other lamas.

From the breakdown with Lama Yeshé Dorje Rinpoche, and into the mid-1990s, Chhimèd Rigdzin Rinpoche acted as Ngakpa Chögyam’s primary teacher. In 1988, Rinpoche tried to give Ngakpa Chögyam the credibility Lama Yeshé Dorje Rinpoche had undercut. He confirmed Ngakpa Chögyam’s authority to act as a lama and give empowerments. He wrote a new Foreword for the revised edition of the Ngakpa Chögyam’s book, to replace the one Lama Yeshé Dorje Rinpoche claimed not to have written.

Unfortunately, some of Rinpoche’s students were hostile to Ngakpa Chögyam. Some had been students of Lama Yeshé Dorje Rinpoche, and they believed him rather than Chhimed Rigdzin Rinpoche. Some thought Ngakpa Chögyam receiving terma in visions and dreams was ridiculous, that he was just making it up, and that he was on an ego trip. Some seemed to be jealous that Ngakpa Chögyam was authorized to teach when they weren’t. Some seemed to be jealous that Ngakpa Chögyam appeared to be closer to Rinpoche than they were.

So, although Rinpoche did what he could, his mentoring Ngakpa Chögyam actually added new sources of hostile gossip.

In 1975, Düdjom Rinpoche had told Ngakpa Chögyam to teach the Aro gTér only after practicing it for thirteen years (which would be 1988). Until then, he taught general Tibetan Buddhism and the Düdjom Térsar ngöndro. In 1988, Chhi’mèd Rig’dzin Rinpoche also encouraged him to start teaching primarily the Aro gTér. Ngakpa Chögyam gradually shifted to that over the next few years.

In the early 1990s, Rinpoche shifted his European base from Britain to Switzerland. From then on, Ngakpa Chögyam saw much less of him. Both had increasing numbers of students who needed more and more attention, so there were few opportunities to meet informally.

Rinpoche died in 2002.

Künzang Dorje Rinpoche and Jomo Sam’phel

In 1995, Ngakpa Chögyam accidentally found Künzang Dorje Rinpoche, after not having seen him since 1981. Rinpoche greeted him enthusiastically, and they renewed their relationship. From then, Rinpoche stayed in Kathmandu, so he was easy to locate. Since 1995, Ngakpa Chögyam has visited him once every few years, in the company of many of his own students. Several Aro students have formed their own relationships with Rinpoche and his wife Jomo Sam’phel, and have received extensive teachings from them.

Aro “controversy” F.A.Q.

What is the Aro controversy?

As far as I can tell, there isn’t one, really. Instead, there was a group of about ten people who said negative things about Aro on the web. Mostly that happened only on one forum, e-Sangha, which was controlled by members of the group. The forum is now defunct.

So what did they say about Aro?

Two main things. One is that an Aro lama, Ngak’chang Rinpoche, is not authorized to teach. The other is that Aro is based on a “fake terma.”

Is Ngak’chang Rinpoche authorized to teach?

Yes. Several Tibetan lamas have explicitly said so, verbally and in writing.

So why did some people say he wasn’t?

It is hard to know. One reason is that, back in the 1980s, one of his former teachers said that Ngak’chang Rinpoche was not authorized. That was not true. Even if it had been, it is no longer relevant. That teacher died in the early 1990s. Ngak’chang Rinpoche’s teaching has been explicitly approved by several prominent Tibetan lamas since then.

Is Aro based on a fake terma?

A “terma” is a Tibetan Buddhist revelation. Aro belongs to the Nyingma division of Tibetan Buddhism, which is based almost entirely on termas. New termas are discovered all the time.

According to Nyingma doctrine, termas can be “authentic” or “fake.” There is a specific, highly-technical meaning for these terms, in Nyingma theory. A terma being “authentic” or “fake” has nothing to do with the objective truth of what it says, and nothing to do with the objective history of how it came into being. It has to do with its magical history: whether or not the revelation came from non-physical Buddhas.

Unfortunately, according to Nyingma doctrine, there is no useful way to find out whether any terma is “authentic” in this sense. No ordinary evidence is relevant. The only way to know is to be an omniscient Buddha.

So, we cannot know whether or not Aro is based on a fake terma. However, anyone who says that the Aro terma is definitely fake shows that they don’t know very much about Tibetan Buddhism. (Or that they think they are an omniscient Buddha.)

A better question to ask is whether the Aro terma is useful. It is worth asking whether Aro is a “good fit” for you personally.

Does Aro contradict other Tibetan Buddhist teachings?

No. Aro teachings and practices are entirely mainstream. Everything taught by Aro is consistent with standard Nyingma Buddhism.

What was the e-Sangha Aro policy about?

At one time, e-Sangha allowed its members to say only negative things about Aro. (Most of these statements were not true). Neutral and positive postings were removed, and the posters were banned from the forum. After I and others objected to this policy, e-Sangha disallowed all discussion of Aro (but retained most of the old negative postings).

OK, I don’t get it. If there is no problem, why the e-Sangha policy? Why was there so much anti-Aro stuff there?

I don’t know.

The e-Sangha forum was generally contentious. It owners had a specific, perhaps narrow view on Buddhism. Aro was not the only group they condemned. Among others, they banned Soto Zen (which is the largest Zen tradition) and the Tibetan Bön tradition. It was perhaps something of an honor to be banned in their company.

Almost none of the negativity was actually directed at Aro. It was almost all about Ngak’chang Rinpoche, an Aro lama. In my experience, he a kind and decent person, and an excellent teacher.

The anti-Aro clique was mainly composed of former students of former teachers of Ngak’chang Rinpoche. Some of them seem to have been be motivated by jealousy, because their teachers authorized him to teach and not them. Others just plain didn’t like him. Either way, their criticisms concerned personality conflicts from twenty-plus years ago. Probably now everyone involved can let go of that.

It is flattering, in a way, that almost all of the “ controversy” was about the teacher rather than the teachings. It is only when opponents have nothing substantive to criticize that they resort to attacking you personally.

How can I find out more?

My terma section considers in detail the question of the validity of the Aro gTér. Another section discusses what has been said about Ngak’chang Rinpoche.

If you have a question those don’t answer, feel free to ask in a comment, or email me.

Of course, if you would like to learn more about Aro (rather than the “controversy”), the Aro Introduction site or Aro community site would be the best resources.

Visceral dislike

I have had long conversations with several people who loathe Ngak’chang Rinpoche. After discussion, it seems to me that some just hate him, and in the end there is nothing more to say. There is no specific reason they hate him; that is just how it is.

This is something I have no problem with at all. It is natural to feel visceral dislike for some people and things, and it can sometimes even be useful to say so. What is not fine is to invent facts to justify your taste. It is not fine to tell false stories about people you dislike in order to harm them.

slightly sick
to my stomach

There aren’t any Buddhist teachers I actually hate, but there are one or two I viscerally dislike. To be fair to those who dislike Ngak’chang Rinpoche, I need to give a specific example: Thich Nhat Hanh. His books make me feel slightly sick to my stomach.

This is completely non-rational. There is no reason for it. It’s just how I react to him.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with Thich Nhat Hanh. He is a great teacher. I have read quite a bit he has written, and every word seems correct. Some of it is deeply insightful, inspiring, or moving. His book on walking meditation is by far the best thing on the subject. Yet I find him overly sweet for my taste. He’s just too nice for me. He sometimes seems to verge on kitsch—and I am allergic to kitsch.

So my disliking Thich Nhat Hanh says nothing bad about him. It also says nothing bad about me—according to the Dzogchen view. Some strands of Buddhism recommend eliminating likes and dislikes in order to accept everything equally. The Dzogchen approach is to leave natural energies—including lust and revulsion—as they are. (This may come as a shock to some readers—or as good news, to others.) The Dzogchen view is that trouble only comes from making things mean something beyond what they are. My disliking Thich Nhat Hanh doesn’t mean anything—about him or me—so it is a total non-problem. All it says is that there is a bad fit between his teaching style and my learning style.

I don’t go on the web and rant about Thich Nhat Hanh. That would probably be no use to anyone (and might drive away some students for whom he would be the ideal teacher). My opinion might just possibly be useful if you have similar taste to mine—and if I made it clear that I was simply describing my reaction. If you are a Buddhist beginner and if you are allergic to kitsch, Thich Nhat Hanh might not be a good place to start. He might put you off Buddhism permanently; and that would be a shame.

Rinpoche might be
really annoying

It’s hard for me to know what it is about Ngak’chang Rinpoche that rubs some people so much the wrong way. Here’s a try, though. If you don’t like Monty Python, you might not like Ngak’chang Rinpoche. If you don’t think the dead parrot sketch is funny, he might not be the first Buddhist teacher to go and see. He uses wild exaggeration, absurd incongruities, ghastly puns, improbable quotations, oblique references, abrupt changes of subject, and cheerful irreverence. You might find that really annoying—maybe even nauseating.

Certainly, something about Ngak’chang Rinpoche intensely irritates some people. Some of them think that it is very important that you know that.

If they left it at “Ngak’chang Rinpoche makes me want to shriek,” I wouldn’t have to write this section of Approaching Aro.

Unfortunately, they go further. They want to justify their revulsion. They want to convince you that there is something objectively wrong with him. They want you to believe that their reaction is not just a matter of their personal taste, but that there is a problem with him.

Since there actually isn’t an objective problem, they have to invent factually false stories about him. I think that is unethical.

please hate
more carefully

To those of you who hate Ngak’chang Rinpoche and feel that you need to let others know it—could you please be more careful? Could you please check what you have said on the web to see if it is factually true? If it isn’t, could you delete what you wrote and replace it with “I find him revolting, and maybe you will too”?

Wrathful teaching

The student of Tantra should be in a constant state of panic. That panic is electric and should be regarded as worthwhile . . . . Panic is the source of open heart and open ground. Sudden panic creates an enormous sense of fresh air, and that quality of openness is exactly what Tantra should create. —Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche

Several of Ngak’chang Rinpoche’s lamas were known particularly for their “wrathful” teaching style. Understanding this is helpful in making sense of some contradictory claims about their relationships with Ngak’chang Rinpoche. (Rinpoche himself is not a wrathful lama.)

Wrathful teaching is the style that is most useful for students doing wrathful practice. If you have not already read my page on wrathful practice, it would be good to do that now—the rest of this page will not make sense without that background. Briefly, in wrathful practice, a student, who must be totally committed, deliberately produces negative emotions in order to transform them. This is the fastest method in Buddhist Tantra—and the most difficult and dangerous.

The term “wrathful” is somewhat misleading. A “wrathful” teacher is not typically angry. Rather, it is the style of teaching that gets the fastest results by any means necessary. The teacher often deliberately provokes negative emotions in students. This gives the student material to work with, gives the teacher an opportunity to demonstrate or explain how to transform the emotion, or tests the student’s transformative ability.

The most obvious method is to display anger at a student. This is properly seen as a form of “personality display,” rather than ordinary anger—an emotion a qualified lama will have fully transformed. Another common technique is to lie to the student, telling them something they would naturally have a strong emotional reaction to. Or, the lama may put a student “on the spot,” by telling them to do something frightening, asking a pointed question, or insulting them, in public. Wrathful lamas exert enormous pressure on their students to carry out difficult real-world tasks. They may deliberately inflate a student’s ego—and then suddenly pop it.

Students commonly experience freak-outs, hurt feelings, panic, confusion, and emotional roller-coaster rides when working with a wrathful teacher. The sangha of a wrathful lama may resemble an institution for the violently insane. This is part of what you sign up for if you choose a wrathful lama. It has to be seen as non-problematic.

Wrathful teaching is only useful to a tiny minority of students. A student must have total trust that the lama is acting for the student’s benefit—or these methods are experienced simply as abuse. The student must be completely committed to the teacher and the practice, or they will just drive the student away. The student must have sufficient preparation and skill in transformation, or the strong negative emotions will only reinforce neuroses.

Students who are qualified for wrathful teaching are rare and remarkable. Wrathful lamas place immense trust in such committed students. Lamas give such talented students extraordinary responsibilities.

Wrathful display

Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche was famous for his wrathful teaching methods. To better understand Ngak’chang Rinpoche’s relationships with his teachers, it would be useful to read any of the recent Trungpa Rinpoche biographies. (There are similar accounts of the teaching methods of other wrathful lamas, but Trungpa Rinpoche is the one I know most about.) I will quote mainly Jeremy Hayward’s Warrior-King of Shambhala: Remembering Chögyam Trungpa.

As well as warm and benevolent, however, Rinpoche could also become overpoweringly wrathful, berating us suddenly and unexpectedly, cutting through our arrogance and hesitation with piercing accuracy. He overflowed with stark compassion that was uncompromising with conventional niceness, often creating friction and feistiness among us that ignited a flame of great power and energy—all so that we could have the chance to leap to another level of genuine understanding. (p. 12)

Rinpoche had a sharp sense of humor that often cut through the petty uptightness and self-importance of all of us. And he used to find fault with our petty narrow-mindedness. (p. 56)

The push-pull pattern of the way Rinpoche related to his students comes across so clearly in these incidents. There were times when Rinpoche would be so cutting, so ferocious, that you would feel crushed; and then there were the other times where he would say something simple, like “Hold the fort,” and fill you with warmth and confidence . . . It was not a matter of artificial manipulation of people, but rather of allowing the natural situations of push and pull to become teaching opportunities. In this way, we were kept off balance—expecting the unexpected. Some students felt manipulated and angry. Others were more willing to go along with the roller-coaster ride—seeing it as an opportunity to learn. Actually, all of us probably felt both ways at various times. (pp. 82-83)

Hayward describes a time when someone asked Rinpoche if he could turn water into wine. He asked that a bucket of water be brought, and he handed out glasses to everyone, who seemed to get high. Then he went into a rage and screamed “Fuck off! Do you think I'm Jesus Christ? Get out of here!” (Apparently the idea that he could perform such miracles was idiotic, and everyone who went along with it was being an idiot.) The person who suggested it tried to apologize, but Rinpoche punched him so hard he flew across the room. (Hayward, p. 52)

Outrageous statements and actions

A wrathful lama often makes outrageous statements. These are not statements of fact or fixed opinion. They are often outright lies. They function to provoke emotions in students—either to test them or so the lama can work with the upset.

Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche’s wife tells a story about this. She was bothered that their son was not upset at the death of a pet bird.

Rinpoche said, “He's a Tibetan. We aren't sentimental.”  . . . We had a little dog at this time . . . who was absolutely devoted to Rinpoche and went everywhere with him. I said, “Well, come on. How would you feel if [the dog] died?” And he said, “That would be OK.” . . . Then I thought of Rinpoche's horse and said, “All right then. How would you feel if Drala died?” He replied, “Well, that would be expensive.” Then, very foolishly, I upped the ante, and I said, “Well, how would you feel if your wife died?” He said, “Oh well, that would be cheaper.” Then he broke into a wide grin. (Dragon Thunder, p. 334)

In this case, he let her in on the joke almost immediately, but there must have been a moment of shock.

The lama might not correct the misunderstanding for a long time, or ever. John Riley Perks tells several stories about this. Rinpoche once told him that they were going to invade Nova Scotia. Perks was to lead a commando unit that would attack various military bases. Perks was surprised but enthusiastic. “You might have to kill,” Rinpoche said. “But I thought we are not supposed to kill,” Perks replied, somewhat alarmed. “Just a few resisters,” said Rinpoche. Perks thought about it and agreed. Rinpoche explained that Perks would need to steal all of the military equipment for the assault. Perks got really excited about this “covert operation.” Rinpoche kept him going for several weeks. (The Mahasiddha and His Idiot Servant, pp. 111-112)

Rinpoche loved to play practical jokes on his students. On one occasion, he told the guests at a dinner party that he and Perks had developed ESP from working so closely together. They demonstrated this for the initially-skeptical guests, using a simple trick. The guests were very impressed and left the party believing that Rinpoche was telepathic. Rinpoche’s purpose seems not to have been impressing them with his (fake) powers, but to provide a gap in their complacent world-view (and probably to amuse himself and Perks). He doesn’t seem to have ever bothered to tell the guests that they had been suckered. (Perks, pp. 84-86.)

Wrathful teaching and humor

Rinpoche enjoyed provoking strong emotions. He found them entertaining, and he found it fun to shock, confuse, and upset students. That is because, from the viewpoint of enlightenment, negative emotions are funny, and samsara is a game.

Perhaps that sounds abstract, inconceivable, or unlikely. It is not so mysterious, though. Everyone has had the experience of getting all worked up about something, suddenly realizing that it is trivial, dropping the emotion, and then finding the whole episode funny. The more you meditate, the more often this happens.

Laughing at students in distress might seem cruel. But, according to Buddhist Tantra, wrathful teaching is the most powerful catalyst to enlightenment. It is the most compassionate possible action. The moment of realizing an emotion is empty, and can be dropped, is a leap forward on the path. The lama’s laughter is a reminder to open up and stop taking emotions seriously.

Creating panic

Hayward describe an incident at the first Vajrayana Seminary. This was a three-month full-time program Trungpa Rinpoche created to introduce students to Tantric practice. The night before he was scheduled to give the first Vajrayana transmission, Rinpoche talked until very late, far past dinner time. Hayward spoke up and suggested postponing the remainder of the talk to next day. Rinpoche “stormed out in a black cloud.”

Hayward went to find him and apologized. “He put his arm around me and hugged me. ‘It wasn't your fault,’ he whispered, ‘I was setting up a [wrathful] mandala.’” Apparently, Rinpoche deliberately ran late, in order to provoke a student into challenging him, with the intention that he would then manifest wrathfully. He then disappeared for three days, leaving the students uncertain whether he would teach Vajrayana at all. (pp. 97-98)

On other occasions:

[Rinpoche stormed around at four in the morning] banging on pots with a stick, shouting, “Why doesn't anybody want to wake UP!” . . . As he raged around I felt, or perhaps projected, his tremendous frustration and disappointment at his students, so stuck in our little domestic comfort worlds. (pp. 333-334)

When he spoke sharply to me . . . each time it was a little shock, as if I had been asleep and he had thrown cold water in my face to wake me up. It helped me to let go and open. (p. 334)

He loved to push things to the edge and make everyone extremely nervous. (p. 342)

Exerting pressure

According to Hayward,

He was very charming and kind to new students, but behind the scenes . . . [he showed] a lot of fierce impatience toward the older students. (p. 347)

Page 376 describes “tremendous pressure”; “he had constantly driven us,” with frequent major changes of direction. His students were constantly exhausted.

Ego inflation

The main danger with wrathful practice is that the student will go off on an ego trip, becoming hideously arrogant. A wrathful lama may deliberately arrange circumstances to produce this effect in a student, as a demonstration for all of what not to do. The lama then publicly destroys the student’s inflated ego.

In his view, the role of the teacher was to blow up the pimples of his students' egos until they finally popped. He couldn't necessarily do this personally with every one of his students, but he would create the environment for this to happen. And such an environment it was! It was as if he created a hall of many mirrors in which we could see ourselves, with all our negativities and brilliance, in whatever direction we looked. All of our passions, jealousies, doubts, competitiveness, speed, and laziness seemed to come forth in abundance around Rinpoche, and he seemed to delight in it all. He would say, "I eat my students' shit.” (Hayward, p. 60)

He made a point of saying over and over again, “When students get fat like big ticks you have to pop them out into space.” (Perks, p. 195)

There is a classic story about this method. Unfortunately I do not remember which lama it is about, and I don’t have a printed reference.

The lama put a senior student in charge of a retreat center. The student thought that made him special. He became increasingly arrogant, abusive, and obnoxious. Other students went to the lama to complain—but he did nothing. This went on for what seemed far too long. Then the lama called a meeting. He had the senior student stand silently at the front of the room. He had each of the other students in turn say how he felt about the bully—who now suddenly was the victim.

This sort of lesson you could never forget. Some students might feel permanently crushed, or might be filled with long-term resentment or rage. For the right student, it could be powerfully transformative. They would learn that a position of power and responsibility makes it more important, not less, to be kind, considerate, and respectful to everyone.

Trust and responsibility

Rinpoche seemed to have immense trust in his students and to see the very best possibilities in us along with our arrogance, self-doubts, and hesitations. He would put us in positions that he felt could bring out that best . . . He would push and squeeze us . . . He was willing to take tremendous risks with his students, putting us in positions of responsibility and then leaving us to it, letting us make our own decisions and mistakes . . . And no matter what mistakes we made, he never gave up on his students. (Hayward, p. 230)

Trungpa Rinpoche gave his senior students jobs that went far beyond what they thought they were capable of. Many rose to the occasion and found strengths they did not know they possessed. Others failed—but then he found them other, surprising positions.

Jealousy among the sangha

Most of the hostile gossip about Ngak’chang Rinpoche comes originally from a few fellow students from twenty or more years ago. Some seem to be motivated by jealousies formed back then.

Unfortunately, jealousy between sangha members is probably inevitable. It is found in almost every sangha. If you are enthusiastic about the teachings, it is natural to want to be as close as possible to the teacher. Other sangha members may seem to be obstacles to getting time with the teacher. It is also samsaric human nature to want to be singled out as special, to be publicly praised by the teacher, and to be put in a position of power and responsibility by the teacher. Ideally, we can simply be aware of such feelings and regard them as funny. They sometimes lead to conflicts instead.

Jealousy is intensified by wrathful practice and by wrathful teaching. I will quote passages about this from Jeremy Hayward’s book about Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche, Warrior-King of Shambhala: Remembering Chögyam Trungpa.

Jealousy and wrathful practice

In wrathful practice, you set aside everything in your life other than Buddhism. This makes anything connected with Buddhist practice far more important than it would otherwise be. Any feelings around practice are intensified—including jealousy.

Anger and jealousy popped up again . . . We all wanted to be part of this brave new world, not to be left out of any smallest moment of it. He saw the potential brilliance and intelligence in each of his students and demanded everything from them, more than they even knew they had—and all of this could be quite addictive. In these early years he was drawing a group around him to work with him, so he did little at this point to deter our enthusiasm for being close to him, even elbowing others out of the way if necessary. (pp. 62-63)

[A senior student] became obsessed with the question of who was “in” and who was “out” of Rinpoche's intimate circle. There was no defined “in” or “out” as far as Rinpoche was concerned; it was simply a matter of how much you were able to relate with his world. Although we may have realized, at times, that it was mainly our own projection, this ambition to be “in” was a driving force for much of the politics and intrigue that went on around Rinpoche. It is not so different in any group of people—there is always some kind of inner circle that everyone aspires to be a part of. The difference in this case was that it affected people at the very core of their being and longing. (p. 126)

Jealousy and wrathful teaching

Wrathful teaching involves deliberately causing negative emotions—particularly anger—in students. One easy way to do that is set them against each other. The lama may deliberately create conflicts between students.

Rinpoche . . . often creat[ed] friction and feistiness among us that ignited a flame of great power and energy—all so that we could have the chance to leap to another level of genuine understanding. (p. 12)

People would come to one of us and say, “Rinpoche said we should do this,” and it would be quite difficult at times . . . Often people would have their own projections, or forcefully suggest something to Rinpoche to which he would agree, only to say quite the opposite to someone else. In that way we would frequently hear conflicting instructions prefaced by, “Rinpoche said . . .” (p. 241)

Appointing tantric teachers

Jealousies in the sangha come to a head when the time comes for the lama to appoint tantric teachers from among the senior students. Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche made it clear that he would appoint only one.

Choosing one successor was very important to Rinpoche . . . [this] became a cause of paranoia in the community—because if there was only to be one successor, then who would it be, and what would happen to the rest of us? . . . . [this] provided a clear mirror for our own feelings of specialness and one-up-manship. (p. 63)

Trungpa Rinpoche’s choice of successor, the Vajra Regent Ösel Tendzin, turned out to cause huge problems. Apparently he was brilliant and charming, but also arrogant and self-indulgent. He inspired passionate feelings, positive and negative. Shortly after Trungpa Rinpoche died, Ösel Tendzin was revealed to have infected students with the AIDS virus, apparently knowingly. This produced in an epic civil war in the sangha that lasted many years and nearly destroyed Trungpa Rinpoche’s legacy.

The sangha became utterly divided . . . there were people who were simply overwhelmed by their personal anger toward the Regent, perhaps some of it a surfacing of resentment, jealousy, and anger that had [previously] built up toward him. (p. 407)

The split and subsequent battle in the sangha was painful beyond belief, dividing families and friends. This period brought to the surface so much of our latent jealousies, antagonisms, and basic aggression that it became a tremendous catharsis for many of us. (p. 409)

Burying the hatchet

Although this has been the least pleasant section of “Approaching Aro,” I can end on a hopeful note.

The negative gossip about Aro mainly came originally from a few of Ngak’chang Rinpoche’s fellow students from twenty years ago. They appear to have been motivated by rivalries that developed in the emotional intensity of relating to their “wrathful” teachers. Some members of the Aro sangha who were around in those days have negative feelings about these critics as well. I have explained this by analogy to the similar rivalries among the students of Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche.

My hope is that everyone can let go of these old resentments. After twenty years, maybe it is time to bury the hatchet? It is easy for me to say that, since I was not around then, and I have no bad feelings about anyone. But the experience of Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche’s students suggests relaxing old hatreds is possible. Twenty years after their teacher’s death, they are finding reconciliation. And, after all, that is supposed to be one of the effects of Buddhist practice.

Jeremy Hayward, one of Trungpa Rinpoche’s closest students, recently wrote that—with time and extensive practice—he was able to let go of the old conflicts. And:

I too saw such softening and opening among many of my friends and colleagues; and, as well, I saw a growing strength and joy. I have seen many of Rinpoche's students change in this way almost miraculously . . . They are not different from who they always were. It is as if at last we are able simply to be who we always were, without constantly wanting to be something else—better or greater or whatever it may be. There have been fellow students who for many years I could barely stand to be with for ten minutes. Even though I knew they were good people and struggling on the path just as I was, their rough edges, whether of angry self-righteousness or seductive “come-hither,” were just too unpleasant to be around, at least in my perception. Then, years later, suddenly I would see them again—just the same people, yet those same characteristics that had seemed so unpleasant to me had subtly changed, as no doubt had I. The inner core of “look at me” seemed to have dissolved a little and there was genuine communication and even affection between us . . .

“The definition of Buddhist Alzheimer's is that you can't remember why you hated someone!”

(Warrior-King of Shambhala, pp. 398-399.)