The Collected Works of Chögyam Trungpa: Volume 4 (10 page)

On the other hand, we could act without guidelines. This possibility may be completely unappealing to people who are used to their luxury. Nevertheless, it is a very truthful way to relate with things, and there is no room for deception. In this approach there is no hospitality; we have to provide our own hospitality. We have to work on ourselves. We are provided with kits, K rations, booklets, and our own parachutes, and off we go. If we land on the top of a tree, we try to make the best of it; if we land in a gorge, we try to make the best of it. That is the nontheistic lifestyle: We can’t do everything for one another. We have to make do for ourselves. We have to learn how to live with nature. So the nontheistic tradition is much harsher than the theistic tradition. It is very skeptical, unyielding, and somewhat outrageous.

We are not comparing Eastern and Western philosophies here, but theistic and nontheistic traditions, wherever they occur. We might hypothesize that Easterners think in a different way than Westerners, and that Eastern philosophy expresses this different style of thought. But philosophy is not that neatly divided into East and West. The basic thinking processes of the East and the West are the same. The only difference that exists is between the thinking style of ego and non-ego. Failing to acknowledge that difference in style becomes a tremendous problem.

The standard approach to ecumenicism is to try to pretend that theism and nontheism are not different. But this is another theistic attempt to conceal the discomfort or the energy that comes from experiencing duality. We should be aware that differences exist. Then true ecumenicism, or continuity, can come about because of the differences.

In comparing theism and nontheism, we are discussing different approaches to separateness. In the theistic approach, we know that things are separate, but since we don’t like it, we feel we should
do
something about it. We don’t like the separateness, so we try to overcome it to the best of our ability, and that becomes an enormous problem. In the nontheistic approach, we also know that things are separate; therefore things are unified. Things are different, but that is not regarded as a problem. Fire is hot and water is cold, but still they can coexist. Fire can boil water, changing it into steam, and water can kill fire. We should not be embarrassed about the functions of the universe.

We are still talking about energy—energy and reality. And we are concerned with what actual reality is. Is reality a gap, a crack, or is reality a big sheet of cloth, all-pervasive? In the nontheistic tradition of Buddhist tantra, when we begin to have a relationship with the world, we do not try to make sure that the world is part of us. In fact, the question of separation does not come up at all. According to the nontheistic tradition, we do not believe ourselves to be creatures. We are some kind of being—or nonbeing, for that matter—but we were never created, and therefore we are not particularly creatures. Nevertheless, there is a sense of continuity, without hysteria, without panic, without any congratulatory remarks or attempts to smooth things out. The world exists and we exist. We and the world are separate from that point of view—but so what? We could regard the separateness as part of the continuity rather than trying to deny it.

In the nontheistic approach, there is continuity, openness, and oneness—but in the sense of zeroness rather than even oneness. The nonexistence of a dualistic barrier does not quite mean that we are one, but that we are zero. Nontheism is the basis for understanding that. Tantra is continuity, so the thread of tantra runs through our life from beginning to end. In a sense, the beginning is part of the end, so a complete circle, or mandala, is formed. The beginning is the beginning of the end, and the end is the beginning of the beginning. That continuity is tantra. It is the continuous thread of openness that we could experience throughout our lives. Because of that, whatever sense perceptions or realms of experience come up, we can work through them.

From this point of view energy is very simple, extremely simple: energy is separate from you; therefore, energy is part of you. Without
you
separateness cannot exist. That is the dichotomy in Buddhist logic: you have form; therefore you do not have form. You cannot have form if you do not have formlessness, if you do not acknowledge or perceive formlessness. In the same way, you exist
because
you do not exist. Such riddles are regarded by Buddhists as the truth.

According to the tantric tradition of nontheism, energy is vital and important. Of course, in this approach we are viewing the world purely as a psychological process: if we do not have mind, we do not exist. The world comes out of our mind; it is created by our mind. From that point of view, working with energy, or developing siddhi, means that we do not have to depend on feedback but that we relate with life as straightforwardly and directly as possible. We relate directly to our domestic world, our enemies, our friends, our relatives, business partners, policemen, the government, or whatever happens in our life. We relate directly with energy as much as possible.

We are not talking about centralizing energy within ourselves, making ourselves into little atom bombs and then exploding. Working with energy in a tantric sense is a decentralized process. That is a very important point. We are talking about energy as something spreading, opening. Energy becomes all-pervasive. It is all and everywhere. If we centralize energy in ourselves, we are asking for trouble. We will find that we become like baby snakes who are vicious and angry but still very small. Or we may find that we are like extremely passionate, horny little baby peacocks. So it is important to remember that, in Buddhist tantra, energy is openness and all-pervasiveness. It is constantly expanding. It is decentralized energy, a sense of flood, ocean, outer space, the light of the sun and moon.

FIVE

Transmission

O
UR NEXT TOPIC
is the transmission of vajrayana teachings from teacher to student. Before we can discuss transmission, however, it seems necessary to go back a step and examine our level of sanity and discipline. We need to examine what we have accomplished in our relationship with the world. If we have not been able to make a relationship with our suffering, frustrations, and neuroses, the feasibility of transmission is remote, extremely remote, for we have not even made a proper relationship with the most basic level of our experience.

I could say to you, “Forget all that. Forget your pain and suffering; it is going to be okay.” I could give you all kinds of antidotes: tranquilizers, mantras, and tricks. I could say, “Soon you’ll feel good. Soon you’ll forget your pain, and then you’ll be in a beautiful place.” But that would be an enormous falsity, and in the long run, such an approach is ungenerous and extremely destructive to the spiritual path. It is like giving our children tranquilizers whenever they begin to misbehave so that they will fall asleep. It saves us the trouble of getting a baby-sitter and changing diapers, but the child becomes a complete zombie. That is not the human thing to do, we must admit, and giving someone a spiritual tranquilizer is just as primitive as that. We suffer tremendously if we treat spirituality in that way, and we have to pay for it later on. Enormous problems arise—both resentment and discontent.

One approach that is used in presenting spirituality is to say that if we have any questions, we should just forget them. We should regard them as outside the circle of the spiritually initiated. We should forget all our negativity: “Don’t ask any questions; just drop them. It is important that you have hope, that you go beyond your questions. Only if you accept the whole thing will you be saved.” That strategy is used to take advantage of the sanity of human beings—which is unlawful.

Jetsün Milarepa (1040–1123). The chief disciple of Marpa, Milarepa is renowned for his songs of devotion and realization. This statue was a shrine object of Gampopa, Milarepa’s chief disciple
.

PHOTO BY GEORGE HOLMES AND BLAIR HANSEN.

Someone may tell us that, if we commit ourselves to a particular practice or path, within four weeks we are going to be okay; we are going to be “high” forever. So we try it, and it works—but not forever. After six weeks, at most, or perhaps after only ten days, we begin to come down, and then we begin to panic and wonder what is going on. Usually the most faithful students blame themselves, feeling they have mismanaged the practice: “I must have some problem that I haven’t cleared up yet. I must not have done my confession properly, or given in properly.” But that is not the case at all. The problem is the way they were indoctrinated into their spiritual practice.

We accept what is presented to us with an open mind, which is beautiful, but then its truth does not hold up. Because of the basic deception involved in our initiation, all sorts of holes begin to develop. Unfortunately, we become the victims of those lies, deceptions, or charlatanisms, and we feel the effects constantly, over and over again.

So we have a problem with spiritual transmission, a problem of how to get real transmission from a competent master into our system. At this point, we are talking purely about the beginner’s level and the preparations that might be needed in order for spiritual transmission to occur in the very early stages. It is necessary for us to sharpen our cynicism, to sharpen our whole critical attitude toward what we are doing. That cynicism provides a basis for our study and work. For instance, if we are building a bridge, we begin by constructing the framework. It could be made of timber or iron rods, but the skeleton must be built before we pour the concrete. That is an example of the cynical approach. It is absolutely necessary to have that kind of cynical attitude if we are going to build a bridge, and it is necessary to be cynical in our approach to spirituality as well.

We need to encourage an attitude of constant questioning, rather than ignoring our intelligence, which is a genuine part of our potential as students. If students were required to drop their questions, that would create armies and armies of zombies—rows of jellyfish sitting next to each other. But, to use a local expression, that is not so neat. In fact, it is messy. Preparing a beautifully defined and critical background for what we are doing to ourselves and what the teaching is doing to us is absolutely important,
absolutely
important. Without that critical background, we cannot develop even the slightest notion or flavor of enlightenment.

Enlightenment is based on both prajna, or discriminating awareness, and compassion. But without cynicism, we do not have either. We do not have any compassion for ourselves because we are looking for something outside of ourselves, and we want to find the best way to get it. We also do not have any prajna, or clarity. We become completely gullible, and we are liable to be sucked in without any understanding, none whatsoever.

Transmission is like receiving a spiritual inheritance. In order to inherit our spiritual discipline, in order to have a good inheritance, we should become worthy vessels. In order to become worthy vessels, we have to drop the attitude that we are going to be saved, that there is going to be a magically painless operation, and that all we have to do is pay the doctor’s fee. We have the notion that if we pay the doctor, everything will be taken care of. We can just relax and let him do what he wants. That attitude is simple-minded. It is absolutely necessary to think twice. The questioning mind is absolutely necessary; it is the basis of receiving transmission.

I am not stressing the importance of critical intelligence because Buddhism is just now being introduced to America and the West. It is not that I think students here might be more gullible. Buddhism is a strong tradition that has existed for twenty-five hundred years, and throughout the ages students have been given these same instructions. Throughout the ages they have contributed their neuroses and their mistakes to help shape the methods and means of the Buddhist lineage. A learning process has been taking place for twenty-five hundred years, in fact, even longer. And we have inherited all of that experience. So this approach is ages old rather than a sudden panic. It is an old way, very old and very traditional.

One of the responsibilities of the lineage holder is not to give an inch, but to keep up the tradition. At this point, tradition does not mean dressing up in robes and playing exotic music or having dakinis dancing around us, or anything like that. Tradition is being faithful to what we have been taught and to our own integrity. From this point of view, tradition is being awake and open, welcoming but at the same time stubborn.

According to tradition, the teacher should treat his students in this stubborn way: He should require that his students practice properly, in accordance with the tradition of the lineage. There are problems when a teacher is too kind to students who do not belong to the teacher’s race and upbringing. Some teachers from the East seem to be excited by foreignness: “Wow! Finally we are going to teach the aliens, the overseas people.” Because of this fascination and out of a naive generosity, they make unnecessary concessions. Although such teachers may be liberal enough to include Occidental students, to take them to heart and be very kind to them, their extraordinary kindness may be destructive.