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Padampa Portrait - Part Two

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Detail of the Padampa lineage painting,
+1 level - click to expand - 
© Sotheby's 
Today we will continue from the last blog where we talked about the content of the middle register with its central figure being none other Padampa himself.  Now we proceed to move gradually, one level at a time, upward to see who among the Indian teachers of Padampa we may encounter there.
Above you see six circles (go ahead and download it so you can see the details), each enclosing a group of Padampa’s teachers. If  you look closely you will see that the first and last of the six circles contain 5 female figures each, while the four middle circles (the 2nd through the 5th) each contain 11 male figures. Each circle includes a central figure, and the identification of the central figure gives us a key to identifying the group of persons depicted around them. The total number of figures depicted here adds up to 54, which is the correct number for the frequently mentioned group of “54 male and female common siddha teachers of the authorization transmissions” (thun-mong lung-gi bla-ma grub-thob pho mo lnga-bcu-rtsa-bzhi). The word ‘common’ here just means that these teachers were not uniquely Padampa’s but had other students as well. It does not mean ordinary. If you remember, we have a Dharmaśrī text (Dh) that gives a more detailed version of the earlier Jamyang Gonpo text (JG). Both texts treat this as a lineage tree visualization, with the meditator at the center, although they are different in their order, creating a mild and not-all-that lethal confusion. Like our two authorities, we will save the women teachers for later, and start with the 2nd circle. JG says that to the meditator’s back is a group of eleven lamas for the knowledge of philosophy and grammar made up of Klu-sgrub-snying-po and so on. JG has no full listing of names, but this is supplied by Dh. I’ve added what I believe to be the correct Sanskrit forms of the names, although not always with the kind of complete confidence that might be desired by some of you:

[D1] Klu-sgrub-snying-po.  Nāgārjunagarbha or Nāgārjunasāra.
[D2] Shes-rab-bzang-po.  Prajñābhadra.
[D3] Yon-tan-'od.  Guṇaprabha.
[D4] Chos-grags.  Dharmakīrti.
[D5] Ā-ka-ri-siddhi.  Ākarasiddhi.
[D6] Shangka-ra.  Śaṅkara.
[D7] Ye-shes-snying-po.  Jñānagarbha.
[D8] Thogs-med.  Asaṅga.
[D9] Ārya-de-ba.  Āryadeva.
[D10] Zhi-ba-lha.  Śāntideva.
[D11] Gser-gling-pa.  Suvarṇadvīpin.

Klu-sgrub-snying-po is none other than the Nāgārjuna figure with the multiple snakes forming a cover over his head (look closely and you will see them) in the center of the 2nd circle.

If the next group (the 3rd circle) is not at all clear in the painting, we may nevertheless surmise that it must be the group centered on Saraha. He is not often depicted without an arrow, and you don't see any arrow held by any of the other central figures, so this group must be his. (I hope you followed this somewhat tortuous logic. Anyway, the seating posture appears to be the one usually adopted by Saraha.) Here is Dh's listing of the group visualized in front of the meditator, the eleven lamas of the symbolic [transmission of] Great Sealing:

[A1] Sa-ra-ha.  Saraha.
[A2] Tsārya-pa.  Caryāpa.
[A3] Gu-ṇa-ti.  Guṇati?
[A4] Tog-tse-pa.  Kuddāla.
[A5] Ko-ṣha-pa.  Koṣapa?
[A6] Sha-ba-ta.  Śabari?
[A7] Mai-tri-pa.  Maitripā.
[A8] Phā-ga-ra-siddhi.  Sāgarasiddhi.
[A9] Nyi-ma-sbas-pa.  Ravigupta.
[A10] Ā-ka-ra-siddhi.  Ākarasiddhi.
[A11] Ratna-badzra. Ratnavajra.

With only two remaining, it might seem a problem to decide which is which, but I believe the group centered around Buddhaguhya must be the one represented in the non-tantric style, while the one circled around the portly yogi must be the one centered around Saroruhavajra (Mtsho-skyes-rdo-rje), the Hevajra Tantra author, and Hevajra is usually regarded as a Mother Tantra.  So the group in the 4th circle must be the one that includes these persons listed in Dh, visualized to the meditator’s left side.  They are called the 11 lamas of the Mother Tantra experience of bliss (ma rgyud bde ba nyams kyi bla ma bcu gcig):

[C1] Mtsho-skyes-rdo-rje.  Saroruhavajra.
[C2] Indra-bhū-ti.  Indrabhūti.
[C3] Ḍombhi-pa.  Ḍombipa.
[C4] Rdo-rje-dril-bu-pa.  Vajraghaṇṭapa.
[C5] Ti-li-pa.  Tilopa.
[C6] Nag-po-zhabs.  Kṛṣṇapa.
[C7] Sgeg-pa-rdo-rje.  Lalitavajra.
[C8] Lū-i-pa. Lūyipa.
[C9] Bi-rū-pa.  Virūpa.
[C10] Kun-snying (i.e., Kun-dga'-snying-po).  Ānandagarbha.
[C11] Ku-ku-ra-pa.  Kukuripa.

The 5th circle contains the group headed by Buddhaguhya.  Its members are listed by Dh under the descriptive name “the 11 lamas of the Father Tantra winds of motility.” 

[B1] Sangs-rgyas-gsang-ba.  Buddhaguhya.
[B2] Padma-badzra.  Padmavajra.
[B3] Ngag-gi-dbang-phyug.  Vāgīśvara.
[B4] Go-dha-ri.  Godhari? Elsewhere spelled Gu-bha-ri and Ghu-da-ri-pa.
[B5] Karma-badzra.  Karmavajra.
[B6] Dza-ba-ti.  Jabaripa.
[B7] Ye-shes-zhabs.  Jñānapāda
[B8] Klu-byang.  Nāgabodhi.
[B9] Swa-nantā.  Ānanda?
[B10] Kṛhṇa-pa.  Kṛṣṇapa.
[B11] Ba-su-dha-ri.  Vasudhārin.

Now for the group of 10 women teachers divided between the first and last circles.  I have no iconographic means to distinguish which is which at the moment, so I will just list them as one group. They are called “the ten skygoers who are lams of direct introduction to awareness” (mkha' 'gro ma rig pa ngo sprod kyi bla ma bcu):

[E1] Ḍā-ki Su-kha-siddhi.  Sukhāsiddhī.
[E2] Ri-khrod-ma.  Śabarī.
[E3] Padmo-zhabs.  Padmopāda?
[E4] Ku-mu-da.  Kumudā.
[E5] Bde-ba'i-'byung-gnas.  Sukhākara.
[E6] Ganggā-bzang-mo.  Gaṅgābhadrī.
[E7] Tsi-to-ma.  Cintā.
[E8] La-kṣhi-ma.  Lakṣmī.
[E9] Shing-lo-ma.  Parṇā?
[E10] There ought to be ten in the list, but I can only count nine.  The missing one would be  Dri-med-ma.  In Sanskrit, Vimalā. 

Oh my sore back! We’re not nearly done yet with the upper part of the painting, and I’ve already gotten tired. It was a lot more work than I had thought it would be, and I’m not sure how much you are really appreciating it. I can hear some people saying, ‘Too much information already!’ Let me just put off the rest for now and take a short rest. 


At least we’ve gotten through one more very significant part of the painting and identified the figures that are included in the six circles immediately above the figure of Padampa. This is the main group of his Indian teachers according to the sources. If you want to know whether Padampa met these teachers in the flesh or in vision (some, like Saraha, surely must have lived long before him), I don’t have much of an answer that would satisfy everyone. Perhaps it makes better sense to observe that all these teachers’ names appear in texts that were of primary importance to the Zhijé school, in particular the trilogy called the Gold Ball, Silver Ball and Crystal Ball. If you want to know more about these texts, look in the bibliography and look up the references for yourself if you will.


I plan to go ahead with the rest of the painting, although I’m not so sure I will put it all up here on Tibeto-logic blog. I can say that each of the groups of figures above Padampa has something to do with revealing or transmitting specific teachings that are represented in the form of texts in the Zhijé Collection.


I do think a careful consideration of the group of Tibetan students of Padampa in the lower part of the painting might have interesting implications for reconsidering the date of the painting. So maybe we’ll look at that part next time instead of moving up into the higher levels.



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Bibliography:


Kurtis Schaeffer, Crystal Orbs and Arcane Treasuries: Tibetan Anthologies of Buddhist Tantric Songs from the Tradition of Pha Dam pa sangs rgyas, Acta Orientalia (Oslo), vol. 68 (2007), pp. 5-73. Here on pp. 20-22, you may find English translations of incipit and colophon for three texts that explicitly state that they are teachings of the “54 male and female teachers.” The same three texts may be found in the publication that follows, pp. 1-16.


Mkhas-grub Khyung-po-rnal-'byor et al., Zhi byed dang shangs pa'i chos skor, Dpal brtsegs bod yig dpe rnying zhib 'jug khang, Bod ljongs mi dmangs dpe skrun khang (Lhasa 2010). This is a small and handsome paperback volume, no. 7 in the series called Mkhyen brtse'i 'od snang, containing several of the key Zhijé texts in a nicely edited form with very clear print, making them easier to read. All of the Zhijé texts included in this book have been published previously. I mention it here because it’s inexpensive and accessible.

The Zhijé Collection, as I call it for short, is the most important available resource on Padampa and his Zhijé teachings by far (originally in 4 volumes, but published in 5). TBRC (Tibetan Buddhist Resource Center) makes it available in PDFs, which is wonderful, but they catalog it under the name Zhi byed snga bar phyi gsum gyi skor.  This incorrect title implies that it includes the early and middle transmission texts of the Zhijé, when in fact it has the texts of the later transmission alone.* 
(*This means primarily the one transmitted by Kunga, although there were 3 other disciples of Padampa who held transmissions that are also called “later” and that had smaller text collections that have not surfaced yet, although they certainly existed in earlier times.)

To get to the Zhijé Collection, trythis link, or if that doesn’t work, try this one (http://www.tbrc.org/) and type “W23911” in their search box. In the future, if a Tibetan title for the collection is needed, I think it ought to reflect the title that is actually there on the manuscript. Although difficult to read in the reprint edition, it is more legible in the microfilm version of the text that was made independently by the Nepal-German Manuscript Preservation Project. What we find there is this:  Dam chos snying po zhi byed las / rgyud phyi snyan rgyud zab khyad ma bzhugs // glang skor bzim chung phyag pe'o [~glang 'khor gzim chung phyag dpe'o].If a short title is needed, I recommend Zab khyad ma, which means [the manuscript - or the transmission it represents - called] Exceptionally Profound.


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Note: No sooner had I posted this blog than I thought I have to take back my idea about calling the entire Zhijé Collection under the name Zab khyad ma. Actually, although it only appears in the microfilm of the text (like so many other things, actually), there is a colophon at the end of the first volume (ka) of the original manuscript that brings the Zab khyad ma to an end. In other words, this title only applies to the teachings of Padampa and his Indian teachers, and not to the responsa (zhu-lan) texts etc. of Kunga and later members of the lineage that fill up the rest of the collection (and the greater bulk of it).  Another point that may seem small, the information in this colophon applies only to the first volume, and ought to be understood as a copying of an earlier (now ‘lost’) textual entity that had the same content as the first volume... OK, enough of that for now.

End of Tibetology in Sight

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Photo by F.S. Chapman, Lhasa 1936

At the risk of instigating largely gratuitous Schadenfreude on the part of a whole slew of opponents of our reputedly hallowed discipline, a recent development causes me to call the very idea of continuation into question. What use are we Tibetologists if all the words of Tibetan literature have become instantly Googleable?

I’ll admit, I myself may be (in my own small way) part of the problem, and I don’t have any idea about a solution short of shutting down the worldwide web. Still, I’ll ramble on a bit about this thing tugging away at the back of my mind.

I know some of you are thinking, well...errrh, ‘I never even once had occasion to call upon the services of a Tibetologist anyway, so what’s the use of them? Why be concerned if they no longer find things to keep them busy?’ True enough, it’s not as if by extracting their noses from their books there is imminent danger of them rushing out and making a nuisance of themselves with normal citizens out in the streets. So what is the problem? ‘Put them in wireless-free retirement homes ASAP! They won’t be missed.’

I hear you. Still, I’m thinking, What is a researcher to do now that practically everything is done for her or him? No need to search the day away, scanning frantically with our g-d-given eyeballs, page after page for a single citation. Even first-year Tibetan language students will be able to find out in an instant how many times a word or phrase is used in the entire 108-volume (or so) collection of Buddhist scriptures in Tibetan translations that we know as the Kanjur or Bka'-'gyur (‘translations of the Word of Buddha’)...  and not only that, but also in the more-than 200-volume [or so] set of Tibetan translations of the mainly India-composed works that further illuminate the Kanjur texts known as the Tenjur or Bstan-'gyur (‘translations of the treatises’).

Now those 1st-year students will be instantly producing cutting edge research in this no-longer existent field — no sooner done than published in free but refereed internet journals of repute — that would have taken their fathers (and of course their grandfathers and mothers) years of painstaking eyesight-destroying research, even assuming they could get so far before entering the intermediate states of the bardos.

With all this talk I’ve just been stalling for time, hesitating to let anyone know that there is such a resource out there ready for their use, one that I had nothing to do with creating, and one with which I have no financial ties whatsoever. In fact, I wonder why I would send anyone there at all, since it would appear that it’s putting not only me, but all of us, out of a work...  Unless by work you mean being a google-box click fool permanently wired to the internet, one who will perhaps forget what it once felt like to unwrap a dpe-cha and flip through its long paper pages, contemplating meanings.

Go HERE and then I’ll be quiet.

My, that quiet sounds nice, now, doesn’t it!

Three Jewels on Fire


For those who may need fuller instructions, I should say to go to this URL based in Vienna, Austria:




(I’ve also put this link in the “Tibetological Toolbox” in the sidebar, over to your right, for your future reference.)


Then tap on the words “Full eTexts Kanjur” that you will find there.

Then type the word or phrase you want to find (in Wylie transcription exactly as you wish to find it... no need to add boolean operators or quote marks) in the box provided.

And if you find it useful, as most of you no doubt will, thank profusely the people who came together to make it happen, including the many hands that produced the ocean of eTexts it sails over.


If you have experience or knowledge of this site, or know about similar projects in the works, please send us your comments, since we’d love to learn more.




A demonstration, if one be needed:

I was especially interested in a verb bdungs-pa, which means, according to the Btsan-lha dictionary, bsad-pa (‘killed’). But as I’ve found it in the Mkhas-pa Lde'u history (pp. 52, 236), it can’t possibly have this meaning, but rather has something to do with stringing a bow, as in gzhu rang bdungs, which must mean: the bow [that] strung itself.  (One of a set of weapons with amazing powers, something we’ll talk about another time.) Some glossaries seem to think it means nocking or loading the bow with the notch of an arrow. However, in certain sources it is clear that it means stringing the bow, and not loading it with an arrow, since it takes place a good while before the actual archery competition (in the life of the Buddha as told in the famous Lalitavistara).  rgyal bus gzhu blangs te bdungs nas gzhu rgyud sbrengs pa'i sgra 'brug skad ltar zer te. (But note the verb sbrengs-pa here also means stringing of the bow.)  I noticed this phrase on p. 98 of the modern book reprint of the Sutra of the Wise and the Fool (Mdzangs-blun) I picked up earlier this year in Nepal.

So my idea is that it ought to mean the stringing of the bow, but that some authors might have thought it meant loading the arrow on to the bow.  If only the lexicons are to blame, it’s one thing, but what about real Tibetan translators and authors?  Did they ever understand it that way?

Let’s see what happens when we make use of this new search tool for the Kanjur and Tanjur!  (I’ll come back here when I find something out.)

Oh, my.  It may be an unusual word, but not quite as rare as I had imagined.  We get three occurrences in the Vinayavastu, and two in the Vinayavibhaṅga.

It occurs once in the Udayanavatsa Rāja Paripṛcchā.  It occurs in five other sûtras, sometimes multiple (2, 3 or even 5) times each.

It appears in five different tantra scriptures.

Here's a short example of a context from one of the sûtras. It’s the Drin-lan bsab-pa'i mdo, ‘Repaying the Kindness [of Buddha] Sûtra,’ which I believe is one of those relatively rare canonical translations done from Chinese):

de nas rngon pa des gzhu bdungs/ mda' ltong du bcug...

“Then that hunter strung the bow and loaded [the string with] the arrow notch.”

This certainly supports the idea that it means ‘to string’ and not ‘to nock.’  I’d have to study all the other examples to know if other texts might argue for the other interpretation (I didn’t notice one right off). My point here is that you can take an unusual word of problematic meaning and see how it functions in every possible context in the Kanjur and Tanjur.* It’s likely that with some effort you will be enabled to come to a conclusion of proven reliability. Getting through those occasional tough spots can make all the difference for the accuracy of a translation. And no, dictionaries don’t have all the meanings you need. And sometimes, as in this example, they have meanings nobody needs.

(*Well, I can’t answer the question of whether full coverage is provided or not, and even if it is [as it seems], there is still the problem of miss-readings and typos that certainly can get in the way of our certainty about the results when using databases of any sort.)


Roof-top tomb mosaic,



Galla Placidia Mausoleum

Ravenna

New Old Histories

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Two ragdung players at Tharlam Monastery, Bodhanath 2011; it is said the ragdung was invented for the ceremonial welcoming of Jowo Jé Atiśa into Tibet in 1042 CE - the name rag-dung means brass conch.
































I doubt anyone remembers, but I once seriously blogged about an old history that all of a sudden became available some years ago. That was the Dge-ye history,  and the Dge-ye history is in fact one of those numbered among the hundreds of historical and biographical works that we will be seeing in facsimile editions and computer-font paperback reprints over the next year or two from the editorial house of Dpal-brtsegs in Lhasa. All these books, I believe, come from the Drepung Monastery libraries,* that until a few years ago were completely closed off from everyone, it seemed. But then a huge 2-volume catalog was published (Drepung Catalog), and since then some select titles from this ocean of texts have been getting reprinted in one form or another.
(* I should clarify that in the introduction to the small paperback Table of Contents that accompanies the History Set, you find a statement that 50% are from the libraries of Drepung, 30% from other Tibetan monasteries, 10% from private individuals, and a further 10% from foreign libraries.)
The History Set (I’ll just call it “HS” - bibliographical information below) I’m talking about is published in traditional pecha format, but on nice smooth white paper, and thankfully not the brown grocery bag quality paper so much used in Tibet in recent years (sorry to complain about it, but the lack of contrast is really very hard on your eyes when you try reading it for long periods).


I may tell you about more of the important new-old histories another time, but for the moment I will limit myself to the content of volume 19. Perhaps the most exciting new old history, in my book, would be the Kālacakra history by Chag Lo “the Third.”  


This history appeared in the bibliography Tibetan Histories, published by Serindia (London 1997, now out of print, apparently), like this:


















-133-
late 1400’s
Chag Lo Rin-chen-chos-rgyal, Dus-’khor Chos-’byung Dpag-bsam Snye-ma.  A history of Kâlacakra Tantra. Ref.: MHTL, no. 12258.  Mdo-smad Chos-’byung:  “Chag Lo Gsum-pa Rin-chen-chos-rgyal-gyi Dus-’khor Chos-’byung.” In Mkhas-pa’i Dga’-ston (Lokesh Chandra’s edition, part 3, p. 842), we read:  “Chag Lo Gsum-pa’i Dus-’khor Chos-’byung” (compare Helmut Hoffmann, “Kâlacakra Studies I: Addenda et Corrigenda,” Central Asiatic Journal, vol. 15 [1971], pp. 298-301). This refers to a history of Kâlacakra by “a/the third Chag Lo.”  Evidently we are to understand by this that he should not be confused with, and probably dates from a later time than, the two famous Chag Translators: Chag Lo Dgra-bcom (1153-1216) and Chag Lo Chos-rje-dpal (1197-1264), the former being the uncle of the latter.  We may at least surmise from all of this that our history has to date from somewhere between the 13th and early 16th centuries. It seems most likely that our author is the Rin-chen-chos-rgyal (b. 1447) who became abbot of Rte’u-ra in 1460 (Blue Annals, p. 1060). This Rte’u-ra Monastery had served as the headquarters for both of the famous teachers named Chag Lo (and it does make sense, then, that one of the members of the abbatial succession would be called a ‘third Chag Lo’)... 

(For even more information about this history, see the online Addenda, scrolling down to entry no. 133.)



Congratulations to Dpal-brtsegs for a great job of producing these books, and thank you for making it possible to read hitherto unavailable historical texts that are bound to be found fantastically fascinating for persons of Tibeto-logical interests.


(I have a general policy not to put up links to commercial enterprises, but with book suppliers this is sometimes difficult, and anyway, in this particular case I would be neglecting to point you in the direction of some very important information, in fact two PDFs that tell you the content of the first 60 volumes of the set. Look here. And prepare yourself to be amazed at what you will find. And forgive me for violating my principles...  What?  Again?)


~ ~ ~















Drepung Catalog:  Dpal-brtsegs Bod-yig Dpe-rnying Zhib-’jug-khang,’Bras-spungs Dgon-du Bzhugs-su Gsol-ba’i Dpe-rnying Dkar-chag, Mi-rigs Dpe-skrun-khang (Beijing 2004), in 2 volumes (pagination continuous).  

HS  —  Dpal-brtsegs Bod-yig Dpe-rnying Zhib-’jug Khang, ed., Bod-kyi Lo-rgyus Rnam-thar Phyogs-bsgrigs (‘Collection of Tibetan Histories and Biographies’), Mtsho-sngon Mi-rigs Dpe-skrun-khang (Xining 2011), 30 volumes published so far, with another 60 or more said to be forthcoming.  The HS of the abbreviation just stands for “history set.”

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Vol. 19 (dza):

1 - Chag Lo Rin-chen-chos-rgyal, Dus-’khor Chos-’byung Dpag-bsam Snye-ma.  HS, vol. 19 (dza), pp. 1-458. Notice how, strangely enough, at fol. 106 (meaning page 212) the xylographic printing gives way to manuscript cursive (on line 4) and the text continues on the next folio marked 123 (this and all remaining pages are in cursive). I made a chapter outline (found below), which ought to give a general idea about what is to be found in this history. The colophon doesn’t mention a date of composition, although it does give a problematic date for the carving of the woodblocks. I'm quite sure that the composition must date to somewhere in the vicinity of 1500 CE, since the author’s dates are usually given at 1447 CE, and the colophon mentions a behester (bskul-pa-po) by the name of Skal-bzang-chos-kyi-rgya-mtsho'i-sde. The latter is well known as author in 1494 of a biography of the Buddha that was behested by whom? Well, believe it or not!  None other than our history writer Chag Lo the Third.*  
(*For dating arguments, see Franz-Karl Ehrhard's article in The Birth of the Buddha, Lumbini International Research Institute, Lumbini 2010, pp. 358-360.)

2 - Dpal Dus-kyi-’khor-lo'i Spyi-bshad Mkhas-pa’i Mgul-rgyan [p. 459, with marginal notation ka, as if it were the first part of some set].  HS, vol. 19 (dza), pp. 459-573.  Here is the complete overly-brief colophon from p. 573:  dpal khang lo tsa'i skye ba mkhas mchog gzhan phan dbang po'i sdes mdzad pa'o. This says it was composed by a supreme scholar Gzhan-phan-dbang-po’i-sde, a rebirth of Dpal-khang Lo-tsa-ba (the well-known lexicographer). I’m hoping to learn more about this author, who probably flourished in about the same time as Chag Lo III, or possibly a little later.    




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A chapter outline of Chag Lo III's history:















Ch. 1:  Sangs rgyas kyis gsungs pa.  How it was spoken by the Buddha.  1-41.
Ch. 2:  Sa bcu'i byang chub sems dpas bka' bsdus shing 'grel pas bkral ba.  How the Bodhisattvas of the ten Grounds gathered the Word and commentated on it with their commentaries.  41-63.
Ch. 3:  Grub chen rnams kyis thugs nyams su bzhes shing paṇ chen rnams kyis 'bel gtam gyis gtan la phab pa.  How the accomplished ones took the practices to heart and the panditas established the teachings with their fine compositions.  63-102.
Ch. 4:  Lo tsā bas bod skad du bsgyur ba.  How the translators translated it into Tibetan.  102-107.
Ch. 5:  No chapter title given.  The seven schools of Kālacakra transmission in Tibet.
1. Gyi-jo School.  107.
2. 'Bro School.  107.
3. Rwa School.  263.
4. Tsa-mi School.  347.
5. Paṇ-chen Śākyaśrī School.  404.
-. Chag School.  412 (?).
7. Śābara School.  427.



Pechas in Wrappings


P.S.  In case anyone missed it who shouldn’t have, another vitally important source of new old histories is this recent one:
Per K. Sørensen and Sonam Dolma, Rare Texts from Tibet: Seven Sources for the Ecclesiastic History of Medieval Tibet, Lumbini International Research Institute (Lumbini 2007).

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Postscript:

In case you wonder why this book is supposed to be all that important. I would say there are a lot of reasons, the main one being the coverage it gives for some of the less well-known transmission lineages of the Kâlacakra. Just as a teaser for some of you real history freaks out there, I recommend having a look at page 60 (line 3) which tells us there was a king of Ta-zhig named Mer-mu-le-hab in the time of Sad-na-legs. Chag Lo then adds that this information can be known from the inscribed stone (the rdo-ring) located at the tomb of Sad-na-legs. Skeptics can have a look for themselves, but the inscribed stone at Sad-na-legs’ tomb has been silted over during the intervening centuries, and the lower lines could only be read after much digging and then only with difficulty. Hugh Richardson in his book A Corpus of Early Tibetan Inscriptions (pp. 84-91) did his best, but lines 30-46 are in large part missing, a word here and there, so few of them that Richardson didn’t even attempt a translation.  Among those scattered words we may see mention of Turks (Dru-gu) and Upper (Western) Uigurs (Stod Hor). In the clearly now-existing words, it tells us that Sad-na-legs “extended his powerful commands and his dominions to the four quarters and the eight directions.” It is usually the case that the western quarter is represented by the Persians (for whom Ta-zhig is the form used in Old Tibetan texts, with the later spelling being Stag-gzig[s]). I don’t want to pound too vigorously on this point. After all, I haven't identified who this Mer-mu-le-hab might be. What I can tell you is that it is quite possible, nay likely, that having this history at the disposal of historians might help them to fill out a missing detail or two in an early 9th century inscription that serves as one of the primary sources for early Tibetan history. Enough said... for now.*


(*Well, I seem to be having one whale of a time putting in a last word so I can get this thing posted and be done with it. But perhaps needlessly said there is more to this story. Richardson, in his original article on this particular rdo-ring (JRAS 1969, possible to locate in JSTOR), gives a passage from the Rgyal-po Bka'-thang that supplies the names of two Ta-zhig kings, La-mer-mu and Hab-gdal... Those two names have a distinct similarity to our one name! Some have suggested this La-mer-mu might be 'Amr ibn Muslim, while others think it could be al-Mahmun, a 9th-century Abbasid caliph... Well, at least the reign dates of al-Maʾmūn, 813-833, puts him right in the correct time frame to be in some kind of contact with Sad-na-legs. Hab-gdal sure looks like Hephthalites to me, won’t you agree?)

§  §  §


Source:  B.A. Litvinsky, et al., eds., History of Civilizations of Central Asia, Volume III: The Crossroads of Civilizations, A.D. 250 to 750, Motilal Banarsidass (Delhi 1999), p. 382:
“The memory of the taxes paid by the Arabs has also been preserved in the Tibetan historical tradition according to which two Ta-zig (=Arab) kings, La-mer-mu and Hab-gdal, ‘having taken kindly to Tibetan command, paid punctually without fail their gems and wealth'.  (Thomas 1935: I 273)  La-mer-mu may be an abridged form of the name ‘Amr b. Muslim, while Hab-gdal may have preserved the memory of ‘Abdallah b. al-Zubair.  The latter evidence may also illustrate the successful resistance of the Gandharan population against the Arab conquest. However, the struggle was not decided here but in the far north at Talas, where the Arabs and Türks won a decisive victory over the Chinese army in 751."
I have to say that this paragraph is a little confusing, since it would seem something was settled in 751 over matters that had to do with the reign of Sad-na-legs in the early decades of the 9th century.  Let's see what Thomas actually published in the work just cited, which is indeed a translated excerpt from the Rgyal-po Bka'-thang, chapter 7:
“In the west the Ta-zig kings there established, king La-mer-mu and Hab-gdal, having taken kindly to Tibetan command, paid punctually without fail their gems and wealth and five-loads of medicaments and acceptable provisions. Under Tibetan sway they made their state to flourish : the orders issued to themselves they heard with respect.”
I left off Thomas’ footnotes, but here's the relevant note on the names (his note 6):  “La-mer-mu and Hab-gdal. Hab-gdal represents, perhaps, the Hephthalite kingdom of the Pamir (supra, p. 150-1), though it might be = ‘Abdu 'llah. La-mer-mu presents difficulty. It can scarcely denote Hârûn al-Rashîd : can it possibly be a corruption of Mâwarâ-un-nahr, which in the form [Stag-gzig-] Mu-wer[-gyi-rgyal-po] we find elsewhere as a designation of the Musalman power ? See Klaproth, Sprache und Schrift der Uigur, p. 34.”

Here's the same passage as it occurs in that popular edition of the Bka'-thang Sde-lnga published by Mi-rigs Dpe-skrun-khang in 1986 (1990 reprint), p. 118:


nub phyogs ta zig rgyal po bzhugs pa yang //


rgyal po la mer mu dang hab gdal gyis //
bod kyi bka' la gces par bzung nas ni //
rin cen nor dang sman gyi lnga dos dang //
kha zas gces pa dus las ma yol phul //
bod kyi mnga' 'og chab srid dam par mdzad //
rang gi bka' bstsal gang yin gus pas nyan //

 ནུབ་ཕྱོགས་ཏ་ཟིག་རྒྱལ་པོ་བཞུགས་པ་ཡང་༎
 རྒྱལ་པོ་ལ་མེར་མུ་དང་ཧབ་གདལ་གྱིས༎
 བོད་ཀྱི་བཀའ་ལ་གཅེས་པར་བཟུང་ནས་ནི༎
 རིན་ཅེན་ནོར་དང་སྨན་གྱི་ལྔ་དོས་དང་༎
 ཁ་ཟས་གཅེས་པ་དུས་ལས་མ་ཡོལ་ཕུལ༎
 བོད་ཀྱི་མངའ་འོག་ཆབ་སྲིད་དམ་པར་མཛད༎
 རང་གི་བཀའ་བསྩལ་གང་ཡིན་གུས་པས་ཉན


Thomas’ translation isn’t easily faulted for inaccuracy as far as I can see, and the idea that the rulers in Merv were for awhile in a tribute-bearing relationship with Lhasa in the early decades of the 9th century isn’t particularly implausible.  Is it?

If All the Land Were Paper...

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Nicholas Roerich's Книга мудрости — Book of Wisdom

...and all the ocean ink.

I was amazed to discover for myself recently some older works of literature that weigh in on an interesting turn of phrase — an extended metaphor — used in the 12th century by the Tibetan Kagyü teacher Phagmodrupa. I translated it and published it once or twice some years ago.  It goes like this, following my old translation:
“The learned scholars cut away the veils [of words] with words

and establish the objects of knowing... 
Make forests into pens, oceans into ink,
land into paper, and still there would be no
end to their writing. 
Yogins do not establish external objectivities;
they establish the mind. 
The mind established, its objects establish themselves.”
The search got underway in earnest when I read the following passage (put in lines of blank verse by myself) from Howard Schwartz's book Tree of Souls. The quote is quoted from a work called Akdamut Piyyut by Rabbi Meir ben Yitzhak Nehorai, composed in Worms, Germany in ca. 1100:

“If all the heavens were parchment,
if all the trees were pens,
if all the seas were ink, and
if every creature were a scribe,
they would not suffice to expound
the greatness of God.”


Or here is a rhyming and perhaps therefore more poetic version I found in a PDF on the internet (the original is in Aramaic). The English is said to be, in part at least, by Frederick M. Lehman*:

“Could we with ink the ocean fill,
And were the skies of parchment made,
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
And every man a scribe by trade,
To write the love of God above,
Would drain the ocean dry.
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky.”
(*Linn, p. 960, and Köhler before him, attribute the identical verses to Isaac Watts [1674-1748], an inveterate rhymester, and very probably the most famous English-language Protestant Christian hymn writer of all time. I don’t have the wherewithal to solve this authorship problem at the moment. For all I know the story that Lehman copied it, or most of it, from a copy made from the wall of a mental institution after the death of the inmate who wrote it could be true.  Look here — a sectarian Christian message is to be expected — and go on wondering.  Or look on p. 57 of this PDF of an old 1876 book about hymn history, where it says that the lines, all eight of them, were by a “partially insane” person “at Cirencester, in 1779.”  Nothing about any writing on the wall here.)
It’s possible the saying goes back quite far in Jewish tradition (more on Islamic tradition in a moment), even as far back as the 1st century CE, with a quote I’ve taken from a book by Jacob Neusner, A Life of Yohanan Ben Zakkai (p. 46):


“If all the heavens were parchment, and all the trees pens,
and all the oceans ink, they would not suffice to write down
the wisdom which I have learned from my masters,
and I took away from them no more
than a fly takes from the sea when it bathes.”

So, too, says Neusner, his student Eliezer ben Hyrcanus said:

“If all the seas were ink, and all the reeds pens,
and all men scribes, they could not write down
all the Scripture and Mishnah I studied,
nor what I learned from the sages in the academy.
Yet I carried away from my teachers no more than does
a man who dips his finger in the sea,
and I gave away to my disciples no more than
a paintbrush takes from the tube.”

Neusner gives as one of the sources an article by Irving Linn very appropriately entitled, “If all the sky were parchment.” Linn consciously followed, and paid homage to, the earlier research of Reinhold Köhler, “Und wenn der Himmel wär Papier” Both of these works have been graciously made available on the internet.

The same complex imagery is used in al-Qur'an. Here below you can see it inscribed in Arabic on a stone inkpot. The words are from the Chapter of the Cave, verse 109:

10th Century Iran, from the Nasser D. Khalili Collection


“If the ocean were ink
(wherewith to write out)
The words of my Lord,
Sooner would the ocean be
Exhausted than would the words
Of my Lord, even if we
Added another ocean
Like it, for its aid.”


By now you’re probably convinced that the 12th-century Phagmodrupa must have heard it from Arab or Jewish immigrants or merchants in Central Asia, somewhere on the opposite banks of the Sambatyon. I rather somewhat doubt it, to tell the unvarnished truth.

Linn says that the earliest appearance in Hebrew was in the first half-century of the first millennium CE in the sayings of Rabbi Jochanan ben Zakkai, founder of the academy at Jabneh. Things become a little murkier when you see Linn go on to say (on p. 954) that the Rabbi “introduces the mention of pens, and that these pens are made from trees,” a feature, he says, not found in the Indian examples...  Uh, oh! Then where do those pens come from? How, then, did they get to Tibet?

What Indian examples? you are probably thinking.

Linn — and Köhler (due to information supplied to him by Theodor Benfey) before him — found old Indian sources in stories about Krishna, in the Atthāna Jātaka (Jātaka of the Impossibilities), and in the Vāsavadattā by Subandhu. In the Krishna legend, the writing material is the earth, but in Subandhu’s poetic work, it’s the sky. And it’s true, at least in the versions I’ve seen so far, that the Indian sources don’t seem to do anything about the pens being made from trees, as we find in Jewish sources, in one of the two Quranic sources (chapter 31, verse 27) and in Phagmodrupa. Both Linn and Köhler seem to think that the image is of Indian origins, brought to Europe by the wandering Jews who, due to their wanderings, are the most likely intermediaries. At the moment, it’s my own mind that’s doing the wandering.

Anyway, it isn’t my job to solve all your puzzles for you, so if you’d kindly go off and try to solve this “Who dunnit first” mystery, I’ll be happy to listen to every theory you may care to come up with.  Meanwhile, if you need me, I’ll be off at work on an upcoming blog about the Aristotelean categories, another clearly apparent case of still-underdemonstrated interdependence between far-flung corners of Eurasia. I hope you’ll be glad to hear that. I have my doubts.

- - -

Reinhold Köhler, “Und wenn der Himmel wär Papier,” contained in:  Kleinere Schriften (Berlin 1900), vol. 3, pp. 293-318. This was reprinted from Orient und Occident, vol. 2 (1863), pp. 546-559.

Irving Linn, “If All the Sky were Parchment,” Publication of the Modern Language Association (PMLA), vol. 52, no. 4 (Dec. 1938), pp. 951-970. 

D. Martin, “A Twelfth-Century Tibetan Classic of Mahāmudrā, The Path of Ultimate Profundity: The Great Seal Instructions of Zhang,” Journal of the International Association of Buddhist Studies, vol. 15, no. 2 (1992), pp. 243-319, at p. 249, where the quote is found. The Tibetan text of it is in 'Jig-rten-mgon-po, Works, vol. 4, p. 404 (the earlier reference to p. 408 was mistaken).  

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Quiz:  Which major religions have been involved in the telling of this story?  Let's see... Islam, Christianity, Judaism, Buddhism, Hinduism...  Did I forget any?















- - -


Here's how the Tibetan reads, first in Wylie transliteration, and secondly, if all goes well, in unicode Tibetan script:


de yang mkhas pa paṇḍi ta rnams tshig gis bdar sha bcad nas //
shes pa'i yul 'di rnams gtan la 'bebs pa yin te // ... ...


rtsi shing nags tshal la smyug gu byas //
rgya mtsho chen po snag tshar byas //
sa chen po la shog bur byas shing bris kyang mi zad pa yin gsung //
rnal 'byor pa ku sa li ni //
phyi rol gyi yul gtan la mi 'bebs te //
yul sna tshogs rnams kyang rang gi sems kyi rnam 'phrul yin //
sems gtan la 'bebs pa yin //
sems gtan la phebs na yul gtan la rang phebs su 'ong ste /





















དེ་ཡང་མཁས་པ་པཎྜི་ཏ་རྣམས་ཚིག་གིས་བདར་ཤ་བཅད་ནས།། ཤེས་པའི་ཡུལ་འདི་རྣམས་གཏན་ལ་འབེབས་པ་ཡིན་ཏེ།།  ... ...
རྩི་ཤིང་ནགས་ཚལ་ལ་སྨྱུག་གུ་བྱས།། རྒྱ་མཚོ་ཆེན་པོ་སྣག་ཚར་བྱས།། ས་ཆེན་པོ་ལ་ཤོག་བུར་བྱས་ཤིང་བྲིས་ཀྱང་མི་ཟད་པ་ཡིན་གསུང་།། རྣལ་འབྱོར་པ་ཀུ་ས་ལི་ནི།། ཕྱི་རོལ་གྱི་ཡུལ་གཏན་ལ་མི་འབེབས་ཏེ།། ཡུལ་སྣ་ཚོགས་རྣམས་ཀྱང་རང་གི་སེམས་ཀྱི་རྣམ་འཕྲུལ་ཡིན།། སེམས་གཏན་ལ་འབེབས་པ་ཡིན།། སེམས་གཏན་ལ་ཕེབས་ན་ཡུལ་གཏན་ལ་རང་ཕེབས་སུ་འོང་སྟེ།

I had a huge jolt of déjà vu the first time I set eyes on this painting by Nicholas Roerich (a friend sent it to me as a postcard), since I had already seen something very much like it in a dream of my earliest childhood. Only the giant book of my dream was more like floating in space than located anywhere. And the point of it seemed to be that it was written in an alphabet that I didn’t understand, or even recognize... at least not yet. Roerich, with his wife Helena, was co-founder in 1920 of something called Agni Yoga.


Nicholas Roerich's, Book of Doves

On the Book of the Doves, look at this video 

featuring Armenologist James Russell

"A great book fell from heaven..."








“It is He Who has sent down on you this (glorious) Book.”

— al-Qur'an, book 3, verse 7. 



KEEP reading in THE COMMENTS!


Is the Wishing Jewel the Holy Grail We Seek?

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Nicholas Roerich (1933), White Stone (Sign of Chintamani
or Horse of Happiness)



ཡིད་བཞིན་ནོར་བུའི་དགོས་པ་གང་ཡིན་ལྟོས༎
yid bzhin nor bu'i dgos pa gang yin ltos //
What use is a Wishgranting Jewel? Look into it!


— Padampa's Mahāmudropadeśavajraguhyagīti.
Dergé Tanjur - Tôh. no. 2440.



Today’s blog isn’t meant as much more than an alert for a new article that deserves notice. Not because I think it’s the answer to everything, just that it may be the most detailed and serious study yet of a very interesting problem in Eurasian cultural history. And not because I know the author. I have no idea who he is, except that his name is Marinus Anthony van der Sluijs, and he lives in Surrey in the UK. (Oh, wait, I think I found a photo and a website here.  Maybe he’s in the U.S., or somewhere else in the world? You know, it really is hard keeping up with those young people these days...)


His widely ranging article opens the latest (2011) issue of the well-known [Euro-]medievalist journal called Viator (issue no. 2 of vol. 42).


The title is, and I can’t emphasize this boldly enough, The Wish-Granting Jewel: Exploring the Buddhist Origins of the Holy Grail.


Here is the official abstract:
“It is argued that the specific portrayal of the Holy Grail as a miraculous gemstone, first found in Wolfram von Eschenbach’s Parzival, was ultimately inspired by the concept of the cintāmani or “wish-granting jewel” in the literature of India. Traditions regarding this object were popular in Buddhist folklore and parallels with the Grail literature are drawn from Japan, Indonesia, Śrī Lankā, and especially Tibet. Lha Thothori Nyentsen, king of Tibet, is identified as a plausible model for Titurel, the Fisher King. Parallels drawn from the legendary biography and the extant allegorical writings of Padmasambhava, a Gnostic, alchemist and warrior-monk revered as the principal founder of Tibetan Buddhism, extend to the entire core narrative of Parzival’s quest. It is suggested that these traditions reached medieval literati as a part of the astronomical, astrological, and alchemical corpus that was conveyed from India to Baghdād by Kanaka, translated into Arabic by Māshā’allāh, and rendered into Hebrew by Abraham ibn ‘Ezra.”
If your academic library has kept its JSTOR subscriptions up to date, go there and find it. If not, you may need to take your photocopy card with you, or use the interlibrary loan. When you’ve read it, come back here and put up your comments. I’ll do the same. Is this what we’ve been looking for? Have we reached the end of our quest? Will light come flooding into the most obscure corners of the world?

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Don Croner’s blog about the three-ball motif in Ottoman carpets possibly being the Triratna is here. (I wonder if the Triratna, representing the Three Jewels — Buddha, Dharma and Sagha — might have gotten crossed somewhere along the way with the Wishgranting Jewel or Cintamāṇi? Not that I don’t empathize with and even share in the confusion, but one very simple thing ought to be clear, or made clear. The Wishgranting Jewel is a single jewel. The Triratna is the Three Jewels, represented by, well, threejewels. The Roerichs in the early ’30’s had a campaign to make the triple ball into a symbol to mark and protect cultural monuments in order to prevent their destruction in war. A most excellent idea that hasn’t gotten all that much attention, really, although if humanity would just grow up, learn from past mistakes, and abandon this other form of child sacrifice altogether, that would make even more sense. If it interests you, by all means look here. What, you may be asking, do the triple balls have to do with the Triratna? The three balls were standing for art, science and religion in the Roerichian system, the last I heard.

I must say, though, a Wishgranting Jewel isn’t just any old jewel. It is to be found only with extreme difficulty (remember that long and rambling sea captains’ blog?), and once found must be treated in very special ways. Otherwise it isn’t going to grant much of anything. It has to be ritually bathed, attached to the tip of a Victory Banner (Gyeltsen) and honored with incense and offerings. Then a solemn aspiration prayer (monlam) has to be made. Most or all of these elements are to be found wherever and whenever the Cintamāṇi appears, which is, to say the least, in very few places and seldom. For a typical story, look here, at p. 34 and following. As long as you have this entire scenario straight in your mind, I will allow you go to on and say that either one or all three of the Three Jewels are (metaphorically speaking!) a Wishfulfilling Gem. No problem. Just p-l-e-a-s-e don’t rush into it too quickly.

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For more visual and verbal information about the three ball motif than you are likely to be willing or able to process, have the patience to download this PDF. I believe the author is Julie (Julianna) Lees, the owner of this presently-linked site full of really great photo albums (enter at your peril, since exiting may not be so easy once you get started admiring what you will find there).  And no... no, I know what you're thinking, but I don’t know this person either.


yid bzhin nor bu'i gter thob pas //
rmongs pa'i dbul ba sel bar byed // gsungs so // • //

When you've found your treasure of a Wishgranting Jewel,
make use of it to get rid of the poverty of confusion.

Padampa's Vajraḍākinīgīti 
(Dpal rdo rje mkha' 'gro ma'i mgur).  
Dergé Tanjur - Tôh. no. 2441.


No Jewel (as such) Fell in Tibet

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Near Oberndorf in Tirol, August 2008




I just finished reading the very thing I recommended in the last blog, the article entitled, “The Wish-Granting Jewel: Exploring the Buddhist Origins of the Holy Grail.”

I must say, I still do much recommend it overall. That India’s story of the Wish-Granting Jewel is not only older than, but could well have informed, through intermediaries, the Western European Grail stories appears to be likely. Yet beyond that I’m not eager to accept guesswork scenarios that may be deemed to somehow plausibly account for the transmission, and I don’t think our author expects us to do anything more than entertain the possibilities. I would be very surprised if he did. However, in one key point it seems to me — from a Tibeto-logical perspective mind you — to fall flat. If you will bear with me for a few minutes you will see [1] that in earliest sources on the event of the items falling on the roof of Lha Totori’s palace (look here), there is not even a mention of the Wish-granting Jewel.  [2] In later sources, that *do* make use of the term Wish-granting Jewel, it is still the case that it was not a jewel, as such, that fell from the sky.

Verily I tell you, I am not the expert to be telling you about this, but in the Eschenbach (he's dated to decades surrounding 1200 CE) version of the Grail legend, what we today usually imagine as a chalice (perhaps one with a relic of the blood of Jesus crucified, or in any case an object with strong Eucharistic symbolism, not to mention its association with all those medieval tales of knightly chivalry and valor) was a jewel, not a cup. I’m only saying this as a favor to people who haven’t read the article yet... so they’ll have an idea about what I’m going on and on about.



I’m not going to put my dear friends and readers through a gruelingly obsessive survey of every single word in every single historical work. One reason is, well, I don’t have to.  Stein and Sørensen have already supplied very nearly all of the more important sources for all those willing to look into them. Since Stein, although less thorough than Sørensen in supplying references, draws upon the material in greater detail, I will refer you to those pages in his Tibetica Antiqua (bibliographical details below for all who demand them).

What we learn from Stein’s listing is that the earliest use of the Wish-granting Jewel word (here given as Sanskrit in Tibetan transcription, “Tshindhama-i”) is in the famous history of 1373 that is in fact the one translated by Sørensen.  This source doesn’t say exactly what it means by Cintāmai. But even here it most definitely isn’t a jewel per se, but a tsatsa mold. True, people often stumble badly over the odd word that is used here for ‘mold,’ which is [b]skol-phor. Stein in translation reads as bolus, but looking back at the original French version we read bol. Checking the closest handy dictionary, I see that the ‘English’ (here meaning Latin, of course, but ultimately Greek) translation of French bol as bolus might have fallen upon the wrong choice of meaning. The French can mean both a ball of nutritive substances (like a pill) similar to bolus, but it may also mean a bowl or basin. I believe Stein intended the latter, mainly because I think it is nearer to the truth. I myself feel quite certain about the meaning of the word, because I’ve encountered it once in the Zhijé Collection and several times in the works of the 12th-century Kagyü teacher Zhang Yudragpa, as for instance in the following sentence:
skor phor la ri mo myed na 'byi 'byi tsha tshar myi 'gyur.
I don’t know any other way to translate this than this: 
“If there is no design in the mold (skor-phor), the ball ('byi-'byi) will not turn into a tsatsa.”
— See Zhijé Collectionvol. 2, p. 270.



Perhaps better than any longwinded explanation, this picture ought to tell you what the mold would have likely looked like:

Two tsatsa molds, called tsapar in modern Tibetan



What fell from the sky was (apparently) a dhāraṇī in chapter 12 (or chapter 14, depending on the version; it is absent from the shortest version) of the Golden Light Scripture (Suvarṇaprabhāsa Sūtra). However, it is also possible that the mold was intended to make clay moldings of an image of the particular form of Avalokiteśvara called Cintāmai. It depends on which account you are reading. If I had time and energy to go into this in more depth, I would definitely want to study the chapters devoted to this form of Avalokiteśvara in the Mani Kambum (Ma-i Bka'-'bum) collection.


My point here is that it wasn’t until a century and a half after Eschenbach* that an account of something that has to do (somehow) with the Wish-granting Jewel was said to have fallen from the sky in Tibet. Therefore it will be very hard for us to hold on to the idea that Eschenbach's account would have been inspired by the Tibetan story. Argument over.
(*This statement has to be modified since it proves incorrect; see the comment section below.  October 20, 2011.)


But just to tidy up and tie one loose end, I should say that I’m not 100% sure that there is absolutely *no* Tibetan account that could be correctly translated as saying that a Cintāmai, among other things, descended on the Yambu Lakhang in the Yarlung Valley in very early times. However, van der Sluijs gives (on his p. 6, note 35) only one source supporting this, and I know of none.  I think I can demonstrate that this is not an especially good source for founding any arguments. It appears to be based primarily* on the English translation of Emil Schlagintweit’s book Buddhism in Tibet... (1863, p. 64, where we find the word “gem”), in its turn based on Isaac J. Schmidt’s translation (1829) of the Mongolian-language history by “Ssanang Ssetsen” (for the bibliography, look here). At the moment, I don’t see the profit in pursuing this particular paper trail further, especially if you consider what can happen to translations that go from Tibetan to Mongolian to German to English.
(*Well, he also gives as a source the better-known English translation of the Kun-bzang Bla-ma'i Zhal-lung, which says, at p. 341, that the object in question was "...an image called the Cintamani, representing the body of the Buddhas..."  If you do go to the book [or Googlebook], have a peek at the footnote, which has something amusing and informative to say about how Tibetan scholars differ on what this object really was...)

To wind this down to a close, since I’m nearly out of typing energy, not to mention the mental focus, I’ll just say that our quest for the Grail in Tibet leads to this dead end, or perhaps into thin air.  No jewel fell from the sky onto a Tibetan palace. Even if it had, it wouldn’t have done so soon enough to inspire Eschenbach. Lha Totori is not Titurel. If you believe this conclusion is grievously unacceptable, I hereby challenge you to prove me wrong by coming up with a datable Tibetan source that would demonstrate otherwise. You’ll find me mounted on my trusty steed by the banks of the Tsangpo, lance drawn and ready, not to mention my lustrous shield.


§   §   §


Written resources:

Hugh Richardson, "The Dharma that Came Down from Heaven" — A Tun-huang Fragment, contained as chapter 10 in: High Peaks, Pure Earth: Collected Writings on Tibetan History and Culture, ed. by Michael Aris, Serindia (London 1998), pp. 74-81. Translation of a Dunhuang text entitled "Gnam babs kyi dar ma."

Per K. Sørensen, Tibetan Buddhist Historiography, The Mirror Illuminating the Royal Genealogies: An Annotated Translation of the XIVth Century Tibetan Chronicle rGyal-rabs gsal-ba'i me-long, Harrassowitz Verlag (Wiesbaden 1994), pp. 137-8 (note 356), 150, 534-5.

Rolf A. Stein, Tibetica Antiqua IV: The Tradition Relative to the Debut of Buddhism in Tibet, contained in:  Rolf Stein's Tibetica Antiqua: With Additional Materials, tr. by Arthur McKeown, Brill (Leiden 2010), pp. 191-230, with the main listing, the one made use of in this blog, found on pp. 220-224. This was originally published in French, under the title "Tibetica Antiqua IV. La tradition relative au début du Bouddhisme au Tibet," Bulletin de l’École Française d’Extrême Orient, vol. 75 (1986), pp. 169-196. You may be able to access the French version at Persée website (try pressing here).


An example of a clay tsatsa (tsha-tsha)


P.S. The story of the books (etc.) falling on the roof of Lha Totori’s palace was prefigured by the falling of books (the Mahåyoga tantras), in India, on the roof of King IndrabhËti (in Tibetan sources often called “King Dza”).


P.S.S.  One significant point I thought I could make in the blog, basing myself on Stein's essay, got overturned in the comments section, so you had better go ahead and read the comments this time, by which I mean particularly the one from our old and true friend Sam from Early Tibet blog. I’m still a little sore from the well-landed lance blow to my left shoulder, but I think I’ll recover in time for the next jousting season. The main thesis, that no jewel as such fell in Tibet, remains unaffected, as stable as Mount Meru.

Tibetan Proper Name Index

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For nearly 30 years I’ve been collecting references to Tibetan personal and place names from all kinds of sources, but generally from works in Tibetan language. Even the couple of devoted Tibeto-Logic readers that have stayed with me all this time may not be aware of the fact, but one of the primary reasons I started this blog five years ago was to create a platform for the distribution of the reference works I’ve been working on. There were obstacles to overcome, not least of all the limitations of the blog format, which forced me to open a webpage called Tibetological.  Most of the larger ones, like Tibskrit and Tibschol, and TibHist, too, have already been posted at Tibetological website (or uploaded to a download site and then linked at Tibetological). TibVocab has been made part of the 'translation tool' at THlib.*  
(*Even after all these years THlib hasn’t managed to put up the bibliographical references, which I believe to be absolutely essential for what is after all largely a citation dictionary. The absence of the key also means that many of the entries are only semi-intelligible. Although there is a dedicated bibliography for TibVocab that I could easily make available to anyone who wants it, many of the same abbreviated references used there are also used in PropNames.)

My vanity usually forbids me from admitting to selfish motivations, unless cornered, but in this case I can say that one motive is clear, which is to preserve for the future a body of data that might otherwise be in danger of getting lost. That would be work wasted... *my* work. But seriously, this isn’t the kind of reference work that will be easily consulted by a great number of people. So there is no good reason to worry about it, is there?  Vanity-wise, I mean.

You will know if you can benefit from it or not. If you not only studied a little Tibetan in the past and know how to look up words in a Tibetan dictionary, but also developed some talent for converting Wylie transcription to Tibetan script in your mind, you’re already ready to make serious use of “PropNames” as I call it for short. If not, I would advise you to wait.

It is taking me a lot of time, time I don’t really have, to fix up the pages and make them presentable, and double-check things where it seems necessary. So even if I’d like to say that the 100 pages of the first fascicle will quickly be followed by a second 100, other matters are pressing for my attention. I haven’t even been able to complete the first letter of the alphabet. So I put this up mainly as an encouragement to myself, to keep working on it.

If you are ready to go there, the first 100 pages of PropNames are here.

The bibliographical key, which PropNames simply cannot do without, is here.

I'm sure I’ll hear some complaints about it, but I don’t mind. I’ve found it very useful as a research tool over the years, and I’m confident the Tibetologists for whom it is intended, particularly younger and more energetic researchers, will find it useful as well. Well, yes, that means when the full 1,600-page work is finally made available, as it will be, I promise. You can hold me to it.


Bietala (1683)




PS:  I’m sorry, as A.W. pointed out to me, that until today I only supplied links to the "html" at Tibetological, where the Word files overloaded my storage limits, as a flashing sign so kindly informed me. (This being a free account, how can I complain?) Well, for Part One you may go to Megaupload here. For the bibliographical key, try here.* I try my best to keep these links to upload sites up-to-date here, at a page of Tibetological website. But I understand there are limits to the number of downloads permitted during a certain period of time, as well as limits on the time the file will be kept there if nobody has bothered to download it. If you do not succeed in downloading a file, put it off for another day. If it still doesn’t work for you, I will be glad to do what I can do about it, which probably isn’t very much.
(*January, 2012:  As you may know, Megaupload was taken down from the web.  Along with it went all my download links.  At the moment, only the HTML versions of the PropNames files are available.)


As of February 23, 2012, I have placed at the update page linked above, new download links for the first part of TibProp (now covering about 1/7th of the whole work) together with a revised and enlarged bibliographic key that is absolutely necessary to make use of it. (No PDF versions have been posted as of yet, and I am not even sure if anyone would want or prefer them.)







No Prophet in Buddhism?

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You might well wonder what any normally Tibeto-centric Tibeto-logician would be doing spending his evenings leafing through a — well, not-so-recent — book about a Muslim theologian and Sufi contemplative by the name of Simnani. Wonder no more. For decades now I have been intrigued by the fact that for a time Buddhist teachers called Bakshis were active in the Middle East. We know that Simnani had very much contact with those self-same Bakshis. As I think I will be able to show — if not now, on another day — he was one of the most visible contact points that allowed some aspects of cultural-religious electrical currents to flow into the western parts of Eurasia in a crucial time in her history. Am I being too grandiose? Trying to be dramatic? A little overexcited, no doubt. Forgive me.

It is well known, to a few at least, that in the last part of the 13th century there were certain Kagyü lineages that were allied with the Mongol royal house of Hulegu (reigned 1256-1265) and his immediate successors, receiving their patronage and protection. Hulegu’s son Khaidu (1236-1301) even led (or sent?) western Turk troops — what Tibetans call Stod Hor — into Tibet (see Everding’s article). Despite a few such Mongolian armed incursions, Tibet was never actually occupied by Mongol forces during China's Yüan dynasty like China was.

From 1256 to 1295, apart from a brief two-year interlude, the Ilkhanid realm was ruled by Buddhists. They held a great deal of the Middle East from their center in Tabriz, in northwestern Iran. I labeled this bad map to show its imprecise location, although you are probably better off to see the map of the Ilkhanid realm (at its greatest extent) at Wikipedia, where you can see that it actually did cover quite a big part of the area you see on the map just below.


Most writers on the subject repeat the idea that there were Tibetan Lamas among the Bakshis. But for years now I’ve been on the lookout for anyone named (let’s say) Jamyang, Kunga or Tenzin among them, and so far no good luck. Although I’ve asked some real experts in the field to look into the matter, they never did get back to me. They may have been right for not taking me seriously. People have always complained that they’re not sure when I’m joking.


Well, there is the surprising story, told in the Berzin Archive, about Emperor Arghun’s brother Gaikhatu who succeeded him as Il Khan. Someone (usually they say, with apparent good reason, this someone must’ve been a Tibetan monk) gave Gaikhatu the 100% Tibetan name Rinchen Dorje.

He liked this Tibetan name well enough to put it, in Mongolian and sometimes in Arabic script, on many of the coins he had minted in Tabriz (you can see quite a few examples on the internet if you look for them). The following lustrous gold example, one of many, is supposed to have his name on it (I apologize that I am unable to read it, but I found it here).



He did make one disastrous political mistake. He introduced Chinese paper money into the Middle East. It looks as if he just took the Chinese paper bills and overstamped them. Or did he directly copy the money, Chinese inscriptions and all? Paper doesn’t have half the glitter of gold, and none of the jingle, so it didn’t catch on, to say the least. Exactly the opposite. And Gaikhatu lost his position, so to speak, when he was assassinated. Arghun’s sons soon succeeded Gaikhatu, but they stopped supporting Buddhism and converted to Islam.

Did you ever have one of those minor epiphanies, the kind that seizes you, gives you a kind of electrical jolt, even before you have time to think about the reason? It has happened to me more than a few times in museums, actually, come to think of it. But once when I was touring, together with a Tibetan monk, the al-Quds al-Sharif sanctuaries on what non-Muslims are more likely to know as the Temple Mount, we had scarcely entered the Islamic Museum off to the side of al-Aksa Mosque, when both of us found ourselves astoundedly fixated on the same thing at the same time. It was an artistic motif around the base of a large metal candle holder.  It was just so closely similar to the lotus base that you see under practically every Indo-Tibetan divine image, only more in the Tibetan style, or perhaps even more in the style of the Swat Valley bronzes. 

Full description here.


The monk and I had identical epiphanies at the very same moment. Stopping to inspect the museum label, we could read that the inscription engraved on it contained the name of Arslan.*  This touched something off.  Some hidden alarm button?
(*Aslan, or Arslan, means 'lion' in both Turkic languages and Mongolian.)
Despite what may have seemed like a moment of clarity, I was puzzled and the more I find out the more puzzling it becomes, really. If this use of the lotus design is a result of Mongol (or just vaguely Central Asian) influence, the reign of this Arslan (1203-1239) is almost too early. He ruled quite a huge area from his capital of Mardin, a still remarkably well preserved historical mountaintop city in southeastern Turkey with a breathtaking view over the Syrian plains. Since that time, I’ve become more accustomed to seeing East and Central Asian artistic influences in Middle Eastern art (see especially the book by Kadoi listed below).  There is even a body of literature tracing Ilkhanid eastern artistic influences on early Italian painters like Giotto (see Tanaka's article)


You can’t exactly see it in this low-resolution photo, but if you look in the lower right corner, the scene of the Roman soldiers gambling over possession of the robe, you will see the robe has golden bands in its design, and on the bands (if you don’t want to take my word for it, I think you can actually make them out on the fringed garment of the person standing to the robe's left side) are Phagspa letters. I visited the Scrovegni Chapel in Padua a few years ago, but with the 15-minute limit (preceded by an hour in a dessication chamber) it is really very difficult to take it all in, let alone notice all the details. I have to confess I didn’t notice any Phagspa script when I was there. I was far too overwhelmed by the art.


The Crucifixion, by Giotto of Bondoni (1266-1337),
Scrovegni Chapel, Padova, Italia


Now Simnani belonged to a family with a number of members who served in the court of Arghun, and Simnani himself was no exception. Yet he had an interest in Sufi meditations from a young age, specifically inspired by Kubra and his school, the Kubrawiya, with its strong emphasis on visionary experiences of lights which Simnani himself would further develop in his later years. Kubra didn’t live to see the rule of the Mongols. It is said he died in hand-to-hand combat with the Mongols when they invaded Khwarezm in 1220.


Now I see the hour is getting late and I want to get this in the mail before I miss my bedtime, so just let me say these few words about Simnani and we will call it a day. As you may know, the Mongols were in the habit of holding inter-religious discussions (debates, if you prefer) in their courts. The general idea is that Mongolians had their own shamanic ideas; other religions they had trouble comprehending — they found them curious — so they would enlist the smartest people around to try to explain them. A number of early Mongol rulers married Christians. Arghun’s mother was one of them, and there are yet other reasons for his willingness to deal with Christians... as well as Muslims, and needless to say Buddhists. I believe Arghun’s Buddhism was not just superficial.  


The following describes an event of April 1288. It was probably the first, but definitely not the last, time Buddhist relics were displayed in the Middle East:

“Buka’s envoys brought back with them to Persia one of the relics so much esteemed among the Buddhists, called Sharil. These are hard pieces of a substance which is said to be found in the ashes of some saintly persons when cremated. Von Hammer says that Buddha's heart was supposed to be made of bone and not of flesh, similarly with the hearts of great men, and that the sharil is really held to be the ossified heart of the cremated person. Arghun, we are told, treated this relic with the greatest honour, gold was strewn over it, while a feast was duly celebrated.”  — Howorth, History of the Mongols, pt. 3, p. 321, as cited in Numen, vol. 41 (1994), pp. 284-285.
Arghun sometimes had Simnani hold religious discussions with the Buddhist Bakshis. The usual story is that they belonged to a number of nationalities, not only Tibetans but also Indians, Uighurs, Chinese and so on. They say that Simnani would win these debates because he was able to convince his audience that the Buddhists didn’t really know about their own religion.
"Arghun then called for a Buddhist monk and ordered him to engage Simnani in a debate, but Simnani defeated the Buddhist by demonstrating that he was ignorant of the true meaning of the Buddha’s teachings." (Elias, p. 26)
Although generally antipathetic to Buddhism — he believed the main problem with Buddhism is that it has no prophets — he was actually fond of one particular Bakshi, and this Bakshi (surprise, surprise) has a personal name attached. He was an Indian who was called Bakhshī Parinda (Elias, p. 18).

Parinda was supposed to be from a monastic community of Somnāth in coastal Gujerat, although Mayer believes it may be a similarly-named place in Bengal. I differ with them both. I think this is probably the same monastic institution, in what would nowadays be Orissa, that the famous Vairocanavajra (subject of a great study by Kurtis Schaeffer) belonged to before he went to Tibet and translated Doha songs into Tibetan in around the 1240’s or so.

Not sure what to make of the name Parinda, I’m inclined to think it might be a reformed version of the Indic name Varendra (a common enough personal name with the meaning ‘True Indra’). Simnani confessed that he regarded Parinda as, to quote Elias, “spiritually very advanced despite his non-Muslim status.”


All this was intended as hardly anything more than an introduction to still different matters, touching on religious devotional and meditative practices and visions that I regard as more interesting than anything you have heard here so far. I do hope you did find it interesting anyway.


§   §   §


Interrelated matters worth exploring:


Hamid Algar, "Kubrā, Shaykh Abu 'l-Djannāb Aḥmad b. ʿUmar Nadjm al-Dīn," Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition, P. Bearman, et al., eds. Brill (Leiden 2011). Brill Online.

Reuven Amitai-Preiss, Sufis and Shamans: Some Remarks on the Islamization of the Mongols in the Ilkhanate, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient, vol. 42 (1999), pp. 27-46.  See especially p. 32, relevant to Simnani's relations with Buddhists.

Arezou Azad, Three Rock-Cut Cave Sites in Iran and Their Ilkhanid Buddhist Aspects Reconsidered, contained in: Anna Akasoy, et al., eds., Islam and Tibet: Interactions along the Musk Routes, Ashgate (Farnham 2011), pp. 209-230, and plates 10.1 through 10.11. This article does not establish that, as has sometimes been speculated in the past, the caves in question were definitely Buddhist, but neither does it eliminate the possibility. Other articles in the same volume are relevant, not only the introduction by Ronit Yoeli-Tlalim, but also the contributions by Assadullah Souren Melikian-Chirvani (see p. 100 for a bit on lotus-type designs on metal pots) and Paul Buell (on connections in the field of medicine and cooking).


Jamal J. Elias, The Throne Carrier of God: The Life and Thought of 'Alā' ad-dawla as-Simnānī, SUNY Press (Albany 1995). Seventy-nine of Simnani's works (excluding epistles) have survived, and very little has been written about them in English apart from this book, and a bit translated from the French of Henry Corbin.

Karl-Heinz Everding, The Mongol States and Their Struggle for Dominance over Tibet in the 13th Century, contained in: Henk Blezer, ed., Tibet, Past and Present: Tibetan Studies I, Brill (Leiden 2002), pp. 109-128. On p. 120 are what may be the most horrifying scenes in all of pre-modern Tibetan history. Here it is evidently Khaidu who is hiding under the Tibetan[ized] name Ga-du Rin-chen.


Cover Image
Jean Maurice Fiey, Esquisse d'une bibliographie sur le patriarche turco‑mongol Yahwalaha III (1281‑1317) et son maître Rabbam bar Sawma, envoyé du Khan Arghun au pape et aux princes européens en 1287‑1288, Proche‑orient Chrétien, vol. 38 (1988), pp. 221‑228. Morris Rossabi has written a whole book about Mar Sauma, and I hope to see it before long.

Yuka Kadoi, Islamic Chinoiserie: The Art of Mongol Iran, Edinburgh University Press (Edinburgh 2009).

Toby Mayer, Yogic-Ṣūfī Homologies: The Case of the "Six Principles" Yoga of Nāropa and the Kubrawiyya, The Muslim World, vol. 100 (April 2010), pp. 268-286.  I believe you can get free access to it here. (Or if not, go here: http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/ and then search for it from there.)

Leo Jungeon Oh, Islamicised Pseudo-Buddhist Iconography in Ilkhanid Royal Manuscripts. Persica, vol. 20 (2005), pp. 91-154. The thesis of this long and rather confusing paper (well, I found it so) is that there were Asian artistic influences on paintings produced for the Ilkhanid court.


Elliot Sperling, Hülegü and Tibet, Acta Orientalia Hungarica, vol. 44 (1990), pp. 145-158. As pointed out at the very beginning of this Tibetological article, the Ilkhanid ruler Hülegü was known inside Tibet by his name Hu-la-hu (or more simply Hu-la), he was known as one who patronized the Phagmodru school of the Kagyupas, and as the “King of Upper Hor” which this author identifies with the Chagatais. Given this is so, chances are that the Tibetan Bakshis may well have been Drigung monks, so Drigung histories — and histories of other lineages stemming from the Phagmodru school — would be logical places to look for clues about them, you would think.


Hidemishi Tanaka, Giotto and the Influences of the Mongols and Chinese on His Art: A New Analysis of the Legend of St. Francis and the Fresco Paintings of the Scrovegni Chapel, Art History(Tohoku University, Japan) (1984) 1-38 [in English].  Other writings on related subjects by the same author have appeared in English, Japanese and Italian.  Among the most intriguing is one entitled Oriental Scripts in the Paintings of Giotto's Period, Gazette des Beaux-Arts, series 6, vol. 113 (1989), pp. 214-226.  You can actually recognize some of the 'Phags-pa script letters in some of these paintings, which is about as clear a sign of Mongolian influence as you could possibly wish for. Of course there is now a Wiki page on the subject, with interesting illustrations. But better if you have a look at this Babelstone blog.



David Ohanessian (1927),
also responsible for the frontispiece


P.S. (Nov. 14, 2011):


I forgot to mention that there was another South Asian Bakshi with a name working in Tabriz. This was the relatively well-known Kashmiri Buddhist teacher Kamalaśrī, who helped the illustrious and industrious but ill-fated Rashid ad-Din with his stories about the life of the Buddha. Some have identified him with Padampa Sanggyé, who has Kamalaśrī (as well as Kamalaśīla) as a monastic given name. For chronological reasons their identification is simply impossible. Two centuries separate them. Well, if Padampa was 600 years old when he came to Tibet, as is sometimes told, he would have had to live another 200 years to be off visiting eastern Iran, now, wouldn’t he? That hardly seems likely. I’ll refrain from listing all the bibliography for this problem for the moment. Or if you insist on having something to read, be my guest and check out Karl Jahn’s article in Central Asiatic Journal, vol. 2 [1956], pp. 81-128.)




P.P.S. (Nov. 25, 2011):


Just to add to the list of Bakshis with names, we also are aware of names of two that came from China. I’ll just repeat here something you find in the comments section below:


Johan Elverskog's book Buddhism and Islam on the Silk Road, University of Pennsylvania Press (Philadelphia 2010), p. 149, says that Rashid ad-Din had in addition to the Kashmiri Buddhist teacher Kamalaśrī two Chinese collaborators named Litaji and Kamsun (quoting Thomas Allsen's book Culture and Conquest in Mongol Eurasia, p. 92; here you can see that it would be quite difficult to find out the actual Chinese names behind these names...).




P.P.P.S:


That a couple of Chinese would have been in Tabriz isn’t in itself all that newsworthy. You also have the cases of Rabban Sauma and his disciple who came from the general area of Khanbaliq (OK, Dadu or Peking if you prefer or insist) both of them of Turkic stock. The disciple, Yaballaha III,* was made Patriarch of the Nestorian Christian world. As soon as I can lay hands on a copy of Morris Rossabi’s book on the subject I plan to read the whole thing through in several sittings.**
(*He was supposed to be Uighur Turkish by birth, was known by the Greek name Markos as a young person, and had the ability to speak Mongolian, a skill that definitely helped to endear him to the Ilkhanid Emperor. The two of them, Sauma and Markos, set off from China on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, but things didn’t turn out quite as they had planned. Sauma’s name is supposed to be of Syriac origins with the meaning of Faster [that means one who fasts, but you knew that].)
(**Morris Rossabi, Voyager from Xanadu: Rabban Sauma and the First Journey from China to the West, Kodansha [Tokyo 1992].)




P.P.P.P.S (NOV. 27, 2011), added to illustrate one of the comments, below.


Figure from Tanaka's article, p. 221, a detail from Giotto's Crucifixion,
Scrovegni Chapel, Padova,
with Tanaka's interpretation below.


Figure from Tanaka's article, p. 221, 
with Tanaka's interpretation below.
Sample of early P'agspa script (edict dated 1277 or 1289), after Precious Deposits, vol. 3.
P'agspa script was invented in 1269.

Marginal Amusement at the Bodleian

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Earlier today, under inspiration from the latest blog entry from Janus, I was doing an internet search for ‘Hero Capable [of overcoming all comers all at] Once,’ or, in the original tongue, Dpa'-bo Chig-thub. What to my great surprise could possibly pop up, but a rare catalog of Tibetan manuscripts and so forth that are kept at the Bodleian Library in Oxford, England. It’s so rare it’s not even a publication, really, just a typescript done, as you might expect, on a typewriter. I could hardly believe my eyes. What could explain this outrageously good fortune?
A Descriptive Catalogue of the Tibetan Manuscripts Held at the Bodleian Library, Oxford, prepared by John E. Stapleton Driver in ca. 1970, and revised by David Barrett, 1993. Total page count: 152.
Some very thoughtful person put it up for us in a searchable PDF format. Here.

You can find something entertaining already, 4 pages into it (there are no page numbers) in the entry for MS.Tibet.a.1, described as "a meditation text," with the title Bla mgon dbyer med kyi rnal 'byor thun mongs ma yin pa nyamsu len tshul rin chen dbang gi rgyal po'i do shal.

Someone wrote on the title page (I give it 'as is,' except for changing it into Wylie):  'di mang gi yi ge phal cher ma dag pa dang 'ga zhig rang zo byas pa'ang mang tsam 'dug pas zhu dag tong tshod mi 'dug go. This is there translated, “As the text in this is generally corrupt and in a good many cases even made up, there’s no end to correcting it.”

A second person wrote on the title page in a different hand:  'di 'bri mkhan dang khyed rang gnyis ka ma dag pas skyon dan[g] .... rang bzo byed mkhan gtso bo khyed rang 'dra.  — khyed 'dra bas zhus dag gtong ba las ma gtang ba dga 'dug. This is translated, “Of the writer of this and yourself, the chief introducer of corruptions and inventions seems to be yourself." — "Rather than have someone like you make corrections, they were better not made at all.”

And finally, at the end of the text, somebody wrote (in English? Well, no Tibetan is given):  “It would shame you if a scholar were to see such a corrupt text, so I suggest you burn it.”

The original text was purchased in 1885 from two of the Schlagintweit brothers: R.H. and A. If you are like me you may well have trouble keeping straight which of the five Schlagintweit brothers was which, in which case this webpage would be a big help.

But what about the person given as the author of the text, the monk Legshé Ludrub (Legs-bshad-klu-sgrub)?  

A quick search of TBRC and a few other places turned up neither the title of this guruyoga text nor its author.  Who can he be? Where’s our good Doctor Watson?


John E. Stapleton Driver, in case you don’t remember, was the one who translated R.A. Stein’s Tibetan Civilization into English.

As part of this catalog, you can find some of the papers that were left behind by W.Y. Evans-Wentz (1878-1965) — famous editor of such well known works as The Tibetan Book of the Dead — after his own entry into the bar-do. Among these papers are some draft translations by Lama Kazi Dawa Samdrup.


Some of the Tibetan books here came from Solomon C. Malan (1812-1894), a friend and student of Csoma de Körös. For more about this, see P.J. Marczell, The Tibetan Mss. of the Malan Bequest in the Bodleian and Their Relation to the Life and Works of Csoma Körösi, Studia Asiatica, vol. 2, nos. 1-2 (2000), pp. 55-71.  Get it for free (or not!) here.

Other materials came from Samuel Turner (1749-1802), author of An Account of an Embassy to the Court of the Teshoo Lama in Tibet (London 1800).








”A.D. 1806.




”Fifty pounds were paid for some ' Tibetan MSS.' of Capt. Samuel Turner,E.I C.S., who had been sent by Warren Hastings,on a mission to the Grand Llama, in 1785. Of this mission he published an account, in a quarto volume, in 1800. His MSS. consist chiefly of nine bundles of papers and letters in the Persian and Tartar languages, written in the last century, together with a few Chinese printed books. Capt. Turner died Jan. 2, 1802; but as one of his sisters was married to Prof. White,* it was probably through him that the papers were now purchased.”  


        For the source, look here.


(*My note: I guess this means Joseph White, since he did indeed marry Mary Turner, sister of Samuel.)
For more about this, see the late Michael Aris’s article, A Note on the Resources for Tibetan Studies at Oxford, Bodleian Library Record, vol. 10, no. 6 (May 1982), pp. 368-375. Or look at this page of the Bodleian's own website (scroll down the page to the section about Tibet).

Even if they do have street lamps in Oxford, this is not one of them.
Look up the word panopticon for a clue.
Wasn't it invented by Jeremy Bentham (1748-1832),
and isn't he the one they still keep locked up in a closet
in London University? None of it makes sense to me. Not really.

If the kind person who did this is still in a generous mood, I suggest they put up two other rare catalogs of Tibetan manuscripts that exist (however seldom) in typescripts.  They are:


P. Denwood, Catalogue of Tibetan Mss and Block-prints outside the Stein Collection in the India Office Library (1975), in 145 pages.  For a reference, look here.


E. Gene Smith, University of Washington Tibetan Catalogue, vols. 1-2 (Seattle 1969).  For a reference, look here.

Or is this asking too much?

Overlooking something?

Who took the photos?  I must confess, it was moi.  All 4 were taken in Oxford, around the time of the Xth IATS in 2003.


Update —  December 31, 2011

For an update with important further information by Charles Manson, particularly the part about an upcoming online catalogue of the Bodleian's Tibetan collection, lookhere.



Two Proto-Berlitz Phrasebooks

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Source:  HERE.
Sometimes when you are reading two books at the same time you can find yourself faced with some interesting juxtapositions, that’s for sure. I wouldn’t venture to say my two examples of early phrasebooks are entirely identical or parallel, but they do demonstrate a certain level of human commonality that probably doesn’t especially need to be pointed out to anyone, although I suppose there could be exceptions...


There is an especially long and richly detailed biography (for so it calls itself) of what may be the city holy for more people in the world than any other, although I’m not completely sure about that. I’m talking about Simon Sebag Montefiore's book Jerusalem, the Biography. Near the middle of the book, reached only after weeks of bedtime reading, I came across an amusing passage about a pilgrim, a German knight (Ritter) of the Rhineland named Arnold von Harff. He made for himself lists of handy words and phrases in  various languages, including both Arabic and Hebrew. I guess it’s clear he hoped these phrases would help him, as well as others, to better communicate with the local inhabitants of the countries he visited. Here are some phrases that leave only a little doubt what kind of business he was hoping to conduct:


"How much will you give me?
I will give you a gulden.
Are you a Jew?
Woman, let me sleep with you tonight.
Good madam, I am already in your bed."


This Herr von Harff was one pilgrim with plenty of pluck, and not just middling-to-average pickup lines. Among his other accomplishments (and quite apart from his evident heteronormalcy and Judaeophobia), he managed to go up on the — then as now Islamic — Noble Sanctuary (Haram as-Sharif) in disguise, making him look like a kind of proto-Sir Richard Burton.

Meanwhile, moving to the other end of the Eurasian world and back half a millennium further in human history, we learn from Sam van Schaik and Imre Galambos's even newer book Manuscripts and Travellers that there exists, until this day, a bilingual Sanskrit and Khotanese phrasebook for pilgrims on their way to China. You can almost hear the interrogating tone of the immigration officer:



"And where are you going now?


I am going to China.


What business do you have in China?


I’m going to see the bodhisattva Mañjuśrī .


When are you coming back?


I’m going to China, then I’ll return."




I’ll skip over some of the rest of the dialogue, in order not to spoil it for you. There is mention of a Tibetan monk suspected by a border official of being a liar. The following three lines may or may not be about him, but it does seem so:


“He is dear to many women.
He goes about a lot.
He makes love...


Bring a bowl! The Tibetan teacher has become ill.”


It’s evident that Tibetan monks, or at the very least traveling facsimiles of Tibetan monks, had developed a shady reputation in late-10th-century Khotan. Well, to judge from this phrasebook, which may have had humorous intent as well... At least one of these Tibetan monks seems to have had problems keeping down Khotanese road food, perhaps a common enough predicament after all.

No need to mention the notoriety 
of medieval European appetites 
set loose in the Outremer 
on their way to the Holy Sepulcher.

Of course, the Central Asia traveler’s assumed destination was the place most holy to the bodhisattva of wisdom and learning Mañjuśrī. It seemed like everyone wanted to go to Wutai Shan in those earlier days. Vairocanavajra went there, as did Padampa Sanggyé before him. I hope to go some day as well.

Mañjuśrī holding the Ruyi scepter,
seen in Taipei, June 2011.

Notice the lion.

Sources:

Robert Elsie, Texts and Documents of Albanian History. This online essay is more concerned with the early documentation of Albanian language, but it does have a nice brief discussion of the phrasebook of Arnold of Harff, that included “words and phrases in Croatian, Albanian, Greek, Arabic, Hebrew, Turkish, Hungarian, Basque and Breton.” Of course von Harff was not the originator of the genre; there were Latin-Greek bilingual phrasebooks in the time of the Roman Empire, as I seem to recall from somewhere.

Kelly Lynne Maynard, I want to buy it in the Albanian Glossary of Arnold von Harff, Transactions of the Philological Society, vol. 107, no. 2 (2009), pp. 231-252.  Try to access it here.  Still more articles can be located that have to do with von Harff if you will only search for them.  There are also translations of his journal that are more and less available.

Simon Sebag Montefiore, Jerusalem, the Biography, Alfred A. Knopf (New York 2011), at p. 298.

Sam van Schaik and Imre Galambos, Manuscripts and Travellers: The Sino-Tibetan Documents of a Tenth-century Buddhist Pilgrim, De Gruyter (Berlin 2012), at pages 141-3.

Here is something about a 10th-century German phrasebook, although mostly about one from the time of World War II. Here is an amusing piece about Berlitz phrasebooks, but by far the most amusing phrasebook incident ever is one I once read in a book by “Australian photojournalist” Sorrel Wilby, shortly before I closed the covers of the book forever (I think the book still exists in a sibling library in central Michigan). Her Journey across Tibet is not something I could ever bring myself to recommend. Sorry Sorrel, but if this is any consolation, it could just be me. We have to take that into account.


Not running a commercial operation here, I didn’t really intend to make an advertisement for Berlitz, and in fact my favorite phrasebook is one they didn’t publish:  Wicked Italian for the Traveler by Howard Tomb, Workman Publishing (NY 1989). There are lots of usable gems there, but try this one out the next time you unexpectedly find yourself in Italy. First the phonetic version, which you should pronounce aloud, within hearing of your loved ones, particularly if you have never studied Italian before:


    Eel pro-FOND-oh mee-STAIR-oh dee cho key sty dee-CHEND-oh me een-FWOKE-ah eel KWORE-ay.


    Il profondo mistero di ciò che stai dicendo mi infuoca il cuore.*


§    §    §


Happy New Year/Sylvester to everyone who has ever read Tibeto-logic, and equally to everyone who never has! And if you see our old friend Arno, tell him I’m sorry, I hope he’ll forgive me, and Please come back. I’ve been at this for over five years now, and will, before many more months have gone by, reach the 100th blog entry. Trying to think of something special to do for numero 100 besides just more of the same-old same-old...  Any ideas? Should I redecorate? Or is that too superficial?


˙ǝɹıɟ uo ʇɹɐǝɥ ʎɯ sʇǝs pıɐs ʇsnɾ noʎ ɹǝʌǝʇɐɥʍ ɟo ʎɹǝʇsʎɯ punoɟoɹd ǝɥʇ*


Happy 2012 (it's not the end of the world, you know, although it may be the end of the world you know...).




§    §    §





Postscript (January 2, 2012)


I forgot to say anything about Tibetan-language phrasebooks. So here's my collection of Lonely Planets. Someone told me there have been five, which must mean I’m missing one, but actually, to follow what it says inside the books, there have only been four editions up to and including the one of 2008. Is there a new one I haven’t heard about?













1st edition, October 1987 —
by Melvyn G. Goldstein, with
the help of Gelek Rinpoche &
Trinley Dorje




2nd edition, June 1996 — by
Sandup Tsering &
Melvyn C. Goldstein


3rd edition, May 2002 —
by Sandup Tsering


4th edition, February 2008 —
by "Phrasebooks" &
Sandup Tsering.


Someday somebody will write a history of Tibetan language learning that will include these things.

Has anyone noticed any good or passably good Tibetan phrasebooks on-line?  This one is very interesting, a little awkward to use just because it’s so technologically advanced it takes my primitive machine a long time to maneuver from one phrase list to the other.

New Works on the Works of Lama Zhang

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Zhang Yudragpa: Detail of a tapestry portrait


Today’s small blog effort, I feel it is fair to warn you, is likely to be of limited interest to all but the most dyed-in-the-wool Tibeto-logical specialists.  Even then, I don’t have a whole lot of time to sit and chat. There are so many things on my plate, I hope you’ll excuse me if I excuse myself so I can dig in, or should I say bite the bullet, in the hope of completing one or another of my several assignments, at least. Don’t even say the word ‘deadline’ within earshot if you know what’s good for you. I’m not in the mood to hear it. I suppose you might even get a particularly nasty reaction if you’re not careful. Be forewarned.

Enough of these idle threats with nothing to back them up. If you find yourself curious to find out a little bit about the man this fuss is all about, look at Lama Zhang's biography in Treasury of Lives. For now I’m just going to list some outstanding new works about Zhang Rinpoche* and his Works that have appeared since the turn of the millennium. Then I will announce the first public release of a bibliographical survey of his Works that I’ve been working on for quite some time now. I’m thinking a couple of you will find it of interest, and among those, one or two will find it useful for some good purpose or another. Those numbers sound more than adequate to me.
(*The full and usual form of the name of the initiator of the lineage of the Tselpa Kagyü [Tshal-pa Bka'-brgyud] is properly spelled using the Wylie system as Zhang G.yu-brag-pa Brtson-’grus-grags-pa [1123-1193 CE], and as far as I’m concerned that’s the name that he ought to be remembered by in history, although you may prefer a phoneticized version, like Zhang Yudragpa Tsondrüdragpa or the like. There are hundreds of variations on his name, many of them of his own making. Still, if we want to keep things short and simple, I see no reason why we shouldn’t speak of him as either Lama Zhang or Zhang Rinpoche, do you?)

 Here is the list —

1.  Karl-Heinz Everding, Der Gung thang dkar chag: Die Geschichte des tibetischen Herrschergeschlechtes von Tshal Gung thang und der Tshal pa bKa’ brgyud pa-Schule, VGH Wissenschaftsverlag (Bonn 2000). This publication contains Romanization and German translation of a Tibetan Guidebook on the history and holy objects contained in the monastery of Tsel Gungtang that was composed by the Dge-lugs-pa author ’Jog-ri-ba Ngag-dbang-bstan-’dzin-’phrin-las-rnam-rgyal (b. 1748) in the year 1782 at a time when Gung-thang was under the administration of Sera Monastery.  To read a little more about this publication, press here.


2.    Per K. Sørensen & Guntram Hazod, in cooperation with Tsering Gyalpo, Rulers on the Celestial Plain: Ecclesiastic and Secular Hegemony in Medieval Tibet, a Study of Tshal Gung-thang, Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften (Vienna 2007), in 2 volumes with 1011 pages! This contains an English translation of the same Guidebook by ’Jog-ri, but in addition to that it contains such a wealth of information in its introduction and multiple appendices — not to mention the many maps and great color photographs — that it may take Tibetology many decades to begin to absorb it all, let alone catch up. For a review by Bryan Cuevas, look here.

3.    Carl S. Yamamoto, Vision and Violence: Lama Zhang and the Dialectics of Political Authority and Religious Charisma in Twelfth-Century Central Tibet, doctoral dissertation, Department of Religious Studies, University of Virginia (May 2009). Although a work of high academic standards, it will certainly be published as a book very soon, and when it is I imagine many will find it to be the most accessible book yet on the subject of Zhang Rinpoche.  For an abstract, look here.

The newest book on Lama Zhang

4.    Gra-bzhi Mig-dmar-tshe-ring (b. 1983), Tshal Gung-thang Gtsug-lag-khang-gi Dkar-chag Skyid-chu'i Rang-mdangs, Bod-ljongs Mi-dmangs Dpe-skrun-khang (Lhasa 2011), in 383 pages. I suppose the title could be translated “The Kyichu River's Inherent Glow: Guide to the Temple of Tsel Gungtang,” although it is much much more than a guidebook, with so much information about the temple and monastery during more than eight centuries of its existence. It pleases me very much to know that someone in Tibet is interested in doing this work. It has some small color illustrations and among these perhaps the most worthy of notice are the before-and-after photos of Zhang Rinpoche's funerary chorten, now reduced to a pile of rubble. You can see it in the following old photo; it's the larger chorten on your right. Lama Zhang had just finished building its lower steps when he died in 1193.

Tsel Gungtang, negative of photo by Hugh Richardson

So, I would like to suggest that those who want to go to the web version of the catalog of Zhang Rinpoche’s works, try going here(a link at the bottom of each file will lead you to the next). Or if you are impatient and want to immediately download the complete catalog in either [1] Word file or [2] PDF format, all you need to do is click one or both of the links just given, which ought to transport you to Dropbox(I hope someone will let me know if this works OK, since it’s my first experiment with this mode of file distribution; the file is supposed to truly exist there, even now, in something that takes the form of a cloud, ready to be precipitated down onto your personal machinery). The download should be quick. It's only about 265 pages long. I wanted to put up the Gung-thang Dkar-chag, but haven’t succeeded yet.* For now, I’ll just say: Good luck and gods’ speed, until we find the time to blog again.

(*Oh, wait a minute.  Try here.)

A modern (or restored?) representation of Lama Zhang,
Tsel Gungtang Monastery


~   ~   ~

The frontispiece is from a very old fabric artwork that was preserved in the Potala Palace and is apparently now in the museum near the Norbu Lingka in Lhasa. It has an inscription on the back that has been and will be the subject of much discussion, but it does identify the main subject (“Dpal-ldan G.yu-brag-pa”), leaving no doubt that it is meant to represent Lama Zhang. This artwork may date from around the 15th century, but at the same time it may be a very faithful copy of an earlier artwork (perhaps a painting) dating much closer to the time of Lama Zhang. The details remain to be worked out. It has by now been published a number of times, but perhaps best is Bod-kyi Thang-ga at p. 62 (the catalog entry in this book says it was woven in the time of the late Sung).


Yes, there is a heaven.  If you are the sort of person who derives enjoyment from looking at listings of Wylie-transcribed Tibetan titles in Gsung-'bum-s and Bka'-'bum-s, you can find quite a few of them here.  If you are that sort of person, you are my sort of person.


- - -


And one more thing.  If you’d like to read an English translation of what may very well be Zhang Rinpoche’s most famous literary work, try to download thesethreefiles (each word is a different file, and you'll have to join the three puzzle pieces back together to form one thing) through Dropbox.If it isn’t working, you can complain. Please do.






Dragon Year Losar eCard Greetings

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This is that time of year when a lot of people are out on the internet using their search engines to locate sources of Losar e-cards. I know it’s true. Never mind how. But I would like to take this opportunity to invite you to look at some of the rest of Tibeto-logic while you are here. I've put up blogs about the Tibetan New Year (Lo-gsar) a couple of times in the past. In 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, and now this. So as you see, it’s become a bit of a tradition. Well, as traditions go, Losar eCards, not to mention Losar cards of any kind, are not very old ones. Most of you probably already know my philosophy about Losar e-cards, which is that they are so much nicer if you give your card a personal touch, even better if you do the artwork yourself (just do something artistic and when it’s done, scan it or make a digital photo so you can then attach it), and best if you don’t overdo the photoshop possibilities like I did. If you want to see what it looked like before I pushed a blue button maybe I shouldn’t have, look just below. If you want to use one of these, be my guest. Just slide it off the blog and onto an open email, then drop it. That should work. But I suggest doing an image search for “dragon” to see if anything out there inspires you. There is a lot of fantastic dragon art to be found.*
(*but please don‘t send your friends e-photos of dragons printed on human skin... You know, tattoos. They may get wrong ideas. But I don’t really know your friends, now, do I?  Try this color-your-own dragon at Himalayan Art. Have a look at these very impressive dragon artworks, but perhaps these are more fit for use, well, some of them at least.)
I doubt anyone has noticed yet, but Tibeto-logic has been up and growing for several years now. It has visitors from all over the world. Even readers from the Peoples Republic have been showing up again of late (they aren’t supposed to, I understand). The first post was in August 2006, and the number of posts has climbed to more or less one hundred by now. I’m not sure what number this one will be exactly.  Number 98 or 99, I think. I’m aware that some of the blog entries are rather technically Tibetological, and if that is not exactly your cup of tea, I must apologize for them. Some may find it curious to learn that Tibeto-logic’s by far most frequently read blog is one with the title, “The Monkey and the Croc/Turtle.”* The reason for its popularity, I gradually came to understand, was because school children in the Philippines are sometimes required to write about this story, since it was once studied in a brief publication by José Rizal (1861-1896), a national hero of theirs. He compared the Japanese and Philippine versions, and concluded that the Philippine was more original. I sort of wonder how many cut-and-paste versions of this blog have been slapped on the teachers' desks on “assignment due” date.

(*The 2nd most-read blog is one on the Tibetan Olympics of 1695.)




Oh, and Losar is officially slated for the 22nd of February to the best of my knowledge (there are places that celebrate it at different dates for different reasons). So there’s still plenty of time to get your card ready. Just don’t put it off too long, you hear me?

(*Were you wondering about the poster? It’s been on my wall since around the mid-1980's, after a time in Kathmandu. It’s right up there above me at this very moment watching over what’s going on down here. To tell the truth, it doesn’t look like the Tibetan world has much to celebrate, and if you don’t know why, it means you haven’t been following the news. I’m of the opinion that Losar ought to be observed, even when it can’t be celebrated.)

•     •     •

Three Traditions of Ten Powers: In Buddhism, Judaism, Islam

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From one of several old Kabbalistic ‘Tree’
parchments in the outstanding collection of
William Gross of Tel Aviv


This mystical monogram, looking a little like a labyrinth, is made up of the first letters of the names of the ten Sephirot of Kabbala or Kabbalah. If you read Hebrew letters some, you will see the 'm' of Malkut [‘Kingship’] at the center, with the 'k' of Keter [‘Crown’] circling  — and significantly, extending out beyond — the other nine.

I had a kind of transcendental uplift (well, at the very least it made me rise above some common assumptions) when I was looking at it, although it wasn’t the first time I’d seen something very similar as an illustration in a book somewhere. Maybe the difference was this time I was seeing it in a very old parchment page, an actual touchable one and not a virtual one, at the head of a long scroll of one of those amazingly opaque, complicated albeit overwhelmingly intriguing (which is to say, if I may, “mystical”) Kabbalistic diagrams called simply Ilanot, which is as much as to say, Trees.


Now if I say that material objects can bear psychic imprints from their past owners, you'll accuse me of the rankest occultism (well, I’d think it would have more to do with contact relics of saints, really), but if I tell you that this monogram turned into another one in my mind, you’ll probably start questioning my mental lucidity. I can hear you now. ‘Aren’t you letting this letter permutation stuff get to you? Maybe you should take a break, brave the record low winter temperatures outside instead of sitting all day in that stuffy apartment breathing book dust. A little fresh cold air may do wonders for a person in your condition.’


Well, to summarize a long story into a single tableau, here is what I saw it turning into:








OK, I agree that the visual similarity doesn’t necessarily overwhelm you in one fell swoop. But try to look beyond the surfaces. Each is a 'monogram' that combines ten letters identified with ten elements, closely bound up with each other, that somehow encapsulate whole realms of the universe, bringing macrocosm and microcosm together in one complex but integrated and encyclopedic system of science. Each of the ten letters stands for a cosmic element or principle that extends through different levels or orders of being.

The origin of the name rnam bcu dbang ldan (namchu wangden) — this being the Tibetan name of what you see just above — is locatable in the Reciting the Names of Mañjuśrī, a passage that has been translated (by Gavin Kilty) like this,


  
“Ten powers of ten meanings, the mighty one of ten powers,
  the all-pervading master, accomplishing the wishes of all,
  the great and powerful in ten aspects.”




The Great Commentary, in its comments on Chapter 1, verse 5, says (also in Gavin's translation):

Haṃ kṣa ma la wa ra ya is the assembly of the worlds and the vajra body. In space the letter ya, the mandala of air. On top of that the ra fire mandala. On top of that the wa water mandala. On top of that the la earth mandala. On top of that the ma Meru. That is the fifth. Above that the kṣa lotus of animate beings. On top of that the formless worlds ha. From the ha the visarga is the sun, the drop is the moon, and the nāda is the sign of the one-pointed vajra.”

For more on the colors and letters of this monogram, look here.  And here.


I’ve left this blog entry adrift in draft limbo for months now, half expecting some sudden revelation that would tie everything together for myself in a way that would be convincing to some other people. I think I’ll give up on that for the moment and just suggest that there may well be a way of establishing historical linkages between these things sometime in the future. My general hunch is that the ten categories, an Aristotelian idea to be briefly exposed here in just a minute was pre-ordained by the importance the number ten held for the Pythagoreans before him. This idea was then later taken up and transformed by the neo-Platonic teacher-student series of Plotinus > Porphyry >  Iamblichus. The ideas of all these just-mentioned people were especially influential in the Middle East and subsequently entered in various mixes into the Ikhwan al-Safa' in Iraq,* into Kabalah as it was emerging in Spain, into some streams of Sufism, as well as into the Kālacakra Tantra.** Well, I only ask you to accept the possibility that a chain of influences somewhat like this could have taken place, and that it could eventually be proven one way or another. I leave myself open to criticism from every quarter. I expect it.
(*I meant to say more about the ten categories in Islam, but for now I would just like to point out that the Epistles of the Brethren of Purity has an 11th chapter in the section on mathematical-philosophical subjects entirely devoted to them. The Brethren believed the ten powers covered all of existence. I think a translation of this section may have been published already, but I can't find a reference to it. But wait, I think I found it. Look here. Some may fault me for not getting into a comparison of the contents of the ten, but I will save this for later. At the moment I'm intent only on looking at the container, not the contents.)
(**All these things were occurring within the same basic time-frame, the 10th to 11th centuries more or less, long before the Mongol Conquest, in a time when the main avenues of knowledge transfer between India and Spain were in Islamic hands. It is now well known that some of the early Spanish Kabbalists were deeply influenced by the Ikhwan (their Epistles dating to around 980). One conduit for this Islam-to-Kabbalah influence, including the ten categories, would have been Ibn al-Sid al-Batalyawsi [1052-1126], who wrote in Arabic although some of his works were translated into Hebrew. His Book of Imaginary Circles was translated into Hebrew no fewer than three times! See  under the name Eliyahu in the readings list below.)  (I make a note to myself with a resolve to someday look into the book called Microcosmus by Joseph ibn Saddiq, aka Tsaddik aka Zaddiq aka Zaddik, dates 1075-1149.)  

A Window in Tsfat

- - -


I will try to keep this short and to the point, since it is a topic that has occasioned much ink spillage over many centuries, and I by no means regard myself as the one to give it full or adequate treatment.* Aristotle elaborated his “ten categories” in his book called, well, Categories.  They are more precisely to be understood as genera, or the most general of possible categories.  Initially it may strike one as amusing that some medieval thinkers call them “predicaments” ...  but this is because they have to do with predicates...   Predicates, as in the things predicated to nouns to make sentences, are really the very thing Aristotle was talking about. To get into a predicament means to be at the receiving end of the verbal sticks of the sentence.  Aristotle was answering the question, What would be a minimal yet general set that would cover the types of things one might meaningfully say about something or another?
(*To get a sense of the widely divergent ways of understanding them by the our contemporary scholastics, have a look at footnote five in this book.)


To follow one version of the Greek in its English translation (Gren-Eklund), we have these:  1. being or existence, 2. how much, 3. what kind, 4. related to what, 5. where, 6. when, 7. to lie, 8. to have or to be in a state, 9. to do, and 10. be affected.  


These largely verbal and interrogative expressions (which is more as it should be, I'd venture to suggest) were nominalized in the Latin translation to mean 1. substance, 2. quantity, 3. quality, 4. relation, 5. place, 6. time, 7. position, 8. condition, 9. active form of action, 10. passive form of action.


Apparently, Aristotle’s “ten categories” are directly applied (by him) to the actual rather than the potential (two hugely distinct concepts in his way of thinking).

However, later interpreters at least, took them to apply to the potential as well.  I’m thinking this may be how the categories became powers. But then, I think by “powers” we must understand potency or potential for movement, activity and change. To reason from the contrary, if a noun has nothing predicated of it, like when we encounter the bare word, like “grape” or “sobriety,” it’s doing nothing at all, is serving no purpose, goes nowhere. We haven’t produced a meaningful statement. At best we could blurt these out as one-word answers to simple questions.* 
(*In this case, perhaps, “What is your favorite soda flavor?” and “What do you hope to gain from going to AA meetings?”)

In any case, the “ten genera” idea itself did not remain static, but was transformed in particular by two Platonists of high historic significance: Plotinus (ca. 204-270 CE) and more importantly his most prominent disciple Porphyry (b. ca. 233 CE) who wrote what was often regarded as an introduction to Aristotle's CategoriesThis became perhaps the most influential text for instruction in logic in both the Islamic and European medieval worlds.


As I said, and I repeat: It isn’t in my present plan to go as far as to conclude anything, just to make some suggestive juxtapositions. I think that is enough of an assignment for me at the moment. Or were you expecting me to do more for you? You know I would try and help you more if I could. I hope I could at least get you thinking along these lines. Is it too difficult to imagine that the histories of logic (together with grammar) and esoteric spirituality could have been intertangled in ways we have previously overlooked?



§  §  §




It's possible to get along just fine, people.
Really it is.  Encountering people where
they are.  Encounter, not confrontation.

Much too much to read:


Thomas Block, Shalom/Salaam: A Story of a Mystical Fraternity, Fons Vitae (Louisville 2010). The same author's shorter and perhaps more accessible article “The Question of Sufi Influence on the Early Kabbalah” may be encountered online at tomblock.com, which is definitely worth a visit. I think the book overly belabors its point that Kabbalah owes much to its historical encounter with Islam and Sufism, but that could just be me. The author is so thoroughly convinced his readers will be overly resistant. (I recommend turning to the works of Paul Fenton listed in his bibliography.)


George Perrigo Conger (1884-1960), Theories of Macrocosms and Microcosms in the History of Philosophy, Columbia University Press (New York 1922). Available for free in digital archives, this has surely been one of the most-consulted general works on its subject. As an alternative general study, there is the independently written and in some ways preferable essay by Rudolf Allers, Microcosmus: From Anaximandros to Paracelsus, Traditio, vol. 2 (1944), pp. 319-407. Allers was best known to history for being a breakaway disciple of Sigmund Freud and for his book on Freudian psychology entitled The Successful Error. For this reason alone there would necessarily be a webpage devoted to him.


Gunilla Gren-Eklund, The Meanings of Words and the Categories of Things: Indian and Aristotelian, Orientalia Suecana, vol. 48 (1999), pp. 43-48. It was reading this article that first got me thinking about this subject.


Ayala Eliyahu, The Cosmic Circle of Ibn al-Sid al-Batalyawsi: The Representation of a Humanistic World View. Unpublished paper delivered at the conference “Text & Image in Religious Cosmography,” given at the University of Haifa in July 2011. Note, too, that Batalyawsi has been much mentioned in recent writings of the well-known Kabbalah scholar Moshe Idel, especially his Ascensions on High in Jewish Mysticism.


Ronald C. Kiener, Jewish Ismā'īlism in Twelfth-Century Yemen: R. Nethanel ben al-Fayyūmī, The Jewish Quarterly Review, vol. 74, no. 3 (January 1984), pp. 249-266.


Gavin Kilty, tr., Khedrup Norsang Gyatso [Mkhas-grub Nor-bzang-rgya-mtsho], 1423-1513 CE], Ornament of Stainless Light: An Exposition of the Kālacakra Tantra, Library of Tibetan Classics no. 14, Wisdom (Boston 2004), at p. 327.

Cyrill von Korvin‑Krasinski, Die zehn Kategorien des Aristoteles im Licht der altasiatischen Seinsstufen symbolik, Symbolon, vol. 4 (1964), pp. 119‑148.  This appears to be quite relevant to the subject of our blog, written by a person well known for his early study of Tibetan medicine, also author of a book entitled Mikrokosmos und Makrokosmos in religionsgeschichtlicher Sicht. The article is not available to me. I’ve never seen it, have you? I guess it’s possible that it has the same ideas I thought I came up with 40-odd years later.


J.N. Mattock, "al-Maḳūlāt." Contained in:  Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition, edited by: P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel and W.P. Heinrichs; Brill (Leiden 2011). I could fortunately use the online version.


John Newman, A Brief History of the Kalachakra, contained in: Geshe Lhundup Sopa, R. Jackson and J. Newman, The Wheel of Time: The Kalachakra in Context (Madison 1985), pp. 51-90.  Also available online, and especially recommended as an introduction for readers looking for some more background.


John Newman, Islam in the Kālacakra Tantra, Journal of the International Association of Buddhist Studies, vol. 21, no. 2 (1998), pp. 311-371.


John Newman, The Daśākāravaśin in the Kālacakra Tantra, a paper presented at the American Academy of Religion's annual meeting (November 25, 1991).  An unpublished draft of the paper on the very subject of the Ten Powers (or is this the right name for them?) courtesy of the author. I haven’t gotten around to making use of this yet, perhaps in a future blog.


Giacomella Orofino, Apropos of Some Foreign Elements in the Kālacakratantra, contained in: Helmut Krasser, Michael T. Much, Ernst Steinkellner, Helmut Tauscher, eds., Tibetan Studies I and II: Proceedings of the 7th Seminar of the International Association for Tibetan Studies, Graz 1995, Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften (Wien 1997), vol. 2, pp. 717‑724. The most interesting thing for myself in this fascinating (if perhaps difficult to procure) essay is the part about the “active intellect” of Islamic philosophy popping up in the Kālacakra (although in a negative context, and even if it was misconstrued at times in Tibetan as byis-pa’i blo, which means ‘childish mind,’ rather than byas-pa’i blo or byed-pa’i blo, the ‘mind that made’ or ‘mind that makes’...).  The 'Aql fa'al, or active intellect is especially emphasized in philosophical currents of Isma'ili and related groups that were active in the 9th-10th century when the Kālacakra system was in formation.


Paul E. Walker, Early Philosophical Shiism, Cambridge University Press (Cambridge 1993), p. 103. Al-Sijistani was active between 930's and 970's:
Nature arises within soul and this process al-Sijistani describes as “gushing” (inbijas). Since soul contains two contrary dispositions: motion and repose; in what she produces, these create a further pair: form and matter. Matter passively accepts the alternation in it of forms. Thus matter is inert and form constantly changing. The result of the union of form and matter is physical being which may also be defined as the world of substance and the nine accidents, or in other words the ten categories listed by Aristotle: substance (jawhar), quantity (kammiya), quality (kayfiya), relation (mudaf), time (zaman), place (makan), possession (jida), position (nusba), affection (maful), and action (fafil). Al-Sijistani mentions the categories in this order and calls them as a whole the “world of nature” (Calam al-tabl'a).
This nicely displays the set of ten as very active and universal forces in cosmogenesis, not just cosmology. That’s why I quote it here.


Steven M. Wasserstrom, Sefer Yeṣira and Early Islam: A Reappraisal, Journal of Jewish Thought and Philosophy, vol. 3 (1993), pp. 1-30.  Idem., Further Thoughts on the Origins of Sefer Yeṣira, Aleph, vol. 2 (2002), pp. 201-221.




Analysis of the syllables e and vam (evam being the first word of every Buddhist scripture),
seen on either side of the Ten Powers monogram depicted earlier on.
From “Illusion Web,” available at Digital Himalalaya.










Generating Sacred Symbols

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Lumbini 2011




Preface


What you will find below if you scroll down a bit is a short section from a book manuscript I’ve been working on since I can remember. It doesn’t have a real title yet, or to put it more accurately, it has had a large number of titles so far. It’s about the symbolism of ritual objects such as the Vajra and Bell and commonly-seen devotional practices within the world of Tibetan (and Indian) Buddhism, but entering into other worlds when doing so makes sense to me or helps me make sense of things. If you have any particular or general reactions to it, be so kind as to let me know. I’ve already rewritten it so many times, I can’t even see the end of revision. Perhaps you can help me with that. I did very much enjoy the challenge of trying to find suitable illustrations.



The general trend of thinking may be a surprising one (someone even told me that it was dangerous, although I find that a little melodramatic). I hold that the distinction between religion with and religion without images is not of any great account...  


I had two pivotal real-life experiences that could in some part account for the essay that I hope you will find time to read. In 1989 or so I had a brief stop in Paris on the way to Nepal. With the impressions of Catholic piety fresh in my mind (especially women taking holy water and making light offerings), I witnessed similar things going on at Bodhanath and concluded that “Devotion is a single emotion.” One expression of veneration was equal to the other, fulfilling the same human needs. I knew this.


Some years later I was in the Mediterranean visiting a secluded place that had once been sacred to the Greek god Pan. I can’t really encapsulate it in a few words, and I very much doubt it had anything to do with Pan, but it happened when I saw on the side of a large rock face a small empty niche that may at one time have held a divine representation. This emptiness made a very large impression...  An emptiness that is nevertheless a fullness, bursting with every possibility...  There ready for any kind of projection of sacred forms... Open to any kind of revelation. Well, I guess it could have had something to do with Pan...


In what follows I try to posit a general idea — I hesitate to use the word theory — about the manner in which religious symbols or icons or imagery (use whatever terms you like) grow inside religious cultures. It’s an idea that is itself largely owed to Indian and Tibetan Buddhism, but I think it will make sense to those who are not very familiar with that world.


I should apologize for and explain my use of the word ‘emotion’ in this little essay. I mean by it something broader than emotion per se. I mean something more like Buddhist Abhidharma 'mental states' theory. It covers a large range of human reactions to things, some of them more trends of thinking than those feeling|sentiment types of things English speakers usually mean by this word. There are mental states that are positive and conducive to growth, like generosity and open-mindedness, and there are others that are negative and have bad consequences...  like hatreds and addictions. Well, there are more excuses and apologies that ought to be made, but let’s not spend so much time introducing the introduction that we don’t just get started.








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This exploratory study of the implements used in monastic and anchoritic rituals of Tibetan Buddhism, while broadly speaking ‘cultural-historical,’ lays emphasis on their symbolic interpretation. It is a human-istic approach in the sense that sacred symbols are seen as a part, an especially significant part, of the growth of humanity’s religious cultures. The late modern world’s structuralist and cognitivist approaches to symbolism have proven inadequate, I would say, because of their neglect of the inevitable human emotional factors, let alone the question which sorts of emotions are at play. If we admit that religious devotion engages a complex of emotions, still, how can we describe it, and further how can we put our fingers on precisely how symbolisms of various sorts might engage with this or that emotion or emotional complex? 


According to one wellknown definition, a symbol is “an object or a pattern which, whatever the reason may be, operates upon [people], and causes effect in them, beyond mere recognition of what is literally presented in the given form.”[1] It may be well to add that religious symbolism has its effect on us, as believers, because it seems to place us in contact with blessings and powers linked to our particular religious sacraments, founders, our holy figures and objects (including holy books), our saints and relics. That is why we generally do not confuse religious symbols with the usual types of figures of the literary kinds, no matter how much they might otherwise resemble each other. 


Metaphors, however evocative, do not usually have sacramental powers.[2] In our use of the term, ‘religious symbolism’ is closely equivalent to sacred art, the ‘sacred’ being a quality going above and beyond, but without cancelling, questions of aesthetics.[3] But if religious symbolism is sacred art, we still have to muse over that age-old question, What is art for? What is its (actual, practical, ideal or ideological) relationship with the human world?
Symbolism, of some type and degree, is universal to religion. Even though some iconoclastic religions (or sects and movements within them) have tried to do away with symbolic mediation, they have never really succeeded. Even religions who have achieved limited success in doing away with two- or three-dimensional artistic imagery, the imagery of their scriptures — perhaps even of their calligraphy, the symbolism of the Word itself, or the potencies of the very letters — remained, as for example in post-Hellenistic Judaism,[4] Islam and various types of Protestant Christianity.[5] Still, even in these latter cases the human tendency to engage with forms religiously, particularly in moments of private prayer or meditation, has by no means been eliminated.[6] 




It may well be that religions that have retreated into the minimal forms of visual representation might be the very religions that have most tended to ultimatize a deity with maximally personalized attributes in their minds’ eyes. It seems as if each religious culture has negotiated, to its own satisfaction, the tensions between immanence and transcendence. Should we simply respect their conclusions as appropriate to their specific conditions, as factors meant to maximize their survival capabilities, or some such anyway, after-the-fact explanation?
Why would a religious culture insist on stopping at some more minimalist point in the scale of divine manifestation?  One common response of the minimalist traditions has been that taking the next step would bring greater involvement, would excite the senses and their associated emotions, leading the devotee to sensual and emotional excesses, which would cause immorality and its attendant social ills or disruptions.  At the same time, the transcendent divine would be compromised by being brought too close to the human scale of things. I suggest that the minimalists’ standpoints make sense within their particular spheres of religious culture, but when we stand back and attempt to take a broader view of religious phenomena, a different way of comprehending their attitudes might emerge.  


Consider (and reconsider) the possibility that those religions that accept maximal modes of manifestation might at the same time possess more powerful methods for transforming the devotee’s sensual and emotional tendencies in the direction of transcendence, that they might have ways of using the greater sensory and emotional involvement that more fully incarnated (fleshed out, elaborated) imagery supplies to the human imagination in the service of those trans- or supra-human goals religions recommend.  They may have greater confidence in the kinds of human potential that keep those options open.  


In short, I suggest that religious cultures employing maximal immanence may possess the power-sources to effect maximal transcendence.  True, this would depend not only on the religion, but on the religious person, on their experience, emotional maturity and wisdom.  (We really do need to question and resist the tendency in religious studies classes even nowadays to utter statements implying ‘ethnographic wholism,’ for example, that Buddhists [or Tibetan Buddhists or Catholics or Sikhs or Bonpos, etc.] are like such-and-such and believe such-and-such.  We also need to put to the test any assumptions we might have that they do whatever it is that they do entirely because of what is written in their holy books, assuming they have them.)
The ability of sacred images to contract into syllables, into emblems, into empty thrones and finally even into empty space (as well as ‘expanding’ in reverse order) is perhaps most clearly exemplified in Tibetan Buddhist sādhana practice in which divine forms of Buddhas may be consciously ‘generated’ through these different levels at a single sitting.  The five degrees of manifestation, called ngönjang (mngon-byang) in Tibetan, abhisambodhi in Sanskrit, are: 


Five Degrees of Manifestation
(illustrated by the Letter 'A', Japanese Shingon)

These levels are especially relevant for the class of tantras known as Yoga Tantras, in use by the Japanese Shingon School among others, but remain of significance (or we could even say a necessary background) for the classes of Great Yoga or Highest Yoga Tantras[7] in which Tibetans tend to specialize. One early Tibetan source[8] very explicitly supplies the homologies for the meditative process that are to be found in ordinary human birth: [1] entering the empty womb, [2] the semen and blood of the father and mother, [3] the incarnating consciousness in the form of a letter, [4] the formation of a Vajra in the case of a male and of the Lotus in the case of a female, and [5] the completion of the body over nine or ten months. 


There are clear ‘parallels’ (although I think it preferable to use the weightier traditional word, ‘correspondences’) between ideas about human conception and gestation, the degrees of divine manifestation, and the sādhana practice of visualizing the divine Buddhist ideals the Vajrayânist aspires to not only embrace, but fully embody.


Empty Niche
This Yogatantra list merits contrast with a comparable set of five basic possibilities for sacred representations that has been perceived, by archaeologists and scholars (and not articulated, nota bene, by the religions themselves), in the ancient Middle Eastern religions considered as a whole:





Here the absence of the aural word-and/or-letter possibility most demands discussion. Differences between ancient Egyptian and Mesopotamian on the one hand, and Hindu and Buddhist image cults on the other, may be underlined by the relative importance of consecratory mouth-opening in the first instance, and eye-opening in the second.  The first would appear to indicate an oracular or prophetic relationship with deity (and not onlythe ability to receive food and drink offerings), while the second underlines a visionary relationship, even if the other senses are not neglected, this being entirely a question of emphasis.[11]  This would seem to indicate variable degrees of emphasis on the verbal or visual symbolic levels.  


Still, the importance and perhaps even the primacy of vision in Mesopotamian image cults is the subject of an article by Irene Winter.  Kabbalistic speculations on the divine ‘faces’ (partsufim), meaning the types of divine self-presentation in light of our human limitations, while (nearly) entirely limited to the formal and sonic qualities of the letters of the Hebrew alphabet, would certainly be worthy of consideration in this regard.[12] Still, this would lead us to wonder about the apparent absence (or neglect?) of letters/sounds as divine aspects in the archaeological evidence from the ancient Middle East.  That prophetic utterance and scriptural text might both be seen as in some real sense divine or holy has been so commonly accepted as primary in those religions that it might very well go without saying. (And of course sonic phenomena are not often to be seen in archaeological digs.  In the absence of sound recording what artefact would we expect to find?)


Empty Throne
(Byzantine era, San Marco, Venice)
Still, these comparative considerations placed aside, there is something about the internal history of Buddhism itself that might help explain at least some of the ‘five degrees of manifestation.’ As is very well known, the Buddha was not represented in human form for the first centuries of Buddhist history. Although there are some dissenting voices, it is usually believed that the earliest Buddhist art, typically involving a devotional scene around the Bodhi Tree and the seat where the Buddha gained enlightenment, but without any depiction of the Buddha Himself, signifies that there was in those times a restriction on representing the Buddha in human form. Still, when we look into this, it would seem that not a single Buddhist scriptural passage forbids Buddha images. One scholar has well argued, however, that these are ‘pilgrimage’ scenes, that they naturally depict the Buddha’s seat without the Buddha seated in it because that is just how pilgrims would have found it in Bodhgaya in those times. 


Venerating the Empty Seat

The meaning of the Buddha’s seat may have quite concrete roots in Buddhist history. It is said that the Buddha during His life always sat on a seat set apart from the gathering of His followers, but even during the absence of the Buddha, a special seat was still reserved for Him, and it was believed that in times of need, the Buddha could suddenly, or even miraculously, make His appearance on the seat to provide guidance. After the death of the Buddha, His seat remained a powerful symbol of His continuing presence (and the possibility of visionary manifestation). At root, perhaps the symbolism is one of traditional Indian hospitality for guests, in which the guest is offered a seat (with a better and more honorable seat for the more worthy).[13] Regardless of the reasons, the ‘empty throne’ would in early times sometimes show a triple jewel (triratna) above the seat, symbolizing Buddha, Dharma and Sagha.  This does, at least in a general way, resemble the ‘emblem,’ the fourth degree of manifestation, which would precede the full image in visualization practices detailed in later texts.[14]

Making the transition to Mahāyāna and Vajrayāna, the early symbolism of the seat went a few steps further (but with the further steps ‘suggested’ by earlier steps). The seat became a lotus seat, since the lotus is a symbol of purity (of purity that emerges out of and transcends impurity) and of pure, or divine, birth. Similar ideas about the birth (or rebirth) of deities from lotusses were apparently known in ancient Egypt.[15] The Vajrayāna emphasis on homologies between Buddha manifestation (and visualization) and reproductive/ birth processes led them to place a sun and moon on the seat, symbolizing the male and female reproductive substances, just as the seed-syllable that appears in the next stage of manifestation stands for the reincarnating consciousness. This, or something very like this — for there are controversies in this area, as in others — is basic Vajrayāna, which consciously applies methods of spiritual practice that reflect and utilize, in what is regarded as an effective way, the processes of birth and death (as well as intervening stages of growth, coming-of-age rites, etc.) as these processes were understood in Indian Buddhist science and culture.

These considerations on the cross-cultural and intra-cultural equivalency of different levels of symbolic manifestation, always involving various divine compromises in the face of our human sensory capabilities (our ability to ‘see’ and ‘hear’ in particular), inform the following chapters.  Turned back on the investigator, they may well threaten his representations of them, or even his right to make them. We have to wonder how much we should be informing the traditions we study, and how much those traditions should inform us — and, of course, how much our information depends on those who have been more or less zealous in informing the traditions they study from those varied external viewpoints of the human sciences we now know as ‘theory.’ 

As an aside, we may point out that the Greek word theoria, from which ‘theory’ is taken, is rather roughly equivalent to what we mean nowadays by pilgrimage.[16] Of course, it includes as well journeys to festivals, and even journeys undertaken in order to see how other people live, rather like modern tourists. Herodotus was just such a ‘tourist’ when he went to do his fieldwork in North Africa. But generally it referred to a kind of contemplative seeing of sacred objects of various sorts, rather closely resembling the act known as ‘seeing,’ in Sanskrit darśana, in Indian religious culture. It is one of those curious and ironic twists of word history that has transformed theory, the effort to go out and see things for ourselves, into a group of brandnames of intellectual baggage that may often form an obdurate obstacle to seeing things directly in any meaningful way.

To be continued...  Here



[1] Goodenough (1988: 40).  One might also compare the discussions by various authors of the meaning of symbolism in Werner (1991). Recommended for its illustrations, as well as for its attempt at wide coverage of Tibetan symbolism, is Levenson (2000), although it might well be criticized on a number of grounds.  On an entirely different level, although also intended as a very popular presentation, is Thurman (1995). By the way, what may be the oldest synagogue that still exists (completed in 244 CE), preserved in a museum in Damascus, is the Dura-Europas Synagogue that is the main subject of Goodenough’s book. There was no prohibition against the representation of the human figure. And as Elverskog (2010) in a book I've mentioned here before shows quite clearly, there have been times and places in Islamic history when human figures, even of the Prophet, could be painted.

[2]  Some might prefer to use a concept like ‘participatory’ or the like, in place of ‘sacramental,’ as does Ladner (1979).  This would seem to lend a more sociological bent (just as the word ‘sacramental’ might lend itself to an emphasis on history), even if intended in a broader sense — a presumed or experienced interrelationship with the universe of beings and the beyond. I think it is precisely on account of their non-participation — their cynical distanciation, their reduction of the symbol to something both arbitrary and merely subjective — that the modern structuralists, and even more so their followers among the so-called post-moderns, fall from and at the same time fail to comprehend traditional ways of using and understanding symbols. Surely, as Ladner argues, the medieval Christian understanding of symbolism differs from that of the structuralists in fairly essential ways. At the risk of failing, and of course with what might with justice be considered an excessive emphasis on history, I attempt to approach the Tibetan sources in an exploratory way that should not predispose us to view them through modernist or post-modernist or, for that matter, ‘new age’ filters. I believe historical explorations of the better sort result in fresher as well as more refreshing understandings.

[3] One ought to at least consider the possibility, as put forward by Kapstein (2004: 272-3), that the sacred and the artistically sublime are somehow parallel, that encountering sacred objects culminates in a sense of their holiness (or ‘the sacred’) just as viewing museum art or listening to music may culminate in aesthetic rapture. Both outcomes depend on personal immersion in a particular artistic or religious culture. Neither outcome necessarily excludes the other. But at the same time we should not presume that the experience of the sacred is simply aesthetic (making note of Coomaraswamy’s puzzling use of the translation ‘aesthetic shock’ that appears below).

[4] See especially Idel 2001. Jewish theologians, Kabbalists and Hasids, in their varying ways, have often located the presence of the Author of the Torah in the very letters of the physical book. Of course, in general practice, on a popular level, the Torah scroll forms the one and only focus of cult within the synagogue. It is placed in the sacred ‘cabinet’ (aron) at the front and center of the synagogue/temple, just like the empty (yet architecturally framed and emphasized) qiblahof the mosque that indicates the sacred direction of cultic worship toward which prostrations and prayers are oriented.


A Curtained Torah Ark in Safed (Tsfat)
[5]We might want to add Confucianism, in at least some of its historic phases, to this list of non- and anti-iconic religions. It is at the same time true that there were times and places in which Confucianists practiced a regular cult devoted to his person, with consecrated icons forming a part of it.  For more on this, see Murray (2009).

[6] And it is instructive to observe the point at which a particular religion or sect stops, because it is usually apparent what the next logical step in representation would be. For instance, in many Baptist churches, while unadorned Crosses may very well be placed in a raised central location in the church, decorative frills or figures of any kind are avoided. The full-bodied sculptural representation of Jesus dying on the Cross they would see as little less than idolatry. Some Protestant sects, while they do not deny that it is the death of the physical form of Jesus that most potently symbolizes redemptive power, nevertheless shrink back from picturing it three-dimensionally in anything but their minds’ eyes (two-dimensional pastel paintings reproduced within the zippered leather bindings of their Bibles being for most of them neither noteworthy nor problematic).

[7] Great Yoga is, in Sanskrit Mahāyoga, while Highest Yoga is often re-Sanskritized as Anuttara Yoga although Yoga Niruttara is probably the correct form, as Harunaga Isaacson (Hamburg) would insist.

[8]  See ’Jig-rten-mgon-po 2001: VI 5.

[9]Ornan (1995) and Ornan (2005) concern a period in Babylonian and Assyrian history (generally corresponding to the period of temple reforms in Jerusalem), in which there was a strong tendency to replace anthropomorphic deities with their emblems (niphu). 

[11] For an accessible source on the five levels of manifestation in Indian and Tibetan Buddhism, see Beyer (1973: 109-111).  For the Middle Eastern types of visual representation of deity listed here see van der Toorn (1997: particularly the words of Izak Cornelius on pp. 41-2).  On the history and symbolism of the animals (or cherubim) that elevate old Middle Eastern thrones (or, indeed, ‘chariots’) of the gods, see L’Orange (1953), who finds strong evidence of their ‘astral’ character.  These animals support the throne when conceived as such, but pull it when it is considered to be a chariot.  Animals likewise uphold the seats of divine figures in Indian and Tibetan Buddhism (in specific cases, like that of Mārîcî, we do find chariots pulled by animals, in this case seven pigs, symbolically echoing the seven horses that pull the chariot of the sun), where the technical term for them is, in Sanskrit, vāhana, a word covering the meanings of both ‘mount’ and ‘conveyance.’  Indian and Tibetan Buddhism also know of animal-headed deities, and even of deities that have both animal and human heads.  


Sûrya at the Golden Temple of Patan -
Notice the seven horses
However, in all cases, the animal bearing the throne is considered to be part of the throne rather than part of the deity.  On the representation of the divine throne, in which the angelic cherubim figures are the upholders of the throne, once found in the Holy of Holies of the Jerusalem Temple, see Haran (1985: 220 ff., 246-259).  The gold and ivory throne of Solomon was flanked by lions (I Kings 10:18-20), and its later iconography, too, is of interest, since the Virgin Mary and various earthly kings like Henry VI could also be placed on it in artworks (Ragusa 1977; Weiss 1995; Shalev-Eyni 2006), and because, as in Tibetan icons, the throne absorbed elements from the architecture surrounding it.  The boundaries between throne, niche and palace are sometimes somewhat blurred.  See Winter (1992), the article by Angelika Berlejung in van der Toorn (1997), Bentor (1996), and the contributions contained in Dick (1999) as well as Walls (2005).  There are some interesting comparative comments on eye and mouth opening in Thompson (1991: 8-10).

[12] Thanks are due to Menachem Kallus, who kindly shared with me some of his writing on this subject in his (then) forthcoming dissertation. Rather similar to this Kabbalistic idea, but quite different in its rationales, the famed rationalist Moses Maimonides (1136-1204) interprets certain ‘irrational’ demands of the deity, especially animal sacrifices, as resulting from ‘divine condescendence’ (in Greek, synkatabasis; in Arabic, talaṭṭuf), an accommodation to human, and decidedly notdivine, needs (Stroumsa 2001: 16).  When we see that just such rationales may be used for worship focussed on images, while bearing in mind that Israel’s Jerusalem temple cult was largely premised and focussed on the presence of an anthropomorphic image even in the absence of any depiction (Haran 1985), then the ‘Mosaic distinction’ (Assmann 1996), that dividing line between true religion and paganism that underlies so much else in the history of European and American thinking, while not easily erased, loses some of it’s ‘naturalness’ and solidity, and translation and dialog become possible.

[13] This discussion is essentially a paraphrase of Kariyawasam (1966: 130), to which the reader is referred for greater elaboration.

[14] Although there is a great deal of literature on this particular subject (and still much more on the question of the origins of the Buddha image), most of it is summarized or cited in Tanaka (1999), Huntington (1990), and van Kooij (1995).

[15] There are a number of studies on Lotus symbolism, and only a few of them will be mentioned here.  On the early Indian symbolism of the Lotus, see especially Coomaraswamy (1971, pt. 2: 56-60).  On Egyptian ideas about deities born from lotusses, see Moret (1917).  On both Egyptian and Indian deities on lotusses, see Morenz & Schubert (1954).

[16] For arguments and justification for what follows, with further documentation and references, see Rutherford (2000).  Of course darśana (as well as Tibetan lta-ba) also often means ‘view’ in a more philosophical sense, and there are still other problems lurking here.  I must leave some wrinkles to be ironed out some other time.


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Referenced publications —









Assmann, Jan 1996— The Mosaic Distinction: Israel, Egypt, and the Invention of Paganism, Representations, no. 56, Special Issue: The New Erudition (Autumn 1996), pp. 48-67.
Bentor, Yael 1996 — Consecration of Images and Stūpas in Indo-Tibetan Tantric Buddhism, E.J. Brill (Leiden 1996).
Beyer, Stephan 1973 — The Cult of Tārā: Magic and Ritual in Tibet, University of California Press (Berkeley 1973).
Coomaraswamy, Ananda K. 1971 — Yakṣas, Part I and Part II, Munshiram Manoharlal (New Delhi 1971).
Dick, Michael B. 1999 — ed., Born in Heaven, Made on Earth: The Making of the Cult Image in the Ancient Near East, Eisenbrauns (Winona Lake 1999).
Elverskog, Johan 2010 Buddhism and Islam on the Silk Road, University of Pennsylvania Press (Philadelpha 2010).
Goodenough, Erwin R. 1988 — Jewish Symbols in the Greco-Roman Period, Bollingen Series, Princeton University Press (Princeton 1988).
Haran, Menachem 1985 — Temples and Temple-Service in Ancient Israel: An Inquiry into Biblical Cult Phenomena and the Historical Setting of the Priestly School, Eisenbrauns (Winona Lake 1985). I can’t recommend this book highly enough.
Huntington, Susan L. 1990 — Early Buddhist Art and the Theory of Aniconism, Art Journal, vol. 49 (1990), pp. 401-407.  You can read it, without the illustrations, here.
Idel, Moshe 2001 — Torah: Between Presence and Representation of the Divine in Jewish Mysticism, contained in: Jan Assmann & Albert I. Baumgarten, eds., Representation in Religion: Studies in Honor of Moshe Barasch, Brill (Leiden 2001), pp. 197-235.
’Jig-rten-mgon-po 2001 — The Collected Works (Bka’-’bum) of Khams Gsum Chos-kyi Rgyal-po Thub-dbang Ratna-śrî (Skyob-pa ’Jig-rten-gsum-mgon); [Tibetan title page:] Khams Gsum Chos-kyi Rgyal-po Thub-dbang Ratna-shrî’i Phyi-yi Bka’-’bum Nor-bu’i Bang-mdzod, H.H. Drikung Kyabgon Chetsang (Konchog Tenzin Kunzang Thinley Lhundup), Drikung Kagyu Institute (Dehradun 2001), in 12 volumes.
Kapstein, Matthew 2004 — Rethinking Religious Experience: Seeing the Light in the History of Religions, contained in: Matthew Kapstein, ed., The Presence of Light: Divine Radiance and Religious Experience, University of Chicago Press (Chicago 2004), pp. 265-299.
Kariyawasam A.G.S. 1966 — Āsana, contained in: G.P. Malalasekera, ed., Encyclopaedia of Buddhism, Government of Ceylon (Colombo 1966), volume 2, fascicle 1, pp. 127-132.
Kooij, K.R. van 1995 — Remarks on Festivals & Altars in Early Buddhist Art, contained in: K.R. van Kooij, et al., eds., Function & Meaning in Buddhist Art, Egbert Forsten (Groningen 1995), pp.  33-44.
Ladner, Gerhart B. 1979 — Medieval and Modern Understanding of Symbolism: A Comparison, Speculum, vol. 54 (1979), no. 2 (April), pp. 223-256.
L’Orange, H.P. 1953 — The Iconography of Cosmic Kingship in the Ancient World, H. Aschehoug & Co. (Oslo 1953).
Morenz, Siegfried & Johannes Schubert 1954 — Der Gott auf der Blume: Eine ägyptische Kosmogonie und ihre weltweite Bildwirkung, Artibus Asiae Supplementum series no. 12, Artibus Asiae Publishers (Ascona 1954).
Moret, M.A. 1917 — Le lotus et la naissance des dieux en Égypte, Journal Asiatique, 11th series, vol. 9 (1917), pp. 499-513.
Murray, Julia K. 2009 — “Idols” in the Temple: Icons and the Cult of Confucius, Journal of Asian Studies, vol. 68, no. 2 (May 2009), pp. 371-411.
Ornan, Tallay 1995 — The Transition from Figured to Non-Figured Representations in First Millennium Mesopotamian Glyptic, contained in:  Joan G. Westenholz, ed., Seals and Sealing in the Ancient Near East, Bible Lands Museum (Jerusalem 1995), pp. 39-56.
Ornan, Tallay 2005 — The Triumph of the Symbol, Pictorial Representation of Deities in Mesopotamia and the Biblical Image Ban, Academic Press, (Fribourg 2005).
Ragusa, Isa 1977 — Terror Demonum and Terror Inimicorum: The Two Lions of the Throne of Solomon and the Open Door of Paradise, Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte, vol. 40, no. 2 (1977), pp. 93-114.
Rutherford, Ian 2000 — Theoria and Darśan: Pilgrimage and Vision in Greece and India, Classical Quarterly, New Series vol. 50, no. 1 (2000), pp. 133-146.
Shalev-Eyni, Sarit 2006 — Solomon, His Demons and Jongleurs: The Meeting of Islamic, Judaic and Christian Culture, Al-Masāq, vol. 18, no. 2 (September 2006), pp. 145-160.
Stroumsa, Guy G. 2001 — John Spencer and the Roots of Idolatry, History of Religions, vol. 41, (2001), no. 1 (August), pp. 1-23.
Tanaka, Kanoko 1999 — “The Empty Throne” in Early Buddhist Art and Its Sacred Memory Left Behind after the Emergence of the Buddha Image, contained in: W. Reinink & J. Stumpel, eds., Memory & Oblivion: Proceedings of the XXIXth International Congress of the History of Art Held in Amsterdam, 1-7 September 1996, Kluwer Academic Publishers (Dordrecht 1999), pp. 619-624. There is also a book on the subject by the same author.
Thompson, Laurence G. 1991 — Consecration Magic in Chinese Religion, Journal of Chinese Religions, vol. 19 (1991), pp. 1-12.
Thurman, Robert A.F. 1995 — Inside Tibetan Buddhism: Rituals and Symbols Revealed, edited by Barbara Roether, Collins Publishers (San Francisco 1995).
Toorn, Karel van der 1997 — ed., The Image and the Book: Iconic Cults, Aniconism, and the Rise of Book Religion in Israel and the Ancient Near East, Peeters (Leuven 1997).
Walls, Neal H. 2005 — ed., Cult Image and Divine Representation in the Ancient Near East, American Schools of Oriental Research (Boston 2005).  The book is not very long, not difficultly technical, & fascinating in its content.
Weiss, Daniel H. 1995 — Architectural Symbolism and the Decoration of the St.-Chapelle, The Art Bulletin, vol. 77, no. 2 (June 1995), pp. 308-320.
Werner, Karel 1991 — ed., Symbols in Art and Religion:  The Indian and the Comparative Perspectives, Motilal Banarsidass (Delhi 1991).
Winter, Irene J. 1992— Idols of the King: Royal Images as Recipients of Ritual Action in Ancient Mesopotamia, Journal of Ritual Studies, vol. 6, no. 1 (Winter 1992), pp. 13-42.










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Visual materials


Our frontispiece offering of jasmine and gold-leaf comes from the general area of the Ashokan pillar at Lumbini, Nepal in 2011.  


If you are interested in the empty throne in art, try searching the internet for the Greek word hetoimasia and see what you come up with.  









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Qiblah of the Prophet’s Mosque, Madinah
To continue reading, go here.

The Vajra as Implement, Emblem and Symbol

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Vajra and Bell    

The Tibetan ritual implements coming next (after this) on our itinerary are not just artistic representations to be ‘read through’ to the high religio-philosophical matters of which they are, in some in-truth mysterious way, both medium and indication, only to be then dispensed with; they are objects in their own right, not just stand-ins for something else. Neither were they meant to lay immobilized as ‘objects’ in museum display cases, however justifiable this might seem from an aesthetic or ethnological point of view. They are supposed to do things. One thing they do is ‘mark’ deities, telling those who are versed in iconography their identity.  In this iconographical context (and occasionally in ritual contexts as well) they are called, in Tibetan, chagtsen (phyag-mtshan), literally, ‘hand-signs’ (or perhaps more simply ‘marks’), or less literally yet preferably, ‘emblems.’ They are also instruments for performing a broad range of ritual actions. They might in truth be called the ‘tools-of-trade’ of most every Tibetan religious specialist.[1]
In ritual texts, they are usually called lagcha (lag-cha, literally, ‘hand-piece’ and less literally yet certainly ‘tools’), although they might be subsumed under broader categories like yojé (yo-byad, ‘requisite items’), Damdzé (dam-rdzas‘sacred commitment substances’) or damtsiggi yenlag (dam-tshig-gi yan-lag, ‘sacred commitment appendages’). These latter categories include a large number of the concrete items employed in the course of the ritual, and not just the implements as such, but even substances intended as offerings and/or sacraments. While a great variety of these items may be ‘required’ in the conduct of a particular ritual, this does not mean that they all need to be visible to the eye of an innocent bystander. The items employed in tantric rituals are very frequently mentally transformed (or as the ritual texts also say, ‘generated’) into much bigger or more elaborate versions of themselves, or even at times into something else altogether.  
Consulting the Tibetan text that describes a monastic ritual, the newcomer to a Tibetan monastery in India or Nepal may be surprised to see that the throwing of flowers called for in the text has turned into the throwing of rice in the ritual performance (barley corns were used for this purpose in old Tibet). This is no problem to the monk participating in the rite. For them the grains of rice are flowers, and are conceived of as such. Some ritual requisites might be difficult or impossible to procure. If the ritual handbook calls for an elephant to be present, to give one real example, Tibetan ritual officiants would most likely not do like Hannibal and bring an elephant over the mountain passes from India and try to squeeze it through the temple doors. Rather they would make use of a ritual ‘flash-card’ (called tsa-ka-li) with a picture of an elephant while they conceive in contemplation the presence of an actual elephant.  
In some, or even many cases the contemplative conception of the item is considered sufficient, and no external representation is needed.  Ritual implements likewise may on some occasions be substituted with flash-cards or other illustrations,[2] or they might be generated in the mind of the contemplative. Vajras, for example, are very frequent in visualization practices that were never even intended to be ‘acted out’ externally in a ritual. Clearly the boundaries between contemplative visualization and concrete ritual action are and probably always have been open to a certain amount of re-negotiation. Although it would, it is true, be highly desirable to record all the ritual, liturgical and contemplative contexts in which each implement occurs, in what follows we will have to be content with some occasional and limited indications of ritual utilization. The Tibetan ritual world is vast, exceedingly complex, and does not lend itself to fast and easy encapsulation. I have no hope of knowing everything about it in this life.
Furthermore, all these things belong to the realm of esoteric ritual. They are ‘secret,’ although this word requires some comment. ‘Secret’ belongs to the traditional triadic classification system of outer, inner and secret. Here I offer little more than a superficial description of outer appearances (as well as historical developments in the same) and a few glimpses into the interior symbolic aspects. These inner aspects are for the most part not my own intuitions (or theoretical deductions), but those of my Tibetan or, less often, Indian authorities. These same authorities have their own standards of what may be expressed in language and divulged in books with black letters. To go beyond these would be to break the ‘bonds’ (dam-tshig) of the relationship between the Vajrayānists and the divine image of their high aspirations or, which is to say practically the same thing, between the Vajrayānists and their lineages of teachers.  
The rule to be followed here is never to use the words ‘it is nothing but,’ but to remain open to as-yet unsuspected meanings. Given the requirement of prior experience, ‘secrets’ are such because they keep themselves secret from those who are not well enough prepared to see what’s there. Secret-ness, too, is the very platform on which revelations are made. Without secrecy there would be no mystery, without hiddenness or mystery, no revelation. I think that mystification, meaning secrecy for its own sake or for self-aggrandizement, if not entirely absent, was not the usual motive.  (Craft guilds’ trade secrets may be another matter.) Anyway, no secrets will be told here, and none should be expected. We will deal with sources that are already public, and in most cases published. I fear some will become impatient if everything doesn’t become entirely transparent all of a sudden, once and for all. If you are like that you will soon be disappointed. But if you are ready to go on, well, let’s get started.
The Vajra, together with its counterpart the Bell is, of all the various symbolic implements used in Tibetan Buddhist ritual, iconography and literature, the most significant from several perspectives. It is precisely its pervasiveness within the tradition of tantric Buddhism[3] which is most frequently identified by the name Vajrayāna, ‘the Vehicle of the Vajra,’ that make its meanings so difficult or impossible to pin down with any grand illusions of simplicity. It will be very important for readers of the following comments to distinguish our contemporary historical constructions from Buddhist, both Indian and Tibetan, understandings and usages. Here, as is so often the case, the meanings we find through historical tracing and etymology may have little to do with (or may on occasion, even if not here, directly contradict) the understanding of the particular religious culture that actively employs the symbolic item. Origin is, after all, not necessarily destiny.  
In this place we would rather give greater weight to interpretations found in Tibetan-language sources, since for Tibetan Buddhists these things are very much part of a living world of tradition, and as such demand respect. Furthermore, Vajrayāna may be defined quite simply as Buddhism of the esoteric kind; ‘esoteric’ because it requires initiation and a personal relationship with a lineage holder, as well as personal experience of that which is symbolized (to translate this into plainer English: Those who demand a full and fully genuine comprehension of the symbolism might do well to stop reading this and instead pursue the traditional methods).  While the simpler aim here is to find explanations — preferably not made up explanations — that are historically demonstrable (or disprovable, or at the very least traceable) and intellectually satisfying, these explanations should also be tested for their resonance with the general realm of Things Buddhist and Things Tibetan.
It is usual to understand the Vajra to mean originally a thunderbolt, while Tibetan Buddhists understand it to mean ‘adamant’ or ‘diamond.’ Often Tibetans have simply transcribed the word Vajra into their own alphabet as Badzra (Ba-dzra), but the Tibetan translation for Vajra is Dorjé (Rdo-rje), which might be etymologically analyzed as ‘Stone’ (rdo) ‘Lord’ (rje), an epithet for the diamond, Lord of Stones.[4] As we will see, the symbolic significances of Indra’s weapon (which may or may not be precisely or exclusively a thunderbolt) and of the diamond are united by the qualities of hardness and durability.
It is certain that the first mentionings, about two hundred and seventy-five in all, of something called a ‘Vajra’ occur, very approximately four thousand years ago, in the then-oral text of the Rig Veda as a hand-held weapon of the god Indra.[5] Even if commonplace, the statement that this Vedic Vajra is a thunderbolt excites controversy. Its identity as a thunderbolt may be at least in part a product of nineteenth-century comparativists who preferred to find natural (and therefore universal) phenomena behind mythological items.[6] Most twentieth-century Indologists[7] see Indra’s Vajra as an at least partially metallic — gold, copper or iron — instrument along the lines of a hammer, axe or club (or even, according to one not very well received suggestion, a harpoon[8]) which Indra kept always in hand. It is sometimes said to have a thousand knots or a thousand edges.[9] The Vedic Vajra might be thrown at the enemy and made to rotate in its flight, or used in hand-to-hand combat in order to cut like an axe or smash like a club. It was made up of a wooden shaft tied to the metallic head with a kind of twine. 
It is interesting that there are passages in the Rig Veda that describe the Vajra-weapon as ‘stable’ and ‘durable,’ since these words could equally apply to the Tibetan understanding of the Vajra as a diamond. Another scholar of Vedic studies[10] has connected the Vajra to some rather large (one to two hand-lengths in size) copper instruments found in Indian archaeological sites which have two sharpened prongs extending outward forming a ‘V’-shape. In their appearance, they are somewhat anthropomorphic (and hence called ‘anthropomorphic figures’ in archaeological works), with the extended prongs looking like outspread human legs. 


Anthropomorphic Figure, so-called
These might have originally been attached to a wooden shaft to form an instrument for striking. 


Regardless of these speculations, I think it was a weapon for battle. It may be that some more obvious metaphors for war, the gathering storm cloud of soldiers with lightning-like weapons, came to the foreground as time went by. Battle imagery is always being used for peaceful purposes. Poetry has no problem plowing with metaphorical weapons.
The other types of instruments that we will look at now are, unlike the Vedic weapon, not meant to be held by an attached handle. They are rather ‘scepters’ in form, relatively small at the center where they are most usually held, and with each of the two ends being a mirror image of the other. This type of Vajra is found, with more or less minor variations, in all the ‘Northern’ Buddhist countries as well as in medieval Indian art. Although there are many problems that cannot all be addressed here, it is most probable that the form of this Buddhist and Indian Vajra had its transmission from Greece by way of the Middle East, perhaps as early as the Hellenistic Period. The medieval Indian and Tibetan (and Silk Route, Japan, etc.) Vajra is strikingly similar to the Keraunos held by Zeus in Greek art. Behind the shape of the Keraunos may be still earlier Mesopotamian and Hittite representations of lightning held in the hands of depicted deities.[11]

Weather God Hadad at Gaziantep, Turkey
(I believe the photo has been reversed)
It may not be at all obvious that our usual contemporary representation of the lightning bolt as a (usually single) zig-zagged line is itself a cultural product that was not even in use just three hundred years ago.[12] The oldest recognizable human representations of lightning in Middle Eastern history (ranging from about 2000 to 1000 bce) are rather fork-shaped, with two or three long and wavy tines.[13] It was in about 1000 bcethat lightning became most commonly represented in a similar manner, but having a double-ended form that begins to approach the form of the Tibetan Vajra. In another century or two, the central tine became straight and tapered to a point, while the tines on either side tended outward, often in a form reminiscent of the horns of an ox. This is the typical form of the Greek Keraunos.
Detail from an ancient Greek vase
(look
here)
It is tempting to see this Greek divine weapon of Middle Eastern origins as the source of transmission of the Buddhist form of the Vajra, given their obvious similarities that have often been noticed.[14] The main differences are not in the major outline but in the details. Where the outer prongs of the Keraunos bend outward, they always turn inward toward the central prong in the Tibetan versions, and very often touch it, as we will see. The shaft (including the central prongs) of the Keraunos often has a spiralling incision in it, while they may or may not have something like the rounded bulge at the center that is always seen in the Tibetan Dorjé.
The main problem that confronts us is how to account for the transmission from Greece to India and beyond. The logical time and place for us to look is the Gandhāran art of the early centuries ce. It was in Gandhāra, in the area of modern northern Pakistan, that the Buddha image was produced under strong Greek artistic influences (even if the Buddha image might have originated, as many Indian scholars argue, in the city of Mathurā in northern India). The Vajra does exist in Gandhāran Buddhist art, but in a form that does not very closely resemble either the Keraunos or the Indian and Tibetan Vajra. The Gandhāran Vajra looks like a plain, solid squared beam about the length of the forearm of the figure bearing it, only attenuating at the center where it is held.[15] This very different form makes it impossible to claim that this apparent Greek influence reached Indian Buddhism by way of Gandhāra. This leaves us still in the dark about a particular route of transmission that would explain the similarities of the Keraunos and most non-Gandhāran Buddhist Vajras.
To briefly summarize, we may say that while the Vedic Vajra weapon seems to have had a form of some kind of club or axe with an attached handle, the Buddhist Vajra has its particular form because of influence, at some as yet not precisely specified time, by way of the Middle East, or very possibly by Greeks residing in areas to the northwest of India. Even given the likelihood that this historical picture is basically defendable or even simply true, we still haven’t gained much idea about what the Vajra means in Buddhism, and more particularly in the Buddhism of Tibet, which is pervaded by the tantric form of Mahāyāna (‘the Great Vehicle’) known as Vajrayāna (‘the Vajra Vehicle’).


[1] One way of thinking about these weapons/tools, in Sanskrit āyudha, is from the perspective of the one who makes them, the traditional Indian artisan.  From this point of view, the making of tools requires tools, and there is the ever-present danger that the artisan may be injured by the very tools required in the creative process. This entails a cult of tools, in which the tool, often more or less identified with a deity (or the ‘weapon’ of a deity), requires ritual propitiation. More material for thinking along these lines may be found in Brouwer (1988). Risking banality, we might dryly note that these tools, however divinized they may be, are necessary for the construction of divine images.
[2] I have in my personal library copies of two different woodblock prints of ‘substitution drawings’ (dod ris [this does not mean just ‘representation’!]) of items that tantric initiates ought to have in their possession. One of the two texts, printed on a single long folio, was acquired in 1993 at the monastic printery of Sera Monastery near Lhasa in Tibet.  The other is a photocopy of a seven-folio print originating from Kumbum (Sku-’bum) Monastery in Amdo, northeastern Tibet, probably in the 19th century (from the personal library of Thubten J. Norbu, former abbot of Kumbum), which in its colophon mentions two still earlier versions. Illustrated in both are a wide variety of tantric requisites, including Vajra, Bell, Bone Ornaments, drums, rosaries, Bodhisattva ornaments, skullcups, fire offering implements, ritual vases, animal hides, ropes, snares, hooks, choppers, swords, banners, and still more. The Sera print is quite similar, down to the details, to the more artistically rendered Sku-’bum version. In both versions, the first two implements illustrated are, quite properly, the Vajra and Bell.
[3] All the Tibetan sects accept tantra in its Buddhist form, even while simultaneously continuing to revere and practice non-tantric forms of Buddhism. This distinguishes Tibet from other ‘Northern’ Buddhist countries such as China and Japan where tantric texts, rituals and ideas tended to be made the exclusive preserve of separate tantric schools. I leave discussion of the Bon school and the similarity of their chags-shing sceptre with the vajra for another occasion.
[4] In order to refer without ambiguity to the mineral substance ‘diamond,’ Tibetans use the word pha-lam or, very often, rdo-rje-pha-lam (a compound of near-synonyms). It has been suggested that the specific meaning ‘diamond’ is also reflected in the use of the word vasirain a Khotanese text, which might imply a route of influence, although the time and reasons for the linkage of the concept of ‘diamond’ with the Vajra remain, in my opinion, obscure (see Gibson 1997: 50).  It may be worthy of note that the verbal root behind the Sanskrit form vajra is vaj, which generally means ‘to go, move, roam about,’ a meaning not very well suited to diamonds, but fully appropriate for a self-propelling magical weapon.
[5] See Chakravarty (1997: 96); Kumar (1996). In the Iranian Avesta, the vazra is a weapon used by the god Mithra. Earlier artistic representations of Indra in India do not bear anything that might correspond to the Vajra. These Hindu Vajra representations seem to make their first appearance in in art of the 10th to 12th centuries in a form quite similar to Indian Buddhist and Tibetan Vajras (Devendra 1965: 130-131). In other words, Indian Buddhist artistic representations of pronged Vajras seem to occur before Hindu representations of Indra with a Vajra. Some have perceived the earliest artistic occurrences of Vajras in decorations for early Buddhist stūpas at Sanchi and Bharhut (see Banerji 1980: 171), but then again, while these are surely identifiable as Vajras (especially when seen in the hands of the Buddhist form of Indra!), they do not yet have the familiar shape (see drawings in Sivaramamurti 1949: 22-23, figs. 2 a-d and 3 a-b). These statements should not be considered to be anything more than tentative. Dkon-mchog-bstan-’dzin (1994: 312-313) tells a story, evidently of Puranic Hindu origins, of how the first Vajra used by Indra was made from the footbone of a sage (rishi) named Curd Drinker (Drang-srong Zho-’thung). This is none other than the Sage Dadhīka, discussed by Giuliano (2008), with the story briefly told in Granoff (2009: 61). According to this context, the Vajra weapon could not be harmed by any other weapon. It would throw itself at all who showed ill will, hit anyone at whom it was thrown, kill anyone it hit, and guide to liberation whoever it killed. There is more on the Puranic sources in Agocs (2000: 65-67), and for Epic sources, see Whitaker (2000). Of course in more recent times the Vajra came to be held in the hands of other Hindu deities besides Indra, and was used in Jaina iconography (Banerji 1980).
[6] One may note the remarks on the symbolism of the Vajra by Guenon (1962/1995: 121-128, 224-5) and Snodgrass (1992: 174-177), which are both comparativist and universalist, but in the area of metaphysics or cosmology rather than ‘nature’ per se (which is not to deny the particular information that is to be found in these and other writings by the same authors). We wouldn’t pretend to entirely escape the perils of comparativism here, but it is our main aim to find and convey particular, and particularly Tibetan, understandings of the symbolism, whenever possible. ‘Nature’ and ‘the universe’ will be given their due when warranted by the sources. I see little reason for polemic against the ‘traditionalist’ school largely inspired by René Guénon, including in particular the Bostonian art historian Ananda Coomaraswamy, or for that matter against the ‘history of religions’ school from Mircea Eliade, except for the fact that they tend to universalize ahead of time, before letting traditional particularities of culture and locale, not to mention history, have their say (on Eliade’s pan-Babylonianism, see the critique by Korom [1992], which also contains pertinent remarks about the comparative enterprise). In any case, we should probably remind ourselves constantly of the human tendency to approach dialogue by first creating ‘linkages,’ in particular etymologies (and apparent linguistic cognates) both false and supportable, as a method of developing rapport, which might then be used to promote a sense of common cause in political or other fields. This etymological method is by no means limited to word-history, but to other aspects of history as well, including artifacts and, yes indeed, symbols. (Consider for a moment the not entirely hypothetical but nevertheless truly preposterous example of European [neo-?]Nazis seeking to create linkages with Chinese Buddhists or Tibetan Bonpos on the basis of one supposedly ‘shared’ symbol.)  Seeing our own sacred symbolism in use in another culture produces a shock of recognition that can as quickly be followed by a shock of non-recognition (like an Israeli seeing a Star of David [Magen David, widely known as the Seal of Solomon] in use in a Newari or Tibetan Buddhist ritual, for example). Certainly if there is anything ‘to’ the universality of symbols, it isn’t in the symbolic forms themselves, but rather in that which they might serve to symbolize. The very strong Buddhist insistence on the Bodhisattva ideal of helping everyone under the motivation of the universally applied emotions of love and compassion ought to preclude the very possibility of its symbols being appropriated by persons who live on hatred of the ‘other.’ Still, the world is a confused and confusing place, and, as a quick internet search may reveal, just such appropriations are taking place at this very moment.
[7] See Apte (1957), for example.
[8] Kumar (1996) supports this idea.
[9] Chakravarty (1997: 97).
[10] Gupta (1975).  Gupta’s suggestion about ‘anthropomorphic figures’ being identifiable with the ancient Vajra has not been especially well received (see for example Smith 1979).
[11] Smith (1962) shows how an iconographical form of Zeus, which he calls the ‘Striding Zeus,’ derived from Middle Eastern sources.  In this form, Zeus wields a Keraunos in the right hand as if ready to hurl it at an (absent) opponent (many examples in Cook 1925: 740 ff.; for arguments about historical transformations in the shape of the thunderbolt starting from the ancient Near East, see the same work, pp. 764-785). For a 1st-2nd century Roman example that appears to be walking, yet holding the Thunderbolt in a resting position, see Polichetti 2010.


Striding Zeus
wielding a Keraunos
The ‘Striding Zeus’ bears a striking artistic resemblance to some depictions of Vajrapāṇi (for examples, see especially Santoro 1979). According to Cook (1925: 722), the thunderbolt is the most frequent attribute of Zeus from the 6th century BCE onward, although he also argues that its importance gradually waned in subsequent centuries. Generally the thunderbolt would be held in the right hand, whether or not it was wielded above the shoulder level, and the left hand might be extended straight out to form a perch for an eagle (often missing in the surviving examples; this latter attribute has no visual analogue in Tibetan art, but perhaps it has an elusive mythic analogue in the relationship between Vajra Wielder and the garuḍa bird). 

"Vajra Man" in the Jokhang, after Schroeder
Intriguing, too, in this regard are depictions of a Vajra Man (Vajrapuruṣa), with a half-Vajra emerging from his head, in reliefs found in Nagarjunakonda, in Andhra, South India (see Giuliano 1998). Anthropomorphized weapons are quite frequent in Indian religions and certainly date back at least as far as the 5th century or so CE, since they are mentioned by the famous Indian poet Kālidāsa (see Agrawala 1964 for a study of the humanized forms of Viṣṇu’s weapons, but see also Agrawala 1965: 211-212). The Vajra Man makes an appearance also in the carved wooden lintels of chapel doors in the Jokhang, which may date from the 7th century (Schroeder 2001: I 429, 474-477). One author (Vajracharya 2004: 44) suggests that we ought to locate the origins of humanoid weapons (āyudha puruṣa) in the classic textbook of Indian drama, the Nātyaśāstra, which says that separate actors should represent and bear the attributes and vehicles of the deity. This solves a problem of stagecraft, since deities could not be so easily represented on stage with all their multiple hands, or actually riding on their accustomed vehicles.
In Gandhāra, we find some images of Vajrapāṇi that incorporate aspects of the iconography of Hercules, such as the use of lion-skin clothing (and otherwise near-nudity). The club of Hercules was replaced with the Gandhāran form of the Vajra (illustrated in Mustamandy 1997: 24, fig. 4), which is itself relatively club-like. For a fascinating comparative study of Vajrapāṇi and Hercules, see Flood (1989). For a very impressive collection of artworks inspired by Hercules, see this page.
[12] Wilk (1992).
[13] The tines might also be ‘zig-zagged,’ but with the zig-zags formed entirely of obtuse angles. One may easily observe from viewing actual thunderbolts, that they tend to fan out into a fork-like pattern as they approach the ground. The Hittite storm god holds a lightning symbol, composed of three wavey tines emerging upward from the closed fist of his left hand, an axe wielded high in his right (see Hawkins 1992 for illustrations).
[14] See especially Blinkenberg (1911: Chapter 6, ‘The Classical Greek and the Tibetan Thunderweapon’).
[15] Many examples are illustrated in Santoro (1979). With its square-shaped ends, the Gandhāran Vajra does seem to resemble the cube-ending chags-shing of the Tibetan Bon religion more than any other known type of Vajra. This is interesting in light of the Bon idea that their religion originated in a place to the west of western Tibet which they call Stag-gzig (pronounced ‘Tazik’). Note an example of an unusual sculptural representation of a Vajra from Mathurā in North India (probably nearly contemporaneous to the Gandhāran Vajras) which, having three triangle-shaped proto-‘prongs’ visible at each end, seems to approach the later form of the Vajra. See the illustration in Coomaraswamy 1971, pt. 1: plate 15, figure 2. Perhaps from approximately the same epoch we have an example of a Vajra from the gateways surrounding the Stūpa at Sāñcî (see Hummel 1953: 983, fig. 6; 984). This latter Vajra has a shape all its own, attenuating toward the center like the Gandhāran Vajra, but with a rounded rather than a squared form, and with a single obtuse spike sticking out of each of the two circular ends. Still another very different type may be found in the art of the Silk Routes of Central Asia, in which each of the two ends looks like a rhombus (the obtuse angles at the sides and the acute angle at the ends), with tiny circular ‘jewels’ set into each of its angles (Hummel 1953: 983, figs. 3-4). Another, quite early, Central Asian version had the shape of the fleur-de-lys at each end (a very clear sculptural version from the 4th or 5th century site Rawak, northeast of Khotan, illustrated in Rhies 1999: I fig. 4.66). LaPlante (1963: 272, cited in Linrothe 1999: 42, n. 4) says that pronged Vajras probably did not come into wide use before the 8th century, and the 8th century, we might add, was the very time when Buddhist tantra was (well, by this time most certainly) emerging into the light of history. LaPlante also has a worthwhile discussion of earlier forms the Vajra took.


Varied historical forms of the Vajra, after Hummel


...More on the Buddhist symbolism of the Vajra and its parts in the continuation, where there will be more references to the Tibetan-language sources...
click HERE if you want to go there now.

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On the internet:
My vote for the best presentation on the subject of Vajras on the internet is at khandro.net:
http://www.khandro.net/nature_thunder.htm
http://www.khandro.net/ritual_vajra.htm

You can see an amazing array of visual material for thunderbolt-related iconography at this page that forms a part of Noosphere:
http://atil.ovh.org/noosphere/trident.php


This other page by Dante Rosati is profusely illustrated, and arranged chronologically:
http://drilbudorje.tripod.com/_Dorje.htm



Thunder, Perfect Mind:
http://www.gnosis.org/naghamm/thunder.html


This page is also worthwhile:  
http://www.sundial.thai-isan-lao.com/sundial_vajra_literature.html


There is a very impressive and unusual Korean example in the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston displayed here.


Here is an article I want to return to, one about the lightning of Zeus in Greek myths.

I've ignored commercial sites, or sites I regard as overtly or overly sectarian, but if you see other interesting sites, I'd like to add them, so do send us the link in the "comment" box, if you will.
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What does the Tibetan thog-lcags or lightning metal have to do with lightning? This is an interesting question (not followed up on in this particular blog), although it might be answered along the lines of Blinkenberg's 1911 book, as well as the article that ought to be found in a PDF form here.  

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References to literature:














Agocs, Tamas 2000— The Diamondness of the Diamond Sūtra, Acta Orientalia Hungarica, vol. 53, nos. 1-2 (2000) 65-77.
Agrawala, R.C. 1964  — Cakra Puruṣa in Early Indian Art, Bhāratîya Vidyā, vol. 24, nos. 1-4 (1964), pp. 36-45.
Agrawala, V.S. 1965 — Studies in Indian Art, Vishwavidyalaya Prakashan (Varanasi 1965).
Apte, V.M. 1957 — Vajra in the Rigveda, Annals of the Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute(Poona), vol. 37 (1957), pp. 292-295.
Banerji, Arundhati 1980— Vajra: An Attribute of the Hindu, Buddhist and Jaina Deities, contained in: Journal of the Bihar Purāvid Pariṣad, vols. 4-5 (January-December 1980-81) [Dr. K.K. Datta Commemoration Volume], pp. 169-177.
Blinkenberg, Chr. 1911 — The Thunderweapon in Religion and Folklore: A Study in Comparative Archaeology, University Press (Cambridge 1911).  Read it HERE.
Brouwer, Jan 1988Coping with Dependence: Craftsmen and Their Ideology in Karnataka (South India), doctoral dissertation, Rijksuniversiteit (Leiden 1988).
Chakravarty, Uma 1997 — Indra and Other Vedic Deities: A Euhemeristic Study, D.K. Printworld (New Delhi 1997).
Cook, Arthur Bernard 1925Zeus God of the Dark Sky (Thunder and Lightning) (identical to volume 2, part 1, of Zeus: A Study in Ancient Religion), University Press (Cambridge 1925).  Available HERE.
Coomaraswamy, Ananda K. 1971 — Yakṣas, Part I and Part II, Munshiram Manoharlal (New Delhi 1971).
Devendra, D.T. 1965 — A Note on Lightning in Iconography with Special Reference to the Vajra, contained in: Parnavitana Felicitation Volume (Columbo 1965), pp. 123-134.
Dkon-mchog-bstan-’dzin 1994Bzo-gnas Skra Rtse’i Chu-thigs [‘The Arts: A Drop at the Tip of the Brush Hairs’]  Krung-go’i Bod-kyi Shes-rig Dpe-skrun-khang (Beijing 1994).  A modern textbook on Tibetan art history and techniques, ‘Drop of Liquid on the Tip of the [Brush-]hairs.’
Flood, F.B. 1989 — Herakles and the ‘Perpetual Acolyte’ of the Buddha:  Some Observations on the Iconography of Vajrapāṇi in Gandhāran Art, South Asian Studies, vol. 5 (1989), pp. 17-28.
Gibson, Todd 1997 — Inner Asian Contributions to the Vajrayāna, Indo-Iranian Journal, vol. 40 (1997), pp. 37-57.
Giuliano, Laura 1998 — Il Vajrapuruṣa in due rilievi di Nâgârjunakoṇḍa, Rivista degli Studi Orientali, vol. 72 (1998), pp. 143-176.  The same author has written an Italian doctoral dissertation about the early Indian Buddhist and Central Asian Vajra, although I haven’t been able to see it yet.
Giuliano, Laura 2008 — Some Considerations on a Particular Vajra Iconography: The Skambha, the Yūpa, the Bones of Dadhīca amd Related Themes, Rivista degli Studi Orientali, n.s. vol. 81 (2008), pp. 103-126.
Granoff, Phyllis 2009 — Relics, Rubies and Ritual: Some Comments on the Distinctiveness of the Buddhist Relic Cult, Rivista degli Studi Orientali, vol. 81 (2009), pp. 59-72.
Guenon, René 1962/1992 — Fundamental Symbols: The Universal Language of Sacred Science, tr. by Alvin Moore Jr., Quinta Essentia (Cambridge 1992). First published in French in 1962, as a compilation of previously published articles.
Gupta, Tapan Kumar Das 1975 — Der Vajra: eine vedische Waffe, Alt- und Neu-Indische Studien series no. 16, Universität Hamburg, Franz Steiner Verlag (Wiesbaden 1975).
Hawkins, J.D. 1992 — What Does the Hittite Storm-God Hold? contained in:  Diederik J.W. Meijer, ed., Natural Phenomena:  Their Meaning, Depiction and Description in the Ancient Near East, North-Holland (Amsterdam 1992), pp. 53-82.
Hummel, Siegbert 1953 — Der lamaistische Donnerkeil (Rdo-rje) und die Doppel-axt der Mittelmeerkultur, Anthropos, vol. 48 (1953), pp. 982-987. On the author, look here.
Korom, Frank 1992 — Of Navels and Mountains: A Further Inquiry into the History of an Idea, Asian Folklore Studies, vol. 51 (1992), pp. 103-125.
Kumar, Arun 1996 — The Vajra of Indra: An Archaeological Approach, contained in: C. Margabandhu and K.S. Ramachandran, eds., Spectrum of Indian Culture: Professor S.B. Deo Felicitation Volume, Agam Kala Prakashan (Delhi 1996), pp. 447-452.
LaPlante, John D. 1963 — A Pre-Pāla Sculpture and Its Significance for the International Bodhisattva Style in Asia, Artibus Asiae, vol. 26 (1963), pp. 247-284.
Linrothe, Rob 1999 — Ruthless Compassion: Wrathful Deities in Early Indo-Tibetan Esoteric Buddhist Art, Serindia (London 1999).
Mustamandy, Chaibai 1997 — The Impact of Hellenised Bactria on Gandharan Art, contained in: Raymond Allchin, Bridget Allchin, Neil Kreitman, Elizabeth Errington, eds., Gandharan Art in Context: East-West Exchanges at the Crossroads of Asia, Regency Publications (N. Delhi 1997), pp. 17-27.
Polichetti, Massimiliano A. 2010  —  Tantra in Asylum — The Veiovis of Monterazzano's Thunderbolt: Harbinger of Indian Tantric Vajra?  Contained in:  Pierfrancesco Callieri & Luca Colliva, eds., South Asian Archaeology 2007: Proceedings of the 19th Meeting of the European Association of South Asian Archaeology in Ravenna, Italy, July 2007, Volume II: Historic Periods, BAR International Series no. 2133, Archaeopress (Oxford 2010), pp. 255-257.  Offprint courtesy of the author.
Rhies, Marylin Martin 1999 — Early Buddhist Art of China & Central Asia, Brill (Leiden 1999), vol. 1: Later Han, Three Kingdoms & Western Chin in China and Bactria to Shan-shan in Central Asia.
Santoro, Arcangela 1979 — Il Vajrapāṇi nell’arte del Gandhara: Ricerca iconografica et interpretativa (Parte prima), Rivista degli Studi Orientali, vol. 53 (1979), pp. 293-341.
Schroeder, Ulrich von 2001 — Buddhist Sculptures in Tibet, Visual Dharma Publications (Hong Kong 2001), in 2 vols.
Sivaramamurti, C. 1949 — Geographical and Chronological Factors in Indian Iconography, Ancient India: Bulletin of the Archaeological Survey of India, no. 6 (1949), pp. 21-63.
Smith, Robert Houston 1962 — Near Eastern Forerunners of the Striding Zeus, Archaeology, vol. 15 (1962), pp. 176-183.
Smith, R. Morton 1979 — Review of Gupta (1975), contained in: Journal of the American Oriental Society, vol. 99, no. 3 (1979), pp. 536-537.
Snodgrass, Adrian 1992 — The Symbolism of the Stupa, Motilal Banarsidass (Delhi 1992).
Vajracharya, Gautama V. 2004 — Atmospheric Gestation: Deciphering Ajanta Ceiling Paintings and Other Related Works (Part 2), Marg (Mumbai), vol. 55, no. 3 (March 2004), pp. 40-51.
Whitaker, Jarrod L. 2000 — Divine Weapons and Tejas in the Two Indian Epics, Indo-Iranian Journal, vol. 43 (2000), pp. 87-113.
Wilk, Stephan R. 1992 — The Meaning of the Thunderbolt, Parabola, vol. 17, no. 4 (Winter 1992), pp. 72-79.


Although I haven’t absorbed its content yet (I just located it), I very much recommend the article by Monika Zin that can be found HERE.


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Pavements Like the Sea

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Vancouver, August 2010

For a long time I’ve wanted to immerse myself in the Tibetan accounts of Buddha’s life, and in the last few years I’ve found occasions to do just that. Almost all the good books in English that tell the stories are old ones.* More recent Buddha biographies, even many of those written by Buddhists, unfortunately think they have to tell what little they do tell of Buddha’s life as straight-on history, as if they were in a position to be able to tell that the less miraculous a story is, the more verifiable therefore.** 
(*John Strong's recent book is not the only exception to this rule, but definitely one of the better ones. I very much recommend it. ** Today’s blog is about stories that have hardly anything of the miraculous apart from remarkable mechanical skills and empirical verification... It’s all about ‘hard science’ [at least on the surface of things] but — and here’s a point worth making — that doesn’t necessarily assure us of their historical truth... and yes, of course, other truths besides historical ones may well be lurking there... They most definitely are!)
I was looking in one of those old biographies, the one done by Wm. Rockhill, “Second Secretary U.S. Legation in China,” when I saw something that provoked one of those (honestly) not-so frequent déjà vus. It was also a moment of utter perplexity. Is it possible, I was thinking, that the Nepalese Queen of Emperor Songtsen Gampo could be identical to the famous Queen of Sheba who went to marry King Solomon?  (Only with some role reversals?) As you can already tell, it’s necessary to backtrack a little or we won’t accomplish anything beyond spreading bewilderment about in the world more than is really warranted or wanted. Here’s what the footnote in Rockhill's book (p. 70) said:
“In the Mongol history entitled Bodhimur (Schmidt, Sanang Setsen, p. 342), we read of the Nepalese princess, wife of the Tibetan king Srong-btsan-sgam-po, building a temple on Mount Potala at Lhasa, in which was also a crystal floor. The king was also deluded when he first saw it.”
Tritsun, the Newar Queen of Songtsen Gampo
Not having any quick access to Rockhill’s sources, neither to the Mongolian text nor its German translation by Schmidt, I turned to The Mirror that Shines Light on the Generations of Kings, a 14th-century history, perhaps the most popular one with earlier generations of Tibetan readers. I searched and located the story, right there near the beginning of its chapter 15. The following, just to get us oriented in time, would have taken place somewhere around the middle of the 630’s:  

“When [the Nepalese queen] Tritsun opened the door of the [Trulnang] shrine to allow the king to enter, he saw that the floor resembled water and that everything above it was reflected upon it. Thinking that the former lake had burst forth, he dared not proceed. Tritsun therefore removed the ring from her finger and threw it to the floor, whereupon it skidded across the surface like a pebble upon the ice. Seeing this, the king resolved to enter and said to Tritsun, “This shrine of yours is indeed miraculous!”   (Taylor tr., p. 178).
der khri btsun gyis lha khang gi sgo phyes nas / rgyal po nang du byon par bzhed pa la mthil gyi zha la chu'i mdog lta bu / steng phyogs kyi gzugs brnyan thams cad de la shar ba gzigs pas / sngar gyi mtsho 'di brdol 'dug dgongs nas / nang du 'byon ma nus pa dang / khri btsun gyis sor gdub phud de gtor bas / khyag thog khar rde'u bskyur ba bzhin khrol gyis song ba dang / rgyal pos gzigs pas thugs ches te nang du byon no //  der khri btsun la khyed kyi lha khang 'di 'phrul du snang ngo gsungs /  
Compare the Sørensen tr., p. 285, with footnote no. 871, which has references to parallels in other history books that we ought to look up. Note a further description of the floor on Sørensen's p. 286:

“Its cement-floor is lapis lazuli-coloured,
[In which] the drawings [on the ceiling] above (steng) [i.e.] the fish and water-creatures
Are just like reflections in a mirror.”*
(*This bears a positively uncanny resemblance to the quote by Lehmann you will find below.)

Note the goat by the lake
This is the very story that supplies an explanation for the "Trulnang" part of Rasa Trulnang (Ra-sa 'Phrul-snang) Temple. Rasa means goat (ra) earth (sa) because the goats brought the earth that filled the lake (something alluded to in the quote above). Rasa was the original name of the city before it was changed to Lhasa.



Trulnang means ‘magical’ ('phrul) appearance or shining or reflection (snang). Or to keep it simpler, Trulnang just means a bewilderingly fantastic vision. Rasa Trulnang is the more correct name for the Jokhang (as most English speakers are likely to know it) or the Tsuglakhang, as locals are likely to call it. It’s only the most important temple in the entire history of Tibet and Tibetan Buddhism. And our water-floor story is being told about its builder and one of his wives, just as that other story is told about the most famous temple builder of the Middle East, King Solomon, and one of his many wives... I guess you can intuit where I may be going with this.

On the same pages of his book, Wm. Rockhill tells a canonical episode associated with Buddha’s life, but centered on a figure called Jyotishka. King Bimbisara was invited to Jyotishka's house, or rather we should say, the king, king that he was, had himself invited. As he passed through the wealthy man’s jeweled door,    

He saw before him like a lake of water, in which fish were made to move by machinery. The king, desiring to enter (the room), commenced undoing his shoes, when Jyotishka said, “Sire, why are you getting ready to bathe?”  
“Because I must wade in the water,” he replied. 
“Sire,” Jyotishka answered, “it is not water, it is a floor of jewels which looks like water.”  
“But those fish which seem to move about?”  
“Sire, they are made to move by machinery.”

rgyal pos de’i bar sgo’i phyogs rin po che’i rang bzhin las gyur pa rdzing chus gang ba lta bu de na nya dag rgyu ba ’dra ba’i ’khrul ’khor gyi sbyor ba byas pa dag mthong ste |  nang du ’gro bar ’dod nas lham dag ’dud par brtsams pa dang  |  me skyes kyis smras pa |  lha ci’i slad du chags dag bsil bar mdzad |  des smras pa |  gzhon nu chu la ’bog par bya ba’i phyir ro ||  me skyes kyis smras pa |  lha ’di chab ma lags te |  chab lta bur gda’ ba ni rin po che’i sa gzhi lags so ||  des smras pa |  gzhon nu nya rgyu ba dag ’di ltar snang ngo || lha ’khrul ’khor gyi sbyor ba las de dag rgyu bar gda’o.* 
(*The text was found at this website, in the context of the Vinayakṣudraka. I fixed a few things I was sure needed fixing, but didn’t check the Dergé Kanjur version yet.)

I’d like to point out that the word behind ‘machinery’ here is the very same yantra / mechanism we’ve considered at some length in an earlier blog. But, well, I see that my short story is already getting long, so let me quote from the scripture often known as the Koran (al-Qur'an), ch. 27 - The Ants, verse 44: 

Then she was bidden to enter the palace; but when she saw it, she thought it was a deep pool of water, and bared her legs. 
But Solomon explained, ‘It is just a palace paved with glass.'
And she said, ‘My Lord, I have wronged myself: now I submit myself along with Solomon, to God, the Lord of the Universe!’ 

Persian miniature ca. 1595
As the Mir article amply discusses, we are to understand by this that she simultaneously realized her error with regard to the floor being a water surface and her error at not believing in the one God. Seeing through error is what it’s about, is it?

There are a lot of retellings of the story in the Islamic world, some of them saying Solomon was not all that sure she was marriage material. What he really wanted to do was check and see if she had hairy legs or not, which was why he made the floor so shiny and reflective in the first place. It was just to trick her into lifting up her robe so he could satisfy his curiosity and make a better informed choice. But that's only one of many amusing tales. Most amazing thing of all, for me, is this:  At least one version of the Islamic story (told by Grierson as well as Elias, p. 64) says that Solomon's palace was built with a glass floor, with real fish and other sea creatures swimming beneath it. The stories do, after all, look quite a bit the same.

But wait, take a minute to reflect on what it means to be obvious. Humans can’t take a single step without implicitly trusting in the ground to hold them up. The story upsets the expectation of being grounded, at least for a time. Their eyes are not failing them, yet they don’t see what’s there. Maybe it’s about rethinking our assumptions, our fundamentalisms, even? Hell, I don’t know what the story is about any more. I might have thought I did. If you are in a mood to wonder about it some more, have a look at the Lethaby passages I’ve typed up for you down below. Architecture has its sky above and its earth/waters below just like our world does. That much seems so clear it ought to go without saying. But there, I said it anyway. I hope you’ve enjoyed these small reflections. I hope you didn’t find them too limiting.

The “frozen sea” in the Hagia Sophia, Istanbul
(read the Barry essay and all will be clear)

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Literary works:

Fabio Barry, Walking on Water: Cosmic Floors in Antiquity and the Middle Ages, Art Bulletin, vol. 89, no. 4 (2007), pp. 627-656.

Rosemarie Haag Bletter, The Interpretation of the Glass Dream-Expressionist Architecture and the History of the Crystal Metaphor, Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, vol. 40, no. 1 (March 1981), pp. 20-43.

William M. Brinner, Demonizing the Queen of Sheba: Boundaries of Gender and Culture in Postbiblical Judaism and Medieval Islam, Journal of the American Oriental Society (January-March 1996).  Digital version here.

W. Crooke, The Queen of Sheba, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, new series vol. 45, no. 3 (1913), pp. 685-686. 
“The tale of the Queen of Sheba and King Solomon is current at the present day in Palestine, and an old Saracenic bath-house near the Bâb el-Asbât, or ‘Gate of the Tribes,’ in the eastern wall of Jerusalem is pointed out as the scene of the incident. This building was demolished in 1906...  Tales of walking into a place supposed to be full of water are common...” 
Lois Drewer, Fisherman and Fish Pond: From the Sea of Sin to the Living Waters, Art Bulletin, vol. 63, no. 4 (December 1981), pp. 533-547. Besides the illuminations on the symbolism of fish and fishing, there are some illustrations of mosaic floors with fish swimming in them.

Jamal Elias, Prophecy, Power and Propriety: The Encounter of Solomon and the Queen of Sheba.  Look here. And if that doesn’t work, look here and scroll down to try and find it. At his footnote 1 you will find a lot of references to writings I haven’t made use of here.

G.A. G[rierson], Duryodhana and the Queen of Sheba, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, new series vol. 45, no. 3 (1913), pp. 684-685.
“In order to prevent Solomon marrying Bilqis, the Jinns told him that her legs were covered with hair, and that she had ass's hoofs instead of feet. To discover if this were true, Solomon built a marvellous palace with a glass floor, beneath which was water supplied with fish and other sea animals swimming therein. He sat on his throne in the midst of the palace and called Bilqis to him. When she came to the glass floor she tucked up her dress in order to wade through the apparent water, and Solomon saw that, sure enough, her legs were hairy...”
Jacob Lassner, Demonizing the Queen of Sheba: Boundaries of Gender and Culture in Postbiblical Judaism and Medieval Islam, University of Chicago Press (Chicago 1993). This is another book I should have read through before blogging about the subject, but haven’t yet. See parts of it for free here.

Karl Lehmann, The Dome of Heaven, The Art Bulletin, vol. 27, no. 1 (March 1945), pp. 1-27. Page 5:  
“[A] persistent interrelationship exists between ceilings and floor decorations. In most cases, we see projected upon floors the schemes which were originally developed on ceilings. Sometimes, and as early as the first century B.C., we meet a direct representation of a ceiling on a floor, as if it were reflected in a mirror.”
William R. Lethaby (1857-1931), Architecture Mysticism & Myth, Solos Press (Bath 1994) reprint of 1891 edition. Especially the chapter 9, “Pavements like the sea,” and chapter 10, “Ceilings like the sky.”
“Now, there is an Eastern legend of Solomon laying a floor like the sea in his wonderful palace in Jerusalem:—'When the Queen of Sheba heard of the fame of Solomon, she came to prove Solomon with hard questions' (Book of Chronicles). These, according to Eastern tradition, were riddles, like those which passed between Solomon and Hiram of Tyre. But 'there was nothing hid from Solomon,' and, en revanche, he retorts by transporting the throne of Queen Balkis to his palace by the aid of the genii who ever served him, so that on her arrival she was confronted by her own throne. 'It was said unto her: enter the palace. And when she saw it she imagined it to be a
p. 206



great water, and she discovered her legs, by lifting up her robe, to pass through it. Whereupon Solomon said unto her: Verily, this is a palace evenly floored with glass' (Koran xxvii.) Or, as some understand, adds Sale, this was in 'the court before the palace, which Solomon had commanded to be built against the arrival of Balkis; the floor or pavement being of transparent glass, laid over running water in which fish were swimming. Fronting this pavement was the royal throne, on which Solomon sat to receive the Queen.'
A similar floor is given to the palace of The City of Brass, in the 'Arabian Nights,' probably the most wonderful piece of architectural imagination in literature. The Emeer Moosa and his followers came to a high-walled city, from the midst of which shines the tower of brass. They entered and pressed on to the palace, and found a saloon constructed of polished marble, adorned with jewels. 'The beholder imagined upon its floor was running water, and if any one walked upon it he would slip. The Emeer Moosa therefore ordered the Sheykh Abd-Es-Samad to throw upon it something that they might be enabled to walk upon it; and he did this, and so contrived that they passed on.'
The story, incorporated in the Koran soon after the year 622, is probably from the Talmud, which contains this version:—All the kingdoms congratulated Solomon as the worthy successor of his father David, whose fame was great among all nations, save one, the Kingdom of Sheba, the capital of which was called Kitore.
To this kingdom, Solomon sent a letter.
'From me, King Solomon, peace to thee and to thy government. Let it be known to thee, that the Almighty God has made me to reign over the whole world, the kingdoms of the north, the south, the east, and the west. Lo, they have come to me with their
p. 207
congratulations, all save thee alone. Come thou also, I pray thee, and submit to my authority, and much honour shall be done thee; but if thou refusest, behold I shall by force compel thy acknowledgment.
'To thee, Queen Sheba, is addressed this letter in peace, from me, King Solomon, the Son of David.' When Solomon heard that the Queen was coming he sent Benayahu, the son of Yehoyadah, the general of his army, to meet her. When the queen saw him she thought he was the king, and she alighted from her carriage.
Then Benayahu asked, 'Why alightest thou from thy carriage?' and she answered, 'Art thou not his majesty the king?'
'No,' replied Benayahu, 'I am but one of his officers.' Then the queen turned back and said to her ladies in attendance, 'If this is but one of the officers, and he is so noble and imposing in appearance, how great must be his superior the king.'
And Benayahu, the son of Yehoyadah, conducted Queen Sheba to the palace of the king.
Solomon prepared to receive his visitor in an apartment laid and lined with glass, and the queen at first was so deceived by the appearance that she imagined the king to be sitting in water.
And when the queen had tested Solomon's wisdom and witnessed his magnificence, she said, 'I believed not what I heard, but now I have come and my eyes have seen it all; behold, the half has not been told to me. Happy are thy servants who stand before thee continually, to listen to the wisdom of thy words. Blessed be the Lord thy God, who hath placed thee on a throne to rule righteously and in justice.'
There is a practically identical story in another of the quarry books of the world, the Sanscrit epic of the Mahabharata, which sings the long strife of rival royal
p. 208
houses. One of the Rajas celebrates a royal sacrifice. 'When the sacrifice had been fully accomplished, Duryodhana entered the place where it had been performed, and saw very many beautiful things that he had never beheld in his own Raj at Hastinapur. Amongst other wonders was a square, made of black crystal, which appeared to the eye of Duryodhana to be clear water, and as he stood on the margin he began to draw up his garments lest they should be wetted, and then throwing them off he plunged in to bathe and was struck violently on the head against the crystal. Then he was much ashamed and left that place.'
Mr Talboys Wheeler suggests that this may be borrowed from the Koran, but allows that it may have had an independent origin. There can, however, be little doubt that these transcendental palaces, which are handed on through milleniums of Indian story, find their origin in the structures of the land which is not subject to winter's wind, nor any decay—The City of Gold founded in the waters above the firmament.
In the fifteenth century Italian romance, called the Hypnerotomachia, the author seems to have collected all the architectural wonders of history and romance; but how should he come by this same story? Poliphilus, after penetrating zone after zone of gardens, which occupy an island, comes at last to a circular temple, open to the sky, and on entering it was astonished to find 'a marvel more grand and stupefying than anything he had ever seen;' the whole area of the amphitheatre was apparently paved with one sole stone of obsidian, entirely black and of invincible hardness, so polished and shining that at the first moment he feared destruction by walking into an abyss. It reflected the light of day so perfectly that he contemplated the profound and limpid sky as in a quiet sea: everything was reflected as in a polished mirror.
p. 209
According to the story in the Koran, Solomon's throne seems to stand on the waters, just as was imagined of God's throne. 'It is He who hath created the heavens and the earth in six days, but His throne was above the waters, before the creation thereof' (Koran xi.). 'For the Mohammedans supposed this throne, and the waters whereon it stands—which waters they imagine were supported by a spirit or wind—were, with some other things, created before the heavens and the earth. This fancy they borrowed from the Jews, who also say that the throne of glory then stood and was borne on the face of the waters by the breath of God's mouth' (Sale). An account of this pavement of waters above the firmament is given in Smith's 'Dictionary of the Bible'—'Further, the office of the rakia (firmament or solid expansion) in the economy of the world demanded strength and substance. It was to serve as a division between the waters above and the waters below . . . . and accordingly the rakia was created to support the upper reservoir (Psalms cxlviii. 4 and civ. 3), where Jehovah is represented as "building His chambers of water," not simply in water, that being the material of which the beams and joists were made.'
In Ezekiel's vision of a perfect temple, after he has seen every court and chamber, and measured them with his reed, he is brought again to the door (Ezekiel 47:1):—'And, behold, waters issued out from under the threshold of the house eastward: for the forefront it of the house stood toward the east.' The waters came from the south of the altar, and after passing through the court and the outer gate became a mighty river flowing to the sea. It is the river of the water of life, 'and everything shall live whither the river cometh.'
p. 210
To return to Constantinople once more: an account of the emperor's bed-chamber, in the imperial palace, is given by Bayet (L’Art Byzantin.), quoting from Constantine Porphyrogenitus. A range of the palace called 'Cenourigion,' was built by Basil, the Macedonian; one of the rooms had sixteen columns, of green marble, and of onyx, sculptured with branches of the vine, and the vault was covered with golden mosaic. 'But nothing could equal the royal bed-chamber. The pavement was of mosaic, the centre was a peacock in a circle of Carian marble, surrounded by rays, and an outer circle. From this second circle issued, as it were, streams or rivers of green marble of Thessaly, which flowed, seemingly, to the four angles of the room (comme des ruisseaux ou des fleuves de marble vert de Thessalie); the four interspaces left between the marble streams had eagles wrought in mosaic, which seemed to live and to breathe. The lower part of the walls were encrusted with glass, in many pieces of varied colour, in the forms of flowers. Above a gold band, the walls were covered with mosaic, on the golden field of which were enthroned Basil and Eudoxia, and their children around them. In the centre of the ceiling glittered a cross of emerald glass on a star-lit sky.' In the same book (Bayet) is a story taken from Codinus, of flooding Sta. Sophia with water, which, although not questioned by the author, seems to be an expedient so impracticable and injurious as to be obviously a myth—just such a myth as would arise to account for a pavement representing water. 'When the dome fell in Anthemius and Isidore were dead, but the latter had left a nephew, who was charged with the works. He increased the elevation of the cupola, and at the same time gave greater solidity to the great arches. They this time left the centres longer in place, and all
p. 211
the scaffolding. They also inundated with water the lower part of the church, so that pieces of wood in falling should not cause any injury.'
In the great area of Sta. Sophia it is not possible to see the floor, but in one of the galleries a green marble pavement is still uncovered. It is formed of very large slabs of antique Cipollino (Browning's 'onion stone'), the slabs being laid in such a manner....  ___  [Read the whole chapter here.] 

Mustansir Mir, The Queen of Sheba's Conversion in Q. 27:44: A Problem Examined, Journal of Qur'anic Studies, vol. 9, no. 2 (October 2007), pp. 43-56.

Christopher R.A. Morray-Jones, A Transparent Illusion: The Dangerous Vision of Water in Hekhalot Mysticism, a Source-Critical and Tradition-Historical Inquiry, Brill (Leiden 2002). I’d love to read this book but, as it is quite expensive, we have to regard ourselves as fortunate to be able to read the parts of it made available here.

W. Woodville Rockhill, The Life of the Buddha and the Early History of His Order, Derived from Tibetan Works in the Bkah-hgyur and Bstan-hgyur, Followed by Notices on the Early History of Tibet and Khoten, Pilgrims Publishing (Varanasi 2004), reprint of 1901 edition. The relevant passage is on p. 70. 


Per Sørensen, Tibetan Buddhist Historiography: The Mirror Illuminating the Royal Genealogies: An Annotated Translation of the XIVth Century Tibetan Chronicle: rGyal-rabs gsal-ba’i me-long, Harrassowitz Verlag (Wiesbaden 1994).

John S. Strong, The Buddha, a Short Biography, Oneworld (Oxford 2001/2002).


McComas Taylor & Lama Choedak Yuthok, trs., Sakyapa Sonam Gyaltsen, The Clear Mirror: A Traditional Account of Tibet’s Golden Age, Snow Lion (Ithaca 1996).

° ° °
Out on the web:

For an argument in favor of the Qur'anic source being older than the Judaic source, look here:






You can see a lot of artworks inspired by the Queen of Sheba here:
http://emc.eserver.org/1-3/jones.html
° ° °




And I saw something like a sea of glass mixed with fire, and those who had been ....The very sight of the pavement, therefore, on which they stood ...  Revelations 15:2 (in a visionary description of a heavenly throne room).




I Feel Free
    by Jack Bruce and Pete Brown, from the album Fresh Cream (1966).



Feel when I dance with you,
We move like the sea.
You, you're all I want to know.
I feel free...

I can walk down the street, there's no one there
Though the pavements are one huge crowd.
I can drive down the road; my eyes don't see,
Though my mind wants to cry out loud.
I feel free...

Dance floor is like the sea,
Ceiling is the sky.
You're the sun and as you shine on me,
I feel free, I feel free, I feel free.

- - -

Further support for the idea that it was the floor that gave the Jokhang the 2nd half of its original name Rasa Trulnang...  

The Extensive History of the Dharma's Emergence in India and Tibet, composed by Khepa Deu (ca. 1260's), at p. 292:
“After this speech, the king (Songtsen Gampo) was accompanied by his sixteen ministers as far as the low valleys in the east.  He remained there for thirteen years.  When the temples were finished, after he had constructed Total Completion Very Happy (Yongs-rdzogs Rab-dga') Temple, he returned to the center where Ongjo had built the Temple of Ramoche and Tritsun had built the Temple of Goat Earth with three storeys.* He went to the top of the building and from there it was clear that the inside of Goat Earth was full of water.  So he threw down his staff and it was plain to see that it was floating back and forth on the surface of the water.  But then he was delighted when he tossed away his ring and it made a clear ringing sound.  He declared, "Tritsun's temple here appears to be miraculous ('phrul-du snang)."  From then on the temple was known as Miraculous Appearance ('Phrul-snang).”
blon po bcu drug dang bcas te mdo smad shar phyogs su [phebs] / dgung lo bcu gsum bzhugs te lha khang rnams tshar nas / yongs rdzogs rab dga'i lha khang bzhengs su gsol nas / dbus su byon pa dang / ong cong gis ra mo che'i lha khang bzhengs / khri btsun gyis ra sa'i lha khang sum thog bzhengs 'dug nas / rtser byon pa dang / ra sa'i nang chus gang bar mngon nas / phyag gi lcag bor bas / chu'i kha na lcag yom me 'dug par mngon / sor gdub bskyur bas / sing khrol la song bas mgu ste / khri btsun gyi lha khang 'di 'phrul du snang ngo // gsungs pas 'phrul snang du grags so / 
(*Ongjo is his Songtsen's wife from China, Tritsun (Khri-btsun), his wife from Nepal.  "Goat Earth" translates Ra-sa, meaning the Jokhang Temple.)

 ° ° °

A note on illustrations —  Our frontispiece was photographed at the Sun Yat Sen Chinese Garden in Vancouver in 2010, immediately after the IATS was over. The final photo is taken from the floor of the Greek Chapel (the Catholicon) of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. If you didn’t notice already, look at it again and tell me if what you see is a flat surface. Maybe not?  Look again. Still don’t see it?  I read quite a harsh review of it, so I have to say, if you would like to see the most beautifully conceived and produced book in the recent history of Buddhist studies, I warmly recommend Jan Westerhoff's Twelve Examples of Illusion. You start to appreciate the book before you even open it, such an amazing dust cover covers it. And you don’t have to be a philosopher or a Buddhologist to read it, such amazingly clear prose was used to write it. This book may not really exist. It has illusion written all over it.

° ° °

Add-on - May 18, 2012:

I was just looking over the English translation of Ven. Chetsang Rinpoche’s history book today, and noticed this bit translated from the Feast for Scholars (Mkhas-pa'i Dga'-ston). The context is a description of the freshly built Rasa Trulnang Temple (here dated to the "Iron Bull year 641"):
“All the flooring, as blue as lapis lazuli, bore drawings of water fowl and water, on top of which appeared marvelous drawings of fish, crocodiles, birds, and so on.”
Source:  Drikung Kyabgon Chetsang, A History of the Tibetan Empire:  Drawn from the Dunhuang Manuscripts, tr. by Meghan Howard and Tsultrim Nakchu, Songtsen Library (Dehra Dun 2011), p. 223.

- - -

Here’s the passage from the Tibetan version of the history (published in 2010), where it may be found at p. 236:
“de yang mthil zhal thams cad bai .dûrya sngon po ltar ngang pa chu'i ri mo can la / steng gi nya dang chu srin dang / bya la sogs pa'i ri mo dang 'phrul gyi gzugs snang ba...”
Contemplating the Tibetan, I think there is a slight inadequacy in the English translation. As I read it, it’s saying that the forms such as fish, makaras, birds and so on that were painted above (steng-gi) were reflected in the pavement that had the water designs in it as well as ducks (ngang-pa) down below.  The translation obscures another essential message of the original since it doesn’t convey to us that the 3rd and 4th syllables that go into the name of the temple, Rasa Trulnang, are included here.  Really, the miraculousness in the temple name is owed entirely to its floor, which would be one of the main points I wanted to make, actually, in this blog effort.

Try to visualize together with me if you can, how the water designs, the waves and ripples in the floor, might have combined with the reflections of the fish and so on coming from the ceiling above, when you stepped into the room. How would they move in relation to each other as you moved about the room... Could we call it a ‘shifting of planes’? Remarkable, isn't it, even to just imagine it! If you see it there’s no need for me to say more. If you see it, it isn’t just a dream.

The Vajra in the Sūtras

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Today’s blog continues from this one.
What led the revealers of the Buddhist tantras to name their method Vajrayāna, or Vajra Vehicle? Here I would like to suggest, to the certain surprise of some people I know, that the reasons are to be found in polarity symbolism developed already in the sūtras of the Great Vehicle, the Mahāyāna. For example, the Eight Thousand Transcendent Insight Sūtra, often dated by scholars to the first century ce, repeats hundreds of times the phrase “transcendent insight and skillful method,” as the two things most necessary for progressing toward Enlightenment. Not only that, there are at least a dozen places in the same scripture where transcendent insight is called the Mother[1] of Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, since it is She who gives birth to them. Although we find in this text no corresponding statement that skillful means or method (the translation ‘creative stratagem’ has also been suggested) is the Father, this would certainly be a logical step to take. The Gaṇḍavyūha Sūtra (perhaps several centuries later than the Eight Thousand) does explicitly take that step when it says, “Oh noble son! Skillful method is the father of all Bodhisattvas. Transcendent insight is the mother.”[2]
The Teaching of Vimālakîrti Sūtra says,

Perfection of insight is the Bodhisattva’s mother,
And skilful means, we may say, is the father;
Of all the leaders of the multitudes
There is not one of them who is not born from these.[3]
Also, in the Eight Thousand Transcendent Insight Sūtra, the ‘Vajra Wielder’ (Vajrapāṇi) makes a brief but perhaps for our purposes quite significant appearance:

Furthermore, oh Subhūti, those Great Heroic Minded Bodhisattvas who do not turn back will always be followed by the great yaksha Vajra Wielder, who is difficult to overcome, and humans and non-human [foes] will not be able to get the better [of them].[4]
Here the Vajra Wielder has a clearly protective function for Bodhisattvas of the highest levels, and in Buddhist art from Gandhāra dating from the first centuries ce, it is common to see the Buddha depicted with an accompanying figure holding a (Gandhāran-type) Vajra in his hand. 


File:TheBuddhaAndVajrapaniGandhara2ndCentury.jpg
Gandhāra, 2nd century CE
That looks like a yak-tail fly whisk in his
right hand, the Vajra in his left

Vajra Wielder has often been viewed as the prototype of all the many later wrathful forms of Buddha known to the tantras. What is more certain is that lesser deities with protective and obstacle-overcoming functions were first portrayed in small and simple forms next to the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas they followed. In later times, they became full manifestations of those same Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, and like them came to form foci for high aspirations (yi-dam) in their own right.[5]
There are numerous places in the sūtras where Vajra is used as a metaphor for various things. It is not always clear in these cases whether the sūtras might not have the weapon of Indra in mind rather than the diamond, and for our present purposes it doesn’t matter very much. In the Vimalakîrti Sūtra, for example, the Vajra is a simile for the firmness of a resolution, for the solidity of the Tathāgata’s form, and for the highly penetrating power of the Full Knowledge[6] of the Buddha. The last simile is interesting, since Full Knowledge is compared to the Vajra (as is the Bodhisattva’s aspiration to achieve Enlightenment for the benefit of others) several times in the Twenty-five Thousand Transcendent Insight Sūtraas well, and at least six times in the Lalitavistara Sūtra we have Full Knowledge equated with the Vajra or the ‘supreme Vajra weapon.’ In the Twenty-five Thousand we frequently notice a state of contemplative concentration (samādhi) called the Vajra-like Contemplative Concentration, contained in a long and frequently repeated list of samādhis. In commentarial literature, and most notably in the Abhisamayālaṃkāra (‘Ornament of Clairvoyance’), attributed to Maitreyanātha, teacher of Asaṅga, the Vajra-like Contemplative Concentration is the one associated with the very highest level of the Bodhisattva’s Path, the level therein called the Stage of No More Learning.[7]Consistent with Vajrayāna’s general practice of ‘taking the goal as the basis,’ this Vajra-like Samādhi may help explain why it was that the tantras took the Vajra as their most important symbol. For them it was the goal that forms the very basis of the Buddhist Path. 


Now we should go on and start looking at some tantric texts to see how the similes and metaphors of earlier sūtra sources might have inspired the revelation of Vajrayāna symbolism. But first, let’s have a look at a peculiar usage in a work that most scholars today would agree long preceded the historical emergence of the tantras.
An early Buddhist work of praise, one that was written by Mātṛceta in about the second century and one that we know was popularly recited by the monks of India in the seventh century, makes clear metaphorical use of the Vajra in one of its lines in which it praises the power of the Buddha’s Speech-acts: “Because [Your Speech] overcomes the mountain of pride, it resembles the weapon of Śakra.”[8] Here Śakra means Indra, and the weapon of Indra is of course the Vajra. Pride resembles the mountain because it is high and made of hard stuff. Yet the Vajra of the Buddha’s Speech is equal to the nearly impossible task of overcoming it. In making metaphorical usage of the Vajra as equivalent to Buddha Speech, this early source is quite anomalous, but perhaps just for that reason very much worth noticing.
One early tantric text is quoted[9]as saying,
[Question:] You [keep] saying “Vajra, Vajra.”
Why must you call [things] “Vajra?”

[Answer:] It is hard and has no hollowness at its core.
It cuts and cannot be torn apart.
It cannot be burned and knows no destruction.
That is why we call Voidness the ‘Vajra.’
It is free of any and all interfering thoughts
and has abandoned all grasping onto phenomena.
The reality of all phenomena —
Voidness — is expressed in Vajra.

In some tantra texts, such as the Secret Meeting (Guhyasamāja) Tantra* the word Vajra occurs on almost every line. Particularly in the opening chapters of the Secret Meeting Tantra, Vajra is frequently used to qualify the Thought of Enlightenment (Bodhicitta); the Buddha’s body, speech and mind; but also the divinized sense faculties and elements, which are called such things as Vajra Seeing, Vajra Tasting, Vajra Earth, Vajra Water, Vajra Space, and identified with specific Buddhas and Bodhisattvas. The illusory interplay of our internal senses and the objects of the external world which they seemingly confront (but which are actually pre-painted to accord with our subjective projections) is deliberately re-experienced as deities, both gods and goddesses, in mutual embrace. In a ritual context, it isn’t enough that the offering substances and instruments to be employed in the ritual remain in their familiar conventional form. Rather, they need to be amplified, brought to life, dissolved into Voidness, divinized or, if we may coin an appropriate word, ‘vajraized.’
(*The translation Esoteric Community is favored by some highly regarded translators. My translation has only half the syllables, although I doubt that will impress them.)

Continued...  here.



§   §   §


:::. Literary references .:::

AGOCS, TAMAS
  2000    The Diamondness of the Diamond Sūtra, Acta Orientalia Hungarica, vol. 53, nos. 1-2 (2000) 65-77.
BAILEY, D.R. SHACKLETON
  1951      The Śatapañcāśatka of Mātṛceṭa: Sanskrit Text, Tibetan Translation and Commentary, and Chinese Translation, Cambridge University Press (Cambridge 1951). Have a look here.
CABEZON, J.I.
  1992      Mother Wisdom, Father Love: Gender-based Imagery in Mahāyāna Buddhist Thought, contained in: J.I. Cabezón, ed., Buddhism, Sexuality and Gender, State University of New York Press (Stony Brook 1992), pp. 181-199. Have a look at it here.
HOCHOTSANG, KUNGA YONTEN
  1970     What is Vajra?  Bulletin of Tibetology, vol. 7, no. 3 (1970), pp. 42-43. Find it here.
LINROTHE, ROB
  1999     Ruthless Compassion: Wrathful Deities in Early Indo-Tibetan Esoteric Buddhist Art, Serindia (London 1999). Get a glimpse here.
MARTIN, DAN
  1987      Illusion Web: Locating the Guhyagarbha Tantra in Buddhist Intellectual History, contained in:  C. I. Beckwith, ed., Silver on Lapis: Tibetan Literary Culture and History, The Tibet Society (Bloomington 1987), pp. 175-220. Available here.
PAGEL, ULRICH
  2007     Mapping the Path: Vajrapadas in Mahāyāna Literature, Studia Philologica Buddhica series no. 12, International Institute for Buddhist Studies (Tokyo 2007).
PYE, MICHAEL
  1978      Skilful Means:  A Concept in Mahayana Buddhism, Duckworth (London 1978). A rather old book, it has been reprinted, and may even be possible to get as an ebook.
SAUNDERS, E. DALE
  1960     Mudrā: A Study of Symbolic Gestures in Japanese Buddhist Sculpture, Routledge & Kegan Paul (London 1960). This book is still in print.
SNELLGROVE, DAVID
  1987      Indo-Tibetan Buddhism, Shambhala Publications (Boston 1987).
VESSANTARA
  2001     The Vajra and Bell, Windhorse Publications (Birmingham 2001).
WAYMAN, ALEX
  2002     Buddhist Insight: Essays by Alex Wayman, ed. by George R. Elder, Motilal Banarsidass (Delhi 2002).




***The English Wikipedia entry “Vajra” (accessed today) isn’t bad, really, although you may notice it has hardly anything to say about the sūtra sources,* which seem to me to be too tremendously significant to be overlooked.
(*except an inevitable casual mention of the Vajra Cutter Sūtra)


[1] We find significance in the fact that the Tibetan text of the sūtra uses the honorific word for ‘mother,’ yum, in this context. The Vajrayāna portraits of deities in sexual embrace called ‘father-mother’ or ‘parental’ (yab-yum) figures are most frequently interpreted as symbolic of the union of Method and Insight, and I think this will become still more clear in what follows. Note, too, that the following quote from the Gaṇḍavyūha employs the non-honorific forms for father and mother, pha and ma.
[2] For the text and a discussion, see Martin (1987: 191-192, 216).  See also this blog page from Janus. Other examples from Mahāyāna literature may be found in Cabezón (1992). Wayman (2002: 107) cites a similar statement from the Śrîparamādya (Tôhoku no. 487). For a quite extensive listing of occurrences of Vajra in Mahāyāna sūtra literature, see now Pagel (2007: 5-6). It ought to be clear that I haven’t attempted to account for every single scriptural occurrence of the word rdo-rje, although canonical usages may now be located with remarkable ease at the Vienna site featured in this blog page.
[3] Translation taken from Pye (1978: 90; it is from chapter 2 of the Sūtra). The same work by Pye (pp. 90, 104) argues that the ‘maleness’ of method, not found at all in the earlier Transcendent Insight literature, received increasingly greater emphasis as time went on.
[4] Compare Snellgrove (1987: 60). See the same work, pp. 134-141 for an interesting study of the significance of the Vajra Wielder. In the fifth- to seventh-century Vinaya Sūtra composed by Guṇaprabha, it is recommended that two Vajrapāṇis (since a Sanskrit dual ending may be indicated by the Tibetan syllable dag) be painted next to the doors of monasteries, and this may be a source of literary inspiration for the sets of two temple-guardian figures encountered in the art and architecture of Buddhist countries (of course, the practice could well have been established prior to the text recommending it, and the idea of placing protective figures on both sides of a door is a rather obvious one, I’d say). For a remarkable story told about Vajrapāṇi as a personal protector of the Buddha in a Pāli Buddhist scripture, see Vessantara (2001: 4-5).
[5] This type of development is a major theme of Linrothe (1999).
[6] Full Knowledge is our translation for Sanskrit Jñāna, Tibetan Ye-shes. In general, Full Knowledge means an Enlightened kind of knowing in which all obstacles due to phenomena (‘knowables’) have been overcome (in the Enlightenment narratives, this took place at dawn under the Awakening Tree). This Full Knowledge must not be understood as a simple private satisfaction of abiding in the knowledge of the Enlightened experience itself, since it also includes knowledge of the factors that will aid others in reaching that experience. Buddhists have indeed understood Full Knowledge to mean or lead to ‘omniscience’ (sarvajñā), but rarely in the usual theistic sense, as a knowledge of every single particular event, rather as the knowledge of all causal conditions and factors that aid or prohibit progress on the Path to Enlightenment. Growth in the two factors of Merit and Full Knowledge is what defines progress on the Path according to Mahāyāna Buddhism. In the Buddhist tantras (with clear roots in sūtras and sūtra-based treatises) it is usually said that there are five Full Knowledges. These will be mentioned in a later blog entry in relation to the five types of “Buddha Family Bells.”
[7] For more along these lines, and suggestions about still other implicated meanings in the sūtra usages of Vajra, see Agócs (2000).
[8] Bailey (1951: 89).
[9] Saunders (1960: 185) identifies the source of this quote as the Vajraśekhara Sūtra (despite the word ‘sūtra’ in its title, this is a tantra of the yoga-tantra class, and one of the most important scriptures of the Japanese school of tantric Buddhism known as Shingon). Compare Saunders’ translation: “Void, the nucleus of all things, like a diamond, may not be demolished by axe, nor be cloven, nor burned, nor destroyed.” Our translation is based on the Tibetan text supplied by Hochotsang (1970: 43), who doesn’t attribute the quote to any particular scripture.

The Vajra in Vajrayāna

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Sakya Jebtsun Dragpa Gyeltsen,
holding Vajra and Bell


© Trustees of the British Museum

Today’s post is a continuation of this one.

There is a very interesting twelfth-century Tibetan work by Dragpa Gyeltsen (Grags-pa-rgyal-mtshan) that we will summarize here, emphasizing his explanations of the symbolism of the parts of the Vajra. He lists four types of Vajras, but of these he only discusses the Symbolizing Vajra, the physical Vajra that can be held in the hand. He then names four types of Symbolizing Vajras:


[a]The nine-pointed Vajra called the Commitment Vajra.
[b]The five-pointed Vajra called the Full Knowledge Vajra.
[c]The three-pointed Vajra which is the Vajra used for exorcising inimical forces.
[d]The Vajra with open ‘horns’ (prongs) called the Wrathful Vajra.[1]


Dragpa Gyeltsen suggests that the proportions should be (as they seem to be in actual practice) in three equal parts — the two pronged ends and the central part being of equal length. He also recommends, supporting himself with a quote from a tantra, that there should be a bulging part (a ‘globe’) at the center where the Vajra is held (generally between the thumb and fingers of the right hand). One scriptural source, the Sampuṭa Tantra, in fact calls this, “The egg of the three times, at the center, into which the Full Knowledge deity is to dissolve.”[2] 

Although this feature may be difficult to make out on some Tibetan Vajras, they usually show the heads of water-monsters called Makara at the base of each peripheral prong. The prongs themselves may be seen to be made up of a Makara head and its protruding ‘tongue.’[3]It is a curious fact that there is only one of the twelve Indian Zodiac signs that doesn’t correspond exactly with the Greek Zodiac. Indians have the Makara in the place of Capricorn (‘horned goat’). The Makara seems to be a composite of several different aquatic and semi-aquatic creatures, and descriptions as well as representations sometimes suggest crocodiles (perhaps the ‘original’ meaning[4]), dolphins or other fish (possibly whales, while some have even suggested sharks), or even the octopus or squid, as well as semi-aquatic creatures such as the elephant (since it often appears in art with something resembling an elephant’s trunk) or rhinoceros, or the tapir. 

Makara on a temple roof top
A verse, of Indian origins, but cited by a recent Tibetan author, says that it has a lion’s claws, an elephant’s trunk, a makara’s (crocodile’s?) tusks, a monkey’s eyes, a wild boar’s ears and a fish’s body.[5] It lurks beneath the water among the lotus stems, and a lotus stem (or rhizome) is sometimes depicted coming out of its mouth. It is the ruler of the depths of the ocean, that vast and dangerous realm that seems so chaotic to us, or at least subject to totally different norms, an almost entirely ‘other’ world. It may nevertheless be a source of great riches, so much so that one common epithet of the ocean is ‘jewel source.’ The Makara, as a composite creature, embodies all the danger and strangeness, as well as the potentialities, of that separate world beneath the water’s surface.[6] As a crocodile-like monster capable of swallowing whole creatures, including people lost at sea, it represents not only all-consuming passions, but also radical transformation (by way of a process of ‘digestion’), a symbolism that is evident also in the Face of Glory, but becomes especially clear in the case of the Purpa symbolism, a subject we may come to later on. The Makara is responsible for stopping up the flow of waters, but also for releasing them. Its use as a symbol of fertility has often been noted, and it is probably of some significance that Kāma, the divinity of sensual desires, is supposed to hold a Makara banner.[7] Dragpa Gyeltsen says, “Those ‘horns’ [i.e. the prongs, which the Tibetan texts also call ‘points’] emerging out of the mouth of the Makaras are a symbol of being drawn out of the suffering at the root of life. The lunar circle that forms the seat of those ‘horns’ is a symbol of relieving the heat of the vicious circle of saṃsāra of its affliction [with its cooling lunar rays].”

Lalitpur, Nepal 2011
The Makara also has had a usage in India that is broadly architectural, for at least two thousand years. The waterspouts that come at the end of water channels of all kinds (praṇāla), whether for drainage or for water supply, are very often formed of the heads of Makaras or similar composite creatures. Water taps in Makara shape, while not in themselves constituting sacred objects or objects of cult, might be used not only for public water sources for drinking and washing, but also for temple cult, as water source for lustrating divine images.[8] As a sea creature, living in the largest of all bodies of water, an abundant supply emerges from its mouth. The ocean is the ultimate water source, and the water is conveyed to us through the mouth of one if its most remarkable inhabitants.

Lalitpur, Nepal 2011
The close proximity of the Makaras and Lotuses in the design of the Vajra is clearly a continuation of a long Indian tradition of depicting them together. The Makara very often has a rhizome emerging from its mouth, and this rhizome often leads to an artistic lattice-work of crisscrossing, spiraling or intertwining rhizomes from which lotus blooms emerge, while in still other Indian artistic examples, Lotus-flower medallions are encircled by bands of Makaras. To return to the context of the Vajra, the prongs, as in the iconography of the Buddhas they represent, rest on a lunar seat, and the lunar seat is further supported by an eight-petalled Lotus.[9] While the Lotus as a whole, as we have noted, is generally a symbol of purity (especially purity of conception and birth), here Dragpa Gyeltsen identifies each petal with one of the eight Bodhisattva disciples of the Buddha, or with one of a set of eight goddesses. The rounded bulge at the nave of the Vajra symbolizes the Dharma Realm (Dharmadhātu) in its utter simplicity, completely self-contained. Each of the two sides of the nave is ornamented, says Dragpa Gyeltsen, with a circlet of pearls symbolizing the dawning as play acting — or ornamentation — of all of the vicious circle that is saṃsāra including its transcendence in nirvāṇa.
Alchi (Ladakh) mural. Notice the black
‘spidery’ look of these Vajras, a characteristic of western
Tibetan art a thousand years ago
Each prong symbolizes a male or female Buddha. The five-pronged Vajra is predominantly a symbol of Full Knowledge, since the ‘upper’ set of five prongs symbolizes the five families of Buddhas (as found in many Maṇḍalas) and the five Full Knowledges that they embody. The ‘lower’ set of five prongs symbolizes the immaculate five ‘mothers,’ also belonging to the same five Buddha families.

A later writer of the Tibetan Gelugpa school by the name of A-kyā Rinpoche classifies Vajras (following the Highest Yoga Tantras) into two types: [1] the Meaning Vajra which is the thing symbolized and [2] the Sign Vajra which acts as a symbol. The Meaning Vajra is identified as the Full Knowledge identical to the mind of the Buddha. It is also called the Secret Vajra. The Sign Vajra is symbolic of Full Knowledge. He further distinguishes Sign Vajras on the basis of the number of prongs, on whether or not the outer prongs touch the central prongs, and on whether the prongs are blunt or sharp at the end. Ones with sharp prongs that do not touch the central prongs are wrathful Vajras, while the ones with blunt prongs that do touch the central prongs belong to the peaceful type. He cites one tantra to the effect that Vajras may have as many as one thousand prongs, but he notices only five main types based on the number of prongs, the one-, three-, five-, nine-pronged, and finally the Everything Vajra — sometimes called the Crossed Vajra since it has four sets of prongs arrayed in the four compass directions — which might be 12- or 20-pronged depending on whether there are three or five prongs in each of the four sets.[10]

One Indian text by Advayavajra describes the Vajra in terms similar to those of the Tibetan-authored texts, identifying the bulge at the nave as a symbol of Dharma Proper (chos-nyid, essentially equivalent to the Dharma Realm, chos-dbyings, of Dragpa Gyeltsen), and the five prongs he identifies as symbols of the five Buddha families. This text at least can demonstrate for us that the most important elements of Dragpa Gyeltsen’s symbolic analysis already existed in India.[11] 

To reiterate, the Vajra — in both its name and symbolic, mythological associations — originated in India where in very ancient times it was the weapon of Indra. Still, it is most likely that the form of the Vajra known to Tibetans (and other Buddhist countries) came to India, perhaps somewhere in the second to fifth centuries, in a form known to the Greeks as the Keraunos, weapon of Zeus. In the earlier Buddhist art of Gandhāra the Vajra was portrayed, but in a quite different form. The Vajra as a whole may be described as a symbol of indestructibility, stability and firmness. By extension it became for Buddhists a symbol of particular things characterized as adamantine: the resolution to obtain Enlightenment (usually called the ‘Thought of Enlightenment,’ Bodhicitta), Full Knowledge, and the Buddha’s body, speech and especially His mind. Those particular meanings known and employed in the Buddhist tantras all seem to have found direct inspiration in Mahāyāna sūtras.

Although we have noticed no specific textual source for the idea, it is entirely possible to view the parts of the Vajra as symbolic of the Three Bodies of the Buddha. The two ends appear to be growing outward from the central undifferentiated globe, stated to be a symbol of the the nature of things, that is equivalent to Dharma Body. The circlets of pearls on either side of it would then be a symbol of the Dharma Body ‘with ornamentation’ (in other words, the minimal degree of manifestation and incipient multiplicity), perhaps symbolic of the Perfect Assets Body that displays, to highest level Bodhisattvas only, the richness of the Dharma Body. Then, proceeding still further outward, there are two Lotuses, symbols of the unfolding of Enlightenment, likewise symbols of pure and miraculous conception and birth, which provide the support for the five Buddha Families of the five prongs that may become visible, in the form of Manifestation Bodies, to ordinary human beings. This picture is at least in keeping with the role of the Vajra, in the form of the four-ended Everything Vajra, in Buddhist accounts of cosmogony, underlined by the fact that the Everything Vajra is visible as the ‘ground’ for the manifestation of the Maṇḍala.[12]

The use of the Vajra for protection, especially associated with the early protective role of Vajra Wielder, is quite pronounced in ritual contexts, without in the least excluding or replacing any of the usages we have discussed so far. The contemplative visualization of a Vajra Wall is essential to the inner work of the tantric practitioner, since this Wall (in effect an encompassing three-dimensional sphere), entirely made up of Vajras, protects the mind (as does the mantra repetition known as Vajra Recitation) from distracting or delusive invasions that might otherwise disturb the meditative practice.[13] Other ritual and visualizational uses of Vajras are too numerous to mention. They appear at every turn. During most monastic rituals, the Vajra and Bell are held in the right and left hands while making various ritual gestures, symbolic of the interplay and union of method and insight, the two parents who give birth to Buddhas, as well as the yogic process of dissolving the energies of the right and left psychic channels into the central channel. Some ritual sequences are directly devoted to the Vajra and Bell, such as the ‘Vajra and Bell Blessing’ that often forms a part of the preliminaries of a number of rituals such as the sādhana and the Fire Ritual (Homa). Another such ritual is Vajra Master Initiation, in which initiates are presented with a Vajra and a Bell as signs of their capability to preside at such tantric rituals as Homa, consecrations and empowerments. 

Still other specific usages may be seen in consecrations and in the blessing of sacramental medicines. In these last-mentioned contexts, a relatively small, approximately hand-width sized Vajra is kept tied to one end of a Dhāraṇī Thread that acts as a kind of ritual ‘power line’ to conduct the meditation-generated force from the ritual master to the item/s being consecrated.[14] But not all of the symbolic usages took place on such sublime spiritual and ritual levels. Sitting on my desk as I write are two Tibetan government-issued bank notes of twenty-five and one hundred srang denominations, dating to the last half of the 1940’s. The black seal of the Tibetan government bank (or, after 1937, the seal of the official mint) stamped on the front side of each note is framed by four Vajras, that might also be understood to symbolize the inviolability of the state bank and/or its currency.[15] Well, to wrap up this discussion for the time being, the Vajra and Bell, presented to the tantric practitioner through a ritual initiation, remain for them the most essential implements, and will be kept on the altar of all who are engaged in Buddhist tantra. Next we turn to the Bell.  Until then...
Detail from an 100 Srang Note of the Tibetan Government.
Note the four Vajras surrounding the ’Phags-pa inscription that reads:
Srid Zhi Dpal ’Bar, or
“Blazing Glory of Both Worldly Life and
the Quiescence of Nirvana”
(I know, 4 syllables shouldn’t need 18 in the translation)


_____________________


[1] This four-fold classification of Vajras evidently comes from the chapter on Vajras and Bells in the Vajra Skygoer Tantra (Vajraākanāma Mahātantra Rāja), on which, see Helffer (1985: 55). It is interesting that this classification doesn’t leave room for a one-pronged Vajra, since this type is known to Japanese Shingon art, and a number of later Tibetan writers do mention its possibility. Later on, in our discussion of the Phur-pa, we will see how the Phur-pa might be conceived as a single-pronged Vajra.
[2] Toh. no. 381. Derge Kanjur, vol. 79 (ga), fol. 144 recto: dbus-su skabs gsum sgo-nga-la // ye-shes lha ni thim-par bya. The Sanskrit text of the Sampuṭa Tantra exists in the manuscript form, and a published edition is said to be forthcoming. Three Indian commentaries are available in Tibetan translation (Skorupski 1996). Obviously, a further study of these sources, overcoming the inherent difficulties in dealing with texts of this nature, would reveal important information on Vajras and Bells.
[3] However, we have not noticed that Tibetan sources actually use a word for ‘tongue,’ and in Indian representations of the Makara, it is rather the Lotus rhizome that is depicted coming out of the Makara’s mouth.
[4] See Vogel (1957: 561-564). Note also the early Buddhist examples of Makara portrayals from Bharhut, Amaravati and Sarnath in Vogel (1924 and 1930). Smith (1988) observes how various types and shapes of Makaras occur in different times and places.
[5] Dge-’dun-chos-’phel (1990: I 69).
[6] On the Makara, see especially Coomaraswamy (1971, pt. 2: 47-56) and Darian (1978: 114-125), where it appears in iconography as the ‘mount’ or ‘vehicle’ of the Goddess of the Ganges. Many early Indian examples are given in Viennot (1954, 1958). On a visit to Yamdok Lake on the south side of the Brahmaputra River in Central Tibet, we asked our Tibetan driver if anything lived beneath those deep turquoise waters, the product of millenia of internal drainage (now deplorably slated to be drained and muddied in order to supply a few years of electricity to the city of Lhasa). He told us with considerable conviction that nothing lived there except the Chu-glang. The Chu-glang, or ‘Water Ox’ (perhaps a derivative of the Jalebha, or ‘Water Elephant’ of Indian lore closely related to the Makara), is another hybrid aquatic creature that Tibetan folklore sometimes confounds with the Makara (in Tibetan folklore the Makara, which they call Chu-srin, is the nearly undisputed leader of the underwater kingdom, whose only significant danger comes from the conch). It seems to be something like a lion-faced fish with walrus-like tusks. It doesn’t really resemble descriptions of the Loch Ness monster, but still the analogy might come to mind. It may be of interest to notice here that L. Austine Waddell (1854-1938), while accompanying the Younghusband Expedition invasion of 1903-4 as a ranking officer with an army consisting primarily of Indian sepoys, credited himself with discovering a new kind of carp living in Yamdok Lake, that he was no doubt proud to have named after himself (see Waddell 1905/1988: 304-306, with illustration of the fish opposite p. 306, as well as p. 489, where the Yamdok carp is given the scientific name Gymnocypris waddelli).
[7] See especially Stein (1977: 59, et passim). Stein argues that the ‘prongs,’ which the Tibetan texts usually call ‘points’ (rtse) or ‘horns’ (rwa), ought to be understood to be ‘tongues’ (in Tibetan lce or ljags) of the Makara, and goes on to find something ‘phallic’ in these tongues. He doesn’t supply very much Tibetan evidence for this interpretation (and the unfalsifiability of Freudian interpretations and their cultural embeddedness are well known problems among anthropological thinkers). “Makara Banner” (Makara-dhvaja) is also the name of a long-popular Indian aphrodisiac (Coomaraswamy 1971, pt. 2: 54; Mahdihassan 1991: 88). The use of the term ‘horns’ in some Tibetan texts might recommend comparison with horns of protection in other cultures, especially given the protective role of the Vajra in several of its contexts. The horns on Michelangelo’s famous statue of Moses go back to some early synagogue prayers which interpret the horns of Moses at the time of the revelation of the Torah (based on the ambivalence of the Hebrew word keren, meaning both ‘[light]beam’ or ‘horn’) as being meant to protect him from the Angels zealous of their exclusive rights to close proximity to the deity (see Flusser 1992: xvi, and references given there; with thanks to M. O., Jerusalem, for suggesting the analogy).
[8] For numerous examples, both drawn and photographed, of Makara waterspouts from all periods and regions of south Asian history, see Dhaky (1982). While rich in illustrations, this article is not very strong on symbolc understanding, but note at least the statement on p. 134, “The choice of the makara as the animal for decorating the drain-front could have been actuated by the watery association of the animal.”
[9] Mkhas-grub-rje (199x: 230) observes that the string of pearls that one often sees intervening between the lunar disks and the lotusses is meaningless, since what should be there, according to his Indian authorities, is a design representing the railing or outermost wall of the maṇḍala. This element is often referred to as a sash or girdle (in Tibetan ske-rags).
[10] A-kyā (n.d.) is largely based (and this is so stated in A-kyā’s own colophon) on the much more detailed, early 15th-century work by Mkhas-grub-rje (199x), which has not been directly cited here. For his explanations of the Vajra and Bell, Mkhas-grub-rje relied largely on works written by the Bengali Ānandagarbha, an important figure in the history of the Yoga Tantras. All these Indian works cited by Mkhas-grub-rje and others ought to be studied in some detail in order to know more about the Indian background of Tibetan observances.
[11] For an English translation of the portion of Advayavajra’s (his name itself means ‘Nondual Vajra’) text on Vajras, see Snellgrove (1987: 133-134). It is also interesting that Advayavajra cites (without specifying the source) the tantra passage on Vajra which we have translated above. This Advayavajra was evidently the teacher by that name active in India in the eleventh century.
[12] On some Maṇḍala representations, it may be difficult to make out the tips of the prongs of the Everything Vajra, since the four gateways are flattened outward as a strategy for representing a three-dimensional object in two-dimensional form (see the following note). The gateways usually cover all but the tips of the prongs of the Vajra, and sometimes the outer prongs appear in such a way that they might be mistaken for elephant tusks.
[13] One may also look at a picture of almost any Maṇḍala, and find among the outermost circles (generally just inside the ring of purified elements represented by rainbow colors) a Vajra Wall marked by vertically oriented Vajras. The Vajra Wall in Maṇḍala representations (depicted in two dimensions, but intended to represent three dimensions; although relatively rare, three-dimensional models of Maṇḍalas do exist in some Tibetan temples, but even then the Vajra Wall is left in two-dimensional form, since otherwise it would completely envelop the Divine Palace within its sphere) maintains the inviolability of the enclosed sacred space inhabited by male and female Buddhas. One tantric work explicitly identifies the garlands (rosaries) and barriers (walls) of Vajras in the design of the Bell with the Divine Palace (i.e., the Maṇḍala); see Helffer 1982: 261.
[14] Very often, the Dhāraṇī Thread is held by all the persons participating in the ritual in question, sometimes even including laypersons in the audience, and not just the Vajra Master. I have witnessed this in both Newari and Tibetan ritual practice. For a discussion of its use in the context of consecration rituals, see Bentor (1996: 111 ff.). On the Vajra Master Initiation just mentioned, see the latter work (p. 252, especially).
[15] For illustrations, even if not very clear ones, see Panish (1968).





°  ~  °  ~  °

Literary sources:


A-KYA RINPOCHE
  n.d.   A-kyā Blo-bzang-bstan-pa’i-rgyal-mtshan (b. 1708), Sngags-kyi Brtul-zhugs-kyi Yan-lag ’Ga’-zhig Ji-ltar Bya-ba’i Tshul Bstan-pa Don Gsal Sgron-me [‘Meaning Clarifying Lamp Showing How to Perform Some Ancillary Tantric Activities’].  Contained in his Collected Works (Gsung-’bum), vol. 7 (key-letter ja), in 24 folios.  I used a transcript of the version in the Chicago Field Museum’s Berthold Laufer collection, no. 131.08.
BENTOR, YAEL
  1996   Consecration of Images and Stūpas in Indo-Tibetan Tantric Buddhism, E.J. Brill (Leiden 1996).
COOMARASWAMY, ANANDA K.
  1971   Yakṣas, Part I and Part II, Munshiram Manoharlal (New Delhi 1971).
DARIAN, STEVEN G.
  1978   The Ganges in Myth and History, University Press of Hawaii (Honolulu 1978).
DGE-’DUN-CHOS-’PHEL
  1990   Dge-’dun-chos-’phel-gyi Gsung-rtsom [‘Works of Gendun Chomphel’], Bod-ljongs Bod-yig Dpe-rnying Dpe-skrun-khang (Lhasa 1990), in 3 vols.
DHAKY, M.A.
 1982  The Praṇāla in Indian, South-Asian and South-East Asian Sacred Architecture, contained in: Bettina Bäumer, ed., Rūpa Pratirūpa: Alice Boner Commemoration Volume, Biblia Impex (New Delhi 1982), pp. 119-166.
DRAGPA GYELTSEN
                 See Grags-pa-rgyal-mtshan.
FLUSSER, DAVID
  1992   General Introduction, contained in:  H. Schreckenberg & K. Schubert, eds., Jewish Historiography and Iconography in Early and Medieval Christianity, Van Gorcum (Assen 1992), pp. ix-xviii.
GRAGS-PA-RGYAL-MTSHAN (1147‑1216) 
  1968   Rdo-rje Dril-bu dang Bgrang-phreng-gi De-kho-na-nyid[‘The True Reality of Vajra, Bell and Rosary’], contained in: Sa-skya-pa’i Bka’-’bum, Toyo Bunko (Tokyo 1968), vol. 3, pp. 271-2-4 through 272-3-6.
HELFFER, MIREILLE
  1982   Du texte à la muséographie: données concernant la clochette tibétaine dril-bu, Revue de musicologie, vol. 68, no. 1/2 (1982), pp. 248-269.
  1985b  Essai pour une typologie de la cloche tibétaine dril-bu, Arts Asiatiques, vol. 40 (1985b), pp. 53-67.
MAHDIHASSAN, S.
  1991   Indian Alchemy or Rasayana in the Light of Asceticism and Geriatrics, Motilal Banarsidass (Delhi 1991).
MKHAS-GRUB-RJE DGE-LEGS-DPAL-BZANG (1385-1438)
 199x   Rdo-rje Theg-pa’i Lam-gyi Yan-lag Mi-’bral-ba dang Bsten-par Bya-ba’i Dam-tshig-gi Rdzas Med-du-mi-rung-ba-dag-gi Mtshan-nyid dang / Ji-ltar Bcad-pa’i Tshul la sogs-pa Rnam-par Bshad-pa Rnal-’byor Rol-pa’i Dga’-ston [‘Yogis’ Acting Festival: A Detailed Explanation of Such Matters as the Characteristics and Methods for the Holding of the Indispensible Commitment Substances which are, in the Branch Vows of the Vajra Vehicle’s Path, Never to be Parted from, and Are to be Put to Use’], as contained in: Collected Works of Mkhas-grub-rje, as contained in:  Rje Yab-sras Gsum-gyi Gsung-’bum [impressions from the 19th century Sku-’bum Byams-pa-gling woodblocks] (Kumbum Monastery 199x), vol. 15 (ba), pp. 205-344.  CD digital reproductions supplied by Tibetan Buddhist Resource Center (New York).
PANISH, CHARLES K.
   1968   Tibetan Paper Money, Whitman Numismatic Journal, vol. 5, no. 8 (1968), pp. 467-471; vol. 5, no. 9 (1968), pp. 501-508.
SKORUPSKI, TADEUSZ
  1996   The Saṃpuṭa-tantra: Sanskrit and Tibetan Versions of Chapter One, contained in: T. Skorupski, ed., The Buddhist Forum, Volume IV: Seminar Papers 1994-1996, School of Oriental and African Studies (London 1996), pp. 191-244.
SMITH, R. MORTON
  1988   Using Makaras, contained in: S.K. Maity, Upendra Thakur and A.K. Narain, eds., Studies in Orientology: Essays in Memory of Prof. A.L. Basham, Y.K. Publishers (Agra 1988), pp. 150-155.
SNELLGROVE, DAVID
   1987   Indo-Tibetan Buddhism, Shambhala Publications (Boston 1987).
STEIN, ROLF ALFRED
   1977   La gueule du Makara: un trait inexpliqué de certains objets rituels, contained in:  A. Macdonald and Y. Imaeda, ed., Essais sur l’art du Tibet, Librairie d’Amérique et d’Orient (Paris 1977), pp. 52-62.
VIENNOT, ODETTE
  1954   Typologie du makara et essai de chronologie, Arts Asiatiques, vol. 1, no. 3 (1954), pp. 189-208.
  1958   Le makara dans la décoration des monuments de l’Inde ancienne: positions et fonctions, Arts Asiatiques, vol. 5, no. 3-4 (1958), pp. 183-206, 272-292.
VOGEL, J.P.
  1924   De Makara in de Voor-Indische Beeldhouwkunst, Nederlandsch-Indië, Oud en Nieuw, vol. 8, no. 9 (January 1924), pp. 262-276.
  1930   Le Makara dans la sculpture de l’Inde, “extrait de la Revue des Arts Asiatiques,” Les Éditions G. van Oest (Paris 1930).
  1957   Errors in Sanskrit Dictionaries, Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, vol. 20, nos. 1-3 (1957), pp. 561-567.
WADDELL, L. AUSTINE
  1988   Lhasa and Its Mysteries, with a Record of the British Tibetan Expedition of 1903-1904, Dover Publications (New York 1988), originally published in 1905. Download it here for free if you like.


The Bell and the Sound Symbols of Dharma

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Bell and Vajra.  From the British Museum
© The Trustees of the British Museum

Today's blog entry is a continuation of this one.

"The world is sound.  Immediately the question arises: What kind of sound?" 
— Berendt, p. 19.
Just after the Buddha Śākyamuni attained Enlightenment on the Vajra Seat (Vajrāsana) beneath the Awakening Tree, He was hesitant to speak, certain that He would not be understood. He was even thinking to live out the rest of His days in a lonely forest retreat. The gods Brahma, famous for his melodious speech, and Indra, famous for his power, came to convince Him that it would be worth the effort to begin teaching His insights in the form of the Dharma. The Wheel is one common symbol of the Dharma, since the Buddha is said to have ‘set the Wheel of the Dharma in motion.’ As a symbol of the same thing, Indra presented to the Enlightened One a Conch shell. 



The sūtras, when they describe the Buddha’s first acts of teaching, prefer sound metaphors(or couldn’t we in fact call them auditory symbols?) that emphasize a pealing or booming quality, sounds that are clearly identifiable and sustained and that carry for a long distance. Such metaphors as the Conch, the Large Drum, Melodious Brahma Voice, the Cymbal, the Lion’s Roar and the cry of the Kalapinka Bird are common in many sūtras.[1]Less common is the Thunder, and later on we even find the cry of the Cuckoo Bird as a symbol of Buddha Word. These sounds are unified by their startling quality, communicating not only the Buddha’s act of vocalization as a kind of ‘wakeup call’ to greater awareness, but also the revolutionary nature of His revelation which, in His time, seemed to be coming right out of the blue... In a time when Indian religious teachers were emphasizing the ultimacy of the Self or Atman, His revelation announced to the world that there is no such thing. In other words, these metaphors (they were never simply metaphors) served as symbols not only of the quality of the Buddha’s voice, but of the content of His message, with deep sounds to correspond to His depth of insight. But there is still one further step to the symbolism that might be a little difficult to follow. It is nevertheless essential for a fuller understanding of these symbols. Since the Buddha’s expression of the Dharma tells us the way things are, the ‘things,’ i.e., the elements of apparent existence as Buddhistically conceived, are also called dharmas.[2]Hence, our sonorous symbols of Buddha Word are, besides being identified with the Buddhist scriptures which preserve His Word, equally identified with the world of phenomena.
The Bell as such (Ghaṇṭa in Sanskrit and Dril-bu in Tibetan[3]) is not listed among these metaphors of Dharma in the Mahāyāna Sūtras we have consulted. Bells, in the plural, appear there rather as a meritorious offering which came to form a permanent fixture of the Buddhist reliquaries called Stūpas. These bells, probably rather small ones equipped with cloth hangings attached to their clappers that made them ring when the wind blew, were evidently hung in strings attached to Stūpas. Even without being explicitly identified with the Dharmas (scriptural or phenomenal) in the Mahāyāna sūtras as far as we know at present,[4] the brief explanations of the symbolisms of the Bell in its entirety and in its parts all identify the Bell as the Transcendent Insight Sūtra, as well as the Voidness of all phenomena which is the main message of that Sūtra. The head of Transcendent Insight even looks out at us from the center of the Bell’s handle.[5]Tsong-kha-pa, in his most famous work on the stages of the tantric Path, directly states, “The Bell’s sound symbolizes the proclamation of the masses of Dharma.”[6]
And  Dragpa Gyeltsen says on the symbolism of the Bell in its entirety: “Its empty interior means Voidness, the main point of the Transcendent Insight [Sūtra]. The center [of the Bell] is the reality of Full Knowledge of awareness. Its sound indicates Voidness.”
Following closely  Dragpa Gyeltsen’s brief explanations of the individual parts of the Bell, we start with the handle. The handle is composed of (in descending order) [1] a half-Vajra, [2] a Lotus (or Crown?), [3] a face, and [4] a vase of plenty. Although less common, some Bell handles incorporate a ring, below the face, which seems not to have any special symbolism, but serves the utilitarian purpose of a thumb-ring to keep a better grasp.[7]This ring I think to be more common in Newar Buddhist examples. About the half-Vajra,  Dragpa Gyeltsen says,
“As for the Vajra, its use as a decorative covering is a symbol of Insight being ornamented by Method.”[8]
Like the prongs of the complete Vajra, the prongs of the half-Vajra are also supposed to be supported by a lunar disk resting on a Lotus, although the Lotus is not always clearly distinguishable in every example, frequently looking more like a crown for the face below.[9]The face is one element which is clearly present in nearly every example of the Tibetan Bell (if they have any designs on them at all) and, in nearly every explanation known to us,[10]this face is identified as the face of Insight or Transcendent Insight, sometimes simply as the Mother (Yum), while some authorities call it the face of Dharma[11](I would say the latter is, given our earlier discussion, entirely apt, even if not directly supported in our particular Tibetan-language sources). 

For an enlargement of the "thumbnail," look here.
© The Trustees of the British Museum
Here is  Dragpa Gyeltsen’s explanation of the face:
“Above [the vase] is a face of Transcendent Insight that indicates Dharma Body [and] Voidness.”
Dharma Body, usually understood to belong to the doctrinal category of Three Bodies of the Buddha, is also interpretable in some contexts as ‘the corpus of [Buddhist] teachings,’ while Voidness is the quintessential message of the Transcendent Insight Sūtra. The face looks somewhat different in different examples. Usually it has a meditative expression, and very often a look of amusement, and what we are tempted to call a ‘knowing smile,’ such as the Buddha often has in the Transcendent Insightsūtras when He knows what His questioners really have in mind when they ask their questions, or when He knows what the future will bring for them. She faces east, the direction of the rising sun (increasing light), and so in direct alighnment with the seed-syllable of Tārā, TAṂ, in the eight-petalled lotus below.

A Full Pot from Amaravati, 2nd century CE
© The Trustees of the British Museum
Beneath the face is a vase or pot, which  Dragpa Gyeltsen calls “an elixir pot, as a symbol of the origination [or emergence] of all [magical and spiritual] attainments.” The attainments or siddhis may mean either ‘common’ magical powers or the ‘Supreme Siddhi’ which is just another way of saying Complete Enlightenment. Elixir often stands as a metaphor for the siddhis. The Indian artistic motive of the Full Pot, the Pūrṇa Ghaṭa (or Pūrṇa Kumbha), is generally a symbol of wealth and abundance, but to follow  Dragpa Gyeltsen, we would have to say that when it occurs on the handle of the Bell, it must refer to a wealth of spiritual attainment much more than secular riches.[12]The vase is not always clearly distinguishable on every Bell. Like the Makara faces on the Vajra’s prongs, the vase has often become artistically distorted or reinterpreted to the point that it is no longer clearly recognizable as such. At times it is simply absent, or replaced by the ring. Since it has been persuasively argued[13]that the ‘inverted pot’ found near the tops of Indian pillars (including the famous Aśokan pillars) represents the pouring down of the heavenly waters, with all the crystal clear agrarian connotations of abundance and fertility that this entails, the upright overflowing pot has a similar symbolic meaning, if for the opposite reasons — it is not emptying out from above, but has been filled from above.
Proceeding down from the handle to the lower part of the Bell which is the Bell proper (Tāranātha calls it the belly of the Bell), we will divide it into two main parts, the dome and the slope: [1] the domeat the top of the Bell encircling the point where the handle is attached (Tibetan texts on occasion refer to this part as the shoulder) and [2] the slope, or the external surface of the Bell which slopes down from the ‘dome’ to the ‘lip.’ The surface of the dome is always decorated with an eight-petalled lotus flower design.[14]Within each of the eight petals is a ‘seed syllable,’ a Sanskrit letter represented in Tibetan transcription, each letter with a circle above it representing the Sanskrit anusvāra (in English transcriptions, represented as ‘ṃ’ usually pronounced like the ‘ng’ in ‘sung’). The tops of the letters are pointing outward, away from the point where the handle is attached.[15]These eight syllables are the ‘seeds’ of eight female Buddhas, which might be used as a basis for fully generating their forms in contemplative visualizations. These eight Buddhas are, to give their names according to their meanings in English (but the feminine grammatical endings are not translated here) with their seed syllables: Buddha Eye—laṃ; Mother Mine—maṃ; White Robe—paṃ;Commitment Saviour—taṃ;[16]Flowing Wealth—vaṃ, here represented in Tibetan as baṃ; Encourager—cuṃ, here represented in Tibetan as tsuṃ; Furrowed Brow—bhriṃ; Vajra Rosary—maṃ, repeated.[17]The presence of these female Buddhas on an instrument identified as being feminine in gender is significant.
Moving down to the slope of the Bell, we encounter first a circular band of horizontal Vajras. At the bottom of the slope, circling the outer part of the ‘lip,’ is still another circular band of Vajras that stand vertically. Both of these are protective circles; the upper band of Vajras is called the Vajra Rosary, while the lower one is called the Vajra Wall in the Tibetan texts. Between these two bands is the greater portion of the surface area of the slope, and it is here that we find interesting differences in the designs which allow us to categorize various types of Bells. 


To end for now with a few of the interesting details... The following typology of Bells is provided on the basis of an eighteenth-century Tibetan text,[18]since Dragpa Gyeltsen doesn’t mention the designs on this part of the Bell.[19] 
There are six types of Bells. The first, called the Hero Bell, may have either five- or nine-pointed Vajra,[20] while the remaining five, named for the five Buddha Families, always have five points; hence we have the Tathāgata Family Bell, the Vajra Family Bell, the Jewel Family Bell, the Lotus Family Bell, and the Deed (or Sword) Family Bell. It is not entirely clear which presently-available type of Bell the Hero Bell might be intended to designate.[21] The most commonly encountered type of Bell has eight different symbols depicted around the central part of the slope.[22] These eight symbols include the emblems of the five Buddha Families, although the symbols are not always distinct enough to identify them with certainty, and there appears to be a certain amount of variation. The Tathāgata Family has as its heraldic emblem the Wheel of the Law, and so the Tathāgata Family Bell has a number of Wheels arrayed around the upper side of the slope. The Vajra Family Bell has Vajras, the Jewel Family Bell has Jewels, the Lotus Family Bell has Lotuses, and the Deed Family Bell has Swords.

To be continued...





[1] For examples of all of these, see the life of the Buddha as told in the Lalitavistara Sūtra, Chapter 26 entitled “Turning the Wheel of the Dharma.”
[2] The lack of initial capital on the word dharmawhen used for the constituents (or qualities) of apparent existence is a Buddhological convention used when translating Buddhist texts into western languages. The original languages — Tibetan, Sanskrit, Pāli etc. — have nothing comparable to capital letters, and so the observance of this convention has nothing to do with Buddhist conventions. For believing Buddhists, the distinction between Buddha Word[s] and constituent[s] of apparent existence is an unnecessary one.
[3] Although this might create some confusion, the Bell is often called in the texts Dorjé Drilbu (Rdo-rje-dril-bu), or Vajra Bell, since the Bell possesses a Vajra at its top. There are some places in the texts where the conjunctive syllable may be dropped (often for reasons of meter), and “Rdo-rje-dril-bu” may have to be read as meaning Vajra and Bell. Furthermore, Rdo-rje-dril-bu may appear in an abbreviated form as Rdor-dril. The ritual Bell of the Bon religion is quite different from that used in the other Tibetan schools. It is a very shallow, and might look more like a cymbal, except that it is equipped with a clapper. For a study of this Bon Bell called, in Tibetan, gshang, see Helffer (1981). It is evidently of Persian or Turkish origin. Mention of this instrument is not limited to Bon texts of the tantric types, but is also found, together with the drum, as a metaphor for the proclamation of the Golden Light Radiant Jewel (Gser-’od Nor-bu ’Od-’bar) Sūtra, and it is explicitly called one of the ‘symbols of the Word’ (bka’ rtags, the other symbols being the drum, conch and something called slang, possibly a metal bowl used as a ‘gong’ or some other cymbal-like instrument) in the apparently eleventh-century biography of Lord Shenrab, the Condensed Scripture (Mdo-’dus), to give two examples. It occurs in Bon religious art as an attribute of deities both peaceful and wrathful. That Bonpo teachers might nevertheless make use in rituals of the usual Buddhist Vajra and Bell is proven by photographs in Tucci (1989: 182, and text on p. 184), although this would seem to be a characteristic of New Bon (Bon Gsar). One further interesting use of the Bell ought to be mentioned. Certain groups of non-Buddhist peoples in northern Assam, people who gained their livelihoods through hunting and gathering, employed the Bell in a secular way, as a form of ‘currency’ which they used in bartering. The Tibetans who originally supplied them with the Bells would remove the handles before using them to purchase goods from the Assamese. Evidently, Bells devoid of their half-Vajra-tipped handles were no longer viewed as sacred objects.
[4] We can be fairly certain of what we are saying here on the absence of Bells-as-symbols-of-Dharma, since we were able to consult the texts of the Transcendent Insight and a number of other important Mahāyāna sūtras in electronic versions prepared by the Asian Classics Input Project. This makes it possible to locate quickly every occurrence of a word in the text of the sūtra (of course one still must take care to consider the possibility of wrong or unusual spellings and typographical errors as well as synonyms, epithets, etc., which computers have not been trained to ‘catch’). These days, we also have the Vienna site, subject of this Tibeto-logic blog page. I haven’t had time to look into the several hundred occurrences of the word Dril-bu in the Kanjur texts, but my impression is that in nearly all cases they are the strings or networks (dra-ba) of bells used to decorate stūpas.  The word dril-bu is frequently used together with g.yer-ka in the sūtra contexts. A quite typical phrase is gser-gyi dril-bu g.yer-ka'i dra-ba.  There is often a mention of how they make their sounds when the wind blows, which does tend to make us think of wind chimes more than bells. In any case the material on bells in the Tibetan canon overall is so great that I hope some ambitious person will take up the challenge of studying it all. I haven’t.
[5] For the symbolism of the Bell and its parts, we are fortunate to have a set of excellent contributions by Mireille Helffer (1982, 1985a, 1985b), and our discussion is in some degree based on them, but with our emphasis given to the Tibetan-language work by  Dragpa Gyeltsen.
[6] Tsong-kha-pa (n.d.: 564).
[7] According to Rong-tha (n.d. 79), the ring is placed here on no other authority than the craft tradition itself (meaning it isn’t justifiable from scriptural and commentarial works). Kun-grol-grags-pa (1974: 533) says that the hole (bug-pa) is not taught in any transmission lineage (brgyud, but I think he intends rgyud, ‘tantra’). One example of a remarkable Ming Dynasty Bell (a Chinese inscription in its interior identifies it as belonging to the reign of Yongle) which includes a ring in its handle has been published (Precious Deposits 2000: III 224-5), but it seems that the handle could have been added to the Bell at a later date. Many Bells with rings seem to be of Nepalese origin. Even much more rarely, Phurpas may have rings attached (a purportedly 12th-century example from the Dali Kingdom of presentday Yunnan Province was offered for sale in Rossi & Rossi 2002), and probably with a similar motive, to keep the implement from flying out of the hands during ritual usage.



[8] Feminist thinkers may find it cause for delight or dismay that here Dragpa Gyeltsen makes Father Method subservient (‘ornamental’) to the face of Mother Insight. She wears the Vajra of Voidness as Her crown, since Voidness is Her ultimate insight.
[9] The face is often described in the non-Tibetan-language literature as being ‘crowned,’ but among our Tibetan texts only Rong-tha (n.d. 78) states this explicitly. Ignoring the texts, and basing ourselves entirely on visual aspects, it often does look as if there is a crown, but a crown ought to have five ‘lobes’ for the five Buddha Families. On the example in hand, there are eight ‘lobes’ entirely encircling the handle. Therefore we prefer to interpret these ‘lobes’ as being rather lotus petals intended to ‘support’ the Vajra prongs (as in the symbolism of the Vajra discussed above) rather than to ‘crown’ the face.
[10] Except for a late Dge-lugs-pa text, which says that when the Bells are distinguished by Buddha Families (see below), the face should be the face of the main Buddha of the family to which the Bell belongs (Helffer 1985b: 58). Tāranātha (1983a) suggests that a wrathful Bell ought to have a face with wrathful appearance. Stag-tshang (n.d. 32) refers to the Face as that of the ‘Blessed Lady’ (Bcom-ldan-’das-ma) or, in another place, that of ‘Transcendent Insight’ (Sher-phyin). Dpal-sprul (1994: 187), writing in the nineteenth century, says “The bell bears the image of a face which, according to the outer tantras, is that of Vairochana and, in the view of higher tantras, is Vajradhatvishvari.” (Most surprising here is the possibility of identifying the face as Vairocana’s, Vairocana being a Buddha with male form.)
[11] Olsen (1950: 35), for example, says, “the head of the goddess Dharma or Prajna, ‘Supreme Wisdom’.” One scriptural source, the Sampuṭa Tantra (Derge Kanjur, vol. 79 [ga], fol. 289 recto), is quite explicit about the face at the center being that of ‘Goddess Prajñāpāramitā’ (Lha-mo Shes-rab Pha-rol-phyin), further specifying that it should, in its shape, be beautiful and endowed with qualities. This text also describes a lotus as being above the face, with no mention of a crown. This scriptural evidence strengthens the impression that the globular part at the center of of the Vajra is meant to correspond to the face at the center of the Bell.
[12] On the Indian symbolism of the Full Pot, see Gairola (1954), Rosu (1961), Agrawala (1965: 10-11, 43-46), Coomaraswamy (1971, pt. 2: 61-64), and especially Bhattacharya (2000). Smith (1989) gives evidence for its antiquity in Buddhist architecture in which it is associated with pillars. See as well Harvey (1991: 74-76), where an argument is made for a Buddhist interpretation which would emphasize the ‘fullness’ of the Buddha’s Teachings, the Dharma, which fits nicely with the other symbolic motives found on the Bell. The lotuses or Bodhi tree sometimes depicted growing from the pot would then be a symbol of spiritual growth nourished by the resources of the Buddha’s Teachings. The reference to an ‘elixir pot’ reminds us of the Indian cosmogonical story of the churning of the Milk Ocean that resulted in, among other things, the production of the divine sustenance or ‘elixir,’ a drink of immortality, which was placed in a pot. Pots filled with water, with leaves and other decorations decorating their mouths, have been, and still are, used during deconsecration/reconsecration rituals, as temporary abodes for the deities when images or stūpas are being repaired. I would further suggest that all the elements of the Bell handle above the Full Pot ought to be conceived as emerging out of it.
[13] Vajracharya (1999: 53-64).
[14] See Ronge (1980), where the process of bell-making is described in some detail. The decorations on the ‘dome’ are directly transferred to the mold from the ‘blank’ prototype Bell that is used to form the mold, but the decorations on the ‘slope’ have to be subsequently stamped onto the inside of the mold. This explains why the decorations on the ‘slope’ are often less distinct than the decorations on the ‘dome.’ We ought to emphasize that the names ‘slope’ and ‘dome’ do not come from our Tibetan-language sources, while the term ‘lip’ is in fact used by them.
[15] The ‘garland of letters’ is very deeply rooted in Indian religious history, and we will not attempt to trace its history here. One finds it in the Cakrasamvara tantric system’s visualization of the ‘seat’ of the deity. Here the vowels (for ‘insight’) circle counterclockwise twice and transform into the lunar disk, while the consonants (for ‘method’) circle clockwise twice and transform into the solar disk. The seat being the ‘site’ of the enlightened being that is seated on it, the letters, in this case the Sanskrit letters transcribed into Tibetan, are both the seeds of the sacred scriptures and the initial definition of the sacred space. (See, for example, Beyer 1973: 112.) Quite similar, even with its differences, is the rite that forms a part of Catholic church consecration rituals called the abecedarium, in which two lines of the Latin and Greek alphabets (the alphabets of the two sacred languages used in traditional [pre-Vatican II] Catholic scriptures and sacred chants) are inscribed from corner to opposite corner forming an ‘X’-shaped cross. These alphabets are “the beginnings and basics of sacred doctrine... and the beginnings of the Word of God” (Repsher 1998: 82; see also Bowen 1941: 475). Given the obviously different arrangements of the letters in circles and crosses, nevertheless the similar in their usages of ‘seed’ letters of scripture to define sacred spaces is impressive.
[16] The syllable taṃis symbolically oriented toward the east, and the Face in the middle of the handle is also supposed to be oriented in the same direction. Stag-tshang (n.d. 33) calls this an ‘Inner Bell.’ He also describes as an ‘Outer Bell’ one that has a ring below the Face as well as the seed syllable or emblem of Buddha Eye in the east. The arrangement of seed syllables in Kun-grol-grags-pa (1974: 531-532) is quite different.
[17] The lists of eight female Buddhas are not always the same. Especially the last four frequently vary from our list, which is derived from  Dragpa Gyeltsen’s work. We have not attempted to sort out the reasons for this variation. The ‘seed syllables’ of these Buddhas are formed simply by taking the first letters of their names (in their original Sanskrit form) and adding anusvāra.
[18] This work by Kun-grol-grags-pa, an eighteenth-century Bon-po teacher in Eastern Tibet, is discussed in Helffer (1985), and we have based our explanation on this.
[19] Although this cannot be accomplished here, it will be interesting in the future to consider how the designs on this part of the Bell might have developed over time. It is a possibility that  Dragpa Gyeltsen doesn’t mention these design elements because they were not commonly in use in his time. One Tibetan text suggests that earlier Bells might have been less decorated. See Khams-ston (1990: 256), where it says that there exist unornamented bronze Bells in Tibet which were made by Indian craftspersons. These are said to be Bells especially meant to be used in dance performances, and are sometimes called ‘old Tibetan’ (Bod rnying) Bells. I have seen a set of relatively unornamented Vajra and Bell offered for sale in Kathmandu at a tremendous cost (300,000 Nepalese rupees, to be exact; perhaps 3,000 US dollars), a price justified by the dealer since, according to her belief, the set had been imported to Tibet from India in the eleventh century. The Bell was unornamented except for the half-Vajra at the top and a few highly-worn decorative bands around the ‘slope.’ Buyers beware, however, especially since nowadays many if not most Bells are manufactured to have a worn appearance, and so the indistinctness of the decorative elements (which may also result from the method of casting, as mentioned in an earlier note) is not in itself necessarily a proof of antiquity.
[20] According to Kun-grol-grags-pa (1974: 530), “Nowadays [most common are the] five-pointed Vajra used in peaceful and extending [ritual actions] and the nine-pointed Vajra used in influencing and overpowering [ritual actions].” Evidently Bells topped by Vajras of like number of points would share the same ritual usage.
[21] The problem is discussed in some detail in the works of Helffer listed below. According to Rong-tha, as well as Dkon-mchog-bstan-’dzin, it has the two Vajra bands as the only decoration on its slope. It lacks the emblems as well as the pearl strings (to be described presently). Sangs-rgyas-rdo-rje (1995: 13) distinguishes three types of Bells. The first is the Vajradhāra Bell (nine-pointed only), the second the Hero Bell (five- or nine-pointed), and the third the Particular Family Bell (five-pointed only). The last one includes the five different Bells belonging to the five Buddha Families. He defines the Hero Bell (on p. 17) as a five- or nine-pointed Bell which has the Vajra Rosary, but in which the latticework of pearl strings is replaced by insets of precious substances (gold, silver or gems).
[22] According to Dkon-mchog-bstan-’dzin (1994: 314), this type of Bell with eight different emblems is called the Vajra Being Full Knowledge Bell (Rdor-sems Ye-shes-kyi Dril-bu).


An Old Bell in Patan Museum, Nepal

§   §   §

Literary works
V.W. AGRAWALA
Studies in Indian Art, Vishwavidyalaya Prakashan (Varanasi 1965).
Joachim-Ernst BERENDT
Nada Brahma, the World is Sound: Music and the Landscape of Consciousness, tr. by Helmut Bredigkeit, East-West Publications (London 1983).  This book may make you think about sound like you never did before. Each chapter ends with footnotes to recorded music.
Stephan BEYER
The Cult of Tārā: Magic and Ritual in Tibet, University of California Press (Berkeley 1973).
Gouriswar BHATTACHARYA
The Enigmatic Pot, contained in: Maurizio Taddei and Giuseppe De Marco, eds., South Asian Archaeology 1997, Serie Orientale Roma no. 90, Istituto Italiano per l’Africa e l’Oriente (Rome 2000), vol. 3, pp. 1342-1365. For a list of this author's publications in PDF, try this link
Lee BOWEN
The Tropology of Medieval Dedication Rites, Speculum, vol. 16, no. 4 (October 1941), pp. 469-479. Available at JSTOR through subscribing institutions.
Ananda K. COOMARASWAMY
Yakṣas, Part I and Part II, Munshiram Manoharlal (New Delhi 1971).
DKON-MCHOG-BSTAN-’DZIN
Bzo-gnas Skra Rtse’i Chu-thigs [‘The Arts: A Drop at the Tip of the Brush Hairs’] Krung-go’i Bod-kyi Shes-rig Dpe-skrun-khang (Beijing 1994). A modern textbook on Tibetan art history and techniques, ‘Drop of Liquid on the Tip of the [Brush-]hairs.’
DPAL-SPRUL O-RGYAN-’JIGS-MED-CHOS-KYI-DBANG-PO
The Words of My Perfect Teacher:  Kunzang Lama’i Shelung, translated by the Padmakara Translation Group, Harper Collins (San Francisco 1994).
DRAGPA GYELTSEN
See Grags-pa-rgyal-mtshan.
C.K. GAIROLA
Évolution du pūrṇa ghaṭa (vase d’abondance) dans l’Inde et l’Inde extérieure, Arts Asiatiques, vol. 1 (1954), pp. 209-226.
GRAGS-PA-RGYAL-MTSHAN
Rdo-rje Dril-bu dang Bgrang-phreng-gi De-kho-na-nyid [‘The True Reality of Vajra, Bell and Rosary’], contained in: Sa-skya-pa’i Bka’-’bum, Toyo Bunko (Tokyo 1968), vol. 3, pp. 271-2-4 through 272-3-6.
Peter HARVEY
Venerated Objects and Symbols of Early Buddhism, contained in: Karel Werner, ed., Symbols in Art and Religion, Motilal Banarsidass (Delhi 1991), pp. 68-102.
Mirielle HELFFER
— Notes à propos d’une clochette gshang: Tibet et régions de culture tibétaine, Objets et mondes, vol. 21, no. 3 (Autumn 1981), pp. 129-134.
— Du texte à la muséographie: données concernant la clochette tibétaine dril-bu, Revue de musicologie, vol. 68, no. 1/2 (1982) 248-269.
— A Typology of the Tibetan Bell, contained in: B.N. Aziz & M.Kapstein, eds., Soundings in Tibetan Civilization, Manohar (N.Delhi 1985a), pp. 37-41. This is an abstract of the longer study in French in Arts Asiatiques (see below).
— Essai pour une typologie de la cloche tibétaine dril-bu, Arts Asiatiques 40 (1985b) 53-67.
KHAMS-STON
Rgya Bod-kyi Nor-rdzas-kyi Ris Brtags-shing Dpyad-pa’i Dpyad Don Yid-kyi ’Dod-’jo, contained in: Bzo-rig Nyer-mkho Bdams Bsgrigs (Gangs-can Rig Mdzod series no. 14), Bod-ljongs Bod-yig Dpe-rnying Dpe-skrun-khang (Lhasa 1990), pp. 229-262. A treatise on how to recognize highly valued objects in Tibetan material culture, probably composed in the fifteenth century.
KUN-GROL-GRAGS-PA (b. 1700)
Gsang-sngags Theg-pa Chen-po’i Bsten-par Bya-ba’i Dam-rdzas Ji-ltar ’Chang-ba’i Rnam-bshad Rnal-’byor Rol-pa’i Dga’-ston (‘Feast of the Playacting Yogis: An Explanation on How to Hold the Commitment Substances for Use in the Great Vehicle of Secret Mantra’), contained in: Mkha’-’gro Bde-chen-dbang-mo, et al., Yum-chen Kye-ma-’od-mtsho’i Zab Gsang Gcod-kyi Gdams-pa Las Phran dang bcas-pa’i Gsung-pod, Tshering Wangyal, TBMC (Dolanji 1974), pp. 515-599.
Eleanor OLSEN
Catalogue of the Tibetan Collection and Other Lamaist Articles in the Newark Museum: Volume II, The Newark Museum (Newark 1950, reprint 1973).
PRECIOUS DEPOSITS
Precious Deposits: Historical Relics of Tibet, China, Morning Glory Publishers (Beijing 2000), in five volumes.
Brian REPSHER
The Rite of Church Dedication in the Early Medieval Era, The Edwin Mellen Press (Lewiston 1998).
RONG-THA
Rong-tha Blo-bzang-dam-chos-rgya-mtsho (1863-1917), Thig-gi Lag-len Du-ma Gsal-bar Bshad-pa Bzo-rig Mdzes-pa’i Kha-rgyan. An 85-folio treatise on Buddhist sacred arts, purchased in Lhasa in 1996. The printing blocks for this edition were originally kept at Rgyud-smad Grwa-tshang, the Lower Tantra College in Lhasa.
Veronica RONGE and N.G. RONGE
Casting Tibetan Bells, contained in: Michael Aris and Aung San Suu Kyi, eds., Tibetan Studies in Honour of Hugh Richardson, Aris and Phillips, Ltd. (Warminster 1980), pp. 269-276.
Anna Maria ROSSI and Fabio ROSSI
Beyond Lhasa: Sculpture and Painting from East and West Tibet (exhibition catalogue), Anna Maria & Fabio Rossi Publications (London 2002).
A. ROSU
Pūrṇaghata et le symbolisme du lotus dans l’Inde, Arts Asiatique, vol. 8, no. 3 (1961), pp. 163-194.
Mkhas-dbang SANGS-RGYAS-RDO-RJE
Responses to Various Polemical Writings, Sherab Gyaltsen Lama & Acharya Shedup Tenzin (Rewalsar 1985).
R. Morton SMITH
Pots without Pans, contained in: Devendra Handa and Ashvini Agrawal, Ratna-Chandrikā: Panorama of Oriental Studies [Shri R.C. Agrawala Festschrift], Harman Publishing House (New Delhi 1989), pp. 59-64.
STAG-TSHANG LO-TSĀ-BA SHES-RAB-RIN-CHEN (1405‑1477 or 1478)
Rten Gsum Bzhugs-gnas dang bcas-pa’i Bsgrub-tshul Rgyas-par Bshad-pa Dpal-’byor Rgya-mtsho. Microfilm of a 54-folio manuscript in the possession of Gyaltsen (Swayambhunath, Nepal) courtesy of the Nepalese National Archives (reel no. E574/29; running no. E15094). A treatise on Buddhist sacred arts composed in 1459.
TSONG-KHA-PA
Tsong-kha-pa Blo-bzang-grags-pa (1357-1419), Rgyal-ba Khyab-bdag Rdo-rje-’chang Chen-po’i Lam-gyis Rim-pa Gsang-ba Kun-gyi Gnad Rnam-par Phye-ba (=Sngags-rim Chen-mo; =Rje’i Gsung-’bum Ga-pa), Tibetan Cultural Printing Press (Dharamsala n.d.). A very famous treatise on Buddhist tantra in general by Tsong-kha-pa, credited with founding the Dge-lugs-pa School.
Giuseppe TUCCI
Sadhus et brigands du Kailash: Mon voyage au Tibet occidental, Editions R. Chabaud (Paris 1989).
Gautama V. VAJRACHARYA
Symbolism of Ashokan Pillars: A Reappraisal in the Light of Textual and Visual Evidence, Marg (Mumbai), vol. 51, no. 2 (Dec. 1999), pp. 53-78.


Symbols on the Slope

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Sound Symbols, including the Bell, the Conch, the Cymbals and the Book,
surrounding Samantabhadra and Samantabhadrî. Detail from 

huge scroll painting illustrating the  scripture entitled Stacked 
Auspiciousness Sûtra -Bkra shis brtsegs pa'i mdo - translated 
here.


Continued from this blog
Each of the emblems on the slope of the Bell is placed within a ‘niche’ formed by monster-heads with pearl strings pouring out of their mouths. This monster-head is usually known by its Sanskrit name Kîrti-mukha, ‘Face of Glory.’[1] This Face of Glory most frequently appears at the tops of archways over entrances to temples and shrines or painted on the tops of pillars. Its symbolic significance is not clarified in our Tibetan texts about Bells, but its use in the design of the Bell probably has to do with protecting the entryway into the sacred space of the Bell’s chamber, rather like the Vajra Walls. The close relationship between the Face of Glory and the Makara has often been remarked upon, and it seems to us that the Lotus rhizomes often shown emerging from the mouth of the Makara are a symbol of the dangers of the deep. Note especially the presence in many Indian examples of a human figure next to the sea monster’s mouth or entangled in the lattice-work of rhizomes coming out of its mouth. This would be a symbol of the dangers of getting entangled or swallowed in the depths of the waters. The strings of pearls that often take the place of the lotus rhizomes would, quite the contrary, be a symbol of the water’s potential for producing wealth; “to extract a pearl from a Makara’s jaws was a proverbial example of courage.”[2] Perhaps the strings of pearls draped between the Faces of Glory in the design of the Bell have a similar meaning? Like they say, “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

We might attempt to summarize the elements of the symbolism of the Bell in roughly the following manner. The Bell means Insight, of all the elements most directly symbolized by the face of Transcendent Insight, which rests on the Full Pot, a ‘cornucopia’ that symbolizes the fullness and wealth of the Buddha’s teachings as a major source of Insight. Transcendent Insight is ‘ornamented’ or ‘crowned’ by the half-Vajra of Method, of Full Knowledge[s], of the final adamantine state of complete Enlightenment. The Bell proper, with its sacred chamber protected by Vajra Wall and Faces of Glory, symbolizes the place of origin (the point of articulation) of the Buddha Word, the Dharma. This chamber is ‘crowned’ by the eight-petalled lotus containing the ‘seed syllables’ of the eight female Buddhas. Bells may be made to belong to one of the five Buddha Families (and the five Full Knowledges associated with them) by the placement of a set of their emblems on the ‘slope’ of the Bell.

Vajras and Bells are generally designed to go in pairs. This is illustrated by the fact that a Vajra with five prongs must always go together with a Bell having a half-Vajra with five prongs. Likewise, a nine-pronged Vajra goes with a Bell having a nine-pronged half-Vajra. A closed-pronged ‘peaceful’ Vajra goes with a closed-pronged ‘peaceful’ Bell. A peaceful Bell is distinguished not only by its closed-pronged half-Vajra, but also by the fact that the bottom ‘lip’ of the Bell turns inward slightly “like the mouth of an ox.” Wrathful Bells have not only open prongs on their half-Vajras but also a bottom ‘lip’ that inclines outward “like the mouth of a fully grown lotus.” The clapper, called the ‘staff’ (dbyug-pa), which ought to be eight-sided, is a symbol of Full Knowledge.[3] Although we have noticed only one actual example of such a Vajra, it is said that a Vajra with four faces must go together with a Bell with four faces arrayed around the middle of the handle.[4] The typical Vajra has no face at all, and according to the texts a no-faced Vajra must go together with a Bell with one face. Both Stag-tshang, Tāranātha and A-kyā all give the same reason for the fact that generally the Vajra has no face while the Bell has one. They say that the consonants of the [Sanskrit] alphabet, which correspond to Method, cannot be articulated alone (ergo, Vajras are silent, requiring no mouth; the Sanskrit word mukha means both mouth and face), while the vowels,[5] corresponding to Insight and the Bell, can indeed be articulated alone, and this is why generally speaking (even if there are exceptions) the Bell does, and the Vajra does not, have a face.

In our general comments about the symbolism of the Vajra and Bell, we have tried to reach something approaching ‘adequate representation,’ which means among other things that we have not emphasized aspects of the symbolism that are likely to make shy juveniles and dirty old men blush or snicker. The ‘erotic’ interpretation is probably sufficiently obvious even to those whose minds are not inordinately occupied with such matters, even to people who have never felt compelled to follow the psychological insights of Sigmund Freud. Insight and Method are equally symbolized by the female and male forms of Buddhas frequently shown joined in the Parental (yab-yum) pose of sexual intercourse.[6] It is true that in modern colloquial Tibetan as well as in the more graphically erotic passages in some of the tantra texts, the Vajra serves as a metaphor for the male sexual organ. It is the Lotus, and not the Bell, that frequently serves in these same contexts as a metaphor for the female sexual organ. It is no doubt true that Vajrayāna often appears to be a sea of symbolic waves tossing aimlessly in the wind, and this makes it all the more important to develop a sense of perspective on what might be the metaphor and what the thing metaphorized. By simply seeing the general Buddhist background of much of this symbolism, we believe that some of the problem of perspective may be resolved. Followers of Buddhist tantra never lost their central Buddhist emphasis on the primacy of the motivation for Complete Enlightenment. When Vajra and Bell are conjoined in the course of a ritual, it means the union of Method and Insight, of Bliss and Emptiness, of Awareness and Emptiness. And it means those things if it means anything at all.

A Vajra with faces, from the Victoria & Albert Museum, London




[1] For an accessible retelling of the origins story for the Face of Glory, see Zimmer (1974: 175-184), Snodgrass (1992: 307 ff.), or Kollar (2001: 15), and for a more general discussion, see Agrawala (1965: 237-244). According to the Indian story, Shiva emanated a monstrous form in order to devour Rāhu, the ‘head of the eclipse.’ Rāhu was so frightened, he took refuge from Shiva’s monster with Shiva himself. The wrath of the monster which Shiva had generated had nevertheless to be appeased in some way, perhaps by means of a blood sacrifice. Shiva suggested to the monster that it might eat itself, which the monster then did, until reduced to nothing but its face, which Shiva then named the Face of Glory. In the Face of Glory that so frequently appears on the carved wooden plaques placed over temple doorways in Nepal, it often looks as if the head were ravenously devouring its own hands. In some, it holds a snake, suggesting a symbolic conflation with the garuda bird (it is the garuda you see in this position in Tibetan art).

Torana with Face of Glory in Patan's Durbar Square
Note, too, the Makaras on right and left sides
The Face of Glory would seem to be a suitable symbol for self-sacrifice, the only form of sacrifice countenanced by Buddhists. The Tibetan term used for Kîrti-mukha, Tsi-pa-a appears to be a borrowing from Sanskrit. A modern Tibetan-language dictionary defines Tsi-pa-a as: ‘a design of a flat-nosed creature that looks like a cat head, carved as an ornament at the heads of pillars and so forth’ (Chang 1986: 2186). We would suggest that other Tibetan words for the Kîrti-mukha, such as Rdzi-’go-pa-thra (in Ronge 1980: 270), Dzig-mgo-pa-tra (in Tucci 1966: fig.3), Rtsi-par and Ci-mi-’dra [chimera?] (in Helffer 1985: 63; Kun-grol-grags-pa 1974: 532), probably all derived from the original Tibetan Tsi-pa-a, a loanword from Sanskrit Cipaa, which means ‘flat-nosed’ (but note also gzi-gdong, ‘splendorous face,’ which may be a direct translation of Kîrti-mukha, in Singer [1996: 41], although no other instances of this word have been noticed so far). These forms would be explained as attempts to ‘Tibetanize’ (to find Tibetan etymologies for) an unusual foreign word. It is perhaps worth noting the curious fact that, in a recent catalog of Tibetan artistic treasures published in Hong Kong (Precious Deposits: IV 172), the Kîrtimukha that appears on a gilt wooden offering table is identified as a Kylin, or ‘Chinese unicorn,’ although this is likely a modern instance of the matching of what are, anyway, different cultural items in order to make things more familiar to a target audience. Incidentally, the motif is frequent in Indian architecture; Kîrti-mukhas with jewel garlands spilling out of their mouths are found for example on the sides of pillars at the Chālukya cave-temples, belonging to both Hindu and Jaina religions.
Wooden temple pillar,
detail from the capital
[2] Coomaraswamy (1971, pt. 2: 49-50). Note that nearly identical patterns of pearl-strings are to be seen on early representations of Indian Stūpa domes (dating from about the second century ce). This would suggest a symbolic equation of the ‘slope’ and ‘dome’ of the Bell with the Stūpa dome. Some early Stūpa domes are quite evidently bell-shaped, as for instance the Stūpas at Sarnath.

[3] Mkhas-grub-rje (199x: 250; but see also p. 276, which calls it the ‘tongue’ as well as the Full Knowledge Clapper that emanates and absorbs everything).  The tongue (to point out the obvious) is what articulates everything (well, everything but the labials and perhaps the very deep gutterals).

[4] Stag-tshang (n.d. 33), too, mentions the possibility that Vajras and Bells may have four Faces. Among the few examples known to us of a four-faced Vajra is illustrated in Bromage (1952: plate 5, facing p. 135). It is pictured together with two Bells (as well as Skullcup, Phur-pa, Ga’u [Amulette Case], etc.), but neither Bell seems to be the ‘mate’ of the Vajra. The central section of this Vajra is also quite out of the ordinary; it appears to have three lateral ridges indented to accomodate the shape of the fingers in the manner of a ‘brass knuckle.’ Other examples include one from Nepal weighing about four pounds, which was published in Poussin 1916; another, described as a product of fourteenth-century China, in Essen and Thingo 1989: 262; yet another illustrated in Rituels tibétains 2002: 136. For still another rare example of a Vajra with four Faces, see the illustration in Levine (1993: plate 11) and also note, in the same volume (plate 9), a photograph of a Vajra and Bell set attributed to the eighth-century Tibetan Emperor Trisong Detsen. The latter Bell is equipped with a ring, but with the Vase of Plenty and the Face absent. The slope of the Bell bears no symbols other than the Vajra Wall and the Faces of Glory with pearls coming out of their mouths. The symbols of the Buddha Families are portrayed within the lotus petals on the dome of the Bell, which is unique as far as I know. Like some early Japanese examples, it has a rosary of large-sized Vajras circling it end-to-end just above the lip of the Bell in place of the Vajra Wall made up of Vajras standing on end.

Vajras and Bells are also known in Java. For example, in what may be one of the most elaborate Javanese Bells, we find four faces, while other aspects make it both similar (note the five-pointed Vajra at the top and the Vajra Garland near the bottom) and somewhat different from known Tibetan examples. It is illustrated in Scheurleer (1985: 182). For more on Indonesian vajras, see Ito (2003).

[5] Readers might do well to recall here that the vowel ‘A’ is regarded as the most abbreviated form, the ‘distillation,’ of the Transcendent Insight Sūtras. And, although this might seem overly obvious, the sounds of the Bell and other symbols of the Buddha’s speech make drawn-out sonorous sounds, rather like vowels, and not rasping, clicking, popping or snapping sounds, which would more resemble consonants. The vowel ‘A’ in particular is made with the mouth and throat cavities wide open, resembling the interior of the Bell. For information on traditional linguistic ideas, including the significance of ‘A’ as well as the equation of vowels with Insight and consonants with Method, see Naga (1999: 61-62).

[6] They are never portrayed in an ordinary horizontal position, but are rather in seated meditational postures (the female Buddha seated on the lap of the male, although in the case of Vasundharā, a female Buddha associated with wealth, Her male consort may be depicted seated on Her lap) in the case of the majority of peaceful forms of Buddha, and very often standing (in a dynamic pose, as if they were getting ready to lift off of the ground) in the case of wrathful forms, although wrathful and semi-wrathful forms do occasionally occur in seated postures. The translation ‘Parental’ is for some curious reason never used in the literature on the subject (again, it doesn’t suit our fantasy interests), even though that is what the word yab-yum, as an honorific form of pha-ma or ‘parents,’ means, while the symbolism in so many places clearly emphasizes conception and birth (indeed, the entire rebirth cycle), most assuredly not that recently coined barbarism ‘recreational sex.’

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literary sources

V.S. AGRAWALA
Studies in Indian Art, Vishwavidyalaya Prakashan (Varanasi 1965).
Bernard BROMAGE
Tibetan Yoga, The Aquarian Press (London 1952), 1st edition. I haven’t been able to learn much about this author.
I-sun CHANG (Krang Dbyi-sun) et al.
Eds., Bod Rgya Tshig-mdzod Chen-mo, Mi-rigs Dpe-skrun-khang (Lhasa 1986), in 3 volumes.  A Tibetan-Tibetan-Chinese dictionary.
Yakas, Part I and Part II, Munshiram Manoharlal (New Delhi 1971).
Gerd-Wolfgang ESSEN and Tsering Tashi Tingo
Die Götter des Himalaya, Buddhistische Kunst Tibets. Die Sammlung Gerd-Wolfgang Essen, Prestel-Verlag (München 1989), vol. 1 (Tafelband).
Essai pour une typologie de la cloche tibétaine dril-bu, Arts Asiatiques 40 (1985b) 53-67. It should be worth your while to have a look at the online version here at Persee Scientific Journals (it ought to be free)... I mean even if the French slows you down a bit.
Naoko ITO
Priest’s Hand-bells (Ghaās) in Asian Countries: Especially on the Samaya Design on Indonesian Bells, Journal of Indian and Buddhist Studies, vol. 51, no. 2 (March 2003), pp. (8)-(11).  See if this Cinii link to a PDF will work for you (or go here and search from there).
L. Peter KOLLAR
Symbolism in Hindu Architecture, as Revealed in the Shri Minakshi Sundareswar, Aryan Books International (New Delhi 2001).
KUN-GROL-GRAGS-PA (b. 1700)
Gsang-sngags Theg-pa Chen-po’i Bsten-par Bya-ba’i Dam-rdzas Ji-ltar ’Chang-ba’i Rnam-bshad Rnal-’byor Rol-pa’i Dga’-ston (‘Feast of the Play-acting Yogis: An Explanation on How to Hold the Commitment Substances for Use in the Great Vehicle of Secret Mantra’), contained in: Mkha’-’gro Bde-chen-dbang-mo, et al., Yum-chen Kye-ma-’od-mtsho’i Zab Gsang Gcod-kyi Gdams-pa Las Phran dang bcas-pa’i Gsung-pod, Tshering Wangyal, TBMC (Dolanji 1974), pp. 515-599. Notice the similarities of this title with the title by Mkhas-grub-rje, listed just below.
Blessing Power of the Buddhas: Sacred Objects, Secret Lands, Element Books (Shaftesbury 1993).
Rdo-rje Theg-pa’i Lam-gyi Yan-lag Mi-’bral-ba dang Bsten-par Bya-ba’i Dam-tshig-gi Rdzas Med-du-mi-rung-ba-dag-gi Mtshan-nyid dang / Ji-ltar Bcad-pa’i Tshul la sogs-pa Rnam-par Bshad-pa Rnal-’byor Rol-pa’i Dga’-ston [‘Yogis’ Acting Festival: A Detailed Explanation of Such Matters as the Characteristics and Methods for the Holding of the Indispensible Commitment Substances which are, in the Branch Vows of the Vajra Vehicle’s Path, Never to be Parted from, and are to be Put to Use’], as contained in: Collected Works of Mkhas-grub-rje, as contained in:  Rje Yab-sras Gsum-gyi Gsung-’bum [impressions from the 19th century Sku-’bum Byams-pa-gling woodblocks] (Kumbum Monastery 199x), vol. 15 (ba), pp. 205-344.  I used CD digital reproductions supplied by Tibetan Buddhist Resource Center (New York).
Acarya Sangye T. NAGA
On the Function of Tibetan Letters, Tibet Journal (Dharamsala), vol. 24, no. 3 (Autumn 1999), pp. 57-76.
With F.W. Thomas, A Nepalese Vajra, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society (1916), pp. 732-735.
PRECIOUS DEPOSITS
Precious Deposits: Historical Relics of Tibet, China, Morning Glory Publishers (Hong Kong 2000), in five volumes.
RITUELS TIBÉTAINS
Rituels tibétains. Visions secrètes du Ve Dalaï Lama, Réunion des Musées Nationaux (Paris 2002).
Veronica RONGE
With N. G. Ronge, Casting Tibetan Bells, contained in:  Michael Aris and Aung San Suu Kyi, eds., Tibetan Studies in Honour of Hugh Richardson,  Aris and Phillips, Ltd. (Warminster 1980), pp. 269-276.
Pauline Lunsingh SCHEURLEER
Asiatic Art in the Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, Meulenhoff/Landshoff (Amsterdam 1985).
Jane Casey SINGER
Gold Jewelry from Tibet and Nepal, Thames and Hudson (London 1996).
The Symbolism of the Stupa, Motilal Banarsidass (Delhi 1992).
STAG-TSHANG LO-TSĀ-BA SHES-RAB-RIN-CHEN (b. 1405)
Rten Gsum Bzhugs-gnas dang bcas-pa’i Bsgrub-tshul Rgyas-par Bshad-pa Dpal-’byor Rgya-mtsho.  Microfilm of a 54-folio manuscript in the possession of Gyaltsen (Swayambhunath, Nepal) courtesy of the Nepalese National Archives (reel no. E574/29; running no. E15094).  A treatise on Buddhist sacred arts composed in 1459.
Tibetan Folk Songs from Gyantse and Western Tibet, with appendices by Namkhai Norbu, Artibus Asiae Publishers (Ascona 1966).
Myths and Symbols in Indian Art and Civilization, Bollingen Series (Princeton 1974).



















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visible sources

For an historically outstanding Vajra and Bell set said to have been given to Kûkai in China in around the year 800 CE, see the blogsite Flower Ornament Depository.  You may also see them here.  More marvelous Japanese Vajras and Bells are found here.  

Explore the remarkable wealth and variety of Vajras and Bells at this Himalayan Art webpage.

For the most impressive collection of Vajras from all times and places, see this webpage entitled "Sundial - Isan."  Some quite remarkable Bells are there.

For a very brief introduction, look here, and if you want to read about bells more generally, you might enjoy this 3-year-old blog called Bell Envy.


misgivings and afterthoughts

I think I might change my mind about the etymology of the Tibetan form Tsi-pa-ṭa painted on the 'bow'-shaped capitals of pillars. I'm thinking it just stands for Sanskrit Citrapatra, or 'painted surface.' I confess, too, that there is some confusion between this being (which has a nose, not a beak) and the Garuda (which must have a beak for eating Nagas) and the Face of Glory (probably eating its hands) and the Makara (which ought to have a long snout). These four monstrous faces seem to get mixed up by the artists, with elements belonging to one being added to the other. So perhaps I may be forgiven for the confusion I've exhibited here even if it is in some part my own. I would hate to be overly conclusive about things that may be open ended in reality. Who wouldn't? Hate it, I mean.

There's an interesting bit of a blog page at Brainwave by Shalini Srinivasan called "Sea Monsters." I wonder, though. One of the more frequent suggestions for the real-life counterpart of the Makara is the Ganges river dolphin (but the crocodile is frequently mentioned, too).  It's true the river dolphin, like the Makara, has a long snout, but I wonder if it might just as well be a kind of Manitee like the Dugong, or perhaps the gargantuan Sea Cow. These largely vegetarian sea creatures (frightening, perhaps, but harmless) tend to feed off the bottom, and even pull up rhizome systems for their between-meal snacks. That habit is also suggestive of the Makara, I think. And it ought to be a sea creature, not a river creature after all.


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