Introduction: Tibetan Buddhism's Encounter With the WestBefore embarking on my search for female identity in Tibetan Buddhism, it is necessary to present to the reader the context of this work, together with the theoretical approaches which I have used in writing it. On the face of it, a study of a particular aspect of any religion may seem straightforward enough, but in this case, the complexities are many. First of all, despite the fact that Buddhism has become popular as a religious practice in the west, the teachings of Tibetan Buddhism are little known generally, and are often the subject of much imaginative speculation and misunderstanding, because of
what has been written about Tibet, its landscape, religion and people, in the past. Secondly, although the major focus of the book is a search for female identity in Tibetan Buddhism, this does not mean that the book is purely about specific female symbols, or indeed about the lives of specific women, but rather it examines the historical and institutional context of the religion, as a means of analysing and understanding the Tibetan religious philosophy of the female. As part of my analysis I have had to take into account the contemporary encounter of Tibetan Buddhism with the west, and the implications of that encounter, particularly in the light of the importance placed by Tibetan Buddhists on the centrality of sexual imagery in their religious icons and texts.
There can be few people in the west who, on hearing the name of Tibet, do not conjure up pictures in their minds of vast mountainous landscapes, mysterious Buddhist monasteries and magical rituals. I was certainly one of them, and at the early age of ten decided that one day I would travel to Tibet and become a Buddhist. As it turned out, only one of my wishes came true, for in 1959 the Chinese Government annexed Tibet and it became virtually closed to outside visitors, and the Tibetan religious traditions were severely repressed by the communist regime which replaced the ancient theocracy. At the outset, however, the heads of the four main schools of Tibetan Buddhism (the Nyingma, Kagyu, Sakya and Gelug) fled into exile in India with about 80,000 followers, and there they established new monasteries in their refugee communities which kept alive the spirit and traditions of their homeland.
Two young Tibetan lamas of the Kagyu lineage eventually found their way to the United Kingdom, and in 1967 opened the first Tibetan religious centre in the west, in the borders of Scotland, where I met them the following year, and became a Buddhist by 'taking refuge'.1 Shortly afterwards, I set out for the foothills of the Himalayas to a nunnery run by a small community of Tibetans in exile and it was there that I began my studies of the Tibetan language and the philosophy of Buddhism, known as the dharma. Much later, in the 1970s, I travelled throughout Europe and North America as a Tibetan interpreter, providing the link, through language, between my lama-guru and his many students. Subsequently he requested that I become his sexual consort, and take part in secret activities with him, despite the fact that to outsiders he was a very high-ranking yogi-lama of the Kagyu lineage who, as abbot of his own monastery, had taken vows of celibacy. Given that he was one of the oldest lamas in exile at that time, had personally spent fourteen years in solitary retreat, and counted amongst his students the highest ranking lamas in Tibet, his own status was unquestioned in the Tibetan Community, and his holiness attested to by all. As I describe in Chapter 6, these events took place under unusual conditions, and were to have a profound effect on my whole relationship with the Tibetan Buddhist religion.
Since these early days, hundreds of dharma centres have been established by Tibetans all over the world, their assets running into billions of dollars,2 and their prominence ever increasing as the teachings of Buddhism gain popularity in the west. This process, set in motion by the Chinese political actions of the 1950s, gave people across the world access to a religious tradition which had been largely hidden for centuries by the geographical inaccessibility of Tibet. What was particularly remarkable about this series of events was that in a relatively short space of time, the highest Tibetan lamas in exile managed to establish alternative sources of income and support across the globe, in sharp contrast to many other political refugees all over the world who have faced a more terrible fate.
One of the reasons for the extraordinary success of the Tibetans in gaining financial support from westerners was the upsurge of interest in the west in the Buddhist religion. The Tibetans capitalised on this, not only in order to open the doors of their traditional Buddhist way of life to those who sought that knowledge, and certainly not solely as a proselytising exercise (for strictly speaking they do not believe in missionary work), but in order to keep their own culture and belief system alive outside of Tibet. While the Chinese zealously imposed their values and the principles of communism on the non-secular society that was Tibet, the Tibetans in exile, alarmed at the prospect of the destruction of their culture, set out to sustain their tradition outwith its societal context. This situation led to the establishing, by the diaspora, of the unusual structures and institutions of Tibetan Buddhism not only in many developing countries in Asia, but also within the context of many western societies throughout the world. This unique juncture of events which involved the movement of people, ideas, institutions and culture across continents, brought about a moment in the history of the Tibetan civilisation of the last thousand years, in which, at worst, the extinction of its ancient culture was faced, or at the very least the social structures and geographical grandeur of Tibet and its landscape would no longer be the primary context in which Tibetan Buddhism thrived.
In considering the potential value of my study of Tibetan Buddhism, it is certainly the case that the promotion of any religious system, which purports to contain truths of universal relevance, outside of the cultural environment in which that system first evolved, is a subject worthy of debate. Furthermore, as I hope to show, the particularly unique relationship between the institutional structures of their society, their religious beliefs, and the consequential effects on notions of female identity, make this debate very interesting, and all the more so since many western men have achieved positions of power within the Tibetan Buddhist institution. The historical events of 1959, which eventually brought about the widespread study of Tibetan Buddhism by westerners, meant that the teachings of the lamas began to be transmitted in cultural environments vastly different to the ones visited by earlier western Tibetologists and orientalists. For the Tibetans, however, there was naturally a problem in the transmission of their teachings outwith their societal structures, a problem which had the potential to lead to enormous cross-cultural misunderstandings and misgivings.
As a largely oral tradition, (indeed the name of one of the schools -- the Kagyu (Tibetan ka. rgyud) -- literally means 'lineage by mouth'), the Tibetan religion was always under the threat of degeneration, once its institutions left Tibet. This threat hovers over all fragile, oral cultures, for as John Potter has remarked 'Oral cultures are capable of immense sophistication, and tend to become visible only when they come into contact with the literate genres that are destined to replace them'.3 The Tibetan culture may not have been totally 'invisible', although some might argue that it was, but it was certainly remote, and as such did not come into contact with many areas of the world until it was forced into the international arena when the Chinese attempted to replace the religious culture with the dogmas of communism. As for the question of the western 'literate genres' with which it has come into contact, it remains to be seen whether 'replacement' or evolution of the Tibetan Buddhist culture will take place. What is sure is that those aspects of the religious tradition which find little resonance in the mores of western society will be discussed, criticised, debated and perhaps even attacked,4 whilst those aspects which may add something to the contemporary understanding of human nature will be valorised, or 'revalorised', as the feminist-Buddhist Rita Gross has attempted in her book on Buddhism.5
There is no doubt that the greatest danger to their cultural tradition is the threat to the continuation of their religious institutions whose traditions have depended on the very old practice of selecting a child to replace a dead lama of high status, and for that child to be considered his 'incarnation'. These reincarnate lamas, (known as tulkus, Tibetan sprul.sku) who hold immense spiritual and political power, maintained their status in Tibetan culture through the common belief in their actual divinity. It is these positions which will certainly be under threat should the practice, already begun by the Tibetans themselves,6 of choosing western boys (or even girls as is suggested by some feminist Buddhists)7 to be enthroned as the reincarnations of dead Tibetan lamas, and to head Tibetan Buddhist monasteries and religious centres throughout the world, continue or increase. Additionally, there is a possibility that
the global forces of secularism and materialism may overpower the spiritual dimension of the oral tradition which rested comfortably in the high plateaux of Tibet, and that the Tibetans themselves may be willing participants in a process which ultimately swallows up their culture. If Tibetan lamas themselves succumb to the pressures of western materialism, or if the highest positions of power are gradually taken over by western 'incarnations', there seems little doubt that the traditions of the Vajrayana8 will alter radically.
THE BASICS OF TIBETAN BUDDHISMClearly, it would be impossible here to examine the many and varied facets of Tibetan Buddhism in any great depth. However, for those completely unfamiliar with the teachings of this form of Buddhism, I will set out the most basic elements of the religion, specifying those areas which make it so different from other forms of Buddhism, and highlight the points which I consider the most relevant in the context of this book. The first few chapters of the book will then elucidate the unique features I discuss here, and place their development within an historical context. Certainly there are many aspects of
Tibetan Buddhism, the Vajrayana, which are familiar to people who know anything about Buddhism in general -- e.g. the belief in karma, in reincarnation, in the practice of non-violence to all living beings, in the non-existence of a distinct self, and in meditation as a means to achieve spiritual realisation. These beliefs and principles are upheld by all Buddhists in the many countries which practise Buddhism, but each tradition developed in a different way, and placed emphasis on different aspects of the teachings which the Buddha himself was said to have transmitted.
Most people are also aware that Buddhism has a very strong monastic tradition, and that this tradition reflects the emphasis which Buddhists often place on the renunciation of desire as the key component in religious practice. Monasticism became the main basis of the Theravada tradition which is found in countries such as Sri Lanka and Thailand, but was also a major component in the other traditions, including that of Tibet which had a monastic and a lay priesthood. The position of Tibetan Buddhist nuns, however, was traditionally one of inferiority, partly because the female lineage which allowed for full ordination did not evolve in Tibet, and therefore their status was lower than that of the men, and secondly because few women were given access to the scholarly tradition.Buddhism itself is founded upon The Four Noble Truths of the historical figure of the Buddha, who began his life as an Indian prince, and after many years of ascetic practice and meditation achieved 'enlightenment' under a bodhi tree at Bodhgaya, in the Indian state of Bihar, in the fifth century BC.
He stated, after his 'enlightenment', that all life is unsatisfactory, that the cause of this is desire, that the cessation of desire brings about unlimited happiness or nirvana, and that the path to achieving enlightenment, free of suffering, is to follow his eightfold path. The path itself sets out certain moral, ethical and spiritual guidelines for achieving liberation from the cycle of existence (samsara), where that liberation is also characterised by complete knowledge. This is all reflected in the title 'Buddha', which has the same meaning in its Tibetan form, Sanje (Tibetan sangs.rgyas), the two syllables of which mean 'completely purified'.
Tibetan Buddhism, however, contains a second strand of teachings which it has in common with the traditions of other countries such as Japan and Korea. This aspect of Buddhism relates to a belief in the existence of 'bodhisattvas' (Tibetan Changchub Sempa; byangs.chub.sems.pa.) or saintly practitioners who renounce their entry into nirvana for the sake of all sentient beings, and thereafter are reborn again and again, taking any expedient bodily form in order to hasten the enlightenment of others. A central aspect of Tibetan Buddhist meditation is the engendering of such an attitude for the sake of others. Of the texts which make up this form of Buddhist practice, known as the Sutra path,
whose main focus is altruism, the corpus known as the Prajnaparamita has a major place in Tibetan Buddhism, teaching as it does 'a nonsystematic religious philosophy, fervent in devotion and rich in poetic expression, centring on
the notion that all is Emptiness'.9 One of the most interesting philosophical schools concerned with Emptiness, or
the non-substantiality of all phenomena (even mind itself), is the Madhyamika, the 'middle way', whose major proponent, an Indian philosopher Nagarjuna, stated that 'any philosophical view could be refuted, [and] that
one must not dwell upon any answer or description of reality, whether extreme or moderate, including the notion of "one-mind"'.10
Philosophies such as these underpin the techniques of meditation which Tibetan Buddhists enter into as part of the more advanced forms of practice such as the Mahamudra (Tibetan Chaja Chenpo, phyag.rgya.chen.po.), which seeks to develop a realisation of the nature of mind itself. But before embarking on such kinds of meditation which aim to reach the depths of human insight and understanding, certain preliminary practices, together with the necessity of complete devotion to a lama or guru, are considered essential.
It is in these areas of the Vajrayana practice, which relate to the ancient and complex Hindu philosophy known as the 'Tantra', that one finds the unique nature of Tibetan Buddhism, which differentiates it from the other forms found elsewhere in the world. The Tantric aspect of the Vajrayana involves a rich and colourful pantheon of deities in its iconography, and teachings which are considered extremely risky to undertake, yet so efficacious if practised correctly, that they are reputed to lead to
enlightenment in one lifetime. In essence, the Buddhist Tantra makes use of the notion that to enlist the passions in one's religious practice, rather than avoid them, is a potent way to realise the basic non-substantiality of all phenomena.
The Buddhist Tantric deities are invoked and visualised in meditation, and practitioners identify with them in such a way as to enable them not only to be released from the limitations of ego-clinging, but also to transmute the various mind poisons into various forms of wisdom or enlightenment which the deities represent. This kind of practice is reputed to help break the boundaries between 'self' and 'other' and ultimately between all dualities which are experienced as part of mundane existence. The highest form of such realisation is said only to come about through the secret Tantric practices which involve sexual relations, and which are depicted iconographically in many religious paintings and images. Amongst celibate practitioners, and the 'not-so-advanced', these actions are visualised in the mind during meditation, as a way of experiencing the 'non-dual' through the images of the dual.
On becoming a Tibetan Buddhist, most lay practitioners receive some basic teachings concerning faith, non-violence and karma, and may be given a simple mantra to recite in order to increase compassion towards others. The most commonly recited mantra is Om Mani Padme Hum, whose meaning I discuss in some detail in Chapter 3. Those who seek to practice meditation at a more advanced level must undergo a rigorous training which involves four foundational practices, each of which must be done 100,000 times. The first involves a metaphorical enactment of the devotion and submission of the practitioner to the central pillars of Tibetan Buddhism, which are represented by the lama-gura in a deified form, the Buddha, his teaching, the community of practitioners, and the deities who make up the protectors and guides whose purpose is to clear obstacles on the path. The submission to and veneration of them is carried out by the performance of 100,000 actual body prostrations and recitations of a prayer. This practice normally takes some time to complete, but is usually undertaken over several months. The second foundational practice is the recitation of 100,000 mantras of the deity Dorje Sempa, together with a visualisation which is aimed at purifying previous negative karma accumulated over many lifetimes. Finally the lama himself is worshipped in a devotional prayer which is recited 100,000 times, in order to increase faith and
total submission of the ego to the religious lineage of which the lama is a representative. According to the Tibetan belief, all teachings which are given by the lamas of the lineage are said to have been transmitted in an unbroken oral tradition which began with the Buddha himself, and all of which therefore originated in India.Following these events, the practitioner is then considered a fit vessel for receiving more elaborate and detailed teachings, and is also eligible for 'initiation' into the Tantric practices whereby identification with the divine and transcendental bodies of deities may be carried out in meditation, in order to develop insight as to the nature of the mind. In tandem with these kinds of practices, the initiate may undertake special forms of developing the mind through concentrative meditation, the enhancement of deep insight and the development of discriminatory awareness. It is within the framework of the more advanced teachings that the notion of the lama or guru becomes crucial in Tibetan Buddhism, and the nature of guru-devotion potentially problematic. In a preface to the Mahamudra teachings of the 9th Karmapa Lama, it is written,
Guru-devotion involves both your thoughts and actions. The most important thing is to develop the total conviction that your Guru is a Buddha .... If you doubt your Guru's competence and ability to guide you, your practices will be extremely unstable and you will be unable to make any concrete progress.11
Whilst the Tibetans themselves rarely have a problem with this kind of approach, because of their own cultural background in which the lamas were held in awesome regard, in a western context the concept of viewing any human as totally divine poses problems, and this is especially so if the lama invokes the use of sexual relations with a student as a means of either furthering his own practice, or alleging spiritual benefit for the woman concerned. Leaving aside for the moment the question of what so-called 'advanced' sexual practices actually entail, the difficulties for any student involved in Tibetan Buddhism are highlighted in this statement by the Tibetan lama Beru Kyhentze Rinpoche on the importance of guru-devotion,
If your Guru acts in a seemingly unenlightened manner and you feel it would be hypocritical to think him a Buddha, you should remember that your own opinions are unreliable and the apparent faults you see may only be a reflection of your own deluded state of mind. Also you should think that if your Guru acted in a completely perfect manner, he would be inaccessible and you would be unable to relate to him. It is therefore out of your Guru's great compassion that he may show apparent flaws. This is part of his use of skilful means in order for him to be able to teach you. He is mirroring your own faults. 12 (Italics mine)
The consequences of the failure to see the guru as Buddha are also elaborated by Kyhentze, when he points out that the adherence to a view of lama-as-Buddha most certainly brings the practitioner closer to enlightenment, whereas any negativity directed towards the lama-guru results in going further away from enlightenment and in 'intense suffering' for the student.13 As Kyhentze is at pains to point out,
guru-devotion is much more essential in the Tantric path than in the Sutra path, and is therefore considered the central pillar of the Tibetan Vajrayana.THE CONTEXT OF THE DEBATE ON GENDER AND TIBETAN BUDDHISMIn order to enter the debate on gender, sexuality and religion in the field of Tibetan Buddhist studies, I have drawn upon several disparate bodies of knowledge, and in particular
have utilised the theoretical approaches of feminism and psychoanalysis, alongside my knowledge as a Tibetan scholar and translator.
This work follows the interpretative books of Robert A. Paul, who made an orthodox Freudian analysis of the Tibetan religious culture, in The Tibetan Symbolic World, and of Peter Bishop who intuitively realised the imaginative role which Tibet has played in the minds of westerners, in The Myth of Shangri-La and Dreams of Power. Bishop in particular was aware of the cross-cultural dimension in his work, and as a Buddhist saw the need for debate between east and west, if Tibetan Buddhism were to be of value: 'Tibetan Buddhism' he wrote, 'must be in contact with the pathologies of the West if it is to have any real effect'.14 Both these books, whilst fascinating and instructive, failed however to consider in any depth the problem of female identity, concerned as they were with the male-dominated power structures of Tibet and the psyches of men. Instead, the problem area of women in the Tibetan system and the symbolism pertaining to them has been taken up by western Buddhists who have presented two different and fairly conservative perspectives. Firstly, autobiographical accounts of the lives, works and historical significance of Tibetan women practitioners (e.g. Tsultrim Allione's Women of Wisdom, Hanna Havnevik's Tibetan Buddhist Nuns, Keith Dowman's Sky Dancer), and of Tantric female 'masters' (Miranda Shaw's Passionate Enlightenment) certainly address the question of the recognition of the contribution of women and their insertion into the historical accounts of Tibetan Buddhism's evolution. What they show is that there is evidence that
the status of women was once different within Tibetan Buddhism from what it is now, and that women have, despite the social difficulties of their lives, been diligent scholars and practitioners. What they fail to convey, however, is the process by which many of the very early achievements were eroded and how the female became 'fixed' in a different and inferior position which was reflected both in the textual philosophy and her position within the religious institutions.
Secondly, other writers have exposed the anomalies in the Tibetan system vis-a-vis women's position, taking a feminist standpoint in their critique of
the institutions and of the philosophies, which though patently egalitarian in nature, do not translate into the social and religious structures of Tibetan society. Rita Gross's work, Buddhism after Patriarchy, whilst not exclusively dealing with Tibetan Buddhism, does however raise many of the issues which I discuss here, principally those of the philosophy concerning gender in the Vajrayana, and the future of Tibetan Buddhism in its meeting with western culture, particularly feminist thought.
Gross proposes 'a feminist revalorization'15 of Buddhism through the insertion of women into the historical framework, valuing the 'feminine principle', and reassessing the key concepts in Buddhism concerning gender.
She also puts forward her 'solution' to the woman question, by proposing androgynous institutions as a way in which Buddhism could be assimilated into the ethos of contemporary western culture.
Whilst I review some of Gross's ideas in this work,
my contribution to the debate is not so much about uncovering women's history, or in finding strategies for equality, but rather in questioning the notions of female identity and subjectivity, as found within the Tibetan tradition, and trying to relate these to the contemporary western debate on gender, sexuality and religion. My project has been twofold. Firstly I wished to enter the debate which became inevitable when westerners gained full access to the secret world of Tibetan Buddhism, and to do so by using not only my knowledge and experience of Buddhism and the Tibetan language, but also my understanding of certain western theoretical perspectives. Given the
serious questions which have been made public concerning the role, power and status of Vajrayana lamas in the west, and their potential abuse of that power, I wanted to offer an analysis of the institutions of Tibetan Buddhism, which might facilitate cross-cultural debate. This kind of debate would involve the different meanings which can be attached to the teachings of Tibetan Buddhism, and the dynamic which occurs between different cultures where the encounter between them involves teachings which relate to gender difference and sexuality.
Secondly, the focus of my attention, the quest for female identity in Tibetan Buddhism, is based undeniably on my own position and past experience as a woman within Tibetan Buddhism and is the expression of a kind of female desire which seeks to name itself. As someone who initially left her homeland in an idealistic search for spiritual meaning, my own position as a female in an environment dominated by celibate men, led me to reflect on the religious 'truths' and symbolism concerning the female, that were presented to me in the Buddhist context. In this book I have tried to make sense of the notion of female identity as an important aspect of comparative religious study and of cross-cultural debate, and have chosen to use the metaphor 'traveller in space' in order to reflect the different layers of meaning which emerge when a search for female identity is undertaken.
The title of the book therefore, can be read in different ways. Primarily it is a translation of a Tibetan word which portrays the essential female aspect within the religion, and in Chapter 7 I explore its etymology in some depth. In addition, however,
woman as a 'traveller in space' can be read in western historical terms as a non-fixed subject, who has been largely hidden from history, lacks real equality, and is unable to be located in the 'space' of philosophy. Her position, therefore, whilst absent from major patriarchal discourse, is none the less not static, for women participate in the endless journey of humanity alongside men, and do so through the unique perspective which having a female body brings. Finally, the term 'space travel' in itself suggests something not just of space and its vastness, but also of time, particularly of the future. Space travel implies the exploration of unknown territory, which takes place in a future dimension which itself is outwith the bounds of ordinary human knowledge. This exploration of the unknown is akin to the metaphysical journey which is involved in all endeavours of the human spirit, when individuals attempt to understand the realms of the human psyche, or the unconscious. Such exploration in the somewhat risky areas of the unknown signifies dimensions of reality with which we have barely begun to come to grips, and emphasises the intimate relationship between the human body and the powers of the mind to create these journeys.
In the past, westerners projected their fantasies of the unknown and the undiscovered onto places such as Tibet, and it is no coincidence that the
early explorers identified and were particularly excited about the Tibetan yogis who were said to have been adepts at lung gom (air meditation), which supposedly gave them the power to travel rapidly over the earth without touching the ground. In many accounts of Tibetan life, early western writers recounted stories of how lamas could 'fly through space'. The romanticism of this idea fitted well with other notions of 'Shangri-La', which represented the ultimate fantasy of having the ability to be in a place where the unknown could be known, and the physical body transcended. But another aspect of the power to travel in space is the commonly perceived association with the breaking of barriers ('space -- the final frontier') and the ability to communicate at levels different from those we know now. In the future, 'virtual reality', the communications 'net' and the 'superhighway' promise to make us all 'travellers in space', or at least give us multiple possibilities concerning 'identity'. We are now facing a technological revolution which may be a part of that journey into unknown territory, where it is conceivable that
the female symbolic, as it has been articulated so far, and as a manifestation of a dying world-view, will finally disappear along with other detrimental barriers between beings of all kinds.
A final consideration on the context of the cross-cultural debate is the question of 'orientalism' and the dangers which emerge when a study such as this is undertaken. In his book Orientalism, Edward Said criticises the role of those in the west who have written of the orient in such a way as to promote 'racial, ideological, and imperialist stereotypes'.16 He clearly identifies the 'powerful series of political and ultimately ideological realities (which) inform scholarship',17 and concludes that it may be in the field of the 'human sciences' that the insights which are lacking in traditional orientalism may be found. Said points out the kinds of ideologies which posit the notion of the 'other' as alien, and therefore inferior, as manifesting in the orientalist tradition in splits of east/west, north/south, have/have-not, imperialist/anti-imperialist, and white/black. He does not include in this list, however, the question of the gender split as equally significant.
None the less, in his analysis of the 'orientalist' view of women, he concedes three important points. Firstly, that orientalism was 'an exclusively male province';18 secondly that the women described by orientalists were subsequently and inevitably 'the creatures of a male power-fantasy';19 and thirdly, that orientalists linked 'the Oriental to elements in Western society (delinquents, the insane, women, the poor), having in common an identity best described as lamentably alien (italics mine).20 Peter Bishop also takes up this point by describing the orientalists' view of the orient as 'feminine', and Tibet in particular as 'a symbol of Otherness'.21 As a woman writer, my position enables me to counteract all these approaches to some extent, and I have made extensive use of the human sciences in order to redress the balance of the orientalist approach which, according to Said, 'failed to identify with human experience' (italics mine).22
In this context I would present my work as an analysis of the dynamic between people, cultures and belief systems, and would suggest that my position as a woman, having experienced the limitations and authority imposed by patriarchal modes of thought in the west and with the Tibetans, is recognised as a significant factor in this study. As I have pointed out, the situation concerning study of the Tibetan religious institution is complex, for in taking the unusual step of deliberately placing westerners in positions of power within these institutions, through 'recognising' western boys as incarnations of recently dead Tibetan lamas, the Tibetans themselves have shown that their desire to integrate Tibetan Buddhism into the west is very serious indeed. By so doing they initiated a process which has inevitably brought about a debate on the evolution of their unique system in the west.
THEORETICAL APPROACHESThe two main strands of theory which have informed my work are feminist thought and psychoanalysis, both of which have different and separate histories, yet have also found a convergence in the work of contemporary theorists, such as Luce lrigaray, Julia Kristeva and Helene Cixous, although all of them find the use of the word 'feminist' problematic.23 I have used their work primarily because it provides a certain context within which the more complex questions of female identity can be addressed, and because each of them has articulated, in their own very different ways, the enormous difficulties involved in any kind of search for 'female identity'. In order therefore to locate the theoretical perspectives which I have used in this work, it may be useful first of all to contextualise them within the evolutionary processes of the two 'waves of feminism', which brought about different manifestations of feminist theory, and then to specify the particular aspects of their approaches which I found useful.
The 'first wave' of feminism attempted to locate women in history, and also sought to establish equal rights for women through parliamentary, constitutional, political and institutional change. This movement had its roots in the liberalism of the nineteenth century, and was strongly identified with Marxist ideology. Its impetus challenged, with some success, all the powerful western institutions and male edifices of its time -- in education, law, politics and, to some extent, religion. The so-called 'second wave', on the other hand, was born largely after the political movements of the 1960s, and was heavily influenced by the writings of Freud and by twentieth-century socialism. These dual influences created an analytical and aesthetic ambience in which many feminists withdrew their demands for a place in historical or linear time, in order to create a uniquely female space, where female identity was not required to be projected and justified, as in previous times. The second movement, having developed a different concept of itself, its subjectivity, and therefore its relation to temporality, reflected a growing distrust of political initiatives and solutions. Its main preoccupations became, according to Kristeva, specificity and difference, as opposed to equality, and brought with it more global awareness and concern for socio-cultural cohesion through the recognition and acceptance of wider issues, to do with reproduction, life and death. These moral issues related more specifically to the survival of the species than to the earlier universal and nationalistic concerns over the modes of production in society, and were linked to an upsurge in interest in marginal movements concerned with such things as spirituality and ecology.Kristeva's critique of the two movements notes that the first movement was constructed within the confines of history, linear time, the symbolic order of the patriarchy, and therefore of language, whilst the second movement attempted to place itself outside the patriarchal order of its time by seeking to establish a radical change in gender relations, and an entirely new language in which women's experiences and desires would be inscribed. In her essay Women's Time, Kristeva maintains that, in the end, both movements achieved limited success, because each contained within it a relationship to the symbolic contract,24 which was ultimately self-defeating.
The first movement invested in the social order by pursuing positions of power for women, but nothing changed as these women were ingested into the system, and in some cases ended up becoming 'the pillars of the existing governments, guardians of the status quo, the most zealous protectors of the established order'.25 On the other hand, the second-wave feminists, by focusing on the specificity of the female subject, through writing, representations, and a devotion to archaic images of the maternal, failed to acknowledge the multiplicity of background, experience and need to be found amongst women themselves. Nonetheless, the impact of the two waves of feminism had a considerable effect on the institutions of western society and on issues concerning gender relations.
In her vision of the nature of the future debate on feminism, however,
Kristeva proposes a 'third wave' or a 'third attitude'26 in which a new generation may be able to adopt a new position, which, though different from the first two waves of feminism, nevertheless would not reject them out of hand, but encompass their ideals within the philosophical debate on gender and difference. At the heart of her argument is the importance of the psychoanalytic view of sexual difference, and therefore of the relationship between the psychopathology of the individual, and society. Her hope is that through the convergence of the third attitude together with an enactment of both kinds of approach to women's relationship to the symbolic order, i.e. the insertion into history, and the identification with all marginal movements, 'the very dichotomy man/woman as an opposition between two rival entities may be understood as belonging to metaphysics' (italics original).27 Furthermore, her view of women's special relationship with the semiotic leads her to suggest that all forms of academic and aesthetic practice which expose the socio-symbolic order as a 'sacrificial contract',28 which women 'are forced to experience ... against their will', 29 would change the very future of the species.The work of Luce lrigaray, which also uses a psychoanalytical approach, is primarily concerned with difference, and of the importance of the accession by women to female subjectivity. She exposes the double bind which is present when any attempt to define 'woman' is made, by demonstrating that to do so would be to remain within the context of the phallocentric system of representation, but to fail to do so would allow for anything to be projected on to her. Whilst many seek to accuse lrigaray of 'essentialism' in her work (because of her quest for female genealogies and the acknowledgement of female difference), these accusations are counteracted by her strategic proposal not to reverse the current ideologies in order to favour women, nor even to elaborate a new theory, but rather to engage in a process of 'jamming the theoretical machinery itself'.30 Women, she suggests, should not join logical discourse about the category 'woman' but repeat and interpret the ways in which the feminine is always depicted as a lack or deficiency. This kind of approach, which attempts to 'slip' the oppositional dualities inscribed in language and patriarchal philosophy, would come about, she maintains, by the disruption of dichotomies. It would bring about an argument in which 'Nothing is ever to be posited that is not also reversed and caught up again in the supplementarity of this reversal' (italics original).31 Once engaged in this kind of discourse, she says, 'There would no longer be either a right or a wrong side of discourse, or even of texts'.32 Both lrigaray and Helene Cixous imagine a potential relation between the sexes which does not deny difference. Cixous places her psychoanalytic emphasis on women's sexuality, and its omission from patriarchal discourse. Her response to the question of female equality is to propose new kinds of discourses which can be expressed through 'feminine' writing. 'For Cixous the Unconscious is always a cultural phenomenon ... a product of a masculine imaginary'.33 Her work therefore makes a link between culture and sexuality, and the need for expressions of the female libido in all aspects of culture, particularly writing.
The theoretical approaches I have taken in this book reflect the main concerns of these three philosophers.
I have attempted, in accordance with Kristeva's view, to adopt a 'third attitude' by including perspectives which are drawn from the first two waves of feminism, but are located within and alongside my metaphysical argument about female identity. These perspectives include: a critique of patriarchal institutions, the insertion of female experience into history, and the acknowledgement of archaic images of the maternal. They form not only part of the debate on female specificity and difference, but are also the means through which the metaphysical questions concerning woman and man can be addressed, particularly through the writing of a 'feminine' imaginary. It has not been my aim to undertake a 'reconstruction' of Buddhism in order to establish female equality within the institutions of Buddhism, nor to seek to justify that women are as important as men within the Tibetan system, because that work has been undertaken by others.
My aim has been to address some of the complexities surrounding the search for meaning in the ways in which female identity has been constructed and interpreted within the Tibetan system, and why the Tibetan system has remained theocratic rather than democratic. This has seemed particularly important in the light of Tibetan Buddhism's encounter with the west, and the ramifications of its use of the sexual metaphor, within a different cultural context. Whilst I do include a critique of the institutions, and examine some aspects of women's lives,
my main focus has been the metaphysical question concerning identity. My conclusions concerning female equality within Buddhism emerge, therefore, not from finding strategies for adapting teachings to include women and rationalise the gender question, but rather from
raising the controversial question of whether after patriarchy any religions, as we now know them, could possibly survive in a recognisable form.To begin the task of unravelling the idiosyncracies of the Tibetan view, vis-a-vis female identity, I firstly examine the historical links of Tibetan Buddhism with the west and set out some of the problematic areas of female identity as they were commonly represented in texts, including the use of language. In Chapter 2 I begin the search for the roots of female symbolism by examining some of the remnants of historical evidence pertaining to the emergence of Tantric Buddhism in Tibet. I acknowledge the many cross-cultural factors of pre-Buddhistic times, including the impact of many belief systems, not least those from neighbouring Persia, on the development of the first-recorded indigenous belief system of Tibet (Bon), and the adoption of Tantric practices from India. As I show, these influences, themselves arising from
the almost universal and ancient cult of the Great Mother, became deeply embedded in cultural practices some of which have survived in diluted, yet recognisable form, till modern times.
I argue that because of Tibet's geographical remoteness, many ancient cultural features, which were lost to other traditions, retained their potency in Tibet, and that some of the symbolism pertaining to the female in Tibetan Buddhism has its origins in these pre-Buddhist times.
As an example of the kind of influences which pre-dated Buddhism in Tibet, I trace, in Chapter 3, the evolution of the Lotus Deity, now the most important (and male) deity of the Tibetan pantheon, in his form as Chenrezig. I show how the deity, originally female, and an aspect of the Great Mother, underwent a gender change during the period when Buddhism emerged in Tibet, and as a result changed meaning, iconographically. This, I argue, led to an absence of representations of the essentialist female-as-herself in Tibetan imagery. In order to understand the context in which this important transformation took place, I go on in Chapter 4 to examine the theocracy of Tibet and its unique power structures, the place of women in them, and the relationship between the theocracy and the iconography.
I maintain that the introduction of the tulku system of reincarnate lamas in Tibet in the early thirteenth century promoted the idea of the enlightened male subject, to accommodate the doctrine concerning the rule of the 'divine lama-king' and as a result further weakened the potentially positive images of the female in the iconography. In Chapter 5 I look at the symbolic position of the mother of the 'Divine Lama-King', whose representational absence in the system, I argue, is a key factor in its maintenance.
In Chapter 6 I discuss the links between the 'non-presence' of the female-as-herself and the existence of the secret female consort (Tibetan gsang. yum.)34 within the Tibetan theocratic system, taking into account not only
the relevance of sexuality to the basic tenets of Tibetan Buddhism, but also the motivating factors which existed in order to perpetuate secrecy. In addition
I consider the implications for women involved in secret relationships with lamas, and argue that their collusion, often through fear, enables the system to survive. In Chapter 7 I turn to an analysis of the dakini and explore some ideas concerning her so-called 'secret language' and her association with the discovery of secret texts. Through an examination of the symbolic female identity which the dakini purports to represent, I look at the significance of attaching gendered bodies (in this case the female body) to philosophical concepts. These notions are further elaborated in Chapter 8 when I discuss female transcendence, and the ways in which the association of the female with 'otherness' is conveyed through texts and representations.
I also address the problem of female subjectivity in Tibetan Buddhism and how concepts pertaining to 'selfhood' are used differentially with women and men. In Chapter 9 the questions which I raise about female identity and difference are set within the context of the debate in the west about female subjectivity, and at the intersection of the debate on culture and gender. Finally I conclude by making a plea for a kind of debate which would take place at the boundary between subjects, of all categories and distinctions, whether human or metaphysical. Concerning the use of Tibetan texts as sources in this work, I have made considerable use of The Hundred Thousand Songs of Milarepa, a text based on the life and teachings of the eleventh-century poet and yogi Milarepa, as well as the biographical text of his life, Tibet's Great Yogi Milarepa, to introduce the historical view of the position of the female in the social sphere and in the religious iconography. These works, alongside the Tibetan Book of the Dead, represent three of the most popular texts in Tibetan literature, known not only to the priesthood but also to all practising Buddhists. Their importance cannot be underestimated, for they provided, till the present day, the means through which lay people could understand the significance of the teachings to everyday life, in the case of Milarepa, through folk tales and fantastic myths, and in the case of the Book of the Dead, through providing a context to death, with instruction for the dying, and teachings on rebirth and karma. The other texts which I have consulted in the original Tibetan have been largely drawn from the Karma Kagyu and Nyingma traditions.
For ease of reference, and in order to keep the terminology as simple as possible for the benefit of readers not familiar with these areas of study, I have mainly used transliterated Tibetan words, (in the Kham dialect), with the accurate spelling in brackets, but where the Sanskrit term is already in common use, I have either prioritised it or included it, using anglified spelling. In the absence of adequate terminology to express the differences between cultures, I have felt bound by the language which conceptualises 'east' and 'west', despite its problematic and inadequate nature. I recognise that until our conceptual frameworks allow language to move beyond the dualistic framing of east/west, north/south, oriental/occidental, developed/ developing, present modes of expression are very limited.
PERSONAL REFLECTIONS, PERSPECTIVES AND INFLUENCESWhen I began this book, it was difficult to imagine how I could manage to convey the many and varied strands of thought which have come together to form this particular cross-cultural analysis of a very specific, but I believe fundamentally intriguing, aspect of Tibetan Buddhism. Readers will certainly be able to identify the confluence of personal experience alongside cultural and academic study, and it will be apparent that I have been deeply influenced by the study of quite diverse modes of thought which have emerged from my involvement with Tibetan Buddhism, feminism and psychoanalysis respectively.
What may not be so apparent, but which undoubtedly underlies these influences is the cradle of the Scottish philosophical tradition which has nurtured my own personal deliberations, and which has given me, since childhood, an education which emphasised the 'democratic intellect'35 and egalitarianism. The weaving together of such apparently disparate streams of consciousness has been an essential component in enabling me to express some ideas concerning gender, religion and cross-cultural understanding, and I have tried to do this in the spirit of openness and exchange, in an attempt to contribute something towards the understanding between people of different genders, cultures and faiths.
There are several points I wish to make about my own position in entering this debate on Tibetan Buddhism. Firstly, my role for many years was as someone who helped the transition of Tibetan Buddhism to the west take place. I travelled to India and, after having studied the language and practised all the preliminary meditations and rituals, began working as an interpreter at a time when Tibetan lamas had just begun to travel to the west. This meant that I was present at a moment when the institutions of Tibetan Buddhism had not yet become established in the west, and the Tibetans depended to some extent on the desire of westerners to understand and be a part of their ancient traditions. As a student of Tibetan Buddhism and the Tibetan language I gained access to texts, but more importantly was able to communicate directly with the lamas, and thus moved quickly into the inner sanctum of the religious institution, and was invited to enter the realm of secret relationships with lamas. It was at this point that my involvement ceased to be purely that of the student who receives teachings in a didactic sense, given that I had to cross the boundary into an unknown world of secret religious practices and culturally different relationships. The significance of these events is explored in Chapter 7.
Secondly, I wholly agree with the comment of the psychoanalyst Harry Guntrip on the 'difficult question of the sources of theory'36 when he states, 'it seems that our theory must be rooted in our psychopathology'.37 For me this means that I am aware of the interesting relationship between my own personal life experience and the thesis which I have put forward. It also means that I detect in the theory, or philosophy of others, a personal strand which is often excluded by the objectivity demanded of certain modes of thinking, and which denies the relevance of the life of individuals to the societal structures, mores and belief systems which are created by them.
To the extent that each individual is limited by both personal experience and the inability to reflect absolute truth, the work which I have undertaken here quite clearly is selective and individual. It neither claims truth nor certainty, and does not attempt to be definitive in its conclusions. Often the archaeological journey which takes individuals through the fragmented knowledge of the past can do no more than uncover shards of evidence, through which an understanding of certain aspects of the past might be created, and thus provide some insight into the present. In this book, therefore, I have tried to link the personal experiences of key individuals, both women and men, to the complex belief systems of which they were a part, in an attempt both to recognise the humanity in all of us, and as a way of understanding the meaning of female identity, not only in the Tibetan Buddhist world, but also in the western context.