The White Old Man Sūtra - Part Two

To start at the beginning, click here.

So here is my fast attempt to elaborate on the meanings of every last detail in this surprisingly complex picture. First of all, look on the Old Man’s right hand and see how he holds a pitcher or ewer in the act of pouring out a ritual libation into a small stemmed goblet that rests on top of a larger bowl in its turn placed on an altar table. The larger bowl is there to catch the overflow from the goblet. The overflow itself conveys a notion of copious overabundance.

Another, more lightly printed, example 

of a verso of the 100 srang banknote

Some may imagine it to be a ‘secular’ scene of an old man pouring himself a drink, but no, nothing could be further from the truth. The elaborate ritual setup indicates a normative practice of Tibetan Buddhism — some people, be they male or female, monastic or lay, perform it every morning. This relatively simple ritual, usually called Water Casting (ཆུ་གཏོར་, ཆབ་གཏོར་, or མཆོད་གཏོར་), involves the pouring of the liquid accompanied by prayers for the pretas, or “hungry ghosts.” Not only was it performed by the earliest Kadampas, but by Bonpos even before them. This practice is supposed to be done out of compassion for those unfortunate beings known as pretas, unable to eat or drink on their own, since it all turns to fire in their mouths. Not incidentally, the practice develops Buddhist merit* and compassion in the person who performs it. One significant further point: Even if the word yidag / ཡི་དྭགས་ generally used for preta is employed here, the objects of compassion are widened to include other large classes of spirit beings, even including the spirits of the dead.

(*I hope to devote some writing to Buddhist ideas about merit another time, but at the moment, do remember that it is one of the two legs that permit advancement on the Path to Enlightenment in Great Vehicle Buddhism. As one of the Two Accummulations, it cannot just be tossed aside in favor of intellectualism or meditation as our 21st-century neo-Buddhists so often try to do.)

Now move directly above the altar and what you will see is a bat flying in the sky, swooping toward a fruiting tree. It is known that some kinds of bats feed off of fruits. I regard that fact as irrelevant to our reading of the tableau. Their close proximity in the picture is accidental. My reason for thinking so: It’s well known that the bat as a positive cultural symbol is owed to a pun in Chinese. The Chinese word for ‘bat,’ “蝠” (fú) sounds exactly the same as the word for ‘good fortune,’ and ‘wealth’ “福” (fú), and you can see an obvious similarity in the characters as well.* This pun explains why you can see artistic representations of bats all over the place in Chinese households, not just in temples.

(*Look here for an amusing analysis of the parts that make up the character.)

You also see here a cloth article that looks like a scarf draped over the tree limb. I had to think long and hard about this one. Of course it may or may not be a Tibetan khata. Although difficult to be certain, it actually seems to be a Mongolian contribution to the iconography. Still, it does remind us of Arhat portraits (based in the Vinaya Sūtra, and meant to illustrate it, I believe) in which a part of the clothing is just being left on a nearby limb to dry. Like the tableaus I describe here, these Arhat scenes are often painted on the walls of the monastery on the outside... Hmmm, this sounds like the beginning of a theory that would explain the placement of those tableaus... 

But then again, it may be in some way associated with the scarf in the iconography of ’O-de-gung-rgyal (and similar long-life deities with varied names) explained by Toni Huber in his book Source of Life (vol. 1, p. 84). Let me quote it at some length:

“The white silk pennant or scarf they hold encodes a dual symbolism that expresses the transfer of life powers between cosmic realms. One of its aspects is g.yang,* and such scarves are sometimes referred to as g.yang dar, while the other aspect of the white scarf is a symbol of the messenger, of something pure and important passing between agents. For these reasons the white scarf is closely associated with the messenger bat...”

(*My note: On g.yang as a culture-specific concept, look here.) 

Given the great distances and cultural differences involved, it is rather impressive that the conceptual pairing of scarf and bat that we see in our tableau would show up in remote areas of eastern Bhutan in contexts that are regarded as inestimably archaic and local.

Some people see pomegranates or persimmons, but I believe this is a  peach tree. These are the peaches of immortality, well known from very early Chinese ideas about the Queen Mother of the West (Xiwangmu) who used to preside over peach feasts with the immortals of her court in a place often identified with the Kunlun Mountains. While these relatively low mountains form the natural northern border of the Tibetan Plateau, they don’t seem to be known to Tibetan literature. Even so, in Chinese myth and literature (and now film) they have assumed a towering importance. I suppose the immortals were already as immortal as they could ever hope to be, yet the peaches were said to confer longevity if not immortality.

Now we continue circumambulating in the Bon direction, with the left hand oriented toward the central figure. Passing over a cloud-and-mountain-with-waterfall landscape we next encounter a pair of dancing cranes. Pairs of cranes remain lifelong lovers, but they are also amazingly long-lived. Chinese sources have sometimes attributed to them lifespans as long as a thousand years. I like to imagine, as one who has seen for himself how inspiringly and effortlessly they soar in slow spirals upward into the sky, taking advantage of thermal updrafts, that something about that is in there, too. They make migration look too easy.

Next in our leftward turn is what would seem to be an arrangement of offerings related to the libation ritual directly above it. This may well be the case, but close inspection tells me the basin is filled with peaches with their leaves still attached. Do you see something else?

I think the deer couple appears clearly enough for everyone to recognize, but what is that thing off to the side? One of the deer seems to be turning its head toward it. It looks like a plant, but a plant with some kind of bulbous growth in the center. This would be a lingzhi fungus. Sometimes, even if not here, the lingzhi is depicted as if it were growing out of the deer’s head. In Chinese lore, these deer are sort of like the pigs that are used to sniff out truffles in France. The mushroom hunters would never be able to find the lingzhi without the help of the deer, since to every other creature they are invisible.

You can see a few more lingzhi fungi here, but what I want to point out right now is the rocky cavern with the stream of water descending from it. I did have trouble putting my finger on this exactly, but I was imagining it reflects Chinese landscape ideas. Artistically speaking it seems obvious. What we see here bears meanings situated between, or is perhaps shared by, fengshui geomancy and ideals of Chinese landscape painting. When I looked into it further, I thought the landscape feature might be the one known as “shan shui” (dragon/mountain + descending stream). Still, a cave with a water source inside of it has a special name in Chinese that is, as a matter of convention, translated as “grotto.”  

Now look a little to your left. You can see a row of blossoms leading diagonally to  a more distant grotto that I think, with good reason, would indicate the Peach Blossom Grotto, a kind of bucolic Shangri-la of the Daoists. We do have the close proximity of the peaches and the grottos, so we may be justified in putting two and three together like this. There is a long and rich history of the Peach Blossom Grotto in China and a number of Sinological essays are devoted to it. It is a place very difficult if not impossible to find, but going there would mean encountering the immortals.

Now for the main figure of the White Old Man itself: First observe the smaller human seated on a mat of grass to his left side. Sometimes this is called an “acolyte figure,” as if it were a child assistant in a Catholic mass, procession or the like. I see no reason to speak Catholic here, so I would suggest the youth depicted here represents 'youth,' or or maybe even rejuvenation. The youth seems to hold something up in one hand, but I am unable to make out what it is. Alternatively or at the same time, he may serve as an attendant, an errand boy.

The Old Man’s very corpulence is a sign of opulence. His right hand holds the ritual ewer, in his left a rosary. The ewer we have mentioned already, but the rosary is evidently a māla used as support for mantra recitations, a constant occupation of many Tibetan elders. He has a beard, no doubt very white. 

There is one interesting thing, among others, that is not visible here. We might think he needs to have a staff inside the crook of his left elbow. The staff might end, as the texts describe and prescribe in a knob or handle in the shape of a dragon. But not here, which is remarkable since it would seem to be one of the few constants according to the Sūtra and texts associated with it. More on these texts presently.

Now let’s leave the money behind for a few minutes and have a quick glance at the literary sources, especially as these have bearing on the iconography.

Here above, you see the opening lines of the White Old Man Sūtra, in Sanj Altan’s translation from the Oirat version. Pay special attention to the iconographical information in lines 10-12. This text is sometimes called by that just-given title, but also The Sūtra of the Power to Keep within Bounds the Earth and Water.  The titles you see below.

Both of the texts you see here are from the collection of the Mongolian National Library (Ulan Bator). Both are scans done by agreement with the BDRC. I think we can safely say that these Tibetan texts are local Mongolian products, and that versions of it might not even exist on the Tibetan plateau (we need to demonstrate local Tibetan interest rather than assume it, since Mongolian monks did compose and scribe Tibetan texts for their own use). One interesting thing is that the title is given first in Chinese, which would suggest that the original text was in that language. Still, I do not know of any Chinese version of it existing today (I may very well require correction on this point), and believe that this apocryphal scripture was made in Mongolia, very likely by a monk who knew Tibetan language as they very often did, in order to accommodate the local cult of the White Old Man within a Buddhist context.

An outstandingly talented artist, Robert Beer supplies two versions of the Old Man in his book, yet it is only the one labeled as "Tibetan style" that is based on an earlier painting done by a Tibetan, while it appears that the "Chinese style" he created by combining various elements he thought to be Chinese, many of them indeed associated with immortals and with the Old Man of Chinese lore called Shouxing (Shou Hsing). It’s interesting that he is depicted with an antlered deer, this being his usual mount, a dragon-headed staff,* and a gourd. Why is the gourd there at the top of the staff? That question leads us into amazing territory nicely surveyed by R.A. Stein in his book, a book I much recommend. The gourd was used by Chinese herbalists to contain the herbs they collected in the mountains. It also served for Daoists as a container for a miniature world that immortals could physically enter into by miniaturizing themselves. It is basically equivalent to the grotto, both gourd and grotto being a normally unseen interior world, perhaps in miniature; both are populated by hermits or refugees from the busy world, and they have skies of their own, no matter how difficult that may be to think about...  Oh, and the staff ought to be craggy and a little crooked, resembling a gnarly pine tree limb, if it is to be associated with Chinese immortals. Not the smooth cane we see here. In sum, I would have composed the picture of the "Chinese style" a little differently than Beer did.

(*The dragon head on the staff might seem to indicate Chinese origins, but I believe it to be a Mongolian contribution to the iconography of the White Old Man. Of course it requires further consideration. I am not especially clear what Beer meant by "Chinese style." He might be talking about actually artistic practice in China, but on the other hand he might intend a conscious artistic choice made by a Tibetan artist to produce a Chinese-inspired painting... )

I’m not going to go into the very relevant question of when the Mongolian White Old Man entered into Tibetan monastic dances called Cham (འཆམ་). The common wisdom is that the 13th Dalai Lama introduced it, inspired by a performance he witnessed during his time in Mongolia in the early 20th century. (I haven’t been able to trace a Tibetan-language source on this yet.)  It’s interesting to see how Cham dances done in different Himalayan communities identify the same figure as either the Chinese Hoshang, or as the White Old Man.  I can’t sort that out right now, but it is fascinating and merits reflection. In Tibetan Cham he tends to have a comic role, in that he attempts to perform simple lay Buddhist practices like khata offerings and prostrations and fails miserably. Or should we say hilariously?

I did my best for the time being to locate earlier testimonies for the White Old Man in Tibetan history, and by far the most interesting thing I could come up with is an 18th century verse by a well-known author of eastern Tibet.

The Six of Long Life,

by Zhuchen Tsultrim Rinchen (1697-1774)

On the author, see the biographical sketch by Benjamin Nourse at Treasury of Lives.

 

སྔོན་དུས་མ་ཧཱ་ཙི་ནའི་ཡུལ་གྲུ་ན།།

བསྐལ་པ་ཆགས་པའི་ཐོག་མར་བྱུང་བའི་བྲག།

མཐོ་མཛེས་དྲུང་གི་དབེན་གནས་ཉམས་དགའ་རུ།།

འཆི་མེད་མགོན་པོ་གྲུབ་པའི་དྲང་སྲོང་བྱུང་།།

In an era long gone by, in the region of Mahācīna,

was a rock that emerged at the dawn of the eon's formation.

Close by its lofty splendor, in a pleasant retreat place,

appeared an accomplished sage, a master of immortality.

དེ་མཐུས་བྲག་རི་དེ་ཡི་འགྲམ་པ་ནས།།

རྒ་ཤི་མེད་པའི་བཅུད་ལེན་ཚེ་ཡི་ཆུ།།

རྟག་པར་བབ་ཅིང་མྱ་ངན་མེད་པའི་ཤིང་།།

མེ་ཏོག་འབྲས་བུས་ལྕི་བ་ཞིག་ཀྱང་སྐྱེས།།

Through his magical powers at the side of that rocky mountain appeared 

a spring of life with alchemical powers to do away with old age and death.

It flowed down unceasingly and there as well was an Ashoka [non-suffering] tree

heavily weighted down with flowers and fruits.

དྲང་སྲོང་དེ་ཡི་བྱམས་པའི་ར་བ་ན།།

ཟང་ཟིང་མི་འཇིགས་སྦྱིན་པའི་གཡབ་མོ་ཡིས།།

འཁོར་དུ་བོས་པའི་འདབ་ཆགས་སྤུ་སྡུག་དང་།།

རི་དགས་རུ་རུ་གནས་པའང་ཚེ་རིང་གྱུར།།

Fast within the corral of that sage's affection 

were the soft downed birds, their birdsongs all around, 

and dwelling with them the Ruru deer. 

With a wave of his hand he grants them fearlessness and food. 

དེ་དག་རྒ་ཤི་སྤངས་པའི་བདེ་བ་ལ།། 

རེག་པ་གང་ཕྱིར་ཚེ་རིང་རྣམ་དྲུག་ཅེས།།

གྲགས་པའི་འཕྲིན་ཡིག་ཕྱོགས་ཀྱི་དགའ་མ་ཡི།།

མཁུར་ཚོས་རྣམ་པར་མཛེས་པའི་རྒྱན་དུ་བྱིན།།

Together these are known as the Six of Long Life who serve 

for attaining to the comfort of being done with old age and death.

This announcement letter is offered as an ornament to beautify

the cheeks of the gladdening women of the compass directions.*

(*Note: Zhuchen liked to use the image of “the cheeks of the gladdening women” in other contexts, and I believe these are all alluding to the messenger poems, an Indic literary genre, its most famous example being Kālidāsa's Cloud Messenger. I should add in order to forestall predictable reactions, that the ‘Indianization’ of particular elements in the poem — the tree identified as Ashoka tree, the deer as a ruru deer, for examples — reflects the strong impulse within Tibet's own traditions of kāvya poetry to Indianize whenever possible for artistic/aesthetic reasons. This is •not• an example of Buddhist ‘appropriation’ along the lines you might be thinking.)

As I said already, his iconographic white color bears no connection to skin color or race. It’s the color of his hair if he has any and beard, and/or his clothing. This iconographic whiteness is something he holds in common with the primary ancestral divinity (with varied names and guises including one we mentioned already) associated with the rites of bringing down life that Toni Huber explored so thoroughly in his recent two-volume book. His tunic, scarf, horse, deer, bird etc. are all said to be white (pp. 83-84). Of course there are a lot of observations about details such as these that might be pointed out (the bat for another surprising instance). 

Mongolists mostly have faith in the idea that today’s White Old Man is an adapted form of an ancient, natively Mongol shamanic complex. Still, Chinese origins for much of his iconography is relatively clear, while one academic, Brian Baumann, deserves attention for his arguments in favor of Indic priority in the form of the sage Agastya, often identified with the bright but seldom seen southern star Canopus. And for those who can’t imagine that Tibet could possibly be a place of origins, I’d ask them to read Toni Huber’s book I mentioned before.

If made to decide what the main point of it all ought to be, I think it is this: The inter-national, inter-cultural dimensions of the cult of longevity as we find instanced in so many parts of eastern Eurasia has had very complex interconnections reaching far back into the haze of prehistory. So far back I’m convinced we will never be able to single out a single culture as the one that best exemplifies it, or that would preserve it in its most pristine forms. As usual, I think reflections about possibilities can be more productive than closing off discussion with a conclusion. Now that it’s so close to lunchtime, might I suggest as starter the sautéed mushrooms? The lingzhi if you can find them.

Reading list

Fred Adelman, “The American Kalmyks,” Expedition, vol. 3, no. 4 (1961), pp. 26-33, with photographs by Carleton S. Coon. There is also a digital version of it.

Sanj Altan, “An Oirad-Kalmyk Version of the ‘White Old Man’ Sūtra found among the Archives of the Late Lama Sanji Rabga Möngke Bakši,” Mongolian Studies, vol. 29 (2007), pp. 13-26. This includes a translation of an Oirat Mongolian text, preserved within the Kalmuck community in Philadelphia, of the apocryphal sūtra listed below as Tibetan text no. 4.

Barbara Mary Annan, “Persistence and Renewal of Worship of the White Old Man in Western Mongolia: An Independent Folklore Research Project in Collaboration with Dr. Balchig Katuu.” The great value of this 16-page essay (including photos) is that it recounts a number of stories told from life about the persistence of Old White Man related beliefs among modern Mongolians, particularly those in the western regions. Available at academia.edu.

Anonymous, “Buddhists Build Their Own Church,” Life, no. 33 (November 10, 1952), pp. 97-98.

Robert Antony, “The Peach Tree” (posted on August 30, 2022).

Although I don’t know on what basis, it is sometimes said that peach trees were first domesticated, which is to say grown in orchards, on the slopes of the Kunlun Mountains, and if this is so it may serve as a kind of vindication of the Chinese myths. What is more certain is that the domestication of the peach took place in the general area of China (which specific spot it is difficult to determine).

Richard M. Barnhart, Peach Blossom Spring: Gardens and Flowers in Chinese Paintings, The Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York 1983). A gorgeously illustrated exhibition catalog on pre-18th-century paintings of garden scenes, with well written and evocative essays as well.

Brian Baumann, “The Legend of Mother Tārā the Green,” contained in: Vesna A. Wallace, ed., Sources of Mongolian Buddhism, Oxford University Press (Oxford 2020), pp. 361-382.  On p. 363:

“The White Ṛṣi in question is obviously a foreign deity in the Mongolian tradition that originated in Hindu Brāhmaṇism. There ‘White Ṛṣi’ is an epithet for the deity Agastya, personification of the star Canopus. It so happens that the White Old Man the White Ṛṣi turns into is a personification of the exact same star only in Chinese Daoist tradition. The text therefore appears to allude to the assimilation of Chinese Canopus allegory from heterodox Daoism into the Mongolian Buddhist pantheon, an act which appears to have taken place sometime in the mid eighteenth century. Shamanism is a synthetic ontology invented by Western scholars and ascribed to the Mongols irrespective of historical reality. The Legend of Green Tārā has nothing to do with it whatsoever.”

Brian Baumann, “The White Old Man.”  Paper given in Berkeley (2017).  Video on YouTube.

<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/P58N1zGrc1M" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen></iframe>

Brian Baumann, “The White Old Man: Géluk-Mongolian Canopus Allegory and the Existence of God,” Central Asiatic Journal, vol. 62, no. 1 (2019), pp. 35-68.

Robert Beer, “Narrative Illustrations,” Chapter 4 in: The Encyclopedia of Tibetan Symbols and Motifs, Serindia (London 1999), pp. 94-100.  

What he calls narrative illustrations I call tableaus. The modern British artist supplies a Chinese style grouping called Shou-Lao, or the Six Symbols of Longevity (plate 58), as well as a Tibetan-style group he calls by the same name (plate 59). In both case he identifies the fruits as peaches. He says the Tibetan-style version is patterned after a drawing by the modern Tibetan Tsering Wangchub (Wangchug?) of Tashijong. It seems that the Chinese version is the British artist’s own creation, combining various elements perceived as being Chinese.

Wolfgang Bertsch, A Study of Tibetan Paper Money with a Critical Bibliography, Library of Tibetan Works and Archives (Dharamsala 1997). 

This publication is a serious analytical study, the best I know about, and it doesn’t give indications of values given to banknotes by collectors. I understand that the 50-srang notes are actually much more valuable to them than the 100, counterintuitive as that may seem. Both have the Long-Life Man design on their versos.

Raoul Birnbaum, “Secret Halls of the Mountain Lords: The Caves of Wu-t'ai shan,” Cahiers d'Extrême-Asie, vol. 5 (1989-1990), pp. 15-140. 

 

Àgnes Birtalan, “Ritual Texts Dedicated to the White Old Man with Examples from the Classical Mongolian and Oirat (Clear Script) Textual Corpora,” contained in: Vesna A. Wallace, ed., Sources of Mongolian Buddhism, Oxford University Press (Oxford 2020), pp. 270-293. The same author wrote an essay, “Cagān Öwgön – The White Old Man in the Leder Collections The Textual and Iconographic Tradition of the Cult of the White Old Man among the Mongols,” although I haven’t gotten access to it.

Stephen R. Bokenkamp, “The Peach Flower Font and the Grotto Passage,” Journal of the American Oriental Society, vol. 106, no. 1 (1986), pp. 65-77.

Suzanne E. Cahill, Transcendence & Divine Passion: The Queen Mother of the West in Medieval China, Stanford University Press (Stanford 1993). I think everyone agrees this is the best source available in English about the Queen Mother of the West and her residences.

Barbara Gerke, Long Lives and Untimely Deaths: Life-Span Concepts and Longevity Practices among Tibetans in the Darjeeling Hills, India, Brill (Leiden 2012).

Walther Heissig, The Religions of Mongolia, tr. by Geoffrey Samuel from the German edition of 1970, Routledge & Kegan Paul (London 1980), pp. 76-81. At p. 76 you can see how Tibetan rgan, ‘elder,’ and sgam, ‘wise clever,’ get crossed somehow:  

“The Mongols worship under the name of Tsaghan Ebügen (White Old Man) a deity of the herds and of fertility, who is also present with the same form of manifestation and the same functions among the Tibetans (sGam po dkar po)* and the Na-khi tribes of South-West China (Muan-llū-ddu-ndzi), and to whom East Asian parallels can be found in the Chinese Hwa-shang, Pu-tai Hoshang and the Japanese Jurojin, and a European parallel in the form of the bearded St. Nicholas. This is an instance of the veneration of the ‘Old Man’ as a personification of the creative principle.”

(*My note: Observe how the Tibetan spelling meaning “White Wise [Man]” is given rather than the spelling that means ‘White Old Man,’ but this confusion of near homonyms appears to be endemic, and may be indicative, which is not to say that old always means wise. In his iconography he is often characterized by a dragon-headed staff that Heissig understands as the shaman’s staff.)

Futaki Hiroshi, “Classification of Texts Related to the White Old Man,” contained in: H. Futaki & B. Oyunbilig, eds., Questiones Mongolorum Disputatae, Association for International Studies of Mongolian Culture (Tokyo 2005), pp. 35-46.  

Toni Huber, “An Obscure Word for ‘Ancestral Deity’ in Some East Bodish and Neighbouring Himalayan Languages & Qiang Ethnographic Records towards a Hypothesis,” contained in: Mark W. Post, et al., eds., Language & Culture in Northeast India & Beyond in Honor of Robbins Burling, Asia-Pacific Linguistics (Canberra 2015), pp. 162-181. 

On a curious name for the clan ancester deity: Gu-se-lang-ling, it appears in various forms including "Gurzhe," and is often spoken of as 'O-de-gung-rgyal. A less emphasized figure is Tshangs-pa or Tshangs-pa Dkar-po as a natively Tibetan figure (and not as a translation of Brahma!?). More on this in his 2020 book, vol. 1, pp. 80-93.

Toni Huber, “From Death to New Life: An 11th-12th Century Cycle of Existence from Southernmost Tibet: Analysis of Rnel dri 'dul ba, Ste'u & Sha slungs Rites, with Notes on Manuscript Provenance,” contained in: G. Hazod & W. Shen, eds., Tibetan Genealogies: Studies in Memoriam of Guge Tsering Gyalpo (1961-2015), China Tibetology Publishing (Beijing 2018), pp. 251-350.  

Toni Huber, Source of Life: Revitalisation Rites and Bon Shamans in Bhutan and the Eastern Himalayas, Austrian Academy of Sciences Press (Vienna 2020), in 2 volumes. While centered on extensive research into local traditions still current in the eastern half of Bhutan and the adjacent Mon-yul Corridor, issues of broad-ranging areal significance are drawn from them. Highly recommended.

Toni Huber, “The Iconography of gShen Priests in the Ethnographic Context of the Extended Eastern Himalayas, and Reflections on the Development of Bon Religion,” contained in: Franz-Karl Ehrhard & Petra Maurer, eds., Nepalica-Tibetica: Festgabe for Christoph Cüppers, International Institute for Tibetan and Buddhist Studies (Andiast 2013), vol. 1, pp. 263-294.  See especially pp. 266-267 for the ‘Great Wise Bat’ (Sgam-chen Pha-wang), a useful summary on the subject that also takes up an entire chapter in Toni’s monograph Source of Life.

Siegbert Hummel, “The White Old Man,” tr. by G. Vogliotti, The Tibet Journal, vol. 22, no. 4 (Winter 1997), pp. 59-70. Originally published in German in Sinologica, vol. 6 (1961), pp. 193-206. This discusses the age of his cult in Tibet as well as the exchange of identities between him and the Hoshang.

Caroline Humphrey, “A Note on the Kalmyk Tsagan Aav, the ‘White Grandfather’: Ritual and Iconography,” might be found posted at Kalmyk Heritage website.

Tenzin Jamtsho, “The Old Man ‘Mitshering’ at Nyima Lung Monastery,” Journal of Bhutanese Studies, vol. 28 (Summer 2013), pp. 90-99. 

This is mainly about the dance figure known to some Bhutanese as the Long-Life Man (Mi Tshe-ring) and to others as Rgyal-po Hwa-shang, suggesting he was both a king and a Chinese monk. In my experience he is always identified as being in some way Chinese, although within the context of the monastic dances he always pays his respects to Guru Rinpoche.

Luther G. Jerstad, Mani-Rimdu: Sherpa Dance-Drama, University of Washington Press (Seattle 1969), pp. 129-135:

Here we have a significant description of the Long-Life Man 0r “Mi-tshe-ring,” with photos of the same in the illustrations between pages 128 and 129.  The figures of the Long-Life Man and the Hoshang are combined together, something that happens with some frequency elsewhere, but here in the land of the Sherpas in Nepal, the comic figure takes precedence. He makes valiant attempts to perform simple acts of worship and offering, but fails hilariously each time. Interestingly enough, it is suggested that he was imported by the 13th Dalai Lama from Peking, with not the least mention of Mongolia.

Richard J. Kohn, Lord of the Dance: The Mani Rimdu Festival in Tibet and Nepal, State University of New York Press (Albany 2001), in particular “Dance Five: The Long-Life Man,” at pp. 199-204.

Among the Sherpas of Solu-Kumbu of Nepal, the Long Life Man performance is made up of lay religious practices badly performed by him and his acolytes including offerings of ritual scarves or khatags, prostrations, and, most significantly for our currency iconography.the water torma offering (chu-gtor).

Stephen Little with Shawn Eichman, Taoism and the Arts of China, The Art Institute of Chicago (Chicago 2000).  At pp. 268-271 are some marvelous painted scrolls of the Shouxing and at pp. 276-277 a very nice one of Xiwangmu; her assistant holds up a bowl of peaches with the leaves attached, a thing we see sitting on the ground in our Tibetan banknote.

S. Mahdihassan, “The Patron-Gods of Health and of Longevity: Chinese, Greek and Indian,” Bulletin of the Indian Institute for the History of Medicine, vol. 19, no. 1 (January 1989), pp. 111-127. The pharmacology/alchemy of revitalization and longevity hasn’t been my main theme, but I do think this article can instigate important comparative reflections.

Jim R. McClanahan, “Journey to the West and Islamic Lore,” a webpage posted back in 2017, but updated earlier this year. Especially pertinent for the parts about the speaking peaches and the Waqwaq tree. Thanks to S.V.V. for suggesting the link.

Rene de Nebesky-Wojkowitz, Tibetan Religious Dances: Tibetan Text and Annotated Translation of the 'Chams Yig, Paljor Publications (New Delhi 1997), pp. 82-84.  

As a figure in monastic masked dances, the Hashang is sometimes highly honored and in other cases ridiculed, depending on the audience and what they perceive him to be. It may be that his role in these dances in Tibetan regions is not very old, but introduced by the 13th Dalai Lama after his visit to Mongolia.  At p. 83:  

“Originally cagan öbö seems to have been a divinity of the pre-Buddhist Mongolian folk religion. He was apparently a clan deity and moreover a benevolent earth spirit protecting the household, the herds, and the pastures and granting rich harvests.”

Jeremy Roberts, Chinese Mythology A to Z [Second Edition], Chelsea House Publishers (New York 2010), p. 114:

“Shouxing (Shou Hsing, Shou-hsing Lao T’ou-tzu) The Chinese god of longevity, connected with a star located in the constellation of Argo. The star is known to many in the West as Canopus, the second-brightest star in the sky.”

Edward H. Schafer, “Empyreal Powers and Chthonian Edens: Two Notes on T’ang Taoist Literature,” Journal of the American Oriental Society, vol. 106, no. 4 (October 1986), pp. 667-677.  On the Peach Blossom Grotto and so on.

Karma Lekshe Tsomo, “Prayers of Resistance,” Nova Religio, vol. 20, no. 1 (August 2016), pp. 86-98.  At p. 92:

“On the second and sixteenth days of the lunar calendar, they go to the field to pray to the White Old Man, a practice of nature worship that predates Buddhism in Central Asian cultures. In this ritual, the women worship the master of nature and make prayers for peace, rain, and abundant crops, and to stave off natural disasters. They make a fire using butter and sheep fat, and present their requests for the welfare of both people and animals.”

Franciscus Verellen, “The Beyond Within: Grotto-Heavens (Dongtian) in Taoist Ritual and Cosmology,” Cahiers d'Extrême-Asie, vol. 8 (1995), pp. 265-290.

Sissi Wachtel-Galor, John Yuen, John A. Buswell, and Iris F. F. Benzie, “Chapter 9: Ganoderma lucidum (Lingzhi or Reishi), a Medicinal Mushroom.” This is an extract from the 2nd (2011) edition of Herbal Medicine: Biomolecular and Clinical Aspects.

Lama Zopa Rinpoche, Offering Water Charity to the Pretas: Including the Daily Practice of Water Offering to Dzambhala, FPMT (Portland OR 2006), a booklet in 53 pages. 

+  +  +

Some Tibetan-language Manuscripts on the White Old Man

Rgan-po Dkar-po Bsangs, ‘Incense Offerings for the White Old Man.’  A 3-folio text, author given as Blo-bzang-bstan-'dzin ming-can.  TBRC no. W1NLM61. 

Rgan-po Dkar-po-la Mchod-gtor Bsangs G.yang.  An 11-folio ms.  It seems to bear the title Rgan-po Dkar-po Mdo [see the final line of fol. 11 verso], and it is immediately followed by interesting text we list next. TBRC no. W1NLM2000. 

Sa [dang] Chu'i 'Dul-bar Gnon-par Nus Mdo, ‘Sūtra of Power to Subjugate, to Tame, Earth and Water.’ It supplies titles in Chinese and Mongolian as well as Tibetan, and on its 2nd folio it supplies an iconography of the White Old Man.  It has all the marks of being a scriptural sūtra, although it is surely not of Indian origins, but locally produced, and for that reason of extraordinary interest. TBRC no. W1NLM2000. I found another version of it with a variant title in TBRC no. W1NLM1842: Sa dang Chu’i Bdal-bar Gnon-par Nus-pa’i Mdo, which I am tempted to translate, very tentatively, as Sūtra on the Power to Prevent Earth and Water from Exceeding their Bounds (there is a lot of variance in the Mongolian language titles and in the ways they have been Englished in the literature).  

Rgan-pa [D]kar-po [G]sol-mchod [note the subscribed Dkris, perhaps abbreviation for Bkra-shis]. A 7-folio ms. The colophon says it was written by Tho-go-rtse Tho-tho [clarified in a note as meaning Tho-go-co Khu-thug-tho] at the urging of the layperson (U-pa-shi) Sangs-rgyas-shes-rab.  TBRC no. W1NLM1590.  

Rgan-po Dkar-po’i Gsol-mchod. The folios are unnumbered, but you can see near the end that its composition is attributed to Padma-’byung-gnas, or Padmasambhava. Contained in TBRC no. W1NLM3102.  

Rgan-po Dkar-po’i Gsol-mchod Byas-tshul [=Bya-tshul]. A 9-folio ms.  Its colophon simply attributes it to Padma-’byung-gnas, or Padmasambhava. Contained in TBRC no. W1NLM2308.

 

To this list we ought to add

Srid-pa’i Pha-wang Lha-’bod Lha-’bod Lha Mi Bar-gyi Phrin Gyer, “A Divine Invocation for the Bat of Existence (Life/Evolution): A Chant Message between the Divine and Human,” contained in the scanned volume with the cover title Bsang-brngan Yid-bzhin-nor-bu sogs, pp. 159-174.  TBRC no. W4CZ332272.  I do find a Pha-wang Lha-’bod, “A Divine Invocation for the Bat,” text listed in a Bon scriptural canon catalog, actually twice, once accompanied by a text called Pha-wang-gi Zhu-ba, “The Questions of the Bat.” Inspired by Toni Huber’s monumental book, I thought I would write up a tiny web-log about these texts, but now I’m thinking someone just like you might be interested in working on them.

§  §  §

I’ve merely touched on the subject here, so I recommend a look back at “Star Water,” an earlier Tibeto-logic blog posted on September 15, 2017, where the Sage Agastya and connections to the Canopus star may become brighter than they are at the moment. Canopus is even entangled with Tibetan swimming festivals, as you’ll see. For more in-depth on the Agastya connection, see Baumann’s 2019 & 2020; Roberts’ 2010.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City has an interesting page with beautiful artworks devoted to Chinese longevity symbols.

This blog and the one that came before it represents a blog-ified version of a paper with powerpoint given recently at a small conference entitled “Tibet & the Oirats — Oirat Cultural Legacy and the Earliest History of Tibetan and Mongolian Studies,” held on 14–15 November 2022. 

One last thing

Did Tibetans of early times know anything at all about a Peach Blossom Grotto that was supposed to lie at the northernmost edge of their plateau according to Chinese literature? I had my strong doubts, but no definite idea how to answer this question, so I did some creative searching in BDRC’s database. Unfortunately, all I could come up with is a 2006 publication from the PRC that gives to it a Tibetan name: “Thar-ldan Kham-bu ’Byung Tshal.”* I suppose what is interesting about this source is that it makes a direct comparison with Sems-kyi Nyi-zla (‘Mental Sun-Moon’?). I know that may not ring a bell, but that’s the fake back-translation (or rather phonetic transcription!?) into Tibetan of Shangri-la (as it is pronounced in modern Chinese) that was then used to justify choosing where Shangri-la as tourist destination would from then on be found. For that exceedingly weird story, see that 2016 Tibeto-logic blog entitled “Signs of Shangri-la.” Are we even surprised that Wikipedia-wallahs were totally suckered into the rabbit hole? They may never find their way out, and meanwhile human history may never recover from the altered time line unless... Look here.

(*I thought to unpack this translation: Clearly Kham-bu is the Tibetan word for “peach,” and 'Byung indicates “origin,” so “peach origin.” But Tshal means “Grove.” Did the translator choose a Tibetan word meaning “grove” for the Chinese term we translate into English as “grotto”? A grove is not a grotto... Oh, and Thar-ldan means “Having Freedom,” right?)

The White Old Man Sūtra - Part One

South Korea, July 2022

From Lhasa to Philadelphia

The White Old Man Sūtra and the Long Life Tableau on the Back of Tibetan Currency Notes.

This two-part blog is for Yu Wonsoo, and Hanna Sorek, too.

During these past years of shutdown and isolation, visits to homes of friends have been rare. Still, we did do it once several months ago. I noticed our long-time friend Hanna, known to have an interest in Tibetan things, had a 100 srang currency note framed on her wall. She took it out from behind the glass and I started to say something about the design decorating the back of it, a tableau of the Man of Long Life (མི་ཚེ་རིང་), and before I knew it I was trying to point out and interpret its every detail. There is really a lot to see in it, and I’m sure I didn’t get it all right. So I’m going to try again. I hope this will not be a narrowly iconographic study, but a wider search for the meaning of this particular work of art and why it is found where it is. Placement may not be everything, but it is always significant.

Before we dive into the iconography of money, a few words about the circumstances that made me rethink a few things. Several connections I could not have even conceived before reading into Toni Huber’s impressively important 2-volume monograph on annual rituals for long life and prosperity held in both eastern Bhutan and its eastern neighbor, the Mönyul Corridor. A life of Tibetan Studies is one filled with amazing coincidences that can also create ruptures in your ordinary thought processes. So naturally, while I was reading the early chapters of Huber’s Source of Life an article fell on top of me, one by the famed Mongolist Caroline Humphrey,* that started me along a new train of  thinking. The conclusion that there are connections between the two was inescapable if not immediately explicable.

(*If you like, go to the references listed at the end of Part Two. Humphrey’s article fell on me thanks to the weekly notifications I receive from “Googlescholar.” I’m not going to review Toni’s book here, just extract from you a promise to read it, the first hundred pages at the very least.)

Now the Kalmuck-American community in New Jersey formed after a group of the westward-moving Oirats — displaced after World War II in Vienna, Belgrade and elsewhere in Europe — were taken much further west; in 1951 the U.S. granted them asylum and resettlement in New Jersey and Philadelphia. Among the first arrivals was Lama Sanji Rabga Möngke Bakši, who served as the head of the St. Tsongkhapa temple in Philadelphia until his death in 1972. Found among his personal effects was an Oirat version of the White Old Man Sūtra. According to the essay writer, Sanj Altan, the rituals associated with it were performed by the Kalmyk settlers up until the 1980’s.  

Click to enlarge

Basically a lay practice, monastics might be present to do the sūtra recitation, although in their absence this, too, could be done by a literate layperson. It involved ritual libations of milk, aspersed using a leafy branch, as you can see in the photograph, taken by an anthropologist named Carleton Coon, well known for other reasons back in the early 60’s.

It could be argued that in a sense all of Tibetan religion is about long life. Or, to put it in a different way, lay Tibetans tend to think that attending Buddhist teachings and particularly empowerments will result in a longer life, and they might even call such events ‘Long Life.’  I heard this numerous times during my days in Bodhnath in Nepal, but if you have doubts about this testimony, I can suggest Barbara Gerke’s book you see here, with the title Long Lives and Untimely Deaths. It might change your mind.

I use the word ‘tableau’ as a convenient word for a small group of Tibetan artworks with set iconography. I would identify three or four sets of figures I would like to call by the name of artistic tableaus, or simply tableaus.

They have in common that they are symbolic devices often found painted on outside walls of Tibetan monasteries and the like. They are sometimes found on odd sides of the building where they aren't especially visible. I cannot confidently explain why this is.

The Six of Long Life is one of them. Here you see illustrated two more. On the right you see the Four Harmonious Brothers, and on the left, the Mongol Leading the Tiger. 

Another less commonly seen one is the Indian Teacher Leading an Elephant.  I once noticed an example tucked into an outside corner of a temple in Bodhnath, and wish I could find the photograph.

The Four Harmonious Brothers seems to have its source in the Vinaya-vastu, but the stories used to explain the picture can vary quite a lot.  The message would seem to be one of the importance of cooperating in order to attain common goals, and that is how I've nearly always heard and seen it explained. However, in the Vinaya text it is more about respecting hierarchies based on seniority (the smallest animal is in fact the oldest and for that reason requires the top position).

Mongol Leading the Tiger:  Even if less frequent, this is another scene often painted on outer sides of temple walls. I’ve seen arguments this represents a legendary Mongolian warrior called Dugar Jaisang.  Somehow, in some unknown way, I’m thinking it must at least in a general way symbolize the Mongolian assistance given to the Gelugpa school against its opponents. It’s as if the aggressor (in the form of the tiger) is being pulled back and led away. Some give an elaborate interpretation of its three elements — the tiger, the Mongol and the chain — as symbolizing three Bodhisattvas. From what few explanations I’ve learned about, this has been the most popular one.

Both the Four Harmonious Brothers and the White Old Man can be found on backs of Tibetan currency notes of the early-to-mid 20th century. Here you see the front side of a Tibetan 100 srang denomination banknote. Have a good look at it, and I’ll briefly review its main features.

We can know from the twice handwritten serial no. kha[1] 18253 that this particular bill was made in 1953, the year of my birth (that the two numbers share the last 2 digits is another happenstance). I’ve labeled the various elements, and translated the main inscriptions in the slide you see here:

I should also point out a few difficult-to-see details — Note the sūrya-candra (sun-moon) symbol forming the top of the the round seal of the Dalai Lama, and Vajra Wall symbol surrounding the 'Phags-pa letters in the square seal of the Lhasa Bank. The sūrya-candra in this context surely means the pairing of religious and political affairs, while the Vajra Wall emphasizes the impenetrable nature of the Lhasa Bank. It conveys the notion of security and inviolability, although “security features” is one of those many subjects that could easily lead us off into interminable tangents. So let’s turn it over and see what’s on the back.

The verso of the same 100 srang banknote

One thing to notice before we narrow in on the central field:  The green border conceals ’Phags-pa script of Tibetan words also found on the front side.” The left side reads “Dga’-ldan Pho-brang” or ‘Ganden Phodrang,’ while the right reads “Phyogs-las Rnam-rgyal,” or ‘Victorious over the Directions.’ 

The central field of the same enlarged

For comparison, I also show the back side of the 50 srang banknote, all printed in blue. Its design is pared down to the most basic elements corresponding to the Six of Long Life, but its relative simplicity may make it easier to read.

Verso of the 50 srang banknote

• In the mean time, try and see what you can see in it. For the explanations that I think I can offer, go to the continuation by clicking here.

Do Dampa's Droids Dare Dream of Desire?

Since phenomena are ultimately without essence, distinctions are only conventional and hence contingent. — Georges Dreyfus

In view of Small Person's queries, which I'm afraid I haven't been entirely able to answer to either of our satisfactions, about Padampa's degree of "ruthlessness," I'd like to devote today's longish blog to two particular images used by Padampa. Both images seem on the surface quite cold and unfeeling, even immoral, perhaps. His 'man of wood' and 'man of stone' metaphors initially struck me as both inapt and inept. Perhaps I got this impression because I hadn't given the matter enough thought (not the first time this has happened). Today I will present some of the sources that have been making me change my mind, slowly, in directions I hadn't suspected. This draws me off into some inchoate thoughts about the history of technology in Tibet and elsewhere, and a little musing on the changing significance of mechanisms in the lives of we living, loving and emotional human beings. I hope you will be patient with me. Perhaps you could also help me think through these problems some more. I'd be especially delighted to hear the cyborg point of view if any of you are out there.

I'll limit myself to the 'man of wood' (shing-gi mi), and leave the 'man of stone' (rdo-yi mi) alone for now.

I suppose it's possible, assuming you are a regular reader of Tibeto-logic (I know there are two or three of you), you might recall a particular passage in the root text that formed the basis for our set of Padampa's animal metaphors. "Ruthless" is an adjective I might have used, "cold" certainly, years ago when I first encountered it:

91. The wooden man cut off the elephant's head (variant: cut off the elephant's life). In what will the sin of it ripen?

The commentary would seem, whether accidentally or by design, to throw us off track... Or does it?

91. The wooden man kills an elephant. Similarly the full knowledge (jñāna) that comes from realization kills ignorance. (Zhijé Collection I 452)

We can consult a few other instances of the 'man of wood' or the 'person of wood' in other parts of the Zhijé Collection. In some of these we find a significant association with a yantra, in Tibetan trungkhor ('khrul-'khor), but before discussing that let's see the examples:

  Explaining the phrase 'If you don't focus on the result you obtain it' —

One's own benefit (as distinguished from benefit for others) is something the person of wood performed without having the idea [to obtain it]. 

In it [the person of wood] there is no idea it did something, or that there is something to do. 

It has no need to distinguish between what is and is not Dharma, or what practices to take up and [which others] to renounce. 

One who recognizes this is living the intentions of the Buddha.

  To explain this [verse Tenné says]:

For example, even though that man of wood may have performed actions by means of its yantra, actions like getting fruit (or, achieving results),* however much its actions have taken hold (?), it doesn't have the least idea that this thing or the other is what needs to be done. Taking up good Dharma practices and giving up what isn't Dharma... Overcoming this dualistic vision and becoming free of prapañcas, the individual suited for the Path is liberated from dualistic perceptions, and [it is] in knowing this that they are living in the intentions of the Buddha. That is what the words [of the verse] are ultimately aiming at.

*The Tibetan at this point reads: dper na shing gi myi de 'khrul 'khor gyis 'bras sgrub la stsogs pa'i bya ba byas kyang... 

This last bit (at Zhijé Collection IV 173) is part of a commentarial work by Tenné, which means it dates about a century later than the words of Padampa. The same goes for the following, from yet another of his commentaries (at Zhijé Collection V 414). This section of the commentary comes right after a section that argues there is no possibility for illustrating or making comparisons with the intentions of the Buddha. But then Tenné goes ahead and does just that.

"But in order to make this easy to comprehend, there is this analogy: A person of wood is devoid of I-&-mine in its actions, they say. You might then say, Well, how can it be, then, that there is no object of comparison for the Buddha's intentions? Wouldn't this analogy with the person of wood, for being without I-&-mine, contradict it? No, there is no contradiction. These two are in different realms. It's being beyond comparables is like this: On the one hand you have the intentions of the Buddha, [and on the other] you take this person of wood as an analogy, showing the manner in which Buddha activity is performed. 

"The person of wood, using the power that comes from its yantra, performs such appearances of activities like those of humans: threshing grain, pressing sesame (for oil) and chopping grass. It's not something it thinks about in terms of "Well, I've done such a thing." There is no I and mine. Similarly, like the wooden yantra, it may be that the intentions of Buddha are devoid of thought, yet its deeds that originate from the yantra are unimpeded, and here (in this life) the force of prior aspirations appears in the forms of all kinds of activities. Like the deeds done by a man of wood, the two Form Bodies are performing deeds that benefit sentient beings, but you wouldn't think, 'It's the wood that thrashes the grain.' Similarly you wouldn't say that it is the Form Bodies that perform the deeds that benefit sentient beings." 

The two Form Bodies are the Nirmanakaya (Tulpai Ku) and Sambhogakaya (Longchö Dzogpai Ku). The non-form Dharmakaya (Chökyi Ku) is their source, in the sense that the Form Bodies appear because of the compassion and the prior aspirations of the Enlightened One. The Sambhogakaya is compared to the yantra, the Nirmanakaya to the man of wood.

By now I think the passages, despite some obscurities that admittedly remain, have at the very least made it clear how we have to understand the 'man of wood' and the 'yantra.' Indeed, I recommend that you right away go back and reread the passages. Wherever you see the 'person of wood' or 'man of wood' (I don't distinguish between these two expressions... Should I?), replace it with the word 'puppet.' And wherever you see the Sanskrit word 'yantra,' replace it with the word 'contraption,' or better, 'device' or (I guess) 'mechanism.'

But we have still more sources, sources which ought to predate Padampa. Let's look at them and see if they support our interpretations. My first example comes from verse anthologies that either predate Padampa, and were brought with him — either on paper or in memory — from India, or represent texts delivered to him by visionary means.

From the text entitled Song of Glorious Vajraḍākinī (Dpal rdo rje mkha' 'gro ma'i mgur; Dergé Tanjur no. 2441, folio 63):

hūṃ skyi ser rlung gi pha yul gad ||

lag bskor mig gis ma lus bcom ||

bu chung 'di yi gces 'dzin bor ||

shing gi skyes bus dal [~ngal] dub spangs ||...

Hūṃ. The zephyr has the crack [in the wall] as its homeland.

The eye of the hand-wheel [mill] overcomes all.

Abandon attachment to this young child [you were?].

The man of wood has been freed from painful tasks...

It's interesting that the hand-wheel is mentioned here. It might possibly refer to the hand-held prayer wheel — about that more in a moment — but here I believe it means the hand-operated mill used for food processing. 

The following is from Symbol Song of Vajraḍākinī (Rdo rje mkha' 'gro ma'i brda'i mgur; Dergé Tanjur no. 2442, folio 66):

khyi phag gnyis kyis bram ze'i gsang tshig rlung la bskur ||

mi mgo skam po la ni shing gi skyes bu dga' ||

gyi ling sgrog dang bral na kun du rgyug par rigs ||

kha ba'i nus pa mtsho la gnas par mi 'gyur ro ||

Both the dog and the pig load the secret words of the brahmin on the wind.

[Even] a dried up human head [would be] a wooden man's delight.

Remove the gyiling horse's hobbles and it runs all over the place.

The power of the snow, when it gets to the lake, does not remain.

From Vajra Songs: The Vision of Suchness of All Yogis (Rnal 'byor pa thams cad kyi de kho na nyid snang ba zhes bya ba rnams kyi rdo rje'i mgur; Derge Tanjur no. 2453, fol. 96v):

sgyu lus kyi rnal 'byor ma kun dha li'i zhal snga nas |

'khrul 'khor las dang shing gi mi ||

bya ba rnams la 'dod pa med ||

de bzhin 'dod pa'i blo bral ba ||

'dzin med skyes pa 'phags pa'i lam ||

From the mouth of the Illusory Body Yoginī Kundhali, 

"The work done by a mechanism and the man of wood,

in their actions there is no desire.

Similarly, being without thoughts of desires,

a person without grasping [is on] the Path of Saints."

We know from this that the wooden man is an action figure. We also see, once again, an association between it and a yantra, or 'mechanism.' The Path of Saints means the Path of actual (not just potential) Bodhisattvas, Bodhisattvas who have experienced the direct vision of Truth (which requires further cultivation in order to approach Complete Enlightenment).

What's the source of the 'wooden man' in Padampa? The Adventures of Vikram is one possibility. Padampa surely knew of it. It has a frame story in which 32 wooden human (female) figures upholding a throne tell stories each in turn. (Not only that, but in recent times in Rajasthan, these stories have been performed in puppet theater; see Plowright.) Then again, perhaps a more Buddhist source was his inspiration, Śāntideva (chapter 5, verse 61). The context is a practice, universal to Buddhism, known as 'mindfulness of the body':

rmongs pa'i yid khyod ci yi phyir | | 

shing gzugs gtsang ma gzung mi byed | | 

mi gtsang tshogs kyi 'khrul 'khor 'di | | 

rul ba bsrungs te ci zhig rung | |

The Sanskrit text from this source:

na svīkaroṣi he mūḍha kāṣṭhaputtalakaṁ śucim|

amedhyaghaṭitaṁ yantraṁ kasmādrakṣasi pūtikam||61||

You foolish mind! Why wouldn't you rather

possess a pure wooden form?

Instead you protect this rotten thing,

this contraption of hosts of impurities. How is that right?

Dating several centuries before Padampa, this verse is remarkable for combining the interesting term 'wooden form' (actually, the Sanskrit word puttalaka seems to be the more usual word for both 'doll' and 'puppet') with the word yantra. This can hardly be a coincidence. Surely 'wooden form' means puppet here, and at least one modern commentator takes it so. Since I know some of my readers are native speakers of German, here is Ernst Steinkellner's translation. Perhaps one of you could tell me if Holzpuppe necessarily means 'puppet' or perhaps just 'wooden doll'?

"Ach du Narr! Eine saubere Holzpuppe hältst du nicht für dich; warum hütest du diese aus Unrat geschaffene, stinkende Maschine?" (chapter 5, verse 61)

We can be sure that Padampa knew Shantideva's famous Entry into the Awakened Life. Every inhabitant of the major North Indian monasteries studied it in those days. If anybody requires further indications, something more specific, Padampa was ordained as a novice monk by a teacher who is otherwise known to posterity only as author of a still-existing commentary on Shantideva's work. His name was Kshemadeva.

There are several historico-cultural-lexical barriers to explaining in a simple way why the connection between wooden forms and yantras ought to add up to puppets (or more accurately, marionettes, the ones with strings). Well, not quite necessarily. It could mean wooden figures made to move through still other devices, couldn't it? OK, you have me cornered, so I'll have to admit it. But let's look at the wording problem. The Tibetan for yantra is not a calque translation of the Sanskrit, and neither does it represent an attempt to etymologize the word, as often happens. It is what we would have to call a 'meaningful' translation, which means there was a pre-existing word considered sufficiently close to the Sanskrit that it was made to fill its place. The Sanskrit derives from the verbal root √yam, which means (following Monier-Williams) to sustain, hold, hold up, support, wield [a weapon], restrain, curb, govern, control. Yantra is defined as "any instrument for holding or restraining or fastening, a prop, support, barrier."  Or, "any instrument or apparatus, mechanical contrivance, engine, machine, implement, appliance (as a bolt or lock on a door, oars or sails in a boat, etc.)." And finally, "a mystical diagram supposed to possess occult powers." 

The Tibetan word trungkhor ('phrul-'khor) means 'wonder wheel' in its modern spelling, and 'bewilderment/error wheel' in the classical spelling ('khrul-'khor, spelled differently but pronounced precisely the same). Trungkhor is at the same time the only commonly used word for what we moderns are most likely to call 'yoga'. While Hatha Yoga (in its correct sense as 'forceful' yoga) is known to Tibetans as 'forceful methods' (tsentab, btsan-thabs), the bodily postures are called trungkhor. Tibetans have traditionally kept these trungkhors quite secret, although some have been published in recent times. I've even seen some very recently made videos, and an older work by Namkhai Norbu on "Yantra Yoga" has just been published in a more popular edition. 

Then, particularly in the Kālacakra Tantra we find descriptions of yantras that clearly mean 'war machines,' siege warfare instruments of various kinds, but primarily the catapult (Newman's dissertation). Yet even here we also find, within the same category, an amusement ride and an irrigation device.

With the pretty obvious exception of the yoga postures, all these things might be called mechanisms, but I suggest that the meaning of the word 'mechanism' has come to mean something quite different (which is to say that it evokes a very different image in our minds when we hear it) than it did in the old Greek days when it meant a kind of device: 

"For this, we cannot rely on modern ideas of what counts as 'mechanical.' The Greek equivalents – ta mêchanika or hê mêchanikê technê, 'the mechanical art' — are derived from a word for 'devices.' They are used of a body of work describing construction technology and the theoretical attempts to understand the powers of devices such as levers and pulleys, ballistic and hydraulic gadgets..." (Berryman, p. 347)

I'd like to refer to yantras simply as 'devices,' because I think this works quite well. I think its use helps to avoid some of the anachronisms that may be brought into play with the word 'mechanism.' We have to think in very broad terms of any object that appears to move or talk but is made of non-vital materials that normally do not permit this. Whether we understand what makes it happen or not, we will just call it a 'device,' perhaps leaving it at that. We will go on calling it by this same name even if we might find out that human or animal locomotion is in some way involved (Bhoja divides yantras into two categories to account for this possibility; Raghavan, p. 20). Most of the pre-15th-century history of technology in Eurasia, as I understand it, can be reduced to two basic motives. One was to create simulacra of humans and animals that are made, in various ways (and within limits, of course), to behave like them. The other was to create likenesses or models of celestial motion (globes, planetariums, clocks). To this we might add irrigation and milling technology (sugar mills, cotton gins, etc.) as a significant third, largely agricultural motive. (This is in large part taken from Price's essay). Of course even electric-era history is interested in such things as robots, atomic clocks, hydraulic works, combine harvesters &tc., so these motives surely do enjoy a continuing influence in our day.)

I imagined I heard somebody snickering in the background, so I ought to make one thing perfectly clear. Save the mirth.  Toys belong to the history of technology every bit as much as 'serious' machinery. Like Price (p. 15) says: 

"Amongst historians of technology there seems always to have been private, somewhat peevish discontent because the most ingenious mechanical devices of antiquity were not useful machines but trivial toys."

The merry-go-round described in the Kālacakra Tantra, and also by Bhoja (Raghavan, pp. 27-8), being useful for fun purposes, must count as a benchmark in the history of technology, every bit as much as the catapults useful in war. And if you are thinking puppets are trivial to technological history, just try dreaming up robotic machinery and prosthetics without them.

And that goes as well for the use of the Tibetan 'hand-wheel' as a tool for mantra recitation. Most of the history of technology that has involved Tibet up until now has revolved around this particular instrument, which people around the world have found intriguing just because it is a mechanism placed in the service of an internal (devotional and/or meditational) practice that may look like prayer — explaining the widely used misnomer 'prayer wheels.' Motives of play and worship can (and I think must) be accepted into the history of technology. 

(So, too, must magic, but I have enough on my plate as it is without even going there. That magic is a problem for many historians of science is proven by the cold responses and denials that greeted publication of the works of Frances Amelia Yates [1899-1981] of the Warburg Institute, London, so justly famous for her The Art of Memory.  This and her other books, among other things, make the case that the histories of today's sciences run through magical lineages extremely well.)

Another problem to get out of the way: Evolution doesn't matter. You heard me right. Technological changes in the past were not made in order to lead to the technology we know today (the 'teleological problem' in which all things lead up to what we think today is all about, is widespread, but deeply wrongheaded). It doesn't become a 'western' or European phenomenon because we choose to draw the historical lines that way. 

(Ignoring that Heron, being very probably a Graeco-Egyptian, or an Egyptian well educated in Greek, was anyway an African... ignoring that most of Greek technology, itself in some areas strongly influenced by Babylon and Egypt, was revived thanks to preservation and innovation in the Muslim world... ignoring inventions of China [movable type, gunpowder, the belted fly-wheel] and India [the worm screw, scissors]... And if we accept Lynn White's ideas about Tibetan 'prayer wheel' technology bringing the ball-&-chain governor to Italian machine design, we surely must bring Tibet in here, too... See Aris...) 

Wherever technological changes are introduced, it counts. That goes in particular for the Eskimo use of the screw, and I very heartily recommend Laufer's article on the subject. We really must not ignore Inuit ingenuity when we get the chance to learn about it, just because it doesn't fit into a lineage of knowledge we have drawn for ourselves as a way of serving our supposed needs.

And just one last pet peeve, although it may be news to some people who don't know me so well: Technological innovations are not the only true changes, with all other human developments tagged on as mere secondary results (human culture is not an 'epiphenomenon' of technology, to use the 10-dollar word for it). Other things in human history matter, too — both things that change and things that don't change — and may have priority over technological changes. Other things not only matter, on occasion they may even form bases for technological innovation: human thought and imagination to give obvious examples that ought not be overlooked.  Were you overlooking them?

And while you've got me going, one more thing: The past isn't there for us to tear it apart. It isn't a 'man of straw' for us to demolish in order to make us feel superior, smug in our modernity. It's there for us to widen our minds by imaginatively entering into it. The past is another culture. Get used to it. Exercise understanding. Learn the language. Think outside those boxes instead of just thinking how it might be a good idea.

We've just mentioned Laufer, which is nice, since he's one of the few Tibetologists (of course he was much more than that, and Sinologists among others will claim him as part of their history, too) who paid technology very much mind. Given how little there is, his work on milling devices is a very significant one. This, along with small writings on prayer wheels, and some writings about the tempered steel chain-suspension bridge builder Tangtong Gyalpo (best see the great book by Cyrus Stearns, or the online book by Manfred Gerner), are about all we can readily point to in the history of technology in the Snow Land. Part of the reason more hasn't been written is because most of us are either philosophers or scriptural Buddhologists, trained in those areas and plodding along in the same old ox-cart grooves, following the same methods — and consulting the same sources — that earned us our academic degrees. That goes toward explaining why we just don't recognize technology when we see it in our texts. We don't know how it was talked about. We don't see enough of it to know it's there, let alone place it in a larger picture. I also suspect that we don't expect to find any. Perhaps unknowingly we still labor under the illusions of those old writers who made fun of Tibet for knowing about the wheel for prayer, but not about its use for practical purposes like transportation. 

(Nah! Early Tibetans knew about wheeled transportation, sure enough. They just didn't find it practical. Just imagine trying to get those things to go on footpaths over high mountain passes.)

Has anyone even asked the question, Were there automata in Tibet like in the rest of Eurasia? Just asking it might lead to serious considerations about whether Tibet was or was not a part of the continent, over which it towers for other reasons, in terms of mechanical developments.

This story told in the 14th-century history, the Clear Mirror of the Royal Dynasty: Late in the reign of Tibetan Emperor Trisong Detsen in the last decades of the 8th century, several temples were built outside the outer walls of the new temple of Samyé, where the first Tibetan-born monks were ordained. One of these temples was the Butsel, built by a Queen named Poyongza. The Queen displayed her generosity by serving the workers elaborate meals with thirteen courses. In gratitude they added thirteen unexpectedly wonderful and clever additions to the temple. Number 12 was this one, as translated by Taylor & Yuthok:

"A golden coral emitted a sound when the gate was opened."

This may be the first coral made of gold in all of natural history, or it may be the first coral that ever emitted a sound. Well, matters are greatly clarified in the meticulous [rich with square brackets and footnotes] translation by Per Sørensen:

"For the openings and closing of the entrance [to the chapel] a golden bird [flew up and] gave signal."

I don't have the original passage behind these two translations immediately in hand, but I will hunt it down and add it here when I do locate it. Anyway, I could find more quickly the passage in the Feast for Scholars (p. 351). It tells of a pleasant water fountain not mentioned in the Clear Mirror. This fountain demonstrates some knowledge of hydraulics, no doubt, but it could also conceivably form part of the device that made the bird sing:

chu thams cad 'dril nas seng ge'i kha nas rus sbal gyi rgyab tu 'bab pa | goshir sha sgo yod pa | sgo 'byed gcod la gser gyi bye chung 'phar zhing skad 'don pa |

"All the water was collected and from a lion's mouth it fell on the back of a turtle. There was a door of white sandalwood. When this door was opened and closed a little bird of gold jumped up and sang."

I think it is clear enough that a bird sang, and moved some, whenever anyone entered the temple. I can't be sure this rings a bell for you like it does for me. I could be wrong, but I imagine it looked a little like this drawing, which was made to illustrate a translation of a work of Heron of Alexandria (1st century CE) done by Giovanni Batista Aleotti d'Argenta (b. 1546). It illustrates a hydraulic device for making birds sing when doors are opened.* 

*Heron Mechanicus, to use the Graeco-Latin name, also knew of hydraulic methods for making doors open automatically, which could be happening here, I'm not sure of it. For more on early automatic doors, see Needham, p. 162.  Notice that water is pouring from the mouths of lions in the drawing.

I'm not ready to claim that the singing bird was a hydraulic device invented independently by Tibetans, but neither can I demonstrate borrowing (although some Greek/Hellenistic rhytons, ewers and other metalworks have been found in Tibet*). Singing bird devices were known in the 10th century in the Magnaura Palace in Constantinople, and even earlier in Baghdad. Although the source is unclear, it is said that Caliph al-Ma'mun,** early in the 9th century, had a gold and silver tree with singing birds sitting in it (Brett, pp. 480-482, & illustrations). Considering this limited body of evidence, it would seem that Tibet was keeping up with technological developments, and perhaps even ahead of other parts of Eurasia.***

* There are articles on these 'out of place' artifacts (some of the most interesting ones now kept in Cleveland, Ohio) by Czuma, Denwood, Heller & Shepherd, but my bibliography is already too heavy to hold them. **Al-Ma'mun's reign was very important for the translation of Greek systems of science, especially astronomy and medicine, into Arabic (Syriac was also involved here). *** I hesitate to mention all those fantastic wonder stories scattered about the internet about "advanced ancient technology" in Tibet. If you want you can schmoogle the words and find them for yourself.

It's time to get back to the subject of puppets, I'd say. My argument is this: Puppets are a type of simulacrum as well as a type of automaton. The device that permits their movement is hidden from the viewer. But even puppets that are controlled by the presence of a living organism inside them ought to be included in the same category, like the 'lion suit' that Padampa mentions so often. 

(Bhoja, like Heron, recommends that the mechanism be concealed in order to increase wonder in the viewer.)

These devices belong to the field of drama, it's true, but then there are a number of signs that Padampa was familiar with Indian dramatic theory. One rather mysterious sign of this might be found in his use of the word karaṇa, a technical term probably drawn from Indian dramatic theory (nāṭya śāstra — a mystery I may go into another time, since I'm still pondering; it's a technical term in grammar, also). Another is the lion suit, and of course the 'Chinese mask' in the last blog. Some believe that the original drama in India was puppet drama, pointing to the word used in theater for the director or narrator, sūtradhāra. It very literally means 'holder of the string[s].' This same word, in context of architecture, means the architect (or chief artisan, or carpenter).*

* Chalk lines are laid down using strings, and not only in drawing out building plans on the ground, but in other artisanal contexts as well, including carpentry. Some people might need reminding that the mandala is also an architectural structure, even if in art it is most often seen in two dimensions (three-dimensional blowups, called lolang [blos-bslangs] do exist). The first stage in the construction of a mandala is laying out the chalk lines, and these are the strings the string holder holds.

When Padampa talks about a wooden man cutting off the head of (or slaying, as the text variant says) an elephant, I assume it's [1] a puppet play context, in which both the man and the elephant are puppets playing their parts, or [2] an automata display that involves some kind of at least minimal movement and interaction between the wooden man and the wooden elephant that results in the death of the elephant. Here there is an immoral moral that could be understood, this being that the world is an illusion so it doesn't matter what evil we do. And desireless robots have zero moral liability. I thought so, too, at first, laboring under my modern negative understanding of androids (it hadn't occurred to me yet that 'man of wood' might mean 'puppet'), without any will or motivation of their own, and hence not constituting moral agents. But if we accept the Tibetan commentator, the slaying of ignorance is done 'on its own ground' simply through the light of spiritual realization falling on it. No slaying at all takes place, just equally illusory characters in a play that forms its own resolution. Well, when the play is over, we remember the 'devices' that made the show possible and go home reflecting on the action, but conscious that it was, finally, just a show. What we were thinking was happening there didn't matter in the way we were thinking it did. Focus on the device and you just might lose interest in the show.

Where for moderns the droid is an irredeemably negative and threatening image, the puppet in Padampa's time was nothing so ominous, since anyway, the mechanistic worldview hadn't much developed yet (the big idea that everything non-mechanical can be understood better by pretending as if it were; see Berryman's article). It was something more sympathetic. It was a device, an instrument, for entertainment, drama. In Padampa's eremetic world, it is a positive symbol for the  wholly realized individual, meaning the actualized Bodhisattva and completely Enlightened Buddha. And in the quotes from Tenné, in his self-consciously inadequate analogy, the puppet and its 'control' device become symbols for the two Form Bodies that manifest after Complete Buddhahood due to the force of altruistic Bodhisattva aspirations, aspirations that 'automatically' continue to act on the stage of the world in order to resolve the confusion and miseries of us animated beings.

One of the most common puppet figures in India is Ganesha. Puppet plays commonly start (as do many other undertakings in India) with an appearance by Ganesha and offerings made to him as overcomer of obstacles. The most famous elephant decapitation in all of history is surely the one that resulted in Ganesha. 

(The good that can be derived from drastic situations?) 

Could the man of wood be Shiva in his puppet form? Are we starting to get some sense of what's going on behind Padampa's cryptic words? I'm asking.

There are those who think histories ought to end with the kind of conclusion that brings us, finally, to a state of comforting wistful irony. I don't belong to their school. In fact, I don't think I believe in putting ends on things at all.  Let's stick with beginnings.

Too Much Stuff to Read about Automata & Puppets 

(& OK Humans) —

Michael Aris, Tibetan Technology and the West. Look here.

Christopher I. Beckwith, Tibetan Science at the Court of the Great Khans, The Journal of the Tibet Society, vol. 7 (1987), pp. 5-11. Available online.

Sylvia Berryman, Ancient Automata and Mechanical Explanation, Phronesis, vol. 48, no. 4 (2003), pp. 344-69. Try JSTOR if you can.

Gerard Brett, The Automata in the Byzantine "Throne of Solomon," Speculum, vol. 29, no. 3 (July 1954), pp. 477-87. On Heron of Byzantium (called so so as not to confuse him with the much earlier Heron of Alexandria), whose book is dated 938 CE. The Throne of Solomon was a popular theme all over Europe and the Middle East, including such places as the Alhambra, the Ste. Chapelle in Paris etc. The Biblical description has sculptured lions on each step leading up to the throne, and in the Byzantine version of it, at least, there not only were lions, they were lions that roared.

Philip K. Dick, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?

William Dolby, The Origins of Chinese Puppetry, Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, vol. 41 (1978), pp. 97-120. Our 'puppet' translation for 'man of wood' might, I suppose, be ratified with reference to a Chinese word for 'puppet' we find here which means very literally 'wooden doll.' I don't believe it's necessary to appeal to evidence from China, even if Padampa had recently spent twelve years there. He must have known about Indian puppetry, also.

Georges B. Dreyfus, What is Debate for? The Rationality of Tibetan Debates and the Role of Humor, Argumentation, vol. 22 (2008), pp. 43-58, the quote at p. 57.

Andrew Glass, Early Adopters: Debunking Stereotypes of Buddhist Attitudes toward Technology, IIAS Newsletter, no. 49 (Autumn 2008), pp. 20-21. Technology in this brief paper means primarily techniques of literary reproduction, such as paper and printing technologies, although there is a bit on structural mechanics in Buddhist architecture.

Irfan Habib, Pursuing the History of Indian Technology: Pre-Modern Modes of Transmission of Power, Social Scientist, vol. 20, nos. 3-4 (March 1992), pp. 1-22.

Berthold Laufer (1874-1934 CE), The Eskimo Screw as a Culture-Historical Problem, American Anthropologist, new series vol. 17, no. 2 (April 1915), pp. 396-406. Of course nobody in Laufer's day thought the ethnonym 'eskimo' problematic, as some do today. Notice the words on p. 401: "A history of the screw has not yet been written." This can no longer be said, thanks to Rybczynski (just below). Have a look here. Or here.

Berthold Laufer, The Noria or Persian Wheel, Oriental Studies in Honour of Dasturji Saheb Cursetji Erachji Pavry, Oxford University Press (Oxford 1933), pp. 238-50.

Joseph Needham, Mechanical Toys, contained in: Joseph Needham with Wang Ling, Science And Civilisation in China, Volume 4: Physics and Physical Technology, Part II: Mechanical Engineering, University Press (Cambridge 1965), pp. 156-65.

John R. Newman, The Outer Wheel of Time: Vajrayāna Buddhist Cosmology in the Kālacakra Tantra, PhD dissertation, University of Wisconsin at Madison (Madison 1987).  On pp. 543-77, are the tantra's instructions for the construction of siege weapons, chariots, merry-go-rounds, and hydraulic systems for irrigation. A separate title on these devices by Gö Lotsawa (1392 1481), the author of the Blue Annals, has survived in a collection in Lhasa, but has not been made available to the world at large as yet. It is quite short, in only two folios.

Jamyang Norbu, Newspeak & New Tibet, Part I: The Myth of China's Modernization of Tibet and the Tibetan Language. A nice sketch of early Tibetan technology, among other matters, is to be found in this article from the inimitable J.N.'s famously formidable pen. Available here, at Phayul.com.

Poh Sim Plowright, The Desacralization of Puppetry: A Case History from Rajasthan, New Theater Quarterly, vol. 21, no. 3 (August 2005), pp. 273-98.

Derek J. de Solla Price, Automata and the Origins of Mechanism and Mechanistic Philosophy, Technology & Culture, vol. 5, no. 1 (Winter 1964), pp. 9-23.

Venkatarama Raghavan, Yantras or Mechanical Contrivances in Ancient India, Transaction no. 10, The Indian Institute of Culture, Basavangudi, Bangalore (1952), a booklet in 31 pages.  I'm unbelievably fortunate to have a copy of this rare publication (for two microfilmed versions in U.S. libraries, look here).  I got it from the duplicates box in the Kern Institute in Leiden a few years ago (they still have at least two copies; look here).

Keith Rawlings, Deeper Investigations into Shadow Theatre and Puppetry (April 2003). Available here.

Keith Rawlings, Observations on the Historical Development of Puppetry. Dated November 1999, but updated April 2003. Available here.

Witold Rybczynski, One Good Turn: A Natural History of the Screwdriver and the Screw, Scribner (New York 2001), in 176 pages. I haven't read this, but I imagine you, like me, might want to.

Śāntideva, Eintritt in das Leben zur Erleuchtung (Bodhicaryāvatāra), translated from the Sanskrit by Ernst Steinkellner, Eugen Diederichs Verlag (3rd reprint, Munich 1997). Daniel Stender's website has a great collection of related online links. 

Michael Schuster, Visible Puppets and Hidden Puppeteers: Indian Gombeyata Puppetry, Asian Theatre Journal, vol. 18, no. 1 (Spring 2001), pp. 59-68. The author, himself a puppeteer and founder of the Bell Theater in Jerusalem, supplies us with the amazing information that South Indian puppets sometimes have paper yantras (in this case ritual diagrams that resemble mandalas) inserted inside their heads and arms. Puppets might even undergo a type of consecration ritual similar to those for divine images performed in the temples. Color plate 3 shows the elephant-headed Ganesha puppet with a motor in the back of its head to make its halo revolve.

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 (Wiesbaden 1994), the cited passage on p. 389.

McComas Taylor & Lama Choedak Yuthok, trs., Sakyapa Sönam Gyaltsen, The Clear Mirror: A Traditional Account of Tibet's Golden Age, Snow Lion (Ithaca 1996), p. 242, was quoted above.

Stephanie West, Cultural Interchange over a Water-Clock, The Classical Quarterly, new series vol. 23, no. 1 (May 1973), pp. 61-64.

Marianne Winder, Aspects of the History of the Prayer Wheel, Bulletin of Tibetology, new series vol. 1 (1992), pp. 25-33.  PDF here.

"[T]he shadow-casting images used in the cave [in Plato's famous cave analogy in The Republic] are referred to as thaumata, here meaning puppets or fabrications, made by thaumatapoioi, here meaning puppet-makers or tricksters." (Danzig, p. 189) 

In The Republic, this allegory is, in the cynical interpretation of it, mainly about the possibility of molding public perceptions for reasons of statecraft. Thaumata means 'wonder,' but then it has been said, 

"Ancient sources claim that it is only the inexperienced — those who do not perceive the cause — who feel the wonder." 

— Berryman, p. 347

No history of early Eurasian technology could be complete without including more on al-Jazarī, Ma Chün, Mo Ti,* Vitruvius, Leonardo and Bhoja, but I've tried to keep from writing too much about things I don't know very much about.  I've done enough of that today. The next time you're in Dhubai, visit the Ibn Battuta Shopping Mall in order to see the nine-meter-high Elephant Clock, built according to al-Jazarī's specifications. Or if the economic situation discourages your patronage of shopping malls, have a look here, here and here and be amazed.

*Mo Ti was an inventor [?] of automobiles in 4th century China; see Needham, p. 159.

I didn't really get a chance to say much about the history of clock-making technology that can be known from Tibetan-language texts, mainly in Vinaya scriptural translations.  Gregory Schopen has written about the subject recently, in his article "Marking Time in Buddhist Monasteries" that also forms a chapter in his book Buddhist Monks and Business Matters.  You can get some idea about Indian water clocks and sundials in this downloadable PDF, and a book by the same author published in India last year that I'm eager to read at my first opportunity: Sreeramula Rajeswara Sarma, The Archaic and the Exotic: Studies in the History of Indian Astronomical Instruments.

There is a reason the modern Tibetan word for 'clock' and 'hour' is chutsö (chu-tshod). It might be etymologized as meaning something like 'water reckoning.'  Chutsö is in fact registered in the main Sanskrit-Tibetan vocabulary of the early 9th century, the Mahāvyutpatti, as equivalent to Sanskrit ghaṭikā, the device described by Schopen, which in its turn is quite comparable to the Greek clepsydra (κλεψυδρα).  The Greeks very likely got this time keeping technology, in turn, from the Egyptians (see the article by West).

If you haven't heard the story of how Ganapati (Ganesh) got his elephant head before, or if you need to jog your memory, there is a nice animation of the myth at YouTube, but beware the graphic violence. 

A mechanical singing bird by Bontems of Paris dating from 1870.

NOTE:  A puppet appendix or addenda should be going up soon, which might change our minds some more.  I hope so.  There are also some fairly early Mahabharata / Bhagavad Gita puppet metaphors.  Perhaps more important is a metaphor from the Prajnaparamita pointed out to me by Henk Blezer of Leiden, The Netherlands.  Thank you Henricius!