Monkey Paw, Salty River

If you don't swim, don't play in the water.

skyal myed-pas chu-la rtse-bar myi bya'o ||

— Padampa Sanggyé

Hello all of you, or both of you, or however many of you might still have internet connections at your air-conditioned beach resorts on the Riviera! Or the Canary Islands! After several days at it I really badly need a break from touching up my Zhang-zhung dictionary. I'm rewriting the introduction right now, and I think I've made some headway in convincing a sometimes too skeptical world that this thousand-some-year-old language does indeed possess some of the essential features of language that people have unjustly claimed are missing in it. That means verbs, personal pronouns and grammar.* I do so much more enjoy the freedom of blog writing to other kinds that I'm all too familiar with.

*(Well, in fact it doesn't have the personal pronouns, but then the only lengthy bilingual text we have for Zhang-zhung doesn't have any kind of dialog in it, so why would it need to speak of you and me and her?)

I know I should have gone on to say more already about the back scratchers, but let's let go of them for now and look at what might seem a remotely related, but, well, maybe, anyway, related, topic. I mean, the most popular shape for back scratchers is the rake or 'claw' shape, correct? That's because it's meant to take the place of your own claw-shaped hands when they can no longer reach the center of your back where that irritating sensation is most likely to be found. And that probably means you are getting old and haven't been keeping up with your yoga practice. Give me a minute to go pop a few more aspirin for my arthritis and we'll begin.

Remember the animal metaphors of Padampa, the Telugu Mahasiddha? There was one metaphor that, despite the explanation of the commentarial text, really didn't convey much of any meaningful message. Let me cut-and-paste my old translation attempts right here. First, the line from the root text with the words of Padampa:

spre'u-yi sder-mo rnyed-pa'i rus-sbal lan-tshwa'i chu-la lto 'gal med //

spre'u-yi: C spre'u. rus-sbal: C rul-rbal. lan-tshwa'i: C ba-tsha'i.

56. The turtle has gotten a monkey claw, no reason not to eat it in borax water.

And now the commentary on the same, probably written by a 12th-century Tibetan follower. Take special note of my shriek of frustration enclosed in square brackets at the end:

Zhijé Collection, vol. 1, p. 438, line 3 ———

56. {{All the animals that go into the borax ocean rot and disappear, they say. A turtle that appears on the surface of the water later on doesn't appear at all. In the case of the monkey paw, it doesn't rot. It [the turtle?] goes with the hamstring. Then, in the forest cleans the paw, and it is no contradiction that it eats it in borax water. Sensual qualities are like the borax, in turning into virtue through skilful means.}} [This is clearly not a workable translation; the text uses some very rare vocabulary items.]

I may take another shot at translating this before long. And here's the Tibetan text of the commentary, since I'm sure that English didn't make sense to anyone [it's in 'texto' style, with none of those tacit corrections you often get, no dashes, etc.]:

dper na rgya mtsho' ba tsha can de la srog chags phyin pa thams cad rul nas 'gro skad /

de la ru rbal chu'i teng du bsdad nas phyir de rtsam myi 'byung ste / de la spre'u rder mo snyed na myi 'drul bas kho ting chu dang 'grogs nas nags gseb du sder mo tsal nas ba tsha'i chu la ltos 'gal myed par 'gro'o //

de bzhin du 'dod yon ba tsha dang 'dra ste / thabs la mkhas pas yon tan du 'gyur ro gsung //

I think this is going to make a little more sense to you, and to me, too, very probably, by the time I finish writing for the day. I won't promise miracles. I think I can explain to you in at least a general way, for the first time here in this blog, the Indian background that would shed light on how or why a turtle might get its teeth into a monkey paw to begin with. I also think I can say something meaningful about the chu ba-tshwa-can phrase (notice there's a variant) that I translated as 'borax water.' More on that in a minute.

My new understandings took off like a space-station launcher after reading a blog by Tenpa at Tibetan Buddhist Digital Altar that covers the delicate topic of homosexuals going to hell. Wait a minute, don't kill the messengers. Hear us out. Condemnation is not my purpose today. Maybe tomorrow. I would say that some of my best friends are gay, but then you'd start reading things into it, now, wouldn't you? I'll be witness to the fact that sometimes it's hard to state the simplest of facts without getting yourself into trouble. In matters of sex, as in religion, people are always divining hidden meanings in between the words or hovering above them. Mom, if you're reading this, the answer is no, never was.

Where was I? Oh, yes.

Tenpa, in his blog, supplied a passage from Śāntideva's Śikṣāsamuccaya that is in turn a quotation from the Saddharmopasthana Sutra (I guess that means Saddharmasmṛtyupasthāna, which is a huge 3-volume scripture, so please, my dear reader, don't expect me to trace the original context... find it yourself if you must):

Likewise, endless varieties of punishments in a future life are described for the wrong deed of sexual intercourse between two men. The one who commits misconduct with boys sees boys being swept away in the Acid River who cry out to him, and owing to the suffering and pain born of his deep affection for them, plunges in after them.

Although I suppose you may find this difficult to believe, I was a lot more interested in the "Acid River" than in the same-sex sex. I looked the quote up just to be sure about the wording. Over time I finally located it in the crusty old Bendall & Rouse translation, at page 80. Here's a slightly longer quote, although I, too, will leave off the subsequent paragraph about the despicable form of animal abuse known as bestiality, since it isn't especially relevant, is it? I'll take that as a No.

Likewise the hell called Mahā-paduma is said to come into existence if by the prayer of a heavenly nymph one brings one's chaste life to an end. There flows the river called Kshāranadītaraṅginī, the Stream of Brine. All the stones of this river are bones, its weeds are hair, its mud is flesh, its water is molten copper, and its fishes are prisoners in hell, etc. Likewise, endless varieties of punishments are described for the sin of sodomy. Likewise as the result of misconduct with children he beholds boys floating about in the River of Brine. They cry out to him, and he plunges into the river through the impulse of grief and pain arising from his keen affection and attachment to them.

Here's the Tibetan from the copy of the text I had close at hand (p. 105), not because I think it's the best textual witness:

de de ltar lha'i bu mo 'dod pa'i phyir tshangs par spyod pa yongs su bsngo bas na / pad ma chen po zhes bya ba'i sems can dmyal bar gsungs te / de na tsha sgo can gyi 'bab chu dpa' rlabs can zhes bya ba 'bab ste / 'bab chu de la nya gang yin pa de dag ni sems can dmyal ba pa de dag go // rus pa gang yin pa de dag ni rdo ba'o // 'jim pa gang yin pa de dag ni skra'o // 'dam rdzab gang yin pa de dag ni sha'o // chu gang yin pa de dag ni ro nye bskol ba'o zhes bya ba la sogs pa'o // de bzhin du skyes pas skyes pa la 'khrig pa log par bcug pa'i chad pa'i bye brag dpag tu med par brjod do // de bzhin du byis pa rnams la log par 'jug pa yang cha sgo can gyi chus khyer ba'i khye'u dag mthong nas de dag gis de la bos pa dang / de byis pa de dag la shin tu sdug par sems pa dang ldan zhing mya ngan dang sdug bsngal gyi shugs kyis chu der 'jug go //

The 'sin of sodomy' isn't very literal. What it says here is 'Men wrongly engaging in sexual intercourse with other men.' That's in case you had any doubts. Buddhists never shrink back from talking about every possibility. They never had a Victorian phase. That's why they're not quite sure what 'repression' is. Well, at least as far as talking about things is concerned.

And here's the original Sanskrit for those who insist on having it. It could really help solve some arguments that might arise about the meaning.

evamapsarasaḥ prārthanayā brahmacaryapariṇāmanān mahāpadumo nāma naraka uktaḥ / tatra kṣāranadī taraṅgiṇī nāma pravahati / tasyāṃ nadyāṃ yāny asthīni te pāṣāṇāḥ / yacchaivālaṃ te keśāḥ / yaḥ paṅkastanmāṃsam / yā āpaḥ tat kathitaṃ tāmram / ye matsyās te nārakā ityādi //

evaṃ puruṣasya puruṣeṇa saha maithunavipratipatteḥ aprameyāḥ kāraṇāviśeṣāḥ paṭhyante / evaṃ śiśubhiḥ saha vipratipatteḥ kṣāranadyām uhyamānān dārakān paśyati / te taṃ vilapanti / sa tāṃ nadīm avagāhate / teṣu bālakeṣu tīvrasnehapratibandhaśokaduḥkhavegāt /

Right away we ought to observe, at the very least, that 'River of Brine' is not a very accurate translation of the Sanskrit, certainly, where it's kṣāra-nadī, with nadī meaning 'river.' Although kṣāra can mean 'salty,' the first meanings in the Monier-Williams dictionary are: caustic, biting, corrosive, acrid, pungent, saline.

Equipped with the Sanskrit and Tibetan words, I started searching out rivers of brine or whatever, along with words for salt and types of salts, all over the place. I'd bother you with all the details, but I guess you won't have patience for it. Anyway, my dull conclusion is that the various words for salts and salty waters are confused in the sources — even the two texts for animal metaphor no. 56 disagree whether it's lan-tshwa or ba-tshwa — so little wonder if we're confused about which is which. Ba-tshwa, to the best of my current guesses means, to some authors at least, 'borax' such as you find in lakes with internal drainage — the Northern Plains of Tibet are full of it — and as your mother knows very well an ingredient in some popular clothes-washing detergents. Sanskrit lavaṇa is in Tibetan lan-tshwa, the usual word for sodium chloride, or common table salt, NaCl.

Still, a Tibetan medical dictionary told me that lan-tsha has two meanings: [1] ordinary salt and [2] medicinal salts. According to this, when the latter meaning is intended the letter 'w' is added as a subscript, lan-tshwa. That is interesting... But who followed this spelling advice?

I went to such lengths to find out more about salt symbolism, I even wrote to Austria in quest of a mysterious scripture entitled Lan-tshwa'i Chu-bo'i Mdo. It was quoted by Atisha, but it has probably always been quite difficult to find in Tibet or anywhere else. It was translated at about the beginning of the 11th century, probably in fact at Tholing, where Dharmapāla, the Indian master named in the colophon, started the Highland Monastic Ordination Lineage.

That could help explain why it only exists in two Kanjurs located in the westernmost parts of the Plateau, the Gondhla and the Tholing Kanjurs (this information accepted with thanks from Helmut Tauscher, who kindly went out of his way to help me on this, far more than was necessary, really). Its Sanskrit title has been reconstructed in two different ways. It seems that Mark Tatz once Sanskritized it as Lavaṇa Nadī Sūtra, although Kṣāra Nadī Sūtra would also be possible. Even the Tibetan title is not always given consistently. Sometimes it's Lan-tsa'i Chu-bo'i Mdo, but we also find reference to it as Ba-tshwa'i Chu-klung zhes bya-ba'i Mdo.

I won't go into this scripture very much, since I think anyway someone will do a study of it before too long. I think we already learned something of significance, that even Tibetans might sometimes confuse or consider equivalent ba-tshwa and lan-tshwa. Not everyone is cut out to be a chemist. I'll just quote one brief passage and make a stab at understanding it. In this scripture the Buddha makes a kind of extended metaphor, and later on in the scripture it's interpreted in every last detail.

lan tsha'i chu bo'i ngogs sam 'gram dag las gang tsher ma can gyi chu skor yod la / der mun pa mun gnag smag tu 'thoms pa'i skye dgu' lus can kun kyang chu bo'i rgyun phyogs su khyer zhing ded de de las rgal myi nus so //

Let me try to get the gist of it without laboring over every word. It's meant to describe our situation here in sangsara, but you knew that.

On the banks or shores of the salt river there are lots of thorns. A waterwheel lies ahead. The myriad beings are disoriented in the pitch-black darkness. They are getting carried along by the constant stream of the river. There is no way they can turn back [from going under the water mill].

Now I jump ahead to the Buddha's own interpretation of what the salt means:

lan tsha ni sdig pa dang / myi dge' ba dang / de la rtog pa dang gsum po dag go zhes nga smra'o //

"I say to you, the salt means sin, non-virtues, and thoughts about them, all three."

Salt is a positive symbol in Christianity and Judaism. You even find salt along with oil used in significant ways in Roman Rite consecration ceremonies. Have you ever heard anyone called "salt of the earth"? That's a good thing. Salt preserves. Salt heals. Salt is good. Salt is something like life.

Salt is hardly ever positive, or at least unequivocally positive, in Buddhism. In general in Buddhist metaphors, salt doesn't preserve. It makes you more and more thirsty, and it corrodes things. Salt most often stands for desires, since fulfilling them is only temporary at best, and leads to addiction, just as drinking salt water only makes you want to drink more and more. It doesn't quench your thirst like you might have thought it would.

I found this in Access to Insight —

And what is salt water? Salt water stands for defilement. The defilements of the mind are saltier than salt. When we try to eat salt — even just a little — we can't swallow it because we find it so salty, but the defilements are even saltier than that. They can crust us over so that we spoil and rot in all sorts of ways. When this is the case, what can we do? We have to filter or distill them.

Try this page, also, where you'll find another Salt Sutra.

This is not positive. Notice that this Buddhist salt is said to be corrosive. I see the same in many of my Tibetan texts, including scriptures (I'd quote more of them, but the day is slipping away), and this leads me to think that at least some of the time they aren't intending ordinary table salt, or ordinary ocean salt,* but rather some kind of borax or, perhaps even more likely to fit the symbolism, caustic soda.

*(Ocean salt can be called rgyam-tshwa in Tibet, where it was often used for medicinal purposes, which was a very good idea, given that iodine could avert all danger of goiter, and most Tibetans were using rock salt from the Northern Plains, unfortunately. If you still haven't seen Die Saltzmänner von Tibet, it's about time you rented the video. It's really worth it.)

Are you with me this far? That's amazing! Thank you for being so patient. Just remember that a monkey paw when placed in caustic soda or lye would soon dissolve into nothingness. This knowledge will come in useful next time when we try to figure out what the turtle is doing with it in the first place. I should learn to say what I want to say right away instead of wasting time getting around to it. Good advice for any ordinary day. Today is just too hot, and on days like this, it's best to have a little extra salt. We'll talk again before too long. You can drop me a line meanwhile.

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Read and Read and Read and Read

Śāntideva's Śikṣāsamuccaya. For the English, I used Cecil Bendall & W.H.D. Rouse, Śikṣāsamuccaya: A Compendium of Buddhist Doctrine, Motilal Banarsidass (Delhi 1971), reprint of 1922 edition. For The Sanskrit, I used p. 45 of the P.L. Vaidya edition reproduced by Sridhar Tripathi at the Mithila Institute (Darbhanga 1999), but you can also do as I did and compare this with the Jens Braarvig's edition of Chapter Four here. For the Tibetan I made use of the version in the Gangs-can Rig-brgya'i Sgo-'byed Lde-mig series vol. 23, published by Mi-rigs Dpe-skrun-khang (Beijing 1995), just because I happened to have it at hand, not because I particularly recommend it.

Tibetan Buddhist Digital Altar, blog dated March 20, 2009 entitled Acid River. This blog provoked a rhetorically heated and here & there mildly interesting and informative discussion at E-sangha. You may have to register to see this thread, I'm not sure of it, though.

Helmut Tauscher, Catalogue of the Gondhla Proto-Kanjur, Arbeitskreis für Tibetische und Buddhistische Studien Universität Wien (Vienna 2008). This is by far the most fascinating Kanjur catalog ever made. I would never say such a thing lightly or in jest. If you can't see the beauty in it it's probably because you're not a Tibetologist yet. If you are a Tibetologist already, look here for more details. If not, don't.

There's a fairly nice discussion of worldwide salt symbolism here. Just ignore the Scientology video advertisements and whatnot.

I find it rather strange that Sakya Pandita, in the early 13th century, used ba-tshwa to refer to the saltiness of ocean water. He says (quoting Lozang Jamspal's fine translation, where ba-tshwa is translated as 'brine'):

When virtuous people associate with the wicked,

they become affected by vice.

When the sweet water of the Ganges reaches the oceans,

it turns into brine.

This is the illustration and text on ba-tshwa* from Jampal Dorjé's** materia medica work, which lists all-in-all 20 types of salts, 16 of them naturally occurring, including ba-tshwa, and 4 of them produced by special processes, or 'manufactured.' If I translate the first line of it, as best I can, you may get some idea what's going on in the illustration.

Ba-tshwa: It forms on old walls of houses. It's oily, soft, and has moisture. It has a biting taste on the tongue. It's the stuff ze-tsha*** is made from, but hot tasting. If you burn it in fire, like ze-tsha it does not boil.

It ends with a brief quote from the Crystal Globe, a famous materia medica work, about its medicinal effects. It looks like, as with other salts, one of the main usages is in urinary disorders, although I'm not sure exactly what it's saying here.

*You can see that what appears to be there is "ba cha na," but you have to learn to read through the missing ligatures and see what's actually there, which is "ba-tshwa ni."

**It isn't well known among Tibetologists yet, but this Jampal Dorjé is identical to the Mongolian prince known in other sources as Tho-yon Ye-shes-don-grub-bstan-pa'i-rgyal-mtshan (1792‑1855).

***Ze-tshwa in Pasang Yontan Arya's materia medica is identified as Nitrum. For the whole entry, look here. Please let me know if that link doesn't work for you.

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'Gro-lung-pa's famous Bstan-rim text, dating from around 1100 CE, has this very interesting passage that almost unbelievably places side-by-side metaphors of salt water drinking and of scratching what itches: lan tshwa'i chu 'thung ba dang g.yan pa 'phrug pa la sogs pa ltar sred pa je 'phel je 'phel du 'gyur ba 'ba' zhig go | des na nam zhig nyes pa 'di lta bu shes nas spangs pa de'i tshe ngoms pa mthar phyin par zad do | | byang chub sems dpa'i sde snod las | sngon 'das dus ni shin tu rgyas pa nas | | lha rdzas dag dang mi nor bzang po dang | | 'dod pa'i yon tan lnga dag bsten gyur kyang | | de la nam yang ngoms pa ma rnyed do | |

Just to translate the first sentence quickly:

Drinking salt water, scratching itches and the like, are nothing but ways to increase the 'thirst' (or addiction) more and more.

“I was a hidden treasure and I wanted to be known, so I created the world, that I may be discovered.”

— A well-known Hadith Qudsl (Divine Saying)

Itches & Scratches: Part Two

There is a widely shared attitude in many parts of the Buddhist world, and not only among Tibetan Buddhists, that monks should attend to their monastic business and lay people should generally not involve themselves in it, at least not very closely. Once I was visiting a major printer of Tibetan texts done by using the traditional woodblock printing method. I expressed an interest in the small pile of pecha leaves that was resting on his desk. It had a set of very fascinating woodcut pictures illustrating the monk rules of the Vinaya, rather like the examples you can see here, both above and below. The printery man took the pecha leaves out of my hands and put in their place a tract on the evils of tobacco,* as if to say, 'That is for monks. This is for you.'

(*There are many such "evils of" types of texts called by the genre term nyemig (nyes-dmigs). Most of them are revelations said to originate from the Tibetan imperial period, especially from Guru Rinpoché, or Padmasambhava. Of course tobacco was a New World product and its smoking was introduced into Tibet only somewhere near the end of the 17th century. Like Englishmen several decades earlier, Tibetans didn't smoke tobacco, they drank it. Still, we are lead to believe that Guru Rinpoché could have known the word for 'tobacco,' tha-mag, or tha-ma-ka, already in the 8th century. One reason we know smoking was rather common by the beginning of the 18th century is because officials took the trouble to ban it in the wider Lhasa area when the Sixth Dalai Lama made his first ceremonial entry into the city. The Buddha in the Vinaya permitted the inhalation of burning herbs for medicinal purposes, and in fact never forbade smoking. It's just a fact that some Buddhist countries do let their monks smoke, and Burmese monks may be seen enjoying their cigars in public, but I wager that you will never see Tibetan monks lighting up. Many do take tobacco in the form of snuff, however.)

I beg to differ with this idea of two separate domains. For one thing, lay people ought to learn more about monastic life just because they should want to know as much as possible about where their donations are going. They ought to be assured that they will get quality results from their investments. Of course the monks and nuns make up one of the 'three precious' (könchog sum) in which Buddhists 'take refuge' (chabsu chi). These three are, according to the Tibetan version as it is most commonly heard:

sangs-rgyas chos dang tshogs-kyi mchog-rnams-la //

byang-chub bar-du bdag ni skyabs-su mchi //

bdag-gis sbyin sogs bgyis-pa 'di-dag-gis //

'gro-la phan-phyir sangs-rgyas grub-par shog //

In the Buddha, the Dharma and the best of the Sangha

I go for refuge until my awakening.

Through these things I do such as offerings and so forth

may I achieve Buddhahood in order to help animate beings.

If you like, you can compare other translations.

"Taking refuge" can and does serve as a kind of declaration of faith in Buddhism, which is surely an important part of becoming and being a Buddhist, I'd say. Still, most Buddhist teachers insist that it's inadequate in and of itself. Most would add something about accepting the 'four seals' that mark ideas (and by implication, scriptures) as being Buddhist. This is called the 'four seals that tie views to the Buddha's Word' or, in Tibetan, lta-ba bkar btags-kyi phyag-rgya bzhi.

'dus-byas thams-cad mi-rtag-pa /

zag-bcas thams-cad sdug-bsngal-ba /

chos thams-cad bdag-med-pa /

mya-ngan-las 'das-pa zhi-ba'o //

All compounded things are impermanent.

All things accompanied by defilements are suffering.

All things are characterized by non-self.

Nirvana is peace (quiescence, cessation).

There is really nothing specifically Mahayana about this formulation. It's arguably universal to Buddhists. The first three are the triad of anicca, dukkha and anatta known to us from Pali-language Theravada sources. And number 4 reflects more the views of the Pali Nikayas on Enlightenment than it does specifically Mahayana ideas about Complete Enlightenment that can be placed in neither sangsara nor nirvana... But really, in this specific context in which we try to decide what or who counts as being Buddhist, we ought to be inclusive. Well, shouldn't we?

Buddhists, regardless of what else they may be thinking, would need to at least provisionally accept that these ideas of impermanence, suffering and nonself are headed in a promising direction. There is really no good reason to isolate these 'intellectual' criteria from the criteria of Refuge. They go together as part of the same developmental process.

Others, but not so many others, want to insist on some level of effort or success in following a Buddhist life. There are ethical requirements, of course, but also requirements about engaging in practices like meditation. Here some Tibetan Buddhists have argued that we might be in danger of setting the bar too high. If we demand ethical perfection in tandem with the most advanced meditative accomplishments, there will hardly be anyone left to include in the category of Buddhist. At some point, by pressing too hard on the practice requirements, we would have to lose the distinction between Buddhist and Buddha (as of course at some evidently very far-off point beyond the horizon, or over the rainbow, we are supposed to do just that, but there I go getting ahead of myself again).

As persons embarking on the Path to Buddhahood, faith in the vehicle[s] is required. But like all faiths, there is a tendency to be devotional and turn such things as the Three Precious into icons to worship, attending to them in a formal way without the deeper commitments being much involved. Of course when any religion is viewed from the outside, it's unlikely any deeper commitments will be immediately available for our inspection. We may see someone offering a plate of fruit in front of a Buddha image and leave the temple with the impression that's all there is to Buddhism. It's as if Buddha had once said, 'Feed my image,' and people instead of resisting the odd command unthinkingly comply, feeling satisfied that they've done their duty. Really, no reason for us to become superficial behavioralists (like the 'trivialists' or nyi-tshe-ba, those worshippers of the ephemeral day-moth [or are they philologists?] Buddhists themselves like to trivialize... You could also read the account of Buddhist merit making in the book by Alec Le Sueur mentioned in the last blog, for a good example of trivialization and what I like to call 'the false authority of being there,' not that I want to pick on him in particular since so many of us are guilty).

I really didn't want to go too far off into this Buddhist definition problem. For this I suggest the amazing new book by Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoché. What I really wanted to say is that, of the Three Precious in which Buddhists take refuge, the third one is "the best of the Sangha." Despite some new American Buddhists who insist on using it to mean every Tom, Jane and Harry who imagines they merit the title of 'Buddhists,' it is a fact that Sangha means the assemblies of monks and nuns. I don't think I should have to add that monks and nuns are Buddhists, and that they take refuge just like lay people do. And my argument is that Buddhists, both lay and monastic, ought to make an effort to recognize, through their qualities, who among the Sangha, the ordained Buddhists, would be worthy of forming an object of their refuge.

It's completely understandable when people agree to "respect the robe" even when the wearer might be everything but worthy. This seems to me quite common in Tibetan Buddhist communities. It could be another example of what I'm calling icon making, constructing an image of monastics built around ritualistic exchanges while paying little or no attention to who those monastics really are. And the big question: Are those monastics really engaging in learning practices, and practicing learnings, that will eventually lend help to humans and other sentient beings?

Anyway, I'm not an iconoclast. I think the use of images and imagery in religious practices is totally justifiable, or anyway, makes a great deal of sense. Perhaps someday you would like to hear my tough-minded arguments about this? And by talking about how nuns and monks lead their lives, I don't mean to imply any disrespect to the monastic vocation. Far from it. I just want to ask the question, Do monastics not itch? Do they need food? Baths? Exercise? Shelter? All these things occupied the Enlightened One's mind, if we are to believe the Vinaya texts, and even if that were the only reason for Buddhists to find it interesting it would be sufficient.

At first the Buddha just said, "Come forth," and people came forward and became monks — a little later nuns were also admitted — extracting themselves from worldly life. For rules, he said, "Do only good. Don't do any bad." Good advice for anyone. Try it on your children. And then on yourself. But the rules developed something like this: Say, the monks needed to get to the roof. The Buddha said it would be OK to build a stairway. They built stairs, but some monks fell off the side and hurt themselves. Then the Buddha said, It will be fine if you will add a railing. Every new elaboration of the rules was occasioned by a particular practical problem.

There was even a special group of six* particularly rowdy monks who serve, in the narrative at least, to provoke the Buddha to make new rules covering some of the more extreme possibilities for misbehavior. Read some Vinaya for yourself, and I think you will see what I mean.

(*They were called the 'Group of Six Bhikshus' (Dge-slong Drug Sde), which some like to call the Gang of Six Monks. Shayne Clarke has recently told the interesting stories about how they ate monkey meat. Some people did think, or might have (depending on the version) thought, they were cooking human flesh. This appearance of impropriety led the Buddha to forbid the eating of monkey meat by monastics. Were lay people forbidden to eat it? you may be wondering. No, I don't think so.)

I'm sorry, but I should have informed you right away that I didn't locate any pictures of back scratchers in those Vinaya illustrations (there are some nice sets in the Bechert & Gombrich picturebook, and in the brief article by Anonymous). But tell me, can you even guess what is going on in the frontispiece of today's blog? What is that monk doing? You see the monk standing there with left hand holding on to a cyllindrical looking thing that seems to be tied around what looks like a horizontal pole. Give up?

The Tibetan text reads:

spong-ba-pa'i 'chag-sa srid-du khru bco-brgyad-pa'i dpe-ste / mi 'thom-par bya-ba'i phyir phreng-thag de-lta-bu-la bskon-pa'i spu-gu'am de-la btags-pa'i tha-gu-la 'jus-te bcag-par bya'o // zhes dang / spong-ba-pa'i ni bco-brgyad-do // zhes-so //

And the text below the illustration, which is also relevant, although it turns out that it is mainly making reference to the lowest part of the illustration (perhaps you noticed the two dotted lines, one leading from the top of the illustration to the large chunk of text, the other slanting down to the following line of text):

rkang-pa gnyis-la rdul mi-'go-bar bya-ba'i phyir bar-thang gding-bar bya'o // zhes-pa'i dpe /

These pieces may be translated:

An illustration of the eighteen-cubit length of the 'treading spot' of the mendicant.* For the sake of making [the monk] free of mental fuzziness (or mental confusion). Grasping on to a tube fitted to such a rope as this one, or grasping onto a string attached to it (the tube), do the treading.**

(*'chag-sa, in Sanskrit, caṅkramaṇa, or caṅkama in Pali. See Upasaka, p. 85: "A walking terrace. The Buddha recommended it for strolling particularly for the sick monks. A ledge was also recommended to protect it from falling down. It might be covered by a roof." In my Tibetan sources, its use is recommended for overcoming sadness or depression, skyo-sangs. 'Mendicant' translate what ought to be bhaikṣuka in Sanskrit. I'm not sure but I think it is used here as just another epithet for 'monk.' The Sanskrit emphasizes living through begging food, while the Tibetan literally means 'renunciate, abandoner.'

**I realize I left off the last bit. I suggest it only makes sense as a part of the larger architecture of the text, so it shouldn't be missed too much. There are actually two quotations from the Mdo-rtsa [on that text see the end of this blog down below] here, and this is one of them.)

and

So that dust will not adhere to the two feet, one ought to spread out the bartang*** carpet. That's what is illustrated here.

(***This word bar-thang may be spelled several different ways, including par-tang, par-thang and bar-tang. The Sanskrit is ciliminikā or cilimilika. The Pali is cimilikā or cilimikā. To judge from the names, it was probably a woven mat made of a material that made odd cricket-like sounds when stepped on. [Have a look here.] Upasaka says it is "a kind of mat or spread used in order to protect the floor," which would seem the opposite to our text, where it protects the feet. He also says it can be made of rags. Since it is used in the 'treading place,' I'm tempted to say that what we have here is a treadmill. However, there is no indication that the cimilikā moved of its own accord. Perhaps this point will be clarified with further research.)

Later on in this text we see a very familiar scene that provokes a deja vu:

The Tibetan says, kha-bton-pa'i 'chag-sa ni khru bcu-gnyis-so // zhes-pa'i dpe /

This means, "The treading place for scriptural recitation is twelve cubits. This illustrates that."

Why is this one a full six cubits shorter and headed in the opposite direction? Let's see... OK. I have no idea. You figure it out. I fully realize that once again, I didn't make it to the important matter of the back scratcher. So I guess there ought to be a Part Three?

I'll keep you guessing.

Many of the illustrations of monastic requisites have to do with water, and I know that water is a subject that interests a few of you. We have water containers and pitchers, of course, but most importantly various devices used to purify water, or at least remove the larger impurities and living beings from it. Apparently there were four different types of sieves or filters recommended for use. The last I knew the Tibetan monks in Drepung in South India were using ultraviolet (UV) water purification systems. The Buddha might have approved, but then again, maybe not. I understand that these implements end the lives of an enormous number of microorganisms that would, if given a choice or a chance, prefer to survive.

I'll leave you to contemplate the meaning. Don't I always?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Read on and on!

Dalai Lama XIII Thubten Gyatso (1875-1933 CE). This is the source of some of the illustrations here. For a full bibliographical reference, look at this page in TBRC.

Dzongsar Jamyang Khyentse, What Makes You Not a Buddhist, Shambhala (Boston 2007).

Vinaya Texts, translated from the Pali by T.W. Rhys Davids & Hermann Oldenberg, ed. by F. Max Muller, Low Price Publications (Delhi 1995), reprint of 1882 "Sacred Books of the East" edition. Also available online. This searchable format is most fun and useful.

Anonymous, An Ordained Person's Possessions, Chö Yang [Dharamsala], issue no. 6 (1994), pp. 64-67. Includes drawings of robes, boots, sieves, water pitchers, staff, etc. Highly recommended. The exercise device is illustrated on p. 67, but no explanation at all is offered for it.

Heinz Bechert & Richard Gombrich, editors, The World of Buddhism, Thames & Hudson (London 1984). The interesting illustrations of monastic equipment may be found on pp. 40, 56-57. 82-83, 90. In order to avoid any possible copyright infringements, I had to find similar woodblock prints elsewhere, and this explains the poor quality of my photographs. There is, incidentally, a very rare photograph of colored disks used in Sri Lanka for kasina meditations on p. 118.

Shayne Clarke, Locating Humour in Indian Buddhist Monastic Law Codes: A Comparative Approach, Journal of Indian Philosophy. This is available at SpringerLink, as a so-called "Online First" publication, but only if you can find a way to connect through a subscribing institution. Sorry for that.

Lcang-lung Paṇḍi-ta Ngag-dbang-blo-bzang-bstan-pa'i-rgyal-mtshan (1770-1845 CE), Rgya Dkar Nag Rgya Ser Ka-smi-ra Bal Bod Hor-gyi Yi-ge dang Dpe-ris-rnams Grangs Mang-ba, a Peking blockpring in 30 folios. The illustrations of water containers and filters are from this one. The others are from the work by The Dalai Lama XIII.

Gregory Schopen, Buddhist Monks and Business Matters: Still More Papers on Monastic Buddhism in India, University of Hawai'i Press (Honolulu 2004). For a fun look at how a person like G.S. can rattle tempestuous teakettles in moderately Buddhist blogs, look to Homeless Tom. Does "iconoclastic" describe Prof. Schopen? You decide. Don't miss this scene when a Buddhist chaplain leaps up from the trenches to his defense at the Elephant.

Jonathan A. Silk, Managing Monks: Administrators and Administrative Roles in Indian Buddhist Monasteries, Oxford University Press (Oxford 2008). I'll let you know more about this when I've finished reading it. At the moment I have longer, even if not as interesting, books to read.

Kate Wheeler, Vinaya Vignettes, or, Why the Buddha Had to Make Some Rules, Tricycle: The Buddhist Review, vol. 3, no. 4 (Summer 1994), pp. 84-89. Tells some of the more titillating bits related to sexual activities and abstinence, and has some worthwhile observations on Vinaya as a whole: "The Vinaya is one of those ancient books of sacred law that just doesn't shy away from regulating, point by point, the entire range of human possibilities."

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All the monastic rule illustration texts (dpe-ris in Tibetan) were made to illustrate a text (with its many commentaries) Tibetans know in short as the Mdo-rtsa, in longer form the 'Dul-ba Mdo Rtsa-ba, which is to say, the Vinaya Sūtra by Guṇaprabha, a circa-5th-century CE disciple of Vasubandhu. It was translated in late Tibetan imperial times by Jinamitra and his Tibetan collaborator Cogro Lui Gyeltsan (Cog-ro Klu'i-rgyal-mtshan). So, it shouldn't be a huge shock to learn that the passage on the 'treading spot' is there, on folio 56 of the Derge version of this text (as transcribed by ACIP), as follows: mi 'thom-par bya-ba'i phyir phreng-thag lta-bu-la bskon-pa'i sbu-gu 'am de-la btags-pa'i tha-gu-la 'jus-te bcag-par bya'o | | mchil-lham-can gyis bcag-par mi bya'o | | rkang-pa gnyis-la rdul mi gos-par bya-ba'i phyir par-tang gding-bar bya'o | |

It has a small bit dropped from the quotation in our derivative text that says, "Do not do the treading with footgear on." Of course, in India, what footgear meant was sandals. I don't think sports shoes were invented yet. Or needed. You see a lot of footwear in the Vinaya illustrations.

One further detail can be known from Guṇaprabha's autocommentary on his Mdo-rtsa text. There we get a clarification on the tube. It says it can be made of hollow bamboo (smyu-gu'i sbubs).

Thanks to reader J.S. for an email that made me reconsider and fix some things in the translations. Thanks to S.C., too, for sending helpful comments.