The Six Degrees of Laughter

Take the comedian and the scholar; of the two the fool that makes people laugh comes out on top.  The comedian takes home the money, while the scholar goes away broke and empty.  

bzhad gad mkhan dang mkhas pa gnyis ||

blun po bzhad gad byed pa mchog ||

bzhad gad mkhan gyis nor rnyed kyis ||

mkhas la nor med stong par ʾgro || 159 ||

— Nāgārjuna, Prajñādaṇḍa.

Sometimes I read in the tub. I avoid reading holy scriptures or any kind of Tibetan book for that matter, because it would seem sacrilegious somehow. Under such self-imposed strictures, I content myself with printouts of journal articles on subjects that are supposed to be entertaining more than informational. Just now I read a piece by a Norwegian professor in religious studies named Ingvild Sælid Gilhus with the title “Religion, Laughter and the Ludicrous.” 

I’m not sure I learned anything all that new about why humor happens (we brought this subject up before), just the modest and usual idea that it arises out of the unmanageable clash of systems, strange juxtapositions, or incongruity in general. Something doesn’t fit, and however we try just can’t be made to fit, leaving our usual ways of responding in a treadmill that's well on its way to nowhere, leaving us nothing better to do than laugh at the predicament we've fallen into. First comes a sense of release as we give ourselves over to the laughter followed by a kind of relief. All this depends a lot on timing, opportunity and context. If unwelcome truths are too unwelcome within the situation they get told in, the attempted humor falls flat and the buffoon is booted out of the room without benefit of ceremony. I’m not a professional, of course, but I have had this experience. Some people find humor in failed humor, as we know, although it comes with a large helping of scorn. It isn’t nice to laugh at the misfortunes of others, but you must confess, we aren’t always nice, and we bellow out a big one when what we really ought to be feeling is the pathos.

I’m not sure about the general point of the article, that there is something in the laughter response that is analogous to mystical experience. I’ll admit that the idea did make me smile, perhaps just because I didn’t know what to do with it. Would I be condemning this fine article if I regarded the conclusion as absurd? I rather think not. One thing did surprise me, and that is that Buddhism was mentioned at all in what is a general piece on laughter as a broadly human phenomenon. Do we not all feel pain and oppression alike? Ditto with the ludicrous. Usually, in the world at large, Buddhism is regarded as the least humor-prone of all religions, with a laser-like focus on the discomfort and pain. This of course is funny because in practice Buddhists are observed to indulge in laughter to an inordinate degree. And unlike other web-based theorists, I haven’t noticed huge sectarian differences in this particular area. I mean among the Buddhists. It sometimes seems to me it’s the Christians that don’t know how to enjoy a good belly laugh. Or wait, maybe I’m really only talking about the hardcore Calvinists.

Even if so much is so good, I’ll admit there is nothing inherently or remotely funny about the Buddhist penchant for making lists of things, one after the other. The three this and the five that. You know what I mean. But since the professor mentioned them I was thinking already in the bath how I ought to look a little further into the (purportedly) Buddhist list of the six kinds and degrees of laughter, and perhaps compare it with the listing of the types and degrees of earthquakes. You think it’s a joke attempt? Oh well, come on, listology is a thing. Get used to it.

For the numeric lists we have a genre known in Tibetan as རྣམ་གྲངས་ or enumerations. The longest compilation of these has appeared in print only a few years ago in three very thick volumes. That’s kind of funny, isn’t it?  It’s also funny that I looked in vain through them for the six types of laughter. Not a hint of them in the section of sixes, not even a whisper. Somewhere along the way this bit of non-Buddhist Indian literary theory has gotten applied, by somebody, to Buddhism as if it would help make sense of Buddhist laughter, and it’s not even there to be found in the mother of all lists of lists.

What I do find in the section of eights is the eight laughs of heroes. I believe that this, too, is a literary idea about the kinds of laughs to be used by the heroic figure in a dramatic context, although its proximate source is likely to be found in Indian tantric treatises. I guess it amounts to eight because there are four pairs of laughs that always come in pairs:

The threatening laugh: ha ha. 

The joyous laugh: hi hi.

The flirtatious laugh: he he.

The overpowering laugh: ho ho. 

GAD MO BRGYAD — dpa' bo'i gad mo brgyad ni / ha ha bsdigs pa'i gad mo / hi hi dgyes pa'i gad mo / he he sgeg pa'i gad mo / ho ho zil gyis gnon pa'i gad mo rnams so.  This is from my small dictionary of enumerations, the 1992 2nd printing (in 183 pages) of the text listed here, at p. 108.

The 3-volume dictionary of enumerations has an entry for the ten circumstances when Bodhisattvas enjoy a good laugh. It's in the section of tens as you may expect, page 2059. 

I wasn’t going to go into it, but Indian dramatic theory (yes, India has made a science of acting/dancing since forever) has identified 9 types of emotional moods or dramatic experiences that can be conveyed to an audience by the skilled stage actor/dancer, with good advice on how this may best be done. Since one of the nine is hāsya (བཞད་གད་), or the comedic mood, someone came up with six sub-types of it. The set of nine is fairly well known in Tibet, although I haven’t yet found that the six sub-types of the comedic mood have gotten attention from Tibetans. I’m skeptical it is even there to find.

In practical terms, for readers of classical Tibetan it is most important to distinguish ordinary laughter, that is called གད་མོ་, from the wilder more hilarious laughter called དགོད་པ་ or བཞད་མོ་.* It could just be me, but I like to imagine the etymologies of all but one of these Tibetan words reflect degrees of openness. 

Let me explain:  First we have the smile, which is not (yet) a laugh and does not involve opening the lips at all, otherwise it would be more like a grimace or something. The syllable གད་ implies a gap between the lips, as it is related to verbal roots འགད་ and འགས་, with meanings of cracking or splitting open. དགོད་པ་ doesn’t fit in my theory since it connects with words for wild and untamed, but བཞད་མོ་ is used for fully open blossoms and not just a hearty laugh, so it fits perfectly.  When we meet with the compound བཞད་གད་ it can be understood to cover the entire field from chuckling to hilarity, and for this reason forms the main part of the classical word for comedian, which is བཞད་གད་མཁན་ (used to translate Sanskrit vidūṣaka, the stage clown or fool in Indian theatrics). Laughter begins its life as a bud that can start to open and then might fully flower. More truth than metaphor, or just truth in metaphor, if you ask me. To go through all the stages of laughter is to blossom as a human being. 

(*True, there are still more ways of expressing degrees of laughter. One kind of laughter I have often encountered in the literature is khrel-gad, with many spelling variants. It specifies the ridiculing type of laugh meant to shame or scorn the other person. Not every laugh is nice or worthwhile.)

In case I may have given a contrary impression, I’m not at all saying that Tibetan specialists in Tibetan kāvya (སྙན་དངགས་) literature knew nothing of the six Indic degrees of laughter, just that they were the only ones likely to know about them, so its applicability to Tibetan (or any other) Buddhist society as a whole can hardly be assumed. It would be analogous to the strange fact that some of our contemporary feminists want to critique Tibetan culture on the basis of Indic kāvya epithets for women (as found in the abhidhāna or མངོན་བརྗོད་ literature, known only to kāvya specialists), as if these could tell us anything of significance about Tibetan society’s gender issues. The whole point of kāvya is to bring the alien world of India to life in Tibet. It creates an exotic poetic universe that was never entirely naturalized and was never meant to be. 

For an example of a discussion of humor as a kāvya category by Dondrub Gyal, regarded by many as the tragic founder figure for modernist Tibetan poetry, look here. He has some interesting ideas about degrees of hilarity that ought to be studied more carefully than I am prepared to do right now. And finally, if you are the kind of person who peeks at the last sentence to get straight to the conclusion, I’ve got news for you. There isn’t any except the one you come to yourself. Now you can just go back and read the parts you skipped.

• § • § • § •

More funny stuff to read if you feel like it

June Campbell, Traveller in Space: In Search of Female Identity in Tibetan Buddhism, Athlone (London 1996), pp. 31-32. 

Much cited ever since its publication, this long paragraph dealing with “synonyms for woman” is drawn from the classic dictionary of Sarat Chandra Das. However, what the author misses is that this list is ultimately drawn from an Indian text, the Amarakoṣa by Amarasiṃha, its “Manuṣya” section, verse 2 and following. This list may tell us something about Indian characterizations of some or all women. If these terms were used at all in Tibetan language, they were used for women in dramatic or elite-literary contexts, not as everyday actors in human affairs. 

Shayne Clarke, “Locating Humour in Buddhist Monastic Law Codes: A Comparative Approach,” Journal of Indian Philosophy, vol. 37, no. 4 (2009), pp. 311-330.

Michel Clasquin, “Real Buddhas Don’t Laugh: Attitudes towards Humour and Laughter in Ancient India and China,” Social Identities, vol. 7, no. 1 (2001), pp. 97-116.

Eugen Cuirtin, The Buddha's Earthquakes - I, Studia Asiatica: International Journal for Asian Studies, vol. 10 (2009), pp. 59-127, at p. 73 ff., found at www.ceeol.com. 

For researchers limited to their native English, this is the only study I can recommend for the six types and degrees of earthquakes. Those who read Tibetan can for one thing go to the Enumerations, where they will find this:  [1] high in the east and low in the west, [2] high in the west and low in the east, [3] high in the south and low in the north, [4] high in the north and low in the south, [5] high at the edges and low in the center, and [6] high at the center and low at the edges. 

sa rnam pa drug tu g.yo ba ni / shar mtho na nub dma' / nub mtho na shar dma' / lho mtho na byang dma' / byang mtho na lho dma' / mtha' mtho na dbus dma' / dbus mtho na mtha' dma' ba'o.

Cuirtin also supplies (on p. 76) the Gómez and Silk translation of a passage from the King of Samādhis Sūtra:  

“this world system, which contains three thousand times many thousands of worlds, in six ways shook, shook much and shook entirely. It trembled, trembled much and trembled entirely. It swayed, swayed much and swayed entirely. It moved, moved much and moved entirely. It rattled, rattled much and rattled entirely. It rumbled, rumbled much and rumbled entirely. In the east it sank down, in the west it heaved up. In the west it sank down, in the east it heaved up. In the north it sank down, in the south it heaved up. In the south it sank down, in the north it heaved up. From the ends it sank down, from the middle it heaved up. From the middle it sank down, from the ends it heaved up.”

Michael Dunne, “Calvinist Humor and the American Puritans: The Just Hand of God,” contained in: Michael Dunne, ed., Calvinist Humor in American Literature, Louisiana State University Press (2007).  I haven’t read this yet, but it does have a remarkably unlikely title, perhaps even a funny one.

M. Fassihi, “Why Such a Big Deal? — The Didactic Function of Humor in Tibetan Buddhism.” A pdf exists at stanford.edu website, just that I haven’t gotten access, have you? It once existed at a link given at this YouTube video, but not any more. Funny how things disappear.

Peter Fingesten, “The Smile of the Buddha,” Oriental Art, vol. 14 (Autumn 1968), pp. 176-183.

Ruth Gamble, “Laughing Vajra: The Outcast Clown, Satirical Guru and Smiling Buddha in Milarepa’s Songs,” contained in: David Templeman, ed., New Views of Tibetan Culture, Monash University Press  (Caulfield 2010), pp. 137-166.

Ingrid Saelid Gilhus, “Religion, Laughter and the Ludicrous,” Religion, vol. 21 (1991), pp. 257-277.

Soraj Hongladarom, “Language, Reality, Emptiness, Laughs,” Journal of Buddhist Ethics, vol. 25 (2018).  Seriously worth reading. Look here.

Keith N. Jefferds, “Vidūṣaka versus Fool: A Functional Analysis,” Journal of South Asian Literature, vol. 16, no. 1 (Winter 1981), pp. 61-73.

Patricia Schiaffini-Vedani, “Realism, Humor, and Social Commitment: An Interview with Phuntshog Tashi,” World Literature Today, vol. 78, no. 2 (May 2004), pp. 67-69.  This has interesting observations on the differences between Tibetan and Chinese senses of humor. 

Comedy performances have been increasing in the 21st century in both exile and ‘autonomous’ communities for some reason that ought to be pondered and pontificated upon more than it is. There are a lot of examples of Tibetan standup on YouTube, although the ‘autonomous’ won’t be able to see them without a working VPN.

Gregory Schopen, “The Learned Monk as a Comic Figure: On Reading a Buddhist Vinaya as Indian Literature,” Journal of Indian Philosophy, vol. 35 (2007), pp. 201-226.

Lee Siegel, Laughing Matters: Comic Tradition in India, University of Chicago Press (Chicago 1987). 

Along with much else, this has many mentions of Buddhism-related humor, mostly satires in connection with monks. For our purposes most recommended is his discussion of the six types of laughter on p. 46 ff. You may be able to get to the passage through Googlebooks.

Sunthar, Abhinavagupta's Conception of Humor: Its Resonances in Sanskrit Drama, Poetry, Hindu Mythology and Spiritual Praxis, PhD dissertation, Benares Hindu University (1983).  This dissertation has all or mostly been posted on the internet here.

If you’d like some interesting things to read scattered here and there around the internet, look here and there. Take special note of this 2007 conference on humor in Buddhism.

"Don't Laugh at Me ('cause I'm a Fool)"

This blog is dedicated to Ilana, 

a friend who will be much missed,
and not just for her good humor.

“I don’t think people who feel comfortable or happy 

are motivated to become comedians. 

You’re searching for something and 

you’re willing to pay a high price to get that attention.”

Jackie Mason, Comedian, 1987

Dreaming Giant Thangkas, Part One

Dreaming Giant Thangkas

On the History and Meanings of a Tibetan Religious Practice

I suppose everywhere in the world we may find people greatly impressed by things that are higher and taller.  We tend to entertain each other with trivia questions like ‘What is the highest mountain? The highest skyscraper? The tallest person?’  As we know there are also people suffering from monument phobia. Instead of being awe-struck, they feel oppressed and threatened when faced with the very same tallness. I will neither engage in ‘heightism’ nor try to avoid it. This is not, and I repeat not, among the points I want to make today. What is relevant here is not so much height as that more abstract and impressionistic concept of monumentality that might go along with it.

What is size after all? I apologize that I might be a bit confusing in terms of measurements, since I will be using some English, some metrical and some Tibetan indications of height and width. Tibet in the past did not always make use of standardized measurements, and certainly never to the level of exactitude we’ve gotten accustomed to in the 21st century. Other times, other places, other standards.*

(*Well, Tibetan history writers do credit two different Emperors with weight standardizations, one in around the mid-6th century, and the other in the early 9th, but that doesn’t mean that grain volume measurements, for example, didn’t vary from place to place well into the 20th century. As we will see, in Tibetan art, the body of the artist or sponsor may supply the units of measurement. For a collection of materials about Tibetan measurements, see this page at Tiblical.)

I will also not say all that much about art-historical or iconographic details. Instead, I want to consider matters of more general cultural and religious significance from a historical perspective. So forgive me if I don’t go into great depths about materials, artistic techniques, aesthetics and the like; things you may expect in a study that is after all about art.

So let’s delve a little into the history of Buddhist monumentality, identifying some of its main — Dare I use the word? — monuments. Giant Buddhas have been very much in the news not so long ago because of the destruction in 2001 of the Bamiyan Buddhas, one  38 and the other 55 [53?] meters high. The best studies seem to suggest they were made more-or-less in the middle of the sixth century. These two were probably the best known South Asian examples.

Todaiji's Giant Buddha
courtesy of Wiki Commons

Modern-day travelers in East Asia have surely seen some of the more famous monumental Buddhas. We might mention the Vairocana image known as Daibutsu, or ‘Giant Buddha’ in Todaiji Temple in Japan consecrated by the South Indian Bodhisena in 752 CE. 

By Ken Marshall from Absecon, New Jersey, USA 
Courtesy of Wikipedia Commons

In China, carved out of the rock of cliffs and caves are quite a number of giant Buddhas from the fifth century onward. Among them is one that has been called the largest Buddha in the world — the rock image of Maitreya at Leshan. It took almost the whole of the eighth century to carve it out of the cliff and it still stands at 71 meters high. 

Less well known and less than half as tall is the no longer surviving wooden image of Maitreya at Darel in Central Asia. It was seen by Chinese travelers in around 400 CE and should have been between 80 and 100 feet high.  

The Maitreya of Mulbek Kartse
(see the comment of Rob Linrothe below)

There is a still surviving stone relief image of Maitreya, nine meters high, at Mulbek in Ladakh that has been dated to the 8th or 9th century.

And nowadays at the holy sites of Buddhism in India and Nepal, there seems to be a competition between the Buddhist nations of the world to build taller and taller Buddhas. We’ll leave this issue aside for now.

If we consider Buddha images made of every possible material, it is rather remarkable that, while we do find huge Buddhas all over the Buddhist world, until very recent times there seem to have been hardly any in the birthplace of Buddhism, in the central parts of India or indeed the whole of the area of modern India. This deserves a little closer attention. Of course today the situation is quite different, but what evidence is there from earlier times? Let’s have a look:

In one of the caves at Kānherī there are two images carved out of the stone, each measuring a little over seven meters in height. These are probably the tallest surviving Buddha images in all of India (Miyaji, “Idea”).

However, in 1975 at the Buddhist monastic university of Nālandā archaeologists excavating one of the many ruined temples discovered two giant stucco feet from a standing Buddha image. Judging from the fact that each foot is about one meter in length, the entire image must have stood at six or seven meters in height. In the same temple a stone inscription was found. To quote a sentence from this inscription,

“This huge image of the Buddha was sculpted by Pūrṇavarman, whose fame rested not only on the earth but was even written on the moon.”

The image was sponsored by a king of Mathurā named Prathamaśiva and the inscription itself was composed by that king's minister. On the basis of the inscription, Gouriswor Bhattacharya concludes that the inscription and the statue to which it ought to belong must date to around 587 CE. But bear in mind that the relationship between the stone inscription and the stucco feet is far from clear even though they were found in the same temple.

To add perplexity to the picture, we also have the following testimony of the Chinese pilgrim Xuanzang who visited Nālandā in 637 CE. To give the old Samuel Beal translation: 

Next, to the eastward 200 paces or so, outside the walls, is a figure of Buddha standing upright and made of copper.  Its height is about 80 feet.  A pavilion of six stages is required to cover it.  It was formerly made by Pūrṇavarma-rāja.

Here Pūrṇavarman, the name of the sculptor in the stone inscription, might appear to be a king (rāja) who had the statue made. It is copper, not stucco (the inscription doesn’t mention any material), and it is much much higher than just seven meters. It is easy to imagine that it would have taken a building six stories tall to enclose an 80-foot statue, and it surely seems that Xuanzang must have known what he was talking about, since such a tall building and image would surely have captured his attention during his stay in Nālandā. It is not just hearsay. Perhaps we could be justified in taking Xuanzang's testimony in isolation, and say that there was an 80-foot copper standing statue of Buddha existing in Bihar in the early 7th century. Or, we could just say there is evidence, even if not all that clear or abundant evidence, that sixth-seventh century Nālanda had giant Buddhas made of stucco, stone and copper.

For our purposes the pertinent facts are:  Giant Buddhas are but little known in India proper in pre-modern times. Those that once existed have left few traces behind. They were constructed from the fifth century until today in other Buddhist countries. While a number of these icons are of Vairocana, many of them represent the future Buddha Maitreya. It has been suggested that Maitreya is represented as being very tall simply because in the future era in which he will be born all humans will be much taller. According to one source people in those days will be about ten feet tall, while Maitreya will be twice that height, or 20 feet tall.* As we proceed, I feel sure that Tibetan monumental Maitreyas, whether statues, paintings or giant fabric thangkas, will be seen to fit into a larger trend of the Buddhist world.

(*Miyaji, “Idea,” p. 288; Chandra, “Colossi,” p. 32)

So, with Maitreya in mind, we can engage our main topic.

Here is one of the most amazing pieces illustrated in Pratapaditya Pal, Art from the Himalayas and China (Asian Art at the Norton Simon Museum, Volume 2), Yale University Press in association with The Norton Simon Art Foundation (New Haven and London 2003).

This pieced-silk thangka has the overall measurements of 177 (or 14"8') by 268 inches (or 22"4'), or if you prefer 449.6 by 680.7 centimeters.[1] It has the future Buddha Maitreya as its central figure,[2] with images of Tsongkhapa in five different forms — based on visions beheld by his student Khedrubjé — arrayed in the upper parts, as you can see in the following detail.

Closeup of the upper portion, showing the five forms of Tsongkhapa

For comparison, another representation of Tsongkhapa’s five forms

To Maitreya’s right is the Eighth Dalai Lama Himself, and to His left, the Dalai Lama’s Tutor Yeshé Gyaltsen.[3] The protectors of the four directions appear at the bottom, two on each side of an inscription. As the inscription makes clear, and as the catalogue correctly states, this image was made in 1793-4 as one of several memorials for the Tutor, who died in 1793. The inscription is quite competently translated by Ratö Khyongla Rinpoche in an appendix (p. 263), but I would like to attempt a fresh one. 

The inscribed area of the thangka, I apologize for the unclear photo;
the Wylie and Tibetan-script transcriptions are followed by an English translation

om svasti /

dga' ldan lha brgya'i gtsug rgyan mi pham mgon //rgyal ba byams pa mgon po'i snang brgyan dang //'jam mgon bla ma blo bzang grags pa'i sku //gang de'i bzlos gar gzigs pa lnga dang ni //rje btsun bla ma ye shes rgyal mtshan zhabs //spyan ras gzigs mgon 'jam dpal rgya mtsho dang //chos skyong rgyal po chen po bzhi la sogs //mtshan dpe'i dpal 'bar rgyal ba'i snang brnyan mchog //bzang gos dbang po'i gzhu ltar rab bkra ba'i //bkod mdzes rgyal ba'i sku mchog bzhengs pa'i dges //rgyal bstan snying po 'jam mgon ring lugs mchog //nam mkha'i mtha' khyab srid mthar rgyas gyur cig //
khyad par bdag gi yongs 'dzin bla ma mchog //bka' drin sum ldan ye shes mtshan ldan gyi //dgongs pa rdzogs shing slar yang zhing mchog 'dir //rgyal bstan snying po'i mgon du myur bzhengs shog //
yangs pa'i rgyal khams spyi dang gangs ljongs 'dir //mi 'dod rgud pa'i ming yang mi grag cing //chos 'byor dge bcu'i khrims la rtag gnas sogs //bkra shis bde legs chen pos khyab gyur cig //

With the virtue from erecting this supreme icon of the Victor, finely arranged, multi-colored like the Bow of Indra [the rainbow],

of fine silk, with a superior reflected image of the Victor blazing with the glory of the “marks” [of Buddha’s body] —

including images of the head ornament of the hundred gods of Tuṣita,

the undefeatable lord [Ajitanātha] Victor Maitreyanātha, 

the Gentle Lord Guru [Tsongkhapa] Lozang Dragpa

in His dramatically posed forms of the Five Visions,[4]

the Reverend Guru Yeshe Gyaltsen,  

The Tutor Yeshe Gyaltsen

the Lord Avalokiteśvara Jampel Gyatso and

the Four Great Kings, Dharma protectors.

May the supreme tradition of the Gentle Lord [Tsongkhapa], the essence of the Victor’s teachings

increase to fill the horizons of the sky until the end of existence.

In particular may the intentions of my Tutor, the supreme guru

possessing three kindnesses[5] by the name of Full Knowledge (Ye-shes) be fulfilled

and may He quickly arise as lord of the essence of the victor's teachings in this supreme Buddhafield [of Tibet].

In all the kingdoms of the wide [earth] and, in particular,

here in this Snow Land may the word “want” not be heard;

may the wealth of Dharma, the ethics of the ten virtues, remain forever;

and may comfort, goodness and auspiciousness pervade all.

We’ll come back to the content of the inscription later on, but first let’s look at some other examples and try to make some general observations.

One of the giant thangkas of Gyantse depicting Maitreya

The display tower viewed from below in Gyantse.

These photos date to 1938. They were published in Life Magazine of June 12, 1939. They were taken by F. Bailey Vanderhoef who collected artworks now kept in Santa Barbara Museum of Art. Supposed to date to 1438, it shows a form of Maitreya with pitcher above His right shoulder. We’ll soon say more about the Gyantsé thangkas. (See also Henss, “Silken Images,” as well as Henss, “Liberation.”  On Vanderhoef, see this PDF of an essay by José Cabezón.)

In Tibet the unrolling of a giant silk thangka was, in a literal sense of the word, a spectacular event. A large number of people would be required to carry it in procession to the high place for its unrolling. This was ordinarily done only on an annual holiday, with colorful processions, loud but sombre sacred music, and prayers led by the monastic community. This performance bridged the divide between official and popular religion. While the most important hierarchs were involved in their construction, consecrations and unfurling ceremonies, thousands of laypeople could be present as spectators and participate in various more or less active ways. The mere sight of such a thangka was said to be enlightening, to at least provide a foretaste of what Complete Enlightenment might be. The most common term for this experience, a term often employed in the very name of such an icon, is liberation by sight, although other senses might be mentioned, too, especially hearing and touch. 

If we can use the contemporary language of media studies and Byzantinology, it engages the sensorium, and it does it with a Buddhist sense of purpose.[6]

To continue, click here...

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Notes

[1] On monumental Buddha images, see particularly the survey by Huntington, “Great Buddhas.” See also Pal, “Monumental,” an article that mainly discusses how the thangka gradually made its way from Sikkim to its present location in the Norton Simon Museum, a subject not covered in the catalog entry.

[2] As is well known, the future Buddha Maitreya is very frequently depicted in a seated position with both feet resting down below (usually described in the literature as ‘the European seating posture’). This seated Maitreya is depicted in another thangka in our book, plate 138, where the accompanying description gives this posture its Sanskrit names. However, in the brocade thangka He is depicted with legs fully crossed in the Vajra Āsana. This way of visualizing Maitreya is similarly described in a guruyoga text by the Tutor of Tshe-mchog-gling, found under the general title Rje-btsun Byams-mgon-la Brten-pa'i Bla-ma'i Rnal-'byor sogs Bla-ma'i Rnal-'byor 'Ga'-zhig, contained in Tshe-mchog-gling, Works, vol. 17, pp. 341-389, with the relevant section on pp. 342-347. On p. 343, Maitreya is described as smiling, wearing monastic robes, the two hands at His heart forming the gesture of turning the wheel of Dharma, and the feet in the Vajra posture. As usual in guruyoga texts, the visualization process emphasizes the complete identity of the spiritual teacher with the divine focus of spiritual aspirations (the yi-dam). It surely would help to explain the significance of the thangka as a whole, if it could be shown that the Tutor’s own disciples were practicing this particular kind of guruyoga, fusing the identity of their teacher with Maitreya. The presence of the stūpa on top of Maitreya’s head is justified in a Tanjur text (*Nairitipa, Ajitanāthasādhana), and there is a brief study on this very subject in Bhattacharya, “Stūpa.” For general treatments of Maitreya and His iconography, see Sponberg and Hardacre, Maitreya, and Chandra, “Maitreya.”

[3] The best available English-language biographies are in Mullin, Fourteen, pp. 332-333, and Willis, Enlightened, pp. 125-130. He received the advanced monastic educational degree of Dka'-chen at Tashilhunpo Monastery, and this explains why his name is sometimes prefaced with this title. He became the Eighth Dalai Lama’s tutor in 1782. As examples of his writings in translation, see Guenther and Kawamura, Mind, Mullin, “Tse-Chok-Ling’s,” and Willis, Enlightened. He was not the most prolific writer in Tibetan history, but still it is worthy of note that his works have been republished in no less than twenty-five volumes.

[4] These are the five forms of Tsongkhapa as He appeared in visions, after His death, to His disciple Khedrupjé.  These are mentioned and described briefly in Thurman, Life and Teachings, pp. 32-33.  Sarat Chandra Das long ago wrote an article on this very subject; see Das, “Five Visions.” See also Tucci, Tibetan Painted Scrolls, pp. 399-400, along with the painting illustrated in plates 73 and 74. The most detailed study I know of, accompanied by five thangka reproductions, is found in Yon-tan-rgya-mtsho’s history, vol. 1, pp. 186-193, including the stories of the visions, and details of the iconography.  A thang-ka depicting only one of the five visions has been published in Rhie and Thurman, Worlds, p. 356 (color illustration no. 127). An entire set of five thangkas belonging to the Potala has been illustrated in Bod-kyi Thang-ka, illus. nos. 69-73.  A thangka with the tiger-riding Mahāsiddha form of Tsongkhapa in the center, with the other four forms of Tsongkhapa in smaller size, and the 84 Mahāsiddhas in still smaller size surrounding it has been illustrated in Se-ra Theg-chen-gling, p. 77. This last-mentioned thangka is evidently based on a woodblock print (par).

I located in Khag-cig Mtshan-byang, p. 287:  Phur-lcog Blo-bzang-tshul-khrims-byams-pa'i (=Byams-pa-rgya-mtsho, 1825-1901) Gsung-'bum, the following [cycle] title:  Rje Rin-po-che dang Rje Gzigs-pa Lnga-ldan-la Brten-pa'i Bla-ma'i Rnal-'byor-gyi Skor.

Klong-rdol Bla-ma lists a title said to be located at the end of volume KHA of Mkhas-grub-rje’s works:  Mkhas-grub-rje's own biography ('autobiography'?), Five Visions, composed by his disciple Gtsang-mda'-ba Chos-ldan-rab-'byor (Mkhas-grub-pa rang-gi rnam-thar Gzigs-pa Lnga-ldan | | Mkhas-grub-pa'i slob-ma Gtsang-mda'-ba Chos-ldan-rab-'byor-gyis mdzad-pa).  This would seem to be the original text on the Five Visions, but so far I have not been able to learn of its present existence, unless it is the same as the available Secret Biography (Gsang-ba'i Rnam-thar).

[5] This term three kindnesses may have both sūtra and tantra applications, but here it would seem that both were intended. In sūtra contexts, the three kindnesses are:  1. Teaching the Dharma.  2. Empowering the mind and perceptions with blessings.  3. Providing for the material welfare of the audience.   In tantra contexts, the three kindnesses are:  1. Conferring initiations.  2. Explaining the tantras.  3. Granting secret precepts.

[6] For a sustained discussion of liberation through seeing and related concepts, see Tokarska-Bakir, “Naive.” For works about the giant thangka of Paro, Bhutan, and the religious festival surrounding it, see Huntington, “Notes”; Stratton, “Paro”; and Fontein, “Notes.” Françoise Pommaret, “A Cultural Epiphany: Religious Dances of Bhutan and Their Costumes,” Marg, vol. 66, no. 4 (June 2015), pp. 30-39, has magnificent photographs of the Paro Tsechu giant thangka. Fontein estimates the size of the Paro thang-ka, which has the 'Second Buddha' Padmasambhava as its main subject, at about 50 by 50 feet. Fontein also attempts a history of giant fabric Buddha representations, most interesting being his discussion of the Korean kwaebul, “Hanging Buddhas,” which were made between 1622 and 1982 CE. But these kwaebul were mostly paintings on silk, and only rarely pieced together from silk. The word appliqué is very often used in connection with brocade icons, but since no backing cloth is required for their construction — the backing cloth might be added only after completion for purposes entirely protective in nature — the term is not always entirely appropriate (I admit to using such terms as appliqué rather loosely). On textile thangkas more generally, see especially Henss, “Woven” and Reynolds, “Luxury Textiles.” Primarily recommended for its approach to the conservation of brocade thangkas is Loh, “Decision.”

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Apologies and acknowledgements:

I hesitate to get started with acknowledgements and apologies. I am afraid it will take too long. So, to be brief — and start with the main apology:

I apologize for talking about things I still do not know enough about. This is not a report about success, but rather an account of a continuing quest. Along the way I would like to make a modest point about the importance of Tibetan literature for knowing about Tibetan art.

I should first of all thank Amy Heller and Paul Nietupski for most, but not all, of the illustrations I’ve used. Tibeto-logic is an entirely independent and noncommercial educational enterprise, and all illustrations are placed here for educational purposes only. I would like to thank Pratapaditya Pal, the famous expert on Himalayan art, for laying down the basis for much of what I have to say about the Pasadena thangka. It is far from my intention to criticize his work which deserves only admiration and praise, but I think I have a few things of substance that can embellish the picture historically speaking.

Some of the Tibetan sources were found by myself the old fashioned way, by reading through lengthy Tibetan texts, but many of them would not have been located without hints and references from earlier works by David Jackson, Valrae Reynolds, Dungkar Rinpoche, Dagyab Rinpoche, Yukio Tanaka and others. Finding materials in the Fifth Dalai Lama’s huge biographies would not have been possible without the help of digitized texts done at the Lumbini International Research Institute in Nepal by Christoph Cüppers and Tsering Lama. Thanks to a workshop by Yuko Tanaka back in 2014, I was even able to try my hand at the stitching. I know it looks nice, so I must hurry to confess, the only line I did myself, and even then with a great deal of effort and struggle, was the one at the top of the flower on the right-hand side, the line you can hardly see. It took me over an hour. All the rest was done by Yuko. Well, trying to do it at least gave me a real appreciation of what those amazing Tibetan artists could accomplish.

Need bibliography?  The key to the shortened bibliographical references will appear at the end of Part Three.