Chapter 37 - The State Oracle of Nāchung

The mystery of death was the greatest challenge to the human mind and the birth of religion. It was through death that man became conscious of life. A great biologist (Lecomte de Noüy) once said that 'the greatest invention of Nature is death'. In other words: even from a biological point of view, death is not a negation of life, but one of the means to add a new dimension to life and thus to raise it to a higher level.

Unbroken physical continuity is a characteristic property of the lowest organisms, the most primitive and undeveloped forms of life, because physical continuity fetters the organism to the rigid laws of matter and the dictates of once-established patterns, whose inherent repetitiveness prevents any deviation from the norm and thus becomes the greatest stumbling block in the way of development and further evolution.

Death, on the other hand, is the characteristic feature of the higher forms of existence, which achieve the survival of acquired properties and experiences through a new form of propagation, that relies no more on division, but on integration, no more on a merely physical, but on a psychic, continuity capable of building a new organism according to its own individual impetus—unhampered by the rigid accumulations of obsolete or worn-out material form-elements.

Similar to the transition from a purely physical to a predominantly psychic survival and continuity is the next step, which so far has only been achieved by the most highly developed individuals: it is the step from the unconscious to the conscious (and finally to the consciously directed) survival through the art of spiritual projection (powa).

However, before man could visualise the possibility of this step, he had already realised the importance of death as a key to the mysteries of a greater life. Out of this realisation grew the cult of the dead, the earliest form of religion. It stimulated man to build the first enduring monuments of architecture (in contrast to the frail and transitory dwellings for the living); monuments that were not the outcome of necessity and want of momentary needs or temporal utility, but of a will towards eternity, a spiritual urge that pointed towards a reality beyond temporal existence.

Thus the origin of religion was not the fear of death, but the recognition of death as the great transformer and initiator into the true nature of man's innermost being. The fear of death could only originate at a time when human consciousness had hardened into an extreme form of individualism, based on the illusion of being a permanent entity, a self-existing soul or ego that separates one being from the other, and living beings from dead things: thus drawing a line between life and death, a line that finally becomes a boundary, an impenetrable wall, towards which life rushes headlong -- only to be annihilated in the impact.

But at a time when human beings had not yet lost the connection with their origins and their surroundings, in a world in which man was still in touch with the subtle forces of nature, the spirits of the departed, the realms of gods and demons, in short: in a world in which there was nothing that could be conceived as lifeless, death was not the contradiction to life, but a phase in the movement of life's pendulum, a turning-point, like birth. The pendulum swings from birth to death and back from death to birth.

The movement of life's pendulum, however, is not confined to one plane only; it can swing on an infinite number of planes, move in all dimensions of consciousness, according to its inherent momentum or according to the conscious impetus that it may receive in that infinitesimally small fraction of timelessness at its turning-point, that is, between death and rebirth, or between one realm of existence and another. It is this timeless 'moment', in which those who have learnt to look inwards, who have practised introspection and developed their inner vision through Sādhanā and Dhyāna, will be able to perceive the realms of existence open or adequate to them, and to direct their mind consciously towards the plane that offers the greatest chances for the realisation of their highest aspirations, as explained in the Bardo Thödol.

These various realms to which we normally have access only at the turning-point of our life, i.e. at the moment of death, can be contacted also by inducing artificially a state of catalepsy or suspended animation, in which man goes temporarily through the process of death, relinquishing the dominion over his body and the consciousness of his own individuality. This is a state of trance, which can be created either by autohypnosis or by certain yogic practices or through powerful rituals, in which inner and outer stimuli combine to release super-individual forces, normally dormant in the deeper layers of the human psyche and not accessible to the intellect.

These rituals, which were known to the magicians, shamans, and 'sorcerers' of old, i.e. people who had power over the human mind and the key to its hidden forces, were retained even after the advent of Buddhism in Tibet, though modified sufficiently to fit into the general frame of Buddhist ideas and traditions. Padmasambhava, himself a great master of this secret science, made wise use of it and thus fought the Bön shamans, who tried to prevent the spread of Buddhism in Tibet with their own weapons. At the same time, he respected the local deities and incorporated them into the Buddhist system as 'Protectors of the Sacred Law' -- just as Buddha Śākyamuni had done with the Hindu deities of his time.

These Protectors (Skt.: dharmapāla, Tib. ckos-skyong) were invoked in a special temple at Samyé, Tibet's oldest monastery, which had been built by Padmasambhava. In this temple, the high priest or Chöjé (chos-rjé) was said to be possessed by the ancient gods or guardian spirits of Tibet whenever the elaborate liturgical service in their honour was performed. On these occasions the Chöjé fell into a trance, during which the gods spoke through him and answered the questions that were submitted to them during the ritual. Thus the oracle of Samyé was established.

Strangely enough, the Gelugpas -- who were the farthest removed from the tradition of the ancient Nyingmapas and who are generally supposed to have reduced the elements of magic ritual, which had been taken over from pre-Buddhist times -- not only took over the oracle-tradition from Samyé, but raised it to the level of a state institution. This happened under the great fifth Dalai Lama, when the Gelugpas were at the peak of their power. It was at this time that the Nāchung (gNas-chung) Oracle was attached to the famous monastery of Drepung (hbras-spungs) and recognised as the State Oracle of Tibet. It was regarded as the highest authority and its advice was sought whenever there was a difficulty in finding the reincarnation or Tulku (sprulsku) of a high Lama (as in the case of the Dalai Lama and of Tomo Géshé Rimpoché), or whenever a political decision of great importance was to be made. Even the Dalai Lamas were guided by the pronouncements of the Great Oracle, whose predictions proved to be of astonishing accuracy.

The institution of oracles, however, did not remain confined to Nāchung. Many of the more important Gelugpa monasteries had their own oracles, whose high priests occupied an important place in the religious hierarchy. But all of them had to be confirmed by the State Oracle, after having gone through a strict training and a gruelling test. Special temples were devoted to their rituals, and everything that was connected with them was of such magnificence that they could vie with the most beautiful shrines of Tibet. Like the main temple of Lhasa (the so-called 'Jokhang') and the chapel of the Dalai Lamas on top of the Potala, the sanctuary of Nāchung is covered with a golden roof. The name Nāchung (gNas-chung) literally means 'Small Place', and its origin is explained in a popular story. A mighty magician, who lived in the upper reaches of the Kyi-chu (sKyid-chu) -- the river that flows past Lhasa -- forced a powerful spirit into a small box, which he threw into the river. When the box floated past the monastery of Drepung, one of its monks, who happened to be in the valley below the monastery, saw the box, and wondering what it might contain, he pulled it out of the river and opened it. At that moment the spirit escaped from his

'narrow confinement' (gNas-chung) with a terrifying noise, and assuming the form of a dove, flew towards a small grove and took his abode in it. In order to propitiate the spirit and to prevent him from doing harm, a sanctuary was built on the spot where the dove had alighted, and since that time the officiating Lama of that temple became possessed by the spirit, whenever the latter was invoked.

However, the fact that the Nāchung Oracle is possessed not only by one but by six deities or Protectors (chos-skyong) clearly indicates that it has its origin in the ancient oracle of Samyé. The above-mentioned legend was probably meant to hide this fact at a time when the power of the Gelugpas was replacing the influence of the older schools. The well-meant reforms, the systematisation of tradition and the centralisation of spiritual and temporal power, could not succeed without the sanction and inclusion of older traditions, whose knowledge and ability to deal with psychic or superhuman powers had won them the confidence and the support of the people.

This must have been the motive that caused the fifth Dalai Lama to reestablish the oracles in their former importance and to give them an honoured position within the Gelugpa Order, by equipping these sanctuaries in the most magnificent way. As if to placate the dark and untamed powers of a primordial world, the place and every object connected with the secret ritual had to be of the purest and most precious materials and in strict accordance with the rules of an age-old magic symbolism. All ritual implements were of gold or silver, adorned with precious stones, the walls were covered with frescoes, painted with gold on a black background, and a band of māntric inscriptions in raised golden letters in the sacred mystic script of the tenth or eleventh century (lantsa) encircled the sanctuary in which the divine or demoniacal forces were to manifest themselves. The golden throne of the oracle, on a raised platform between red-lacquered pillars, was beautifully carved and richly decorated with gems, like coral, onyx, turquoise, garnet, amethyst, agate, etc. Life-size images of the six Spirit-Kings, fierce, awe-inspiring, daemonical figures, wielding various weapons, guarded the sanctuary. Replicas of these weapons were placed before the oraclepriest during his trance, and the weapon seized by him indicated which of the six tutelary spirits or 'Protectors of the Sacred Law' had taken possession of his body, transforming him into the living image of the invoked deity, who now spoke through his mouth.

Nobody, who has not witnessed this transformation, can imagine the weird, almost frightening effect of it; because what happens here seems to contradict all laws of reason: a man changing before your very eyes into another being, taking on a different personality, physically and mentally. His features completely change, and his head as well as his body seem to grow in size -- the latter developing a super-human strength, equal to that of half a dozen men. If ever there has been the materialisation of a 'spirit' in broad daylight -- here it is. It is the materialisation of forces which -- much as our intellect tries to deny or explain them away -- can be seen and felt by all who are present during these rites. The whole atmosphere of the sanctuary seems to be changed with an irresistible power, which communicates itself even to the most detached observer.

Whatever may be the explanation of these phenomena, one thing is sure: here is no deception, no mere make-believe (which, indeed, would go beyond human endurance), but a psychic reality, a last survival of a tradition that reaches back into the dawn of humanity Tibet is (or was) probably the last country in which the knowledge of these primeval psychic forces had not only been preserved, but in which the dangers inherent in them had been mastered and directed into safe channels, due to the wisdom and the tactful guidance of Buddhist saints and sages. Though the origin of these traditions and rituals has nothing to do with Buddhism, Buddhists could not afford to disregard them, as long as they played a vital role in the spiritual life of the people. However unpalatable certain aspects of reality may be, they have to be faced as facts and met at their own level. Problems cannot be solved by disapproval but only by facing them.