Prisoners of Shangri-La

by Donald S Lopez, Jr

  Having learned that they have something called a “culture,” the leaders of the Tibetans in exile have selected one of the many elements that together are considered to constitute the changing composition of culture, namely, religion, and have universalized it into an eternal essence, compassion. And, since culture precedes nature, Tibetans in exile have subsequently also discovered that in Tibet they also had nature. Tibetan environmental awareness has appeared only recently; there are no references to it in exile publications prior to 1985, when the Dalai Lama sent a representative to the Global Forum of Spiritual and Parliamentary Leaders on Human Survival. Since then the depiction of Tibet as a society that was also environmentally enlightened has become a standard component of Tibetan independence literature, in which one finds statements such as, “For most of Asia, Tibet’s environment has always been of crucial importance. And so for centuries Tibet’s ecosystem was kept in balance and alive out of a common concern for all humanity.”43

  The Dalai Lama has said that what is most important about Tibetan culture is not the national cuisine or the mode of dress; these are superficial and transitory. What is enduring about Tibet is Buddhism. But there are myriad forms of Buddhist practice in Tibet, including, for example, the propitiation of Shugden. By Buddhism, however, the Dalai Lama means something else, foremost the practice of compassion, something not of Tibetan origin, but transmitted to Tibet by the great Indian masters of the Mahayana. It is this beatific Buddhism that he has offered to the West, hoping perhaps to get his country back as part of the exchange. It is unclear, however, why there must be a political entity called Tibet in order for this inheritance to be transferred. In universalizing his message in this way, has the Dalai Lama allowed Tibetan Buddhism, like Lamaism before it, to float free from its site in a process of spiritual globalization that knows no national boundaries? If Renan was correct that “A nation is a spiritual principle, the outcome of profound complications of history; it is a spiritual family not a group determined by the shape of the earth,” then Tibet is everywhere, and nowhere.44 In seeking the goal of Tibet as a modern nation-state, the Dalai Lama invokes the universal value of Tibet and Tibetan culture. The cause of Tibetan independence may thus be compromised by the traditional universalism of Buddhist discourse, with its appeal to all sentient beings of the ten directions in the three times (past, present, and future) projected onto the cultural market of global consumerism.45

  It could be argued, then, that the national culture (and nature) of Tibet was unified in the discursive sense only once the Dalai Lama had gone into exile in 1959. Introduced by Western supporters to the notion of culture, Tibetan refugees could look back at what Tibet had been. But this gaze, at least as it would be represented to the West, saw the Land of Snows only as it was reflected in the elaborately framed mirror of Western fantasies about Tibet. It was only through this mirror, this process of doubling, that a Tibetan nation could be represented as unified, complete, and coherent. It was as if a double of Tibet had long haunted the West, and the Tibetans, coming out of Tibet, were now confronted with this double. In this sense the Tibetans stepped into a world in which they were already present, and since their belated arrival—often encouraged by the devotees of Tibet, missionaries of a different stripe—they have merged seamfully into a double that had long been standing. (In a recent visit to London the Dalai Lama was taken to Madame Tussaud’s to inspect his wax image.) If to see one’s double is to see one’s fate, then what has occurred since 1959 has been a sometimes fitful accommodation of this double: as though mimicking a phantom, the Tibetans’ self-presentation, as in a science fiction film, sometimes merges with its evil twin and sometimes stands alone, while the observer is rarely able to tell them apart. As in the mirror scene in Duck Soup, it is only when one of the pair has turned away for an instant that the viewer knows that in fact there is no mirror between them, that they are two and not one; one is in disguise. In this sense, at a time when many young lay Tibetans growing up in India have begun to criticize Tibetan monks for not living up to the image of Tibetan Buddhism they have read about in English, the Shugden affair might be read as an attempt by the devotees of the deity to return to some sense of the ancestral and the regional, the orthodox and the local, to something uniquely Tibetan, which Westerners, despite the efforts of the English disciples of Shugden, cannot share.

  Still, the moments in which the images are separate seem increasingly rare and increasingly brief; the mirror movements are the norm. Just as the king of Shambhala would not allow the brahmans to leave utopia, just as the High Lama attempted to dissuade Conway from leaving Shangri-La, Wilde’s “lie” seems difficult to escape, as the mimesis of Tibetan and Western discourse about Tibet persists into the present, as the following sequence of quotations may suggest.

  In 1880 the master of the Great White Brotherhood, the Mahatma Koot Hoomi, described Tibet in a letter to A. P. Sinnett that materialized in Madame Blavatsky’s cabinet. It read, in part, “For centuries we have had in Thibet a moral, pure hearted, simple people, unblest with civilization, hence—untainted by its vices. For ages has been Thibet the last corner of the globe not so entirely corrupted as to preclude the mingling together of the two atmospheres—the physical and spiritual.”46 From here we can trace a process by which Tibet becomes increasingly symbolic, ethereal, and epiphenomenal, a surrogate society, even a sacrificial victim. In the preface to My Life in Tibet (1939) by Edwin J. Dingle (founder of the Science of Mentalphysics), Louis M. Grafe, in keeping with Hilton’s vision of Shangri-La described in Lost Horizon just a few years before, portrays Tibet as a preserve of ancient wisdom, a place where Orientals safeguard the wisdom of the white race: “Amid all these changes, was the great original wisdom saved? Yes—thanks to that land which was free of strife and war—Tibet, protected by Nature herself with barriers insurmountable to the greed and war lust of surrounding nations. Here, men of Mongolian extraction were to preserve for the Indo-European the original wisdom of his own white race, to be given back when he showed himself ready for it, or when, as now, the barriers of Nature seem no longer sufficient to protect the sanctuary.”47 Tibet is thus a service society for the white race, preserving a wisdom that originally belonged to it but in the meantime had been lost.

  In 1966 the esoteric wisdom of Asia was once again in fashion. But by this time China had overrun Tibet, and the wisdom, held in safekeeping for so long, was in danger of being lost forever. Lama Govinda portrays Tibet as symbolic both of the ancient wisdom that all humanity laments and of the salvific knowledge it longs for in the future:

  Tibet, due to its natural isolation and its inaccessibility (which was reinforced by the political conditions of the last centuries) has succeeded not only in keeping alive the traditions of the most distant past, the knowledge of the hidden forces of the human soul and highest achievements and esoteric teachings of Indian saints and sages.

  But in the storm of world-transforming events, which no nation on earth can escape and which will drag even Tibet out of its isolation, these spiritual achievements will be lost forever, unless they become an integral part of a future higher civilization of humanity. . . .48

  Why is it that the fate of Tibet has found such a deep echo in the world? There can be only one answer: Tibet has become the symbol of all that present-day humanity is longing for, either because it has been lost or not yet been realised or because it is in danger of disappearing from human sight: the stability of a tradition, which has its roots not only in a historical or cultural past, but within the innermost being of man, in whose depth this past is enshrined as an ever-present source of inspiration.49

  In 1991 these sentiments could be reiterated. By this time, however, the cause of Tibet had entered more fully into popular culture and the contrast between the old and the new Tibet could be more sharply drawn. To be preserved, Tibet’s wisdom must now be integrated into the world’s culture, for the inspiration it provides. Thus, perhaps the most famous of the Western adherents of
Tibetan Buddhism, Richard Gere, echoing Madame Blavatsky, Evans-Wentz, and voices from a century ago, describes Tibet as everything that the materialist West wants. Here Tibet operates as a constituent of a romanticism in which the Orient is not debased but exalted as a surrogate self endowed with all that the West wants. It is Tibet that will regenerate the West by showing us, prophetically, what we can be by showing us what it had been. It is Tibet that can save the West, cynical and materialist, from itself. Tibet is seen as the cure for an ever-dissolving Western civilization, restoring its spirit. An internal absence is thus perceived as existing outside, and if it be outside, let it be found in the most remote, the most inaccessible, the most mysterious part of the world: “Prior to the Chinese invasion of Tibet in 1950, the Tibetans were unusually peaceful and happy. Isolated for centuries from a chaotic world they deeply mistrusted, they developed a wondrous, unique civilization based wholly on the practice of Buddhism’s highest ideals. Theirs has been a revolutionary social experiment based on spiritual, psychological, and philosophical insights that provide us with models for achieving intimate and creative relationships with the vast and profound secrets of the human soul. Tibet’s importance for our own time, and for the future survival of Earth itself, is more critical than ever. Being our most vibrant link to the ancient wisdom traditions, Tibet, and the sanity she represents, must not be allowed to disappear.”50

  From here it is a rather small step to the view of Tibet as a surrogate state and the Tibetan people as sacrificial victims. Such a view was expressed in a mimeographed document I received in 1993 from something called World Service Network; the document was titled “The New Tibet—The Pure Land.” Here, in a bizarre amalgam of Christian, Theosophical, and New Age imagery, Tibet and the Tibetan people are portrayed as innocent sacrificial offerings immolated in the horror of the Chinese invasion and occupation so that Tibet might be purified and transformed into a New Age mission field, which, once converted, will serve as the headquarters of a global utopia. It reads, in part:

  The Spiritual (Tibet) has been defiled and temporarily overpowered by one of the heartless and self-centered elements (China) of the material world. The Spirit will only become Free and Liberated by transmuting the darkness, once and for all through a powerful alignment with and expression of the higher laws and principles.

  From an esoteric viewpoint, Tibet has passed through the burning ground of purification on a national level. What is the “burning ground?” When a developing entity, be it a person or a nation (the dynamic is the same), reaches a certain level of spiritual development, a time comes for the lower habits, old patterns, illusions and crystalized beliefs to be purified so as to better allow the spiritual energies of inner being to flow thru the instrument without distortion. The spiritualization of the entity has sufficiently strengthened it enough to endure this extremely stressful experience.

  After such a purification the entity is ready for the next level of expansion in service. The Tibetans were spiritually strong enough to endure this burning ground so as to pave the way for its destined part in building the new world. . . .

  It is time for the unveiling of Shangri-la—The Pure Land—the impending rebirth of the New Tibet. Where sister/brotherhood, compassion, respect for each other and all life forms, sharing and interdependence are the foundation stones of a Great New Society. . . .

  When Tibet has regained its full independence and is designated the world’s first Sacred Nation it will act as the Point of Synthesis, as the hub of the Wheel of Transformation for Universal Love, Wisdom and Goodwill. It is then that we will go there to initiate Tibet into becoming the integrating element which will start the process of serious and lasting global transformation to World Peace.51

  On September 21, 1987, the Dalai Lama presented a five-point peace plan to the Congressional Human Rights Caucus. He called for (1) the transformation of Tibet into a “zone of peace,” (2) a cessation of the Chinese policy of population transfer into Tibet, (3) respect for the human rights of the Tibetan people, (4) the restoration and protection of Tibet’s natural environment, including the removal of nuclear weapons and waste from Tibet, and (5) commencement of serious negotiations with the Chinese on the future status of Tibet.52 Receiving no positive response from the Chinese, he offered a new proposal before the European Parliament in Strasbourg on June 15, 1988, in which he moved away from his call for outright independence for Tibet, proposing instead that Tibet be “a self-governing democratic political entity . . . in association with the People’s Republic of China,” with China responsible for Tibet’s foreign policy. Again, this proposal elicited only a negative response from the Chinese, as it did from certain members of the Tibetan refugee community, who saw it as an abandonment of the cause of independence.53

  These two proposals can be read as the Dalai Lama’s concession to the political reality of China’s occupation and colonization of Tibet. Almost forty years after the Chinese invasion, there was no indication that China would renounce its claims on Tibet in the foreseeable future (the events in Tiananmen Square in 1989 provided a brief flicker of hope). By putting forward these two proposals, the Dalai Lama indicated his own flexibility to negotiate in order to improve the situation of the Tibetans in Tibet. It is difficult, however, for anyone, perhaps most of all the Dalai Lama, to speak about Tibet without a multitude of associations also coming into play. Thus his proposals of 1987 and 1988 can be seen as an abandonment of the goal of an autonomous Tibetan nation-state just as the idea of such a state had begun to take form in exile. At the same time, his turn away from the particularity of the nationstate to the ideal of a “zone of peace” is continuous with the Buddhist modernist universalism he espouses, with its strong emphasis on nonviolence as a fundamental component of Buddhism. He writes in My Tibet, “It is my dream that the entire Tibetan Plateau should be a free refuge where humanity and nature can live in peace and in harmonious balance. It would be a place where people from all over the world could come to seek the true meaning of peace within themselves, away from the tensions and pressures of much of the rest of the world. Tibet could indeed become a creative center for the promotion and development of peace. The Tibetan Plateau would be transformed into the world’s largest natural park or biosphere.”54 What seems inevitable, however, is the way in which his proposals appear to blend so seamlessly with the pre- and post-diaspora fantasies of Tibet as a place unlike any other on the globe, a zone of peace, free of the weapons that harm humans and the environment, where the practice of compassion is preserved for the good of humanity and all sentient beings. The Dalai Lama presents his position succinctly in the foreword to Pierre-Antoine Donnet’s Tibet: Survival in Question:

  Tibetan civilisation has a long and rich history. The pervasive influence of Buddhism and the rigours of life amid the wide open spaces of an unspoilt environment resulted in a society dedicated to peace and harmony. We enjoyed freedom and contentment. Since the Chinese invasion in 1950, however, the Tibetan people as a whole have endured untold suffering and abuse. Tibetan religion and culture has been attacked, its artefacts destroyed and its proponents condemned.

  Tibet’s religious culture, its medical knowledge, peaceful outlook and respectful attitude to the environment contain a wealth of experience that can be of widespread benefit to others. It has lately become clear that no amount of technological development on its own leads to lasting happiness. What people need is that sense of inner peace and hope that many have remarked among Tibetans, even in the face of adversity. The source of this lies mostly in the Buddhist teachings of love, kindness, tolerance and especially the theory that all things are relative.

  Our cultural traditions form a precious part of the world’s common heritage. Humanity would be poorer if they were to be lost.55

  It would seem, then, that the Dalai Lama’s teaching of universal compassion and of the relative unimportance of national distinction are ultimately antithetical to the case for an autonomous Tibetan state. They are compatibl
e, instead, when Tibet is made a surrogate state, a fantasy for the spiritualist desires of non-Tibetans, desires that have remained remarkably consistent during the past century, as evidenced by the string of quotations from Master Koot Hoomi to Richard Gere.

  From another perspective, however, the Dalai Lama’s teachings have played a most traditional role. Since Tibet’s submission to the Mongols in the thirteenth century, Tibetans have often perceived the relationship between Tibet and China as that of “patron and priest” (yon mchod): the leading lama of Tibet (in subsequent centuries, generally the Dalai Lama or Panchen Lama) was seen as the religious advisor and chief priest to the emperor, who acted as the patron and protector of the lama and, by extension, of Tibet. It was a relationship of exchange. The lama provided rituals and instructions that would protect the emperor and his empire in this and future lives. In return, the emperor provided the lama and his state with material support and military protection.56 Since the fall of the Qing dynasty in 1911, the patron-priest relation with China has effectively ceased, with the Chinese now arrogating the role of the selection of the priest (as in the case of the Panchen Lama controversy of 1995 and 1996) to themselves.