In Tibet, Tulkus, or incarnate lamas, occupy a fascinating position of political and religious power. The author explores their lives, giving a comprehensive background on the selection process, the lives of these leaders, and their religious roles. She pays special attention to the current relation of the Tulkus to the Chinese government and to the role of Tulkus outside Tibet.

Pamela Logan holds a Ph.D. in aeronautics from Stanford University.  In 1990 she left that career to become a self-taught Tibetologist. Subsequently, she wrote Among Warriors and Tibetan Rescue, two books about the then little-known eastern Tibetan plateau.  She is the founder and president of the Kham Aid Foundation, which has operated charitable programs in eastern Tibet since 1997.

As the film Kundun opens, the audience sees an ordinary farming family living in a mud-brick cottage in Tibet's northern reaches in 1935. An unexpected caller arrives, a great lama from Lhasa, the faraway Tibetan capital. The lama and his companions are looking for the family's three year old son, Lhamo Dhondup. The visitors present the unsuspecting boy with a number of objects used by a recently-deceased friend of theirs – a walking stick, a bowl, a ritual bell – and ask the child to distinguish them from similar objects. The boy correctly identifies his own possessions, things he used during his previous cycle of existence. The visitors send an urgent, joyful message to Lhasa, saying that they believe little Lhamo Dhondup is the 14th Dalai Lama, Tibet's supreme leader.

This story is remarkable, and viewers of the film should be forgiven for thinking that this practice is unique to selecting the Dalai Lama. The truth is that the process of succession by incarnation was and is played out all over Tibet, dozens of times a year. The practice serves a fundamental need – the need for continuity in leadership. In most societies, this need is served by ordinary inheritance – the king passes his throne down to his son, and so on. It was the norm for a great leader to die without progeny. His bereft subjects were left with no obvious means to choose a successor – until someone realized that the lost leader must, according to Tibetan belief, be reincarnated in some new soul, a child born a year or two after the leader's death.

The system of succession by reincarnation originated in the 12th century AD, a time when Tibetan Buddhism's Karma Kagyu School was patronized by the powerful Mongol empire. The school also had the good fortune to have a series of three leaders of exceptional ability. By the reign of the third leader, people began whispering that these men were all successive reincarnations of the same person. From there, it was only a short leap to imagine that a man of extraordinary spiritual powers – someone like the Karmapa, as the leader of the sect is called – would be able to predict his future rebirth. The 4th Karmapa was declared to be the reincarnation of the Third, and Tibet's first incarnate. There would be many more to come.

Such special persons are called tulku in Tibetan. The literal meaning is “apparent body,” i.e. a physical manifestation of the body of the Buddha. (The Tibetan spelling is sprul sku, but in this article I will write it as it is pronounced.) The best English equivalent is “incarnate lama,” although the misleading name “living Buddha” is also used, and unfortunately seems to be ineradicable.

Each tulku is thought to be the human manifestation of a Buddhist deity, or, sometimes, a particularly great and holy teacher. For reasons that I will come to, tulkus tend to proliferate, and there are at least a thousand in contemporary Tibet. They have long, ornate designations, which are for convenience shortened to a proper name of 2-4 syllables, followed by the title Rinpoche, meaning “precious teacher.” In common English usage, the names are often preceded by honorific terms such as “The Venerable,” or “His Eminence,” or even “The Very Venerable.” The Dalai Lama is properly referred to as “His Holiness the Dalai Lama.” There are a few female tulkus, but it is an overwhelmingly male institution. 1

When an old tulku dies, a committee of senior lamas convenes to find the young reincarnation. The group may employ a number of methods in their search. First, they will probably look for a letter left behind by the departed tulku indicating where he intends to be born again. They will ask the close friends of the departed to recall everything he said during his last days, in case he may have given hints. Often, an oracle is consulted. Sometimes a prominent lama has a dream that reveals details of the child's house, parents, or of geographical features near his home. Sometimes heaven presents a sign, perhaps a rainbow, leading the search party to the child.

The search can go on for years, or it may end quickly. Sometimes, war or some other calamity may delay the search until many years after the predecessor's death. There are no hard-and-fast rules. The process, which can be very political, goes bumpily along, in fits and starts, along a circuitous path, until the new tulku is found.

In modern Tibet, the Chinese government often influences the identification process only indirectly, by requiring that monastic leaders – and thus the search committees that they appoint – do not overtly oppose the State. 2   Such behind-the-scenes fiddling does not seem to arouse much controversy. 3   A retired official from the U.S. State Department who visited Reting Rinpoche told me: “He has a good family background, and my impression was that the government clearly approves of him. Yet Tibetans didn't seem to mind – they were coming in and getting blessed.” 4  

In the case of the 14th Dalai Lama, there were a number of candidates, but only the boy Lhamo Dhondup excelled in all the tests. The precious child was ransomed from the Muslim warlord who ruled that particular district, then packed up with parents and siblings into an immense caravan that traveled for three months over high mountains to reach Lhasa.

Once in the capital city, the boy was officially renamed Jetsun Jamphel Ngawang Lobsang Yeshe Tenzing Gyatso – Holy Lord, Gentle Glory, Compassionate, Defender of the Faith, Ocean of Wisdom. He was declared to be the earthly manifestation of Avalokitesvara, Lord of Compassion, the supreme deity in all of Tibetan Buddhism's vast pantheon.

A regent would run affairs of state for some years. Nevertheless, the boy immediately began to prepare for the destiny that awaited him when he came of age: rule of a vast land some 1.2 million square kilometers in area, inhabited by some two million people. He was four years old.

Reared to Rule

By most measures of personal and professional success, the 14th Dalai Lama has turned out rather well. Is it luck? For most societies, accustomed to selecting leaders by merit, committing supreme power to an unproven child would seem terribly risky for society. How do you know what kind of person the child will grow up to be?

If the selection of a tulku appears random, the rearing of an important tulku is not left to chance. He is brought up inside a monastery, under the direction of a head tutor and a number of other teachers or servants. He must study hard and adhere to a strict regimen. He has few if any toys or playmates, and is rarely allowed outside. Early on, he learns to receive important visitors, take part in complicated rituals, and give blessings to followers and pilgrims. Sometimes one or both parents are allowed to live near the young tulku. Older brothers are sometimes inducted into the monastery as monk-companions for the holy child. Yet his elderly tutors are the most influential people in his life, and they become his de facto parents.

There is much for a tulku to learn. Michael Harris Goodman describes the curriculum that was begun by the Dalai Lama at the age of six. He was confronted with the staggering task of mastering all 108 massive volumes of the kangyur , the Tibetan Buddhist bible containing the teachings of Lord Buddha, and the 225 similarly voluminous tomes of commentaries on these teachings known as the Tengyur . For purposes of study and learning these were subdivided into branches known as the Five Great Treatises: Prajnaparamita the Perfection of Wisdom; Madhyamika, the Middle Path, which urges avoidance of extremes; Vinaya , the Canon of Monastic Discipline; Abhidharma, Metaphysics; and Pramana, Logic and Dialectic. Tantric texts were studied separately in the Gelugpa 5  system of monastic education, and only after a pupil was thoroughly conversant with the Five Treatises. 6  

Countering the bleak academic regimen is an atmosphere of overwhelming, unconditional love. During the tulku's every waking moment, monks, family members, and awed, adoring visitors, shower the youth with love.

If you visit a child tulku, you will probably notice that his quarters are pervaded by a wonderful glow. Everyone beams at the tulku. The tulku beams back. 7 If he asks for something, he is given it immediately, and if he errs, he is corrected just as immediately. Western visitors to the young 14th Dalai Lama commented on “the extraordinary steadiness of his gaze.” 8 Even when quite young, the boys have remarkable poise; they sit calmly without fidgeting, even through ceremonies that may last all day.

Whatever faith you have in the process, it yields remarkable results.

In most cases, a tulku will, as soon as he is old enough, take the vows of monkhood. But he is not required to. In fact, nothing at all is required of a tulku. He will still be a tulku whether or not he wears robes, stays in the monastery, or keeps vows. Even if he repudiates his incarnate identity, to ordinary Tibetans he is still a tulku, and his odd behavior merely a part of heaven's grand, mysterious design, not in any way an affront to their faith. They may scratch their heads wondering why the tulku has chosen to play such a joke on them. But their devotion is not undermined.

For this reason, tulkus can get away with misbehavior that would be unacceptable in, say, a Catholic priest. For instance, the Sixth Dalai Lama, Tsangyang Gyatso, born in 1683, preferred archery and socializing to study and prayer. He refused ordination and gave back his novice vows. Sneaking out of the Potala Palace at night, he drank to excess, and pursued secret assignations with women in the city, both high- and low-born. At the time, his tutors agonized about how to control their wayward future leader, who died at age 23 under mysterious circumstances. Now, three centuries later, Tibetans celebrate the Sixth Dalai Lama's memory, especially the love songs that he wrote.

Naughty tulkus are more abundant than ever in the contemporary Tibetan Buddhist world, which has expanded by diaspora to encompass countries all over the globe. Perhaps the most controversial of all is Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche (1939-1987). He fled Tibet at age 20, settling first in Britain, then America, and finally Canada. Despite his tulku upbringing, he could not hold himself to a proper monkish life. He was a notorious seducer of pretty female students. He drank heavily, and alcohol contributed substantially to his death at age 47.

Yet, despite his flaws, Trungpa Rinpoche has been called by one western Buddhist organization the “pre-eminent communicator of Dharma of the 20th century,” 9   for he had a remarkable gift for using vernacular English to make abstruse philosophy understandable to the public. He and his legions of students founded Naropa University in Boulder, Colorado, and set up more than one hundred meditation centers around the world. Many of his books, like Meditation in Action , are considered classics. Even today, debate still rages about whether the man's moral shortcomings cast a shadow on his work.

Treasure-revealing bodhisattva Chungdrag Dorje Rinpoche, also known as Steven Seagal, is arguably the most notorious tulku. Seagal is an action film star who is not only known for portraying violent characters in movies like Marked for Death , Hard to Kill , and On Deadly Ground , but whose name has been linked to Mafiosi in the real, off-screen world. 10   He became involved in Eastern religion through his study of martial arts and acupuncture, and sought instruction in Tibetan Buddhism from Penor Rinpoche, a prominent tulku who heads the Nyingma school.

Penor Rinpoche's identification of Seagal as a tulku aroused a storm of controversy, yet he stands by his protégé, saying, “Any life condition can be used to serve beings and thus, from this point of view, it is possible to be both a popular movie star and a tulku.” 11

Luckily, most tulkus have sterling reputations. The 14th Dalai Lama is one of the few moral beacons of our modern world. That is fortunate, for as we shall see, a tulku has considerable clout.

The Power of a Tulku

In Tibet there have never been written laws to determine exactly which tulku rules which monastery. Tradition decides these questions, and lays out a general – but not inflexible – hierarchy among tulkus. In addition to a set of traditional powers, a young tulku inherits a labrang, or estate, consisting of property, servants, and treasure. He can squander these resources, or he can use them well, accumulating even more wealth and power to bequeath to his successor.

To see how a tulku's fortune can rise and fall through successive incarnations, we need look no further than the line of the Dalai Lama. The first two were important lamas within the young Geluk School but wielded no political power outside it. The third, Sonam Gyatso (1543-1588), was clever enough to win backing by the powerful Mongols. It was the Mongols who created the title Dalai Lama , which means “Ocean of Wisdom,” in order to honor their favorite Tibetan son. (His predecessors received this designation posthumously.)

As a result of this close relationship, it was expedient for the Fourth Dalai Lama to be born a Mongol, but this incarnation was relatively ineffective and died young. The Fifth Dalai Lama, Lozang Gyatso (1617-1682), on the other hand, was one of the most pivotal figures in Tibetan history. He led the Geluk School to dominance, by winning patronage from both the Mongols and the Chinese Emperor, and by constructing the Potala Palace, a huge, splendid, and unmistakable symbol of authority. With these bold and astute moves, he established the tradition that the Dalai Lama would henceforth wield supreme power in Tibet.

The Dalai Lama's authority as head of state was echoed all over the Tibetan plateau where other tulkus ruled their own roosts, great and small. In “Old Tibet” (i.e. before the Communists arrived in 1949), most power in society rested within the numerous and huge monasteries where tulkus lived. There were also lay officials within the Tibetan government, and a lay aristocracy, but their power was not as great. A tulku brought up in a monastery might become the de facto local chieftain and concern himself with the affairs of the common people; he might become abbot and administer the monastery's religious activities; he might be a scholar who spends the greater part of his time on teaching and penning commentaries; or, he might be a man of limited mental faculties who appears on ceremonial occasions to recite scriptures by rote. There was no constitution and virtually no law to define a tulku's job. The role was his to write.

The transformation of Old Tibet into an integral part of Communist China has meant big changes for tulkus. Yet paradoxically, it has led to greater, not less, power for some. The Karma Kagyu sect, for example, has played second fiddle to the Geluk Sect since the time of the Fifth Dalai Lama. In Old Tibet, the Karma Kagyu held perhaps five hundred monasteries, which maintained loose ties to one another. Economically, these monasteries derived their sustenance from offerings given by local people. These ordinary supporters were subsistence farmers and herdsmen, who tithed grain, meat, butter, animals, and land. A portion of their offerings would have been distributed to the tulkus according to their rank. The highest ranked tulku in the sect is the Karmapa, and he would have had some degree of influence over much of these assets, in addition to his own labrang, or estate. It was a comfortable existence, but it had limitations, too.

Contrast this to the modern situation. While within Tibet itself, the Karma Kagyu are still a distant second place, the school has been remarkably successful in propagating overseas. The Karmapa's followers are said to number five million globally, and some have claimed his assets to be worth over $1.2 billion. 12   This staggering sum is disputed by many, and I have been unable to discover how it was calculated. Nevertheless, the aggregate wealth of the centers owned by various charities and used for Karma Kagyu worship around the world is astonishing. They operate meditation centers in 34 countries on six continents, including dozens in America, Europe, and Asia. Most of these are simply associations, but some are actual properties, a number of them located on prime real estate in the cities of London, Hamburg, Dublin, Barcelona, Essex, New York, Chicago, San Francisco, and Hong Kong. They also operate dozens of centers in India.

But the material wealth of a tulku is nothing compared to the power he commands by virtue of the love and loyalty of his followers. In Tibet, tulkus are major celebrities. If a tulku walks down the street of his home town, it is normal to see dozens – or hundreds – of ordinary Tibetans approach him, hands pressed together in reverence, to pay their respects. In return, the people receive a blessing: a touch on the top of the head, or maybe just a fleeting hand clasp through a rolled-down car window. When the Karmapa was resident at Tsurphu Monastery near Lhasa, hundreds of visitors – and not all of them Tibetan – lined up every day for the privilege of a one-second “audience” in which they were allowed to file past him and be blessed by a touch of an orange tassel suspended at the end of a wand.

Even lesser tulkus enjoy deep devotion from ordinary Tibetans. Pewar Rinpoche is a minor Sakya sect tulku who keeps a modest labrang in Derge, a small town in eastern Tibet. 13   He spends a good deal of time traveling, but when word reaches Derge that he is coming home, people line the streets, as many as 24 hours in advance. When he is in residence, a constant stream of callers come seeking blessings or advice. They bow low as they enter the room, tears in their eyes, and approach Pewar Rinpoche in the manner of supplicants approaching a king. Each caller, no matter how poor, contributes a tattered bill to the pile on the table beside Pewar Rinpoche's great throne-like chair. Although his house – like most in the town – still lacks a flush toilet, he is not short of cash, food, or gifts.

Outside Tibet, students of Buddhism are far more affluent, and expressions of their love are correspondingly multiplied. When the Dalai Lama comes to Los Angeles, he stays in the Presidential Suite at the Huntington Ritz-Carlton Hotel, which normally rents for $3000 a day. If you do a Google search on the term “rinpoche” you will find hundreds of websites created by students to pay homage to beloved teachers. If a tulku wants to build a meditation center, or a stupa, or visit a community in a faraway place, he can make a few phone calls to his wealthier students, and that usually does the job.

Failings of the System

Absolute power, in Tibet, does not corrupt absolutely, but it offers mighty temptation. Most tulkus are themselves remarkably free of taint, but the selection process is fraught with opportunities for personal gain. When it is time to find a new young tulku, factions line up in support of this or that child, and the resulting disputes can be bitter indeed.

The identity of the 17th Karmapa, leader of the Karma Kagyu sect, has been a subject of protracted conflict since 1992. There is no doubt that this conflict is exacerbated, if not caused, by the considerable fortune that the Karmapa will control when he comes of age. His selection is supposed to be overseen by a committee of four tulkus. These tulkus are split into two deeply divided factions, one supporting a Tibetan boy born in India, and the other backing a child born in Chinese-ruled Tibet.

Supporters of what I will call the “Indian” Karmapa have a considerable following among Buddhists in India and the West. The “Chinese” Karmapa, on the other hand, has the advantage of having been enthroned at Tsurphu Monastery, the original, ancient seat of the lineage; moreover he enjoys the blessings of the Dalai Lama. For some years, their physical separation allowed the two rivals to ignore each other, and each carried on as if he was the sole true Karmapa. Confrontations between their supporters, however, bordered on violence, as each sought to control Rumtek Monastery in Sikkim, the seat-in-exile for the deceased 16th Karmapa and keeping-place of the “Black Crown,” a ceremonial headdress that confers authority over the Kagyu school. 14  

In 2000, the “Chinese” Karmapa made a stunning escape to India, making him a direct threat to the primacy of his rival. Supporters of the Indian-born boy have labored to keep the newcomer out of Rumtek. They have even accused the unwelcome interloper of being a Chinese spy. 15   Swayed by the backing of the Dalai Lama, who is now the boy's direct teacher and friend, world opinion seems to be moving in favor of Ugyen Thinley, the China escapee.

Such succession disputes are an important reason why tulkus tend to proliferate over time. Tibetans and others simply find it too convenient to find – or create – new tulkus, who in turn generate new bases of power and wealth. Sometimes, disputes such as the one over the Karmapa are never resolved, and the rivals go on to propagate separate new lines of tulkus. The messy process of locating a reincarnation is one major failing of the tulku system.

Another, even bigger failing is the period of a tulku's minority, when his power is wielded by a regent. During this period, leadership of the monastery – or the government – is dangerously vulnerable to ineptitude, conspiracy, or outright war.

For example, during the minority of the 14th Dalai Lama, Tibet was ruled by a 20-year-old regent and tulku, Reting Rinpoche, who had been chosen for the job by lottery. He had enemies, and a conspiracy against him led to his being accused of sending an exploding package to a rival. He was arrested and thrown into prison. Soon thereafter Reting Rinpoche died under circumstances that many thought highly suspicious. An investigation of his death by the Tibetan government found no evidence of foul play, concluding that he had “willed himself out of his present incarnation.” 16   Meanwhile, as this dreadful drama played itself out, the Tibetan government was effectively paralyzed, as everyone waited to see which side would be victorious.

The “Liberation” of Tibet

When the Chinese arrived to “liberate” Tibet in 1949, they deemed the entire monastic system to be exploitative and feudal. Feudalism was a major target of the Communist Party since its inception. Under the Nationalist regime and before, landless peasants had been terribly exploited by wealthy landlords all over China. The Red Army won converts to the Communist cause by deposing the landlords, opening the storehouses of the wealthy and distributing goods to the poor. Understandably, millions of Chinese peasants welcomed these changes; they eagerly cast off the old society to embrace the new.

The Communists viewed Tibet's monasteries as just another sort of exploitative landlord to be cut down to size. They saw ordinary Tibetan believers as serfs who needed to be freed from their parasitic overlords. As a result they desired to “liberate” the millions of Tibetans who were bound to the monasteries by feudal obligation and who tithed food, cash, and sons.

In contrast, Tibetans loved their monasteries, were devoted to their monks and tulkus, and did not, in general, want to see these respected and sacred institutions overthrown. The Chinese maintain that Tibetan religion was pure superstition promulgated by the monasteries as a means of coercion. Most Tibetans feel that pre-1949 Tibetan society, if not exactly utopian, certainly did not deserve to be forcefully reorganized by armed meddlers from outside.

This debate has been going on for fifty years, and I will not revisit this well-trodden ground. Instead, I want to describe the effect that “liberation” had on the incarnate lamas, the most visible symbols of the Tibetan theocracy.

Along with the other waves of Tibetan refugees, many tulkus fled Tibet during the two major conflicts that occurred in 1950 and 1959. Among them were the leaders of all the major sects, and a large proportion of higher-ranked tulkus. Most went to India, and from there slowly made their way to countries of the developed West. The sole prominent tulku to remain in Tibet was the 10th Panchen Lama, whose temporal power is second only to that of the Dalai Lama in the hierarchy of the Geluk school. He subsequently was promoted by Beijing as a substitute religious leader in place of the exiled Dalai Lama. (The 10th Panchen Lama died in 1989, and the identity of his successor remains a source of bitter and apparently irreconcilable dispute.)

Apart from the Panchen Lama, the tulkus remaining in Tibet were generally of lesser rank. At first, the Communist Party treated them with kid gloves, for they wanted to win the confidence of the Tibetan people before introducing socialist reforms. The monasteries were allowed to stay open, and tulkus, in general, retained their positions. But in the late 1950s and through the 1960s, Beijing began to reveal its deep antagonism toward Tibetan religion. As China spiraled down towards the Cultural Revolution, the situation for tulkus got worse and worse.

The Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution

The Cultural Revolution was Mao Zedong's national campaign, launched in 1966 to renew the spirit of revolution, prevent social stratification similar to that taking place in the Soviet Union, and secure Mao's absolute power. Citizens across China were encouraged to smash “the Four Olds” – old ideas, old culture, old customs, and old habits. Tulkus exemplified these evils. Within a few years, nearly all tulkus found themselves under some form of detention. Many were put into prison, others were kept under house arrest, and the remainder sent back to the countryside to work the land or to herd animals. Ordinary Tibetans were forbidden to show any special respect toward tulkus, although worship did continue secretly. The monastic education system was completely stopped.

Gyalten Rinpoche, abbot of Dargye Monastery in the eastern region of Kham, described his experience to me:

“In 1959 [when I was 13 years old] the monastery had to close down and all but twenty monks left. I was sent back to the farm to be a laborer.  The twenty monks maintained the monastery until the Cultural Revolution started in 1966 and Red Guards came.  They were mostly Han but there were a few Tibetans, too.  They began the destruction of Dargye Gonpa. Their work was later finished by local people.  The buildings were completely destroyed and 70-80% of the monastery's treasures lost, including almost all of the library, most of which was irreplaceable. Meanwhile I was working on the farm by day and studying politics at night. That period lasted until I was 37 years old. It was a very bitter time.  People were afraid to look at me as a tulku because of the political climate. ”17  

Chinese prisons were horrible places from which many prisoners never emerged alive. Yet some tulkus who were incarcerated were able to enjoy better care because their prison was in a Tibetan area or because they had Tibetans among their guards and fellow prisoners. A Drikung Kagyu sect tulku called Garchen Rinpoche was even able to receive meditation instruction secretly while in a labor camp. 18   Pewar Rinpoche, under house arrest in his home town of Derge, was able to exert enough influence to prevent the destruction of sacred murals at an important temple in the town.

Outside the prisons, other tulkus lived in obscurity, their status all but forgotten. No one anticipated that normal religious life would ever resume; as a result, many tulkus took wives. To outsiders, they were indistinguishable from ordinary Tibetan peasants. But Tibetans knew who the tulkus were, and in their secret hearts, they still respected and adored their religious leaders.

Revival of Buddhism: the Deng Xiaoping Era

When Deng Xiaoping came to power, he declared that the Cultural Revolution had been a terrible mistake and gave permission for the masses to begin reconstructing their shattered religious institutions. Thus, in Tibet, the pendulum began to swing back. Gyalten Rinpoche told me, “In 1982 the government allowed my monastery to be reopened, and supplied 530,000 yuan for rebuilding.” The sum was just a fraction of the money needed to restore the monastery to full operation and to provide even a minimum livelihood for its monks. Gyalten Rinpoche realized that the obstacles would be formidable. “I was invited to return, but at first I refused because if I returned I would have no way to support myself.” Eventually he did return, lending his energy and influence to the immense task of restoring life to Dargye Monastery.

Meanwhile, China was cautiously embracing market capitalism, and a portion of the new wealth trickled up the narrow, winding dirt roads to the Tibetan plateau. The standard of living for Tibetans began to improve, albeit from a frightfully low base. As the climate of fear lifted, families again began tithing alms and sons. Despite serious political instability in Lhasa, tulkus in most parts of Tibet found that the resources at their disposal were slowly increasing.

Punctuating this slow rise were occasional uprisings against Chinese rule at some rebellious monasteries. The resulting crackdowns led to imprisonment for the ringleaders, who sometimes included tulkus, and restraints on movement. But the majority of tulkus kept their heads low, and managed to avoid these problems. By the mid-1990s, many had attained a fairly comfortable Tibetan lifestyle and restored the most important temples in their monasteries. Their wealth continued to increase, and so, like many others belonging to the rising middle class, they discovered a new use for disposable income: travel.

Tulkus Discover China

In 2000 I visited a Buddhist monastery located on the remote grasslands of eastern Tibet. There was not a tree within three hours' drive, and the land supported only a sparse scattering of herdsmen. Nevertheless, the monastery was thronging with people. Hundreds of workers were in the final stages of constructing a grand new temple. The monks were busily preparing for a great dedication ceremony that would soon take place. Workers were also constructing a hospital, a primary school for local children, and a hotel to house the many hundreds of expected guests. To finance these projects, seven million yuan (almost US$900,000) had been raised by a local tulku from his followers. The donors were not in Tibet, nor were they from overseas. They were in the eastern Chinese regions of Shanghai, Guangzhou, Zhejiang, and Fujian.

Many tulkus have discovered that Chinese cities are not only good places to spend the winter, shop, and eat well; they are also good places to collect new students and raise funds. I know a number of tulkus who have established second homes in Chengdu, the largest metropolis in the vicinity of the Tibetan plateau. From there they travel to other Chinese cities. More than a few of them have obtained Chinese passports and travel abroad to places such as Hong Kong, Singapore, and Taiwan. Although many of them do not speak Mandarin well, they seem to fascinate their Chinese followers.

The Chinese Discover Tibet

Public fascination with Tibetan Buddhism is not only rewarding tulkus who leave Tibet, it is also luring an increasing number of Chinese pilgrims to the Tibetan plateau. This is a big change. Prior to 1995, most ethnic Chinese considered Tibet a backward place, full of privation and discomfort. Religious faith, although legally allowed and practiced by many, was publicly frowned upon; Chinese people passionately sought modernization and economic advancement, not spirituality.

In the first years of the 21st century, the Land of the Snows began to take hold of China's public imagination. “Tibet chic” took China by storm. Now, Chinese pop stars dress in Tibetan garb, Tibetan images are used to sell products on television, and Tibetan medicine is finding a healthy market among lowlanders. Tourists from other parts of China flock to Lhasa each season: 404,000 of them in the year 2000, 19 and 548,000 in 2001. 20 Chinese seekers are arriving at monasteries. Most are simply curious, but a few are serious enough to learn the Tibetan language, take vows, and live like real Tibetan monks.

In 1998 I interviewed Zhang Weiming, 33, a typical Chinese seeker who had been accepted as a student monk. He had grown up in a Tibetan place called Serthar, where his parents had been sent to work during the Cultural Revolution. “My greatest desire is to promote Tibetan culture to the outside world,” he told me. He said that prior to 1950, his monastery had had many Chinese students. “Several hundred years ago there was a decision to combine Chinese and Tibetan philosophy here, but the travel and communication problems prevented it.” 21  

Compared to Old Tibet, travel and communication are a breeze now. Lhasa can be reached from Chengdu in one hour on an airplane, instead of three months on horseback. Tulkus carry mobile phones. Their affluent followers exchange news via e-mail. Tulkus' wisdom and charisma – not to mention the intrinsic glamour of being incarnate – encourage Chinese to travel to Tibet, and help to popularize Tibetan religion, in just the same way that Tibetan Buddhism has become popular in the West.

Just as Western believers have left their New Age imprint on the Buddhism practiced by Tibetan exiles, Chinese Buddhists are influencing the religious landscape in Tibet. For example, the grand temple mentioned earlier is dedicated to Amitabha, a favorite deity in China but one less popular among Tibetans. In another place, the small eastern town of Garze, a $1.2 million stupa (a tower-like Buddhist shrine) was built using funds donated by the head of a large Chinese manufacturer of industrial machinery. 22   The stupa grounds include a library with a Chinese interior, and the layout is reminiscent of Chinese Buddhist temples. Tulkus find it beneficial – and perhaps inescapable – to minister to an ever-increasing Chinese flock. In turn, the flock is infusing Tibet with its own spiritual influence.

The Tulku's Modern Religious Role

A tulku's most basic responsibility is to his sangha, his religious community. In modern Tibet, Buddhist practice is monitored by the Religious Affairs Bureau, a branch of the Chinese government; therefore, tulkus must tread a careful path through a maze of conflicting demands. If they serve as abbots, they are supposed to participate in periodic “patriotic re-education” campaigns, and to uphold various rules concerning things like the number of monks at their monastery. Because of their influence, they may be asked to speak out in favor of government campaigns. However, most tulkus I know do not seem much impeded by government-imposed duties. They spend much more time on their traditional responsibilities.

Every monastery has a calendar of religious activities in which the local tulkus are expected to take part, and a senior tulku will probably lead. Monks gather in their monastery's main assembly hall, where they sit for hours chanting in unison from printed scriptures, usually to the accompaniment of ritual instruments such as drums, horns, and bells. At times, the chanting is punctuated by other rites such as the giving of an offering, the destruction of an effigy, or the distribution of sanctified gifts such as water, protection yarn, or medicine. A great deal of detailed knowledge is required to understand these rituals and to keep to the complicated script.

These programs are rigorous and demanding. A typical observance, which took place at Drigung Monastery in Tibet in 1992, is outlined by Michael Kapstein (I have edited slightly, to omit some detail):

Day 1. Nyedak Rinpoche confers the initiation of Buddha Sakyamuni and receives the formal request of those in attendance to bestow the powa-teaching.

Day 2. Riwang Tendzin Rinpoche confers the initiation of the six-syllable mantra of Avalokitesvara (i.e., the well-known formula Om Mani-padme Hum! ) and receives a similar formal request. (This would be repeated on each successive day.)

Day 3. Nangse Köchok Tendzin Rinpoche confers the initiation of the Vanquisher of the Lord of Death.

Day 4. Gambu Rinpoche confers the initiation of Padmasambhava in his peaceful aspect.

Day 5. Nuba Namka Gyeltsen Rinpoche confers the initiation of the goddess Paròúabarî.

Day 6. Nyedak Rinpoche confers the initiation of Padmasambhava in his wrathful aspect.

Day 7. Riwang Tendzin Rinpoche confers the initiation of Amitâyus, the Buddha of Longevity, according to the tradition of Siddharajñî.

Day 8 (full moon). Soktrül Rinpoche confers an extended discourse on the merits of teaching the doctrine, and then bestows the actual instructions of the powa. 23  

If a tulku is especially prominent, he will be on the road for many months a year, conducting rituals at various monasteries, giving instruction, and initiating monks. The more prominent the tulku, the heavier the workload. The Tibetan plateau is a hard place to travel, even for VIPs. The roads are rough; accommodations are often unheated; food can be greasy and unhealthy. While tulkus receive the best that a monastery has to offer, in poverty-stricken Tibet that still might not be very much.

Worst of all are the long hours that tulkus must spend inside chilly, cavernous temples, where they sit immobile among hundreds of coughing, sneezing monks. One tulku I know has permanently damaged hip joints from a lifetime of sitting cross-legged. Colds and flu are the norm. It is not surprising that so many tulkus are lured by flocks outside of Tibet. Ministering to Chinese or Westerners is, at least on physical grounds, much easier than tending to believers in Tibet.

The Tulku's Role in Government

That tulkus command Tibetans' limitless love and respect has not been lost upon China's policy-makers. They have made a concerted effort to elevate tulkus to positions of responsibility within the Party and the government. As a result, quite a few tulkus serve in official capacities. The most active tulkus have business cards densely packed with tiny print listing three, four, or five titles, which are often spread across many sectors.

To give but one example, Tupten Tsering Rinpoche is director of the Chinese Buddhist Association, a member of the standing committee of Sichuan Province Communist Party People's Consultative Council, vice-president of Ganzi Prefecture CPPCC Committee, deputy chairman of Buddhist Association of Ganzi Prefecture, and the Eighth Baiga Rinpoche of Lingcho Monastery.

While tulkus like Tupten Tsering Rinpoche hold an impressive number of official posts, most are mere figureheads, with little power to change government policy. Outside China, in Tibet's government-in-exile, the opposite is true: the government is virtually run by tulkus, just as it was in Old Tibet. The Dalai Lama is at the top. Samdhong Rinpoche heads the Kashag (a body comparable to the Cabinet), and once chaired the Assembly. The Dalai Lama's special envoy to Washington is Lodi Gyari Rinpoche, another tulku. And the list goes on.

Caring for the Poor

Besides religion and government, some tulkus have found a new avocation. A Tibetan friend once remarked to me that, during a recent journey, he felt discouraged to see the simple huts of desperately poor Tibetan villagers standing in the shadow of a large, wealthy monastery. Tulkus are not only noticing the poverty of their constituents, many of them are doing something about it. The trend began in the early 1990s. Now there is hardly a county in Tibet that does not have a charity school clinic started by a tulku. Some of these tulkus are locally resident, but many are exiled Tibetans who bring in resources from outside.

The need for such activism is urgent. In the early days of New China, education and health care were virtually free to all (with the caveat that you had to get yourself to school or to a hospital, and the quality of the services offered was often poor). Now, school fees are sky-rocketing, and clinics find their subsidies pared down by cash-strapped local governments, so that doctors levy often-unaffordable fees on their patients. Many observers believe that rural China is now in the midst of an education and health care crisis. 24   In Tibet, both services are increasingly beyond the means of poor and even middle-income families. Additionally, many Tibetans distrust the government on principle. I have heard of skeptical parents asking a foreign visitor whether or not the information presented in their children's science textbook is really true. For these skeptics, clinics and schools operated by tulkus are far more appealing than any government institution could ever be.

Gyalten Rinpoche operates a very successful charity school in the countryside near his monastery. The school was started in 1994 with permission from the Garze county government, which allocated some land for the project. It enrolls some 300 children in grades 1-6, and older students in vocational programs that teach traditional Tibetan medicine, tailoring, painting, and wood-carving. Initially, he raised funds from Tibetan and Chinese friends and followers; subsequently, he was able to attract donations from foreign charities.

Gyalten Rinpoche's own opportunity for formal education was annihilated by the Cultural Revolution, yet he managed to learn to read and write both Chinese and Tibetan. He told me, “I feel very sad when I see that, during the last ten years, so many children have had no chance to learn. If we stand back and do nothing about this, the next generation will also be ignorant.” He views his charitable activities as a part of Buddhist practice. “We are fortunate to have this human form, to have a chance to do positive works for the benefit of all beings.”

An hour away from Gyalten Rinpoche's school is a hospital founded by another tulku, Shanggen Rinpoche. Although it is located less than a mile from a government hospital, it receives at least ten times more patients, some of whom come from many days' travel away. They come because Shanggen Rinpoche's hospital accepts payment for its services on a sliding scale, according to the patient's circumstances. “We built this clinic so that such people can get the care they need. We don't aim to make a profit,” Shanggen Rinpoche explained to one of my field workers. 25  The key man on the clinic staff is Doctor Zhang Luyan, a Chinese man who originally came to the Tibetan plateau on a religious pilgrimage and who decided to stay and help.

The two tulkus just described are local fellows whose fundraising is limited to what modest donations they can gather from friends and followers in Tibet and China. Tulkus based overseas – ones with large Western followings – have a much greater ability to raise funds. If they can manage to win the trust and acceptance of Chinese government officials – which is vitally necessary to execute successful programs in Tibet – then they can offer help on a large scale. One such tulku is Akong Rinpoche.

Akong Rinpoche came to the West in the 1960s, established a reputation as a teacher of meditation and opened a meditation center in Scotland. 26   In the process, he met Lea Wyler, a Swiss actress, who ultimately became vice-president of Rokpa (“help”) International, Akong Rinpoche's charitable organization. Her father, a well-known Swiss lawyer, was also one of Rokpa's founders and gives the organization world-class savvy. The NGO has international headquarters in Zurich and branch offices in 18 countries. It raises about 2 million US dollars a year.

Akong Rinpoche is a hands-on NGO president. Most years, he does at least one lengthy tour of Tibet, distributing aid to needy schools and other individuals and organizations as he goes. Rokpa operates programs in education, health care, hunger relief, preservation of culture, self-help, and ecology. Rinpoche's work is making a measurable difference in the lives of thousands of ordinary Tibetans.

One important reason for Akong Rinpoche's success is that he is not involved with Tibetan exile politics. If a foreign-resident tulku becomes involved with an organization such as the International Campaign for Tibet, he is likely to be blacklisted by Beijing and forbidden to enter Tibet or China. Even his money would probably be considered tainted. Charity within Tibet, then, is barred to tulkus – and others – who publicly side with the exile government. Unlike tulkus within Tibet, those outside must choose between charity and government service. There is no middle ground.

The Tibet Question, and Tulkus 

Tulkus, like Tibetans generally, are broadly divided into two camps. First, there are those who feel that Tibet's problems can only be solved if the Chinese abdicate and surrender Tibet to home rule. Second, there are those who acknowledge that this cannot happen anytime soon; therefore, they try to better the lives of Tibetans through existing Chinese institutions. The two sides have the same goals, yet a great chasm divides them. In Tibet, any mention of home rule is utterly unacceptable to the Chinese authorities. Abroad, anyone who proposes working with the Chinese risks being branded by some of the more radical Tibetan activists as a traitor to their cause. Communication between the two sides is difficult – although some exiled tulkus do visit Tibet, and I know at least one China-resident tulku who has been to Dharamsala. In the main, however, the tulku community is deeply fractured, with few daring to initiate public exchange.

Tulkus and the Future

“There are too many tulkus,” an educated Tibetan friend once remarked to me. Low-ranking ones are particularly problematic, as scholar Palden Nyima 27 writes in an unpublished article: “These [Living] Buddhas often are of no help to the people, have little understanding of Buddhism, and simply live a good life at the expense of the common people.” This opinion is shared by many educated Tibetans. They complain that the system of succession by reincarnation lacks transparency and is rife with various political motives.

This is not to say that Tibetans are losing their faith in Buddhism – quite the contrary. Ordinary Tibetans continue to donate generously to monasteries, and they eagerly commit sons and daughters to monastic life. Although they are becoming increasingly well-educated and acquiring a more sophisticated world view, Tibetans will remain Buddhist for the foreseeable future. Thus, tulkus will continue to be adored, or at least given the benefit of the doubt.

The Tibetan Buddhist diaspora to the West has brought tulkus a huge new audience and raised the stakes of the succession game. Meanwhile, politicians as well as movie stars have found tulkus to be useful friends. Perhaps because of these hazards, the 14th Dalai Lama has specified that he plans to reincarnate outside Tibet. With so much at stake – and with so many hoping to ride on the coattails of a 15th Dalai Lama – it is likely that at least one will be found at home. Will he witness a reunification of Tibet's tragically fragmented people, or will he be a cause of ever more division? Humanity can only wait and hope.

Endnotes

1 The only female tulku in Tibet seems to be Dorje Phakmo Rinpoche. She is abbotess of Samding Monastery, but resides in Lhasa (Tibet Handbook with Bhutan, by Gyurme Dorje, Passport Books). In 1988, a 36-year-old American woman was identified and enthroned as Jetsunma Ahkön Norbu Lhamo. In Tibet, nunneries are headed by women, but they are not tulkus.

2 David Bleyle, former US Consul to Chengdu, private communication.

3 When the Chinese government publicly backs a candidate, as it has for one of the two contending Panchen Lamas, it risks damaging its candidate in the eyes of Tibetans.

4 David Bleyle, private communication.

5 The Gelugpa are the dominant school of Tibetan Buddhism. Formally, the Dalai Lama is the head of this sect only. The three other schools (and their subschools) are led by other tulkus.

6 The Last Dalai Lama: A Biography , by Michael Harris Goodman, Shambhala, 1987, p. 106.

7 I have written about visits to young Urgen Rinpoche at Palpung Monastery in my book Tibetan Rescue, Tuttle, 2002.

8 The Last Dalai Lama: A Biography , by Michael Harris Goodman, Shambhala, 1987, p. 64.

9 http://www.aroter.org/images/lamas/tr.htm.

10 Reported in legitimate news publications as well as Hollywood gossip columns, for example The Los Angeles Times , Feb. 8, 2003, p. A12.

11 From an official statement, published by (among others), Tibet News Network, Oct. 3, 1997.

12 Hindustan Times , Jan. 16, 2000.

13 I became acquainted with Pewar Rinpoche through my five-year effort to conserve and restore rare Buddhist murals within his monastery.

14 “Divided House – Tibet's Kagyu Buddhists face a leadership battle, ” Far Eastern Economic Review , March 24, 1994.

15 “Karmapa not a Chinese spy: Dalai Lama,” The Times of India , January 27, 2001.

16 The Last Dalai Lama: A Biography , by Michael Harris Goodman, Shambhala, 1987, p. 140.

17 Private communication.

18 Website of the Garchen Buddhist Institute, http://www.garchen.com/teachers.html.

19 “Tourists Visit Tibet in Record Numbers,” Xinhua News Agency report, Nov. 23, 2000.

20 “Tourists to Tibet on Rise,” Xinhua News Agency report, Jan. 8, 2002.

21 Kham Aid Foundation report, 1998.

22 Interviews in Garze that took place during the stupa's dedication in August, 2003.

23 Buddhism in Contemporary Tibet: Religious Revival and Cultural Identity, Melvyn C. Goldstein and Matthew T. Kapstein, University of California Press, 1998, p. 108.

24 See, for example, “Turning Points in Chinese Health Care: Crisis or Opportunity?” Deborah Davis and Nancy E. Chapman, The Yale-China Health Journal , Autumn 2002, vol. 1, p. 4. For education, see “China Struggles to Educate All of Its Children,” Radio Free Asia report, Jan. 23, 2004, www.rfa.org.

25 Kham Aid Foundation unpublished report, 2003.

26 Information presented here concerning Akong Rinpoche and Rokpa International was taken from www.rokpa.org.

27 Professor of Education, Sichuan Normal University.