Vajrayana Buddhism presents itself as a path of radical transformation: a sacred alchemy where ordinary perception is transmuted into enlightened wisdom. Its ritual technologies are often described as “skillful means,” and its magical practices framed as expressions of “Buddha activity.” But the colorful mandalas and enchanting deity meditations may obscure something far more dangerous than most practitioners realize.
According to vajranatha.com, Vajrayana operates through four principal kinds of magical activity, each aligned with a cardinal direction, a color, and a particular type of power:
White (east): for pacifying and healing
Yellow (south): for increasing wealth and wisdom
Red (west): for attraction and control
Dark blue or green (north): for wrathful subjugation and protection
These are personified in the deity forms of White Tara, Dzambhala, Kurukulla, and Vajrakilaya, respectively. Collectively, these “Four Activities” are described as enlightened, but their function mirrors the mechanisms of many other occult systems: healing, sorcery, love spells, exorcism, and domination.
So who, or what, is powering these rituals?
Chögyam Trungpa, one of the most influential Tibetan lamas to bring Vajrayana to the West, once gave a startlingly candid warning:
“Committing oneself to the Vajrayana teaching is like inviting a poisonous snake into bed with you and making love to it. Once you have the possibility of making love to this poisonous snake, it is fantastically pleasurable: you are churning out antideath potion on the spot. The whole snake turns into antideath potion and eternal joy. But if you make the wrong move, that snake will destroy you on the spot.” —Chögyam Trungpa
This is not a metaphor for the all-encompassing wisdom and compassion of the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas. It is a warning of immense spiritual danger.
Vajrayana demands the total surrender of body, speech, and mind, not only to the teachings, but to the guru and the spiritual forces behind those teachings. This surrender is cloaked in bliss, ecstasy, and the promise of transformation. But as Trungpa makes clear, one wrong move and the very force you trusted can turn lethal. It can turn on a dime.
I experienced this firsthand. It began as a profound visualization and mantra practice during a three-year retreat and gradually turned into energetic torment and psychological destabilization. The deities I once practiced became increasingly foreign, invasive, and predatory. The guru, once seen as a vessel of wisdom, became a wrathful executioner.
These practices are not what they seem: they tap into powerful magic. And one must ask, who is really powering these rituals? Who benefits when a practitioner opens themselves to these entities and their so-called “energies”? Why should we assume these forces are benevolent, simply because they have Buddhist names and appear in ornate, colorful iconography?
The structure described here isn’t just about religious symbolism or spiritual beauty, it reflects a deep psychological system designed to influence the mind through ritual. Vajrayana practices use visualization, chanting, offerings, and mantra repetition to create altered states of consciousness and emotional bonding with supernatural entities. This is what scholars call ritual psychology: the way ritual shapes belief, identity, and experience.
But Vajrayana doesn’t just manipulate the mind. It aligns closely with classic occult systems, ones that use similar rituals to summon, contact, and make pacts with spirits. Healing and increase, attraction and domination are bit neutral tools. They are technologies for channeling unseen forces toward specific outcomes. And these forces are personified, and bonded with through ritual acts that, the deeper you go, begin to resemble spiritual possession with demonic pacts.
In my own experience, the entities I contacted through these practices eventually revealed themselves to be something other than the enlightened mind of the Buddhas, whatever that might be. They had their own will, their own agendas, and their own personalities. Especially in the darker rites of semi-wrathful and wrathful deities, there was a sharp edge of coercion, and spiritual threat.
If we take these rituals seriously, not as colorful mysticism, but as real technologies of spiritual manipulation, then we must also take seriously the possibility that their source may not be benevolent.
Just because it’s branded as “Buddha activity” doesn’t mean it is holy. Survivors of spiritual abuse in Tibetan Buddhism must be brave enough to ask the hard questions. Who, or what, are we inviting into our minds and bodies when we chant these mantras, visualize these beings, and make offerings in exchange for spiritual results? Are these forces truly enlightened or are we just calling them that because we’ve been taught to?
When your healing comes at the cost of spiritual bondage…When your wisdom is bought by making pacts with demons…Something is deeply wrong.
Magic in Vajrayana is not peripheral but central to the practice. And it must be examined not with awe, but with clear-eyed discernment.
The Buddhist Tantras present themselves as the so-called ‘fast track’ to enlightenment, yet their historical origins, practices, and content diverge so significantly from the Buddha’s original teachings that one must ask: has something hijacked Buddhism under the guise of esoteric wisdom? Given that the Buddha never endorsed magical practices, sexual rituals, or deity worship, why would these suddenly emerge in the later tantric texts? Did an alien or even malevolent force infiltrate and co-opt Buddhism?
The Evolution of Tantra: A Radical Departure
David B. Gray’s study of the Cakrasamvara Tantra and Francesco Sferra’s analysis of the Hindu-Buddhist tantric relationship both expose an inconvenient truth: Tantric Buddhism did not originate organically from the Buddha’s teachings. Instead, it emerged centuries later, largely influenced by non-Buddhist elements, specifically, Hindu Śaiva traditions and indigenous occult practices.
The Buddha’s original teachings in the Pali Canon and early Mahayana texts emphasized ethical living, meditation, and wisdom as the path to liberation. Nowhere in the sutras do we find instructions for transgressive sexual rites, violence, or summoning spirits, yet these are prominent features in Tantric Buddhism.
Gray’s study of Cakrasamvara Tantra makes it clear that these texts were not composed within monastic Buddhist institutions but rather in liminal, non-traditional spaces. The practitioners of these tantras, the siddhas, were often depicted as wandering ascetics engaging in bizarre and shocking rituals. This movement incorporated elements of Hindu Kapalika practices, which involved cremation ground rituals, consumption of taboo substances, and the worship of wrathful deities. Such imagery is wholly alien to the serene and ethical path laid out by the Buddha.
Magical Powers and Occult Influences
One of the most glaring discrepancies between Tantra and early Buddhism is the obsession with supernatural powers (siddhis). In the Cakrasamvara Tantra, entire chapters are dedicated to spell-casting, invisibility techniques, and the control of spirits. Gray describes a ritual where an adept pulverizes the skin of a corpse’s foot, mixes it with blood, and recites mantras to gain the power of invisibility. This is not the noble Eightfold Path.
Similarly, Sferra highlights the deep infiltration of Hindu esoteric ideas into Buddhist Tantra. The very concept of mantra as a mechanism for altering reality aligns more closely with Vedic sacrificial traditions than with the Buddha’s core doctrine of impermanence and dependent origination. If enlightenment is beyond form, why is so much emphasis placed on elaborate rituals, deity worship, and secret initiations?
The “Demonic” Question: An Ancient Deception?
Given the radical departure from Buddhist teachings, one must ask: what is really behind the Tantras? If Tantra promises enlightenment but is steeped in dark rituals and transgressive practices, could it be a deception? The Bible describes Satan as a deceiver who masquerades as an angel of light (2 Corinthians 11:14). Could Tantra be a system where malevolent entities disguise themselves as enlightened deities?
Tantric deities such as Heruka and Vajravārāhī are described as trampling on Hindu gods, signifying the subjugation of earlier traditions. However, they themselves bear striking similarities to wrathful Hindu deities like Bhairava and Kali. Gray notes that these deities were often worshipped in charnel grounds, places of death and decay: locations that, across cultures, have been associated with spirits and demonic activity.
Furthermore, the Yoginītantras introduce figures such as dakinis, who were once seen as flesh-eating spirits but were later reinterpreted as enlightened beings. Why would the Buddha, who taught the renunciation of desire, suddenly endorse interactions with terrifying, sexualized female spirits? Could it be that these entities were never enlightened at all, but rather opportunistic spirits hijacking Buddhism for their own ends?
Why Would the Buddha Suddenly Promote Magic?
Sferra’s work highlights that even within Buddhist circles, there was resistance to the Tantras. The Yoginītantras, which emphasize sexuality and violent rituals, were seen as particularly controversial. The historical Buddha spent his life teaching śīla (morality), samadhi (concentration), and prajñā (wisdom). The introduction of abhiseka (initiation rites), visualization of deities, and sexual yoga represents an alien system grafted onto Buddhism rather than an authentic development of his teachings.
Even within later Buddhist traditions, there were attempts to downplay the more disturbing aspects of Tantra. Gray notes that later Tibetan commentators, such as Tsongkhapa, reinterpreted or omitted elements that were too transgressive. If Tantra were truly the highest Buddhist path, why would it require such extensive revision?
Conclusion: A Counterfeit Path?
Tantric Buddhism presents itself as a shortcut to enlightenment, but historical scrutiny reveals it to be a hybrid system, borrowing heavily from non-Buddhist traditions while contradicting the very essence of the Buddha’s teachings. The emphasis on occult powers, erotic mysticism, and deity worship starkly contrasts with the original Buddhist path.
If the Buddha himself never taught Tantra, why should we accept it as a legitimate form of Buddhism? More disturbingly, given its fixation on spirit invocation, possession, and ritual magic, is it possible that Tantra is not just an aberration but an infiltration? Is it a deception designed to mislead practitioners?
The questions remain open, but one thing is clear: Tantra is not Buddhism as the Buddha taught it. Those seeking truth must discern whether they are walking the Buddha’s path or following an elaborate illusion that masquerades as enlightenment.
REFERENCES:
Gray, David B.The Cakrasamvara Tantra: Its History, Interpretation, and Practice in India and Tibet. Religion Compass 1, no. 6 (2007): 695–710. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1749-8171.2007.00046.x.
Sferra, Francesco. “Some Considerations on the Relationship Between Hindu and Buddhist Tantras.” Journal of the International Association of Buddhist Studies 27, no. 1 (2004): 263–307.
Shape-shifting has long been a recurring theme in mystical traditions across the world, appearing in shamanic practices, tantric rituals, and folklore. In Tibetan Buddhism, the Chakrasamvara Tantra contains instructions for shape-shifting, particularly into animals such as hawks and eagles. The presence of these spells in a sacred text raises an intriguing question: where do these siddhis (spiritual powers) truly originate from? Are they manifestations of enlightenment, or do they come at a cost, placing the practitioner in debt to unseen forces?
Shape-Shifting in the Cakrasamvara Tantra
The Cakrasamvara Tantra is one of the most esoteric and influential texts within the Anuttarayoga (highest yoga) class of Tantric Buddhism. Among its many rituals, it contains precise instructions for practitioners to take on non-human forms, including that of a bird. David Gray, in his translation and commentary on the text, notes that these shape-shifting spells are not mere metaphors but were understood as actual yogic attainments.
The text outlines multiple methods for transformation. One passage describes a ritual in which a practitioner can enchant a cord made from the sinew or hair of an animal and bind it around their neck to assume that animal’s form. This includes birds such as hawks, owls, and vultures, as well as larger quadrupeds (Cakrasamvara Tantra, Chapter XLVII, p. 363). Another section states that by consuming or even touching an enchanted substance, the yogin may take on a divine or animal form (Cakrasamvara Tantra, Chapter XLIX, p. 369). These instructions suggest that shape-shifting was considered a real and attainable siddhi for advanced practitioners.
In Vajrayana, these extraordinary abilities, known as siddhis, are divided into two categories:
Mundane siddhis (laukika siddhis), which include powers such as flight, invisibility, and shape-shifting.
Supreme siddhis (lokottara siddhis), which refer to enlightenment itself.
While the latter is the ultimate goal of practice, the existence of spells for mundane abilities suggests that some practitioners were actively seeking, and attaining, more earthly, supernatural powers.
But why would a Buddhist tantra contain shape-shifting spells? The standard response is that these abilities help advanced practitioners aid sentient beings and overcome obstacles. However, if the goal were purely benevolent, why does the very same tantra contain spells for harming, controlling, and even destroying sentient beings? The presence of violent and coercive rituals alongside shape-shifting practices suggests that acquiring such siddhis was not solely about compassion or enlightenment. Instead, these abilities may have served more ambiguous or self-serving purposes, whether for power, domination, and even destruction. Moreover, history is filled with accounts of people acquiring mystical abilities at a hidden cost, often through pacts with forces beyond their ultimate control or comprehension. If a yogin can assume the form of an animal, what else might they be gaining or losing in the process?
Debt to the Unseen: Shape-Shifting and Supernatural Pacts
The idea that magical transformations require spiritual debt is not unique to Tantra. Across cultures, shape-shifting often comes with hidden agreements between the practitioner and demonic entities.
Shamanism and Possession: In many indigenous traditions, a shaman does not shape-shift alone but must first enter a trance state, often facilitated by spirits or tutelary deities. This raises the question, when a shaman transforms into an animal, are they truly in control, or is something else working through them?
Vampirism and the Undead Pact: The myth of the vampire is closely related to shape-shifting, with folklore describing their ability to turn into bats, wolves, or mist. Yet, vampires are universally depicted as cursed beings who exist by taking the life force of others. Their transformations are not self-generated but come as a consequence of an external force, a dark exchange that binds them to an unnatural state.
Faustian Bargains in Occult Traditions: From medieval grimoires to modern occultism, the idea persists that those who seek supernatural abilities must often enter into a contract with demonic non-human entities. The magician gains knowledge or power but loses something in return, whether it be autonomy or a portion of their soul.
Could the siddhis described in tantric texts function similarly? If shape-shifting is possible, does it occur through the practitioner’s own spiritual mastery, or is it facilitated by a demonic force to which they become indebted?
The Cost of Siddhis: Are They Truly Benevolent?
Tantric Buddhism teaches that mundane siddhis should never be sought for their own sake. In the Hevajra Tantra, a text closely related to Chakrasamvara, the practitioner is warned that seeking supernatural abilities out of attachment can lead to ruin. Some Buddhist teachers even caution that siddhis can become obstacles on the path to liberation, enticing practitioners away from true spiritual realization.
If shape-shifting and similar siddhis are real, should they be seen as gifts of an awakened mind or as evidence of hidden transactions with demonic forces? If the latter, what do these forces ultimately seek in return?
For those who have witnessed such transformations firsthand, the question remains: What is really behind them?
[1] Gray, David B. (2007). The Cakrasamvara Tantra (The Discourse of Śrī Heruka): A Study and Annotated Translation. New York: American Institute of Buddhist Studies at Columbia University. ISBN: 978-0975373460. See Chapter XLVII, p. 363, and Chapter XLIX, p. 369 for descriptions of shape-shifting methods.
Tibetan Buddhism is often portrayed as a peaceful, meditative tradition centered on compassion and enlightenment. However, this masks a complex esoteric system that includes the worship and manipulation of worldly protectors (Chökyong) and wrathful spirits. While some of these entities are invoked for protection and blessings, they can also be weaponized against perceived enemies. In this article, we explore the darker side of tantric practices involving these beings and how they can be used to harm others.
Worldly Protectors: Not Always Benevolent
Worldly protectors (Tib. Chökyong) are not enlightened beings but rather powerful spirits, often local deities or ancient demons that were subdued and bound by tantric masters into serving the Buddhist dharma. Unlike fully enlightened protectors, who “alledgedly” operate beyond mundane entanglements, worldly protectors still possess emotions, grudges, and the capacity for harm. Their allegiance to particular sects or lineages makes them especially useful for those seeking to gain favor or exert power.
Beyond protectors, Tibetan tantric Buddhism includes rituals explicitly designed to summon harmful spirits to attack enemies. These practices often involve wrathful deities and demons, coercing them into carrying out curses, sickness, or even death.
Gyalpo spirits are mischievous and vengeful entities, often former monks or rulers who became wandering ghosts. These spirits can be bound through ritual to inflict misfortune, financial ruin, or insanity on an intended victim. Their influence is particularly feared in tantric monasteries.
Mamo spirits are wild, untamed female entities that exist in liminal spaces between worlds. These spirits are associated with plagues, natural disasters, and personal calamities. Invoking them requires blood offerings and precise tantric rituals to direct their chaotic energy toward an enemy. (These days the blood offerings have probably been replaced by symbolic blood offerings like red tormas–offering cakes made of barley flour and butter and painted red). The risk, however, is that Mamos are unpredictable and can turn against the summoner if not properly controlled.
Wrathful Drupchods in Tibetan Monasteries
In Tibetan monasteries in India and Nepal, large-scale tantric rituals known as drupchods are performed to invoke wrathful deities such as Vajrakilaya and Mahakala. These elaborate ceremonies involve extensive mantra recitations, fire offerings (homa), and ritual dances aimed at subjugating negative forces. While officially framed as purification rituals, they also contain elements of esoteric warfare.
The practice of using effigies (linga) in Tibetan Buddhist rituals, particularly during drupchods invoking wrathful deities like Vajrakilaya and Mahakala, is well-documented in esoteric Buddhist literature. These effigies are crafted to represent specific enemies, both spiritual and human, and are often imbued with personal or symbolic elements to establish a metaphysical link to the intended target. The ritual destruction, burning, or expulsion of these effigies is believed to direct the wrathful energy of the deity towards those perceived as threats.
Scholarly research highlights the significance of these practices. For instance, Haoran Hou’s study on The Ritual Use of Human Effigies in the Esoteric Buddhist Literature from Karakhoto,discusses how liṅga effigies were utilized for purposes such as inflicting harm, healing, and exorcism. These rituals, originating in India, traversed through Tibet and extended into regions like the Tangut Empire and the Yuan Dynasty. The study provides translations and annotations of ritual texts, illustrating the methods of making and using liṅga effigies for harming humans and other purposes, while exploring their transmission across Eastern Central Asia between the 11th and 14th centuries.
Additionally, contemporary practices continue to reflect these ancient traditions. At the Palpung Sherabling monastery in Baijnath, India, monks perform the cham dance on the eve of the Tibetan New Year, invoking the wrathful deity Mahakala. This ritual involves monks dressed in vibrant robes and menacing masks enacting sacred dances, accompanied by drums, cymbals, and horns. A significant aspect of this ceremony is the creation and subsequent burning of a large mask-like representation of Mahakala, made from barley flour and butter. This act symbolizes purification and the elimination of negative forces, aligning with the traditional use of effigies to target and dispel obstacles or perceived threats.
These sources underscore the ritualistic use of effigies in Tibetan Buddhist ceremonies, highlighting their role in both historical and contemporary contexts to symbolically address and neutralize adversarial forces.
How These Forces Are Used in Power Struggles
While many Tibetan Buddhists are unaware of these esoteric practices, high-ranking lamas and tantric practitioners have long used them to settle disputes, intimidate rivals, punish samaya breakers, and maintain control. Whether through secret rituals, oracles, or direct curses, these entities serve as supernatural enforcers in an unseen war for power within the tradition.
Historically, factions within Tibetan Buddhism have accused each other of using protectors and demons for political advantage. Even the exile of the Dalai Lama from Tibet involved a struggle over a protector propitiation. In modern times, stories persist of lamas employing such methods against those who leave or criticize the lama or the tradition.
Breaking Free from the Grip of These Forces
For those who have problems in Tibetan Buddhism and experience its darker aspects, the lingering influence of these protectors and spirits can be overwhelming. The key to breaking free lies in renouncing, breaking ties, forgiving those who harmed you, and refusing to participate in any aspect of Tibetan Buddhism. If one needs protection it is necessary to embrace a spiritual path that does not require servitude to wrathful entities. I find solace in Christian prayer and deliverance, a system that offers freedom from demons, witchcraft, and pagan practices.
Conclusion
While Tibetan Buddhism outwardly promotes compassion and enlightenment, its esoteric layers reveal a different story, one where worldly protectors and demons can be weaponized against others. These beings, bound by oaths and rituals, operate in a liminal realm and can be used for both defense and destruction. Understanding their dual nature is crucial for anyone seeking to navigate or escape the hidden dangers of tantric practice.
References:
Hou, Haoran.The Ritual Use of Human Effigies in Esoteric Buddhist Literature from Karakhoto. BuddhistRoad Paper Series 2.3. Ruhr-Universität Bochum, 2023.
Cuevas, Bryan J.Illustrations of Human Effigies in Tibetan Ritual Texts: With Remarks on Specific Anatomical Figures and Their Possible Iconographic Source. Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 21, no. 1 (2011): 73–97.
Dreyfus, Georges.The Shugden Affair: Origins of a Controversy. Journal of the International Association of Buddhist Studies, 1998.
Nebesky-Wojkowitz, René de.Oracles and Demons of Tibet: The Cult and Iconography of the Tibetan Protective Deities. The Hague: Mouton, 1956.
Lopez, Donald S.Prisoners of Shangri-La: Tibetan Buddhism and the West. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998.
When I share my experience with Vajrayāna Buddhism, I encounter two distinct reactions.
Some people, those who don’t practice Tibetan Buddhism but have helped individuals suffering spiritual harassment from the occult, immediately recognize the patterns I describe.
Others, particularly Western Vajrayāna practitioners and scholars, dismiss my testimony outright.
They assume that my experience must be:
A misunderstanding of Vajrayāna teachings.
A psychological disturbance.
The result of improper practice.
A projection of my fears of retribution.
But my experience is not only real but also completely plausible when examined through the lens of history, psychology, and Vajrayāna’s own teachings.
The Problem with Dismissal: A Lack of Critical Engagement
Many Western Vajrayāna practitioners approach the tradition with a romanticized view. They believe they have found an unbroken lineage of wisdom, distinct from Western religion and free from the power dynamics that have corrupted other faiths. They assume they can pick and choose what they accept while ignoring the rest.
But if we apply some intellectual honesty it is clear that:
If someone left a charismatic cult claiming they had been spiritually manipulated and attacked, we wouldn’t immediately dismiss them.
If someone escaped from a Satanic cult and said demons pursued them, we wouldn’t automatically assume they were delusional.
If someone left a New Age movement after a kundalini awakening that triggered possession-like symptoms, we wouldn’t rush to call them crazy. Many Western Buddhists acknowledge that kundalini can cause spiritual emergencies.
If an anthropologist studied indigenous shamanic traditions and found initiates reporting spirit attacks, scholars wouldn’t dismiss their experiences. They’d document how these encounters function in that culture.
Yet when someone shares a disturbing experience from Vajrayāna Buddhism, the immediate response is:
“You misunderstood the teachings.”
“The deities or gurus would never harm anyone.”
“The deities aren’t real; they’re just projections of your own mind.”
“You must have mental health issues.”
This double standard serves as a defense mechanism, not an intellectually rigorous position.
Vajrayāna’s Own Teachings Make My Experience Plausible
Vajrayāna, more than any other Buddhist tradition, teaches that initiation and meditation create real, external effects in the spirit world. If you don’t believe that, then you’re not truly practicing Vajrayāna; you’re engaging with a secularized, sanitized Western reinterpretation.
Consider the following:
Empowerments (abhisheka) explicitly link practitioners to tantric deities, dakinis, and protectors. If you believe these forces are real, why assume they are always benevolent?
Vajrayāna warns against breaking samaya (tantric vows), claiming it angers deities and protectors. Why would angering supernatural beings have consequences if they were just psychological symbols?
Many initiates, particularly in traditional Tibetan settings, report strange and distressing experiences such as dream visitations, intrusive thoughts, even physical ailments. Teachers will say, “This is your karma ripening from breaking samaya,” but isn’t this just another way of saying that ambiguous spiritual forces attached to me through the empowerments and practices?
Vajrayāna itself affirms the reality of what I describe, it just frames it differently, often in ways that maintain control over practitioners while allowing plausible deniability.
The Historical Context of Tantra and Its Parallels to Occultism
Vajrayāna did not develop in a vacuum.
Tantric Buddhism emerged in India in the late first millennium, heavily influenced by esoteric Hindu traditions, Shaiva Tantra, and the Kapalikas, wandering renunciants who engaged in spirit summoning, sex rituals, and corpse meditation.
Chinese Buddhist monks like Hsuan Chao were deeply critical of Vajrayāna because they saw parallels between tantric rituals and the black magic they had encountered in India. Despite these warnings, Tibetan Buddhist traditions absorbed these practices wholesale.
Western scholars readily acknowledge that tantric Hinduism and Shaivism engage with external spiritual forces. Why, then, would Buddhist Tantra, which emerged in the same time and place, not also be interacting with something real?
Psychological Manipulation and Cognitive Entrapment
Even if you reject the idea of spirit harm from gurus and tantric deities, consider the psychological and emotional conditioning at play in Vajrayāna.
Mantra repetition rewires the brain. Studies show that repetitive prayer, chanting, and visualization alter consciousness, reduce critical thinking, and induce dissociation.
Guru devotion fosters dependency. Many ex-practitioners struggle with guilt, fear, and paranoia, symptoms identical to those of cult survivors.
The fear of breaking samaya becomes a mental prison. Some Vajrayāna students dismiss samaya punishments as psychological control, while others live in terror of divine retribution. Either way, the belief system exerts total influence over the mind.
If Vajrayāna were just an innocuous Buddhist tradition, why does the thought of leaving it leave so many people in existential terror?
The “Magical” Elements in Buddhist Sutras: Later Additions?
One common argument is that Vajrayāna is just a natural extension of Mahāyāna Buddhism, thus the spells, deities, and rituals have always been part of Buddhist practice.
That’s only partially true.
While some Mahāyāna sutras contain dhāraṇīs (magical incantations), serious scholars debate whether these were later interpolations, added to appeal to popular religious sensibilities.
The Pali Canon, the earliest Buddhist texts, explicitly warns against summoning spirits and using supernatural powers for personal gain. The Buddha rejected such practices. Vajrayāna, by contrast, embraces them.
If you’re a Western scholar, you might want to ask: How did this shift happen? If you’re a Vajrayāna practitioner, you might ask: Why does this look more like occultism than Buddhism?
Conclusion
If you are a Vajrayāna practitioner or scholar, you might still be skeptical. That’s fine. I only ask that you apply the same intellectual standard to my experience that you would to any other spiritual testimony.
If you believe Vajrayāna empowerments connect practitioners to supernatural forces, consider the possibility that these forces may not always be benevolent.
If you acknowledge the historical connection between Vajrayāna and Hindu Tantra, ask whether something deeper is at play.
If you recognize the psychological power of guru devotion and mantra repetition, be open to the idea that Vajrayāna entraps people in ways they don’t initially see.
I’m not here to tell anyone what to believe. But I am here to challenge you to question what you think you know about Vajrayāna, power, and the unseen realms.
If you think what happened to me could never happen to you, think again.
The emergence of Tantric Buddhism, also known as Vajrayana, represents a radical departure from the original teachings of the Buddha. While early Buddhism focused on ethical conduct, meditation, and wisdom as the path to enlightenment, Tantra introduced esoteric rituals, mantras, and controversial practices that blurred the lines between Buddhism and Hindu Shaivite traditions. The origins of Tantric Buddhism can be traced back to the mid-first millennium CE, gaining prominence between the seventh and tenth centuries. This period saw its infiltration into the great Buddhist monastic institutions of India, including the renowned Nalanda University.
The Rise of Tantric Buddhism
By the seventh century, Buddhist monks and scholars at Nalanda, Vikramashila, and other centers of learning began incorporating Tantric elements into their teachings. The introduction of deities, elaborate rituals, and magical practices marked a significant transformation from the rational and ethical framework established by the Buddha. The Guhyasamāja Tantra (c. 8th century) and other tantras became part of monastic curricula, suggesting that at least some scholars at these institutions were receptive to these esoteric traditions.
However, not all Buddhist monks welcomed these innovations. The Chinese monk Hsuan Chao (Xuanzhao), who traveled to India in the 10th century, was particularly critical of the Tantric Buddhists he encountered. He likened their practices to those of the Kapalikas, a Shaivite sect notorious for engaging in transgressive rituals involving human remains, sexual rites, and magical invocations.
Hsuan Chao’s Observations
Hsuan Chao’s journey to India was part of a larger Chinese monastic tradition of seeking authentic Buddhist teachings from their source. Although there is no definitive evidence that he studied at Nalanda, he likely visited Buddhist centers where Tantra was taught and observed its practitioners firsthand. He was disturbed by their practices, which he viewed as a stark deviation from the ethical and meditative traditions that defined early Buddhism.
His critiques were not merely personal reflections; they were grounded in the belief that Buddhism had been corrupted by external influences. The Buddha’s original teachings, as preserved in the Pali Canon and early Mahayana texts, emphasized renunciation, discipline, and insight. By contrast, Tantric Buddhism introduced complex rituals, deity worship, and doctrines that mirrored Hindu traditions, leading figures like Hsuan Chao to question whether these practices were truly Buddhist at all.
The Heretical Shift
Tantric Buddhism’s divergence from the core principles of Buddhism raises important questions about its legitimacy. The Buddha’s teaching on suffering (dukkha), impermanence (anicca), and non-self (anatta) left no room for the mystical aspirations of Tantra. Yet, by the late first millennium, Tantric texts were becoming influential within Buddhist traditions, particularly through the incorporation of dhāranīs (magical incantations) and mantras into Mahayana and Vajrayana texts. Some Mahayana sutras, such as the Lotus Sutra and Golden Light Sutra, contain elements of magical prayer, leading to scholarly debate over whether these were original to the texts or later interpolations. The presence of spells and protective charms in Buddhist literature suggests that such additions may have been efforts to appeal to popular religious sensibilities rather than direct reflections of the Buddha’s earliest teachings.
It is likely that some of these magical elements were added later, as Buddhism adapted to local traditions and sought to compete with Hindu and indigenous religious movements. In doing so, it absorbed ritualistic elements that were foreign to its original doctrine. The Buddha himself warned against blind faith in supernatural powers, emphasizing instead the development of wisdom and ethical conduct. This makes the inclusion of tantric rituals, many of which involved breaking moral precepts, highly suspect.
Conclusion
The rise of Tantric Buddhism represents a significant and, arguably, heretical transformation of the Buddha’s teachings. While early Buddhism sought liberation through ethical discipline and meditation, Tantra embraced occult rituals and esoteric knowledge as shortcuts to enlightenment. Monks like Hsuan Chao saw this as a dangerous deviation, likening Tantric Buddhists to the Kapalikas, whose extreme practices had long been considered outside the bounds of both Buddhist and Hindu orthodoxy.
The question remains: Was Tantric Buddhism a legitimate evolution of Buddhist thought, or was it a corruption of its foundational principles? Given its reliance on practices that directly contradicted the Buddha’s teachings, the latter seems more likely. As such, the study of Tantric Buddhism should be approached with a critical eye, recognizing its fundamental departure from the wisdom and ethics that once defined the Buddhist path.
In the Western embrace of Tibetan Buddhism, samaya (sacred bond) is often treated as a vague concept, a flexible spiritual guideline open to interpretation. Many practitioners, influenced by modern individualism, believe they can define samaya for themselves, shaping it to fit their personal path. But it’s not so easy. Samaya is not a subjective ideal or a broad ethical principle. It is an uncompromising system of laws dictated by the deities of Tibetan Buddhist tantra, and the consequences of breaking it are catastrophic.
The Origin of Samaya: A System of Absolute Control
As Sam van Schaik explains, with the emergence of Vajrayāna in the seventh century, samaya became the defining framework of tantric practice. It was not merely a commitment to enlightenment or bodhichitta; it was a rigid contract that bound the practitioner to the deities, the guru, and the teachings in a way that left no room for negotiation. The very term “samaya” signifies a binding agreement, a point of convergence where wisdom manifests through ritual, visualization, and esoteric substances. These vows were not meant to be symbolic gestures but inviolable pacts with cosmic forces.
The West tends to frame Buddhism as a path of peace and compassion, yet within Vajrayāna, samaya is not about universal kindness or personal growth. It is about absolute allegiance to the tantric system. Any deviation from this allegiance is not simply a spiritual misstep, it is a crime against the sacred laws of tantra.
The Consequences of Breaking Samaya: Illness, Insanity, and Demonic Affliction
One of the most terrifying aspects of samaya is its enforcement mechanism. Unlike moral guidelines in mainstream Buddhism, which rely on karmic repercussions across lifetimes, samaya violations often carry immediate and devastating consequences in this very life. Tibetan texts are explicit: breaking samaya leads to physical illness, mental instability, and possession by malevolent forces.
Illness as a Sign of Broken Samaya
Tantric texts frequently warn that violating samaya will manifest as sickness. This is not metaphorical. Traditional Tibetan medical texts list broken samaya as a cause of chronic diseases, unexplained fevers, and deteriorating health that no ordinary treatment can cure. The idea is that the tantric deities and protectors, angered by the transgression, withdraw their blessings, leaving the practitioner vulnerable to suffering, often caused by the deities themselves.
It is not uncommon to hear stories in Vajrayāna circles of Westerners who fought with or abandoned their guru, only to fall into inexplicable physical decline. Some develop persistent health issues that defy medical diagnosis. Others find themselves facing severe misfortunes, financial ruin, or a string of accidents. Traditional Tibetan lamas do not hesitate to attribute such misfortunes to broken samaya.
Demonic Afflictions: The Price of Transgression
Beyond physical illness, breaking samaya is believed to invite spiritual and psychological torment. The tantric pantheon is not just composed of peaceful deities; it is teeming with wrathful beings, dharma protectors, and guardian spirits who enforce the rules of the tradition with merciless precision. When samaya is broken, these entities are said to turn against the practitioner, causing possession, insanity, or relentless bad luck.
In the Tibetan worldview, demonic affliction is not an abstract concept but a literal reality. Those who have transgressed samaya might experience intense nightmares, hallucinations, or an overwhelming sense of mental disintegration. Some report hearing voices, seeing terrifying visions, or feeling the presence of unseen entities oppressing them. In extreme cases, individuals descend into madness, their minds fractured under the weight of their spiritual transgressions.
Samaya and the Persecution of Women Who Resist Sexual Exploitation
While samaya is traditionally presented as a means of maintaining the purity of Vajrayāna teachings, there have been numerous instances where it has been weaponized against women. Throughout Tibetan Buddhist history, samaya has been invoked to silence and punish women who resisted sexual advances from their gurus or exposed instances of abuse.
The guru-disciple relationship in Vajrayāna is absolute, with the guru often regarded as the embodiment of the Buddha’s wisdom. Women who took empowerments from a lama were thus considered bound to him through samaya. If they later rejected his sexual advances or spoke out against his predatory behavior, they were accused of breaking their samaya vows, making them spiritually compromised and subject to supernatural retribution.
A striking example of this dynamic is found in the research of scholar Holly Gayley, who examines how Vajrayāna secrecy and power dynamics have historically been used against women. In her article, Revisiting the ‘Secret Consort’ (gsang yum) in Tibetan Buddhism, Gayley recounts a case in which a Tibetan woman refused the sexual advances of a lama and warned other women about him. As a result, it was said that she was condemned to Vajra Hell, an especially severe form of punishment for breaking samaya. This narrative reflects the broader pattern of how women who resist sexual coercion by spiritual authorities are framed as transgressors rather than victims.¹
Let me begin with a cautionary tale from Tibet regarding the judgment pronounced by Yama, the Lord of Death, to a woman who refused to serve as the consort for a Buddhist teacher or lama (Skt: guru, Tib: bla ma).1 The young lady from a well-to-do family, named Chödrön, had sought out Buddhist teachings from numerous esteemed lamas. One of them, the itinerant Zhönu Gyaltsen, asked her to be his “secret consort,” but she refused. The request caused her to lose faith in the lama and leave the gathering before receiving the complete instructions. Later, she told girlfriends about the incident. In Yama’s assessment, since Zhönu Gyaltsen was a master of esoteric teachings, Chödrön had breached her tantric commitments (Skt: samaya, Tib: dam tshig) on several counts: not complying with the lama’s request, not completing the training in his teachings and (worst of all, it seems) speaking about the incident with other women. When Chödrön protests that if the lama was realized, it was inappropriate for him to take a sexual interest in her, Yama counters that when Zhönu Gyaltsen died, numerous relics and miraculous signs occurred, attesting to his high degree of realization. Positioning her as a gossip, he avers that she caused numerous others to lose faith, thereby harming the lama and his disciples. He concludes, “it is a greater sin to denigrate and slander lamas and teachers than it is to murder a thousand living beings,” and condemns her to suffer the torments of the hell realms. [1]”
Some Tibetan Buddhist practitioners might argue that when a lama engages in unethical behavior, such as lying, manipulation, or sexual misconduct, he is the one who has broken samaya. They may claim that by violating his own Vinaya or Mahāyāna vows, the lama has nullified his spiritual authority, thereby freeing disciples from any obligation of fealty.
In her article for Lion’s Roar magazine, “Samaya as Symbiotic Relationship,” Damchö Diana Finnegan recounts questioning several erudite Vajrayāna teachers on this issue. According to her, these teachers asserted that “the samaya between guru and student would be broken when the guru asks the students to provide them with sexual services. Therefore, according to this doctrinal interpretation, students who are being pressed for sex are no longer bound by any samaya commitments to comply. The guru has already broken that sacred bond with the disciple.”
However, it is telling that none of these teachers were willing to go on the record with their statements. Why were they reluctant to share their names? Their silence suggests that this perspective, while politically palatable, may not reflect the deeper realities of samaya within Vajrayāna doctrine. While I may be mistaken, I believe this view misinterprets the mechanics of samaya. Within the Vajrayāna framework, if a lama has attained realization through tantric practice, disciples who receive tantric empowerments and teachings from him/her must remain bound to him/her regardless of his ethical conduct.
The logic of Vajrayāna dictates that the guru is beyond conventional morality, and his actions, even those that appear harmful, should be seen as expressions of skillful means. This rigid framework leaves little room for individual discernment; once samaya is taken, loyalty to the guru is absolute. Lesser concepts such as conventional morality, compassion, or ethical considerations do not override the tantric principle of unwavering devotion. Fealty to the guru is absolute.
The West’s Dangerous Misunderstanding of Samaya
Western practitioners often brush aside the concept of samaya, treating it as a personal promise rather than a sacred contract with supernatural consequences. Many believe they can pick and choose which vows to follow, rationalizing that samaya should align with their own moral compass. But in the rigid framework of Vajrayana Buddhism, this is not how it works. Samaya is otherwordly, enforced by divine forces beyond human comprehension.
Modern spiritual seekers dabbling in Tibetan Buddhism often think they can leave if it no longer serves them. But the system was never designed for that kind of flexibility. The moment one takes empowerment, they are bound to the guru and the deities of the tradition. There is no “undoing” samaya without consequence. The idea that one can walk away from tantric vows unscathed is a Western delusion.
The Reality Check: Understanding the Gravity of Vajrayāna Commitments
For those considering the tantric path, a harsh reality check is necessary. Vajrayāna is not a casual spiritual endeavor. It is a binding commitment that demands unwavering loyalty. Once samaya is taken, there is no turning back without risk. The system is not built on forgiveness but on law, and those who transgress it may find themselves in a living nightmare.
If Western practitioners truly wish to engage with Tibetan Buddhism, they must abandon the idea that samaya is subjective. It is not about compassion or bodhichitta in the general sense; it is a legalistic, doctrinal framework with severe consequences. Breaking samaya is not just a spiritual failing but a transgression against forces that do not easily forgive.
To those who have already taken empowerment, the only recourse is strict adherence to samaya or intense purification practices to mitigate the damage of broken samaya. For those who have not yet committed, this article serves as a warning: enter at your own risk, and understand that once you do, there is no way out without a price.
Some of the sources for this article are as follows:
Throughout Tibetan history, occult warfare has been an enduring element of religious and political life. The case of Jamgon Kongtrul the Great, one of Tibet’s most revered scholars and visionaries, illustrates this reality. The texts documenting Kongtrul’s life recount a dramatic confrontation with an adversary named Kuntrul, who sought to harm him through violent and magical means. Kongtrul, deeply engaged in esoteric practices, responded with his own ritual countermeasures, emerging victorious in a struggle that was as much metaphysical as it was physical. Notably, some accounts suggest that Kongtrul’s rituals were not merely protective but also offensive, raising questions about whether his actions aligned with the pacifist image of Tibetan Buddhism.
Given the ubiquity of such accounts in Tibetan history, it is striking that contemporary adherents of Tibetan Buddhism often dismiss similar experiences when they occur today, particularly when they involve those who challenge the power structures of the tradition.
The Occult Battles of Jamgon Kongtrul
Jamgon Kongtrul’s conflict with Kuntrul was a high-stakes struggle marked by sorcery and supernatural intervention. Historical sources describe how Kuntrul employed a mix of mundane and esoteric strategies, including bribing local leaders to attack Kongtrul’s camp. Faced with this threat, Kongtrul and his party resorted to protective rituals, invoking powerful deities such as Tārā and performing rites designed to repel harmful influences. Despite being outnumbered and targeted, Kongtrul survived unscathed, a testament, in the view of his followers, to the efficacy of his spiritual defenses.
His ritual responses played a role in neutralizing Kuntrul as a threat. “As Gardener surmises, it does not just appear that Kongtrul protected his companions and himself with various rituals and so on, but that they positively ‘vanquished their enemies’ like the victor in a ‘deadly black magic contest.’” [1] What is evident is that Tibetan Buddhist magic was not just about shielding oneself from harm but also about eliminating threats in a direct and forceful manner. This calls into question the modern perception of Tibetan Buddhism as purely compassionate and pacifist, when in reality, its historical figures wielded spiritual power as a weapon.
Kongtrul’s deep knowledge of tantric practices, including wrathful deity invocations, can be better understood through his own writings in The Treasury of Knowledge. In this monumental work, Kongtrul systematically outlines the structure of Buddhist tantra, including the use of rituals for both protection and destruction. [2] His mastery of these teachings suggests that his confrontation with Kuntrul was not an isolated event but part of a broader understanding of how spiritual power could be wielded in Tibetan Buddhism.
The 5th Dalai Lama and Ritual Warfare
One of the most well-documented cases of tantric warfare in Tibetan history is the political ascent of the 5th Dalai Lama (1617–1682). The Great Fifth, as he is known, engaged in elaborate tantric rituals to subdue his enemies, particularly those who opposed the Gelugpa school’s dominance. His autobiography describes how he invoked wrathful deities to ensure the downfall of his opponents, including the destruction of the Jonang and the suppression of rival sects. The Dalai Lama’s spiritual and political strategies were deeply interwoven, demonstrating how ritual power was a critical tool in Tibetan statecraft. [3]
The Silence Around Modern Black Magic Warfare
Given the historical reality of occult battles in Tibetan Buddhism, why is it so difficult for contemporary practitioners, especially those invested in maintaining the tradition’s public image, to acknowledge that similar tactics might still be used today?
This question is especially pertinent to my own experiences after participating in the public exposure of my first teacher as a sexual predator. Tibetan Buddhism has a long history of protecting its elite figures through both institutional suppression and supernatural means. If even luminaries such as Kongtrul were subjected to ritual attacks and responded with powerful countermeasures, why should it be inconceivable that similar tactics would be employed against those who disrupt the modern power structures of Tibetan Buddhism?
The cognitive dissonance here is profound. Those who deeply believe in the efficacy of Tibetan magic when it serves the tradition’s interests refuse to acknowledge its potential use against those who challenge the status quo. This selective skepticism allows abuse and corruption to persist while shielding the tradition from scrutiny.
Conclusion
Tibetan Buddhism has never been a purely pacifist tradition; it has always wielded spiritual power in service of political and institutional control. The case of Jamgon Kongtrul the Great, as well as the 5th Dalai Lama’s strategic use of tantric rituals, reveals that black magic battles were historically a real and recognized aspect of Tibetan life.
To dismiss similar experiences today, particularly when they involve whistleblowers or those who expose misconduct, is not only inconsistent but a deliberate act of denial.
If the Tibetan Buddhist establishment was willing to deploy supernatural means to protect its authority in the past, why would it not do so in the present?
Kongtrul, Jamgon. The Treasury of Knowledge: Book Six, Part Four: Systems of Buddhist Tantra. Translated by Elio Guarisco and Ingrid McLeod. Ithaca, NY: Snow Lion Publications, 2008.
Ngawang Lobsang Gyatso, Fifth Dalai Lama. The Autobiography of the Fifth Dalai Lama. Translated by Zahiruddin Ahmad. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1998.
Smith, Gene. Among Tibetan Texts: History and Literature of the Himalayan Plateau. Boston: Wisdom Publications, 2001.
Gardner, Alexander. The Life of Jamgon Kongtrul the Great. Boston: Shambhala Publications, 2019.
The practice of divination has long been embedded in the religious and esoteric traditions of cultures across the world. One particularly striking example is the use of mirror divination, or prasena, a ritual in which a prepubescent child gazes into a reflective surface to reveal hidden knowledge or foresee the future. This practice, as highlighted by scholar Sam van Schaik in a recent interview, appears in both Ethiopian and Tibetan traditions and has possible roots tracing back to ancient Babylonian magic. [1]
Such continuity across vastly different cultures raises compelling questions about the transmission and persistence of esoteric knowledge throughout history.
The Ritual and Its Cultural Manifestations
Mirror divination has been historically practiced in multiple religious traditions, often involving a spiritual mediator, typically a child, who, under the guidance of a ritual master, peers into a reflective surface to receive supernatural insights. In Ethiopian traditions, this practice is documented in both ancient manuscripts and contemporary ritualistic settings. In Tibetan Buddhism, it appears in esoteric texts and continues to be used in divinatory rituals conducted by monks and lay practitioners alike.
The use of children in such rituals is significant. Many cultures have believed that children, being less conditioned by worldly concerns, are more receptive to supernatural or spiritual forces. These divinatory practices align with similar practices found in the Greco-Roman world, where oracles and seers would enter trance states to communicate divine messages.
A Babylonian Legacy?
Van Schaik suggests that mirror divination may have originated in Babylonian magic before spreading both eastward and westward. Babylon, as a major center of esoteric learning, was home to extensive traditions of divination, astrology, and ritual magic. Texts from Mesopotamia describe forms of lecanomancy (divination using liquid in a bowl) and katoptromancy (mirror scrying), practices that share structural similarities with the Ethiopian and Tibetan rituals.
This hypothesis aligns with broader historical patterns of cultural diffusion. The Silk Road and other trade routes served as conduits for not only commerce but also religious and magical knowledge. Babylonian astrological systems influenced both Greek and Indian traditions, just as mystical and ritualistic practices traveled alongside Buddhist monks and lay merchants. The presence of mirror divination in both Ethiopia and Tibet suggests that it may be a fragment of a much older and interconnected system of spiritual technologies.
Esoteric Transmission and the Kundalini Connection
The cross-cultural presence of mirror divination raises intriguing parallels with other esoteric practices, including the concept of kundalini. Just as divination involves opening oneself to external spiritual influences, kundalini awakening in tantric traditions is described as an energetic activation that fundamentally alters consciousness. In both cases, the practitioner becomes a vessel for forces beyond the self, forces that can be interpreted as divine or, in some cases, as possessing spirits.
For those who have experienced kundalini awakenings through tantric or meditative practices, the sensation of an “other” presence taking control is strikingly similar to descriptions found in spirit possession traditions. The parallel suggests that some esoteric practices, whether labeled as divination, energy work, or spiritual awakening, may stem from the same underlying phenomenon, one that has been variously interpreted depending on cultural and religious frameworks.
Implications for Understanding the Occult Legacy
If mirror divination has indeed traveled from Babylon to the far reaches of Ethiopia and Tibet, it serves as a potent reminder that esoteric traditions are rarely confined to one religion or civilization. They emerge, transform, and persist across centuries, carried by those who practice them and reshaped by the cultures that adopt them.
For those exploring the intersection of ancient magic and spiritual deception, this historical continuity offers a crucial insight: many seemingly distinct mystical practices may share a common origin, one that predates organized religions and crosses the boundaries of geography and belief. As such, these traditions warrant deeper examination, especially for those who, like myself, have encountered their hidden dangers firsthand.
[1]Sam van Schaik, interviewed by Jonathan Samuels, Interview with Sam van Schaik (January 15-16, 2019), p. 12.
As a young practitioner, I was taught that the Buddhist tantras were revealed after the Buddha’s parinirvana (death). According to this myth, the Buddha appeared in a divine form to gods and advanced beings, delivering esoteric teachings that remained hidden during his lifetime. These secret instructions were entrusted to celestial beings, nāgas (serpentine spirits), and bodhisattvas, who later transmitted them when conditions were ripe. This framed the tantras as mystical extensions of the Buddha’s wisdom, distinct from his public teachings in the sutras.
However, modern scholarship, like Jacob Dalton’s work, suggests a different history. Instead of divine revelation, tantric rituals and methodologies likely evolved through independent ritual manuals rather than canonical scripture.
The Karma Kagyu Perspective
The Karma Kagyu tradition holds that tantras were revealed by Vajradhara, the Dharmakaya Buddha, through visionary transmission to highly realized beings like Tilopa. Some teachings were safeguarded by dakinis and nāgas, while others were hidden as terma (treasures) to be revealed later. These traditional narratives emphasize a mystical origin; however, Dalton’s research suggests that tantric Buddhism developed more organically, emerging from evolving ritual manuals.
If one takes the traditional Buddhist stance that tantra was revealed by the Buddha (or Vajradhara), then Dalton’s research presents a major challenge. It suggests that these teachings were likely developed and refined within Buddhist circles long after the Buddha’s time rather than being his direct transmission.
Sutras vs. Tantras
Sutras are foundational Buddhist texts attributed to the historical Buddha, emphasizing ethical conduct, meditation, and wisdom. These canonical scriptures are preserved in the Pali, Chinese, and Tibetan canons. In contrast, tantras focus on esoteric rituals, deity yoga, mantra recitation, and secret initiations aimed at accelerating enlightenment. Unlike sutras, tantras use symbolic, coded language and require initiation from a qualified teacher.
The Dunhuang Manuscripts and Ritual Manuals
The Dunhuang manuscripts, discovered along the Silk Road, offer insight into early tantric Buddhism. Dalton’s work with these texts suggests that tantric Buddhism initially developed through practical ritual manuals (Vidhis, Kalpas, and Sadhanas) rather than formalized scriptures. These guides were adapted and often discarded, making their historical traceability difficult.
Dalton found that these manuals were frequently appended to or inserted into Dharani sutras, but also existed independently.[1] This suggests that Buddhist rituals did not originate from sutras but were already in practice before being formally recorded in scripture.
The Evolution of Tantric Practices
By the fifth century, ritual manuals became prominent alongside Dharani sutras, marking a shift toward applied spirituality. The rise of altar diagrams, temple worship, and visualization techniques in Buddhist rituals coincided with Hindu esoteric traditions, reflecting a cross-pollination of practices.
Conjuring the Buddha: A Reversal of Scriptural Authority
Jacob Dalton’s book Conjuring the Buddha: Ritual Manuals in Early Tantric Buddhism, explores how tantric Buddhism is deeply ritualistic and magical, emphasizing that practitioners sought to conjure the Buddha rather than merely study doctrine.
A key argument in his work is that ritual practices predated and shaped canonical texts, rather than the traditional assumption that textual sources dictated practice. This challenges the linear evolutionary model that sees tantric Buddhism as a straightforward development from Mahayana sutras. Instead, Dalton suggests that lived ritual traditions influenced the formation of canonical texts, making tantric Buddhism a dynamic and experiential tradition rather than a purely doctrinal one.
Rethinking Tantric Buddhism’s Origins
Dalton’s research does not outright prove that tantra did not come from the Buddha, but it strongly challenges the traditional Buddhist claim that tantras were directly revealed by him (whether in his historical form or as Vajradhara). Instead, it suggests that tantric Buddhism developed as an evolving ritual tradition rather than being a fully formed teaching originating from the Buddha himself.
Here’s why:
Ritual Practices Evolved Separately from Canonical Teachings Dalton’s findings indicate that tantric practices were initially recorded in independent ritual manuals that were later appended to or integrated into Dharani sutras. This suggests that these practices were not originally part of the Buddha’s recorded teachings but emerged over time within Buddhist communities.
No Direct Scriptural Evidence from Early Buddhist Texts The earliest Buddhist texts, the Pali Canon and Mahayana sutras, do not contain fully developed tantric doctrines. Tantra, as it appears in Vajrayana Buddhism, became prominent centuries later, and its early development seems to be more of a gradual accumulation of esoteric ritual practices rather than a singular revelation by the Buddha.
Cross-Pollination with Other Esoteric Traditions Many tantric elements such as mantras, deity yoga, mandalas, and ritual visualization, resemble practices found in Indian Shaiva and Shakta traditions. This suggests that tantric Buddhism developed through cultural and religious exchange rather than being an entirely unique transmission from the Buddha.
A Shift in Scriptural Authority The fact that tantric practices existed before being formally written into Buddhist scriptures implies that tantric Buddhism may have been practitioner-driven rather than stemming from a singular enlightened source (such as the Buddha). The codification of these rituals into texts might have been an attempt to legitimize or systematize existing practices rather than recording an original revelation.
What This Means for the Traditional View
If one takes the traditional Buddhist stance that tantra was revealed by the Buddha (or Vajradhara), then Dalton’s research presents a major challenge. It suggests that these teachings were likely developed and refined within Buddhist circles long after the Buddha’s time rather than being his direct transmission. Whether this undermines the legitimacy of tantra as a Buddhist tradition depends on one’s perspective: traditionalists may argue that the Buddha foresaw and seeded tantric teachings in hidden ways, while scholars would argue that tantra is a later development influenced by various religious and ritual traditions.
[1] In Tibetan Buddhism, a Dharani Sutra is a type of scripture or sacred text that contains dharanis—extended formulas or phrases composed of Sanskrit syllables believed to carry spiritual power. These are similar to mantras but often longer and more elaborate.
The full transcript of the lecture cited in the article can be read here:
Speaker: Jacob Dalton, Ph.D. | Distinguished Professor in Tibetan Buddhism, UC Berkeley
Thank you, Sanjot, for inviting me. It’s a strange experience to speak to a home crowd.
I’ve given a couple of talks on this book before, and those were more formal, in-depth lectures on specific elements of the book. But since those are all available online, I decided to take a different approach today—something a bit more personal and informal. I want to talk about the process I went through in writing this book.
Since many of you, particularly those in my seminars, have probably heard me discuss these ideas countless times—ideas I’ve been working with for nearly 20 years—I hope this will be the last time you have to listen to me talk about them.
This book began taking shape after I finished my Ph.D. and moved to London to work at the British Library. I was hired by the International Dunhuang Project, which had received a three-year grant to digitize the Tibetan tantric manuscripts in the Stein Collection.
A brief word on the Dunhuang manuscripts: they were discovered over a century ago in a cave along the Silk Road, near the city of Dunhuang. They are a treasure trove for scholars of Chinese and Tibetan religious studies, containing some of the earliest materials we have in Tibetan.
As part of this project, I worked alongside Sam van Schaik to catalog the tantric manuscripts. It was an incredibly fortunate three years, as my interests aligned perfectly with the project’s goals, allowing me to read through the collection extensively.
As I began working through these manuscripts, I noticed that previous scholarship had largely relied on the existing catalog of Tibetan manuscripts in London. Rather than being constrained by that framework, I decided to read through the manuscripts one by one, which led to the discovery of many new treasures.
At the start, I was so excited by my findings that I rushed to publish a few articles. Looking back, I wish I could retract them—they were filled with errors. I simply wasn’t yet qualified to fully understand the collection. Realizing this, I paused my publishing efforts to re-educate myself on the early history of tantric Buddhism in India, which ultimately delayed the completion of this book for nearly two decades.
The book does several things at once. It uses the Tibetan tantric manuscripts from Dunhuang as a window into the development of tantric Buddhism in India. My previous book, Taming of the Demons, used the same manuscripts to explore early Tibetan history, but this time I wanted to contextualize them in relation to Indian developments. While I am not a Sanskritist, I undertook the challenge of examining this material from an Indian perspective.
Despite what Sanjot may have said, much of the book is quite technical, dealing with the evolution of tantric ritual and how it functioned as a system. However, two larger arguments underpin the book.
First, I emphasize the importance of ritual manuals. The book is, in many ways, a study of early tantric ritual manuals as a distinct genre, particularly those preserved in Dunhuang.
Second, influenced by my time at UC Berkeley and conversations with colleagues like Paula and Allan, I began approaching these texts through a more literary lens.
The Discovery of Ritual Manuals as a Distinct Genre
In 2004, while working on an exhibition at the British Library, I was asked to write catalog entries for several manuscripts, including a Chinese diagram of an altar for the worship of Uṣṇīṣa Vijaya. Not knowing Chinese, I sought help in translating it, and I soon realized that nothing in the Uṣṇīṣa Vijaya Dhāraṇī Sūtra itself corresponded to the ritual practices depicted in the manuscript.
This led me to investigate further, and I discovered multiple versions of the text—some with separate ritual sections, others with independently circulating ritual manuals (vīdhis). The Chinese canon preserved some of these, as did the Tibetan canon, while the Dunhuang manuscript represented yet another variant.
This realization led to a major breakthrough: I began to see that ritual manuals had a life of their own, distinct from the canonical scriptures. Using the Taishō Tripiṭaka, I traced the emergence of ritual manuals, finding that they first appeared alongside dhāraṇī sūtras in the second half of the fifth century and proliferated in the sixth and seventh centuries.
Surprisingly, I found no evidence of Buddhist ritual manuals before this period. This was a revolutionary moment for me—I realized that an entire genre, central to contemporary Buddhist practice, had emerged relatively late in Buddhist history.
Ritual Manuals and the Proto-Tantric Debate
This finding intersected with a longstanding scholarly debate about whether dhāraṇī sūtras were proto-tantric. Scholars like Michel Strickmann argued that they were, while others, such as Robert Sharf, disagreed.
I concluded that dhāraṇī sūtras themselves were not tantric but rather Mahāyāna texts. However, the ritual manuals associated with them were proto-tantric. These manuals became a kind of “literary Petri dish,” fostering experimentation, localization, and innovation in Buddhist ritual practice.
What made these ritual manuals so flexible was their non-canonical status. Unlike scriptures deemed the word of the Buddha, these were human-authored texts that practitioners personalized with notes, additions, and modifications. Today, we can still see this practice in Tibetan Buddhism, where individuals compile personalized collections of prayers and instructions.
Yet, because they were seen as unimportant, these manuscripts were rarely preserved—except in rare cases like the Dunhuang collection, which offers a unique glimpse into this otherwise ephemeral tradition.
The Literary Qualities of Ritual Manuals
A turning point in my thinking came when Paula, a literature scholar, asked me what defined ritual manuals as a genre. Until then, I had approached them purely as practical guides. But her question forced me to consider their literary qualities.
Unlike Mahāyāna sūtras, which recount the Buddha’s teachings in a narrative framework, ritual manuals speak directly to the reader, instructing them in the imperative tense: “Place the offering here. Hold the beads in your right hand. Recite the mantra 21 times.” This direct address collapses the distance between text and practitioner, drawing the reader into the ritual itself.
With the rise of tantra, another shift occurred. The imagined world of the Buddha, once distant in Mahāyāna sūtras, merged with the practitioner’s experience. Instead of merely praying to a Buddha, practitioners imagined themselves as the Buddha at the center of the mandala.
This change is vividly illustrated in an eighth-century Tibetan commentary, which states that before drawing a physical mandala, the practitioner must first visualize the true mandala hovering above it. Here, the imagined world takes precedence over the physical.
The Evolution of Tantric Ritual and Poetic Language
A key feature of tantric ritual manuals is their use of poetry at crucial ritual moments. While early manuals were mostly prose, later tantric texts incorporated poetic passages, particularly during initiations and moments of transformation.
For example, in an initiation ritual, the master bestows symbolic objects upon the initiate while reciting poetic verses. This poetic register heightens the ritual’s significance, marking it as a moment of spiritual transformation.
By the ninth and tenth centuries, entire tantric ritual manuals were composed in verse, blurring the lines between human and Buddha-authored texts. These poetic passages, rich in metaphor and imagery, were designed to induce visionary experiences in the practitioner.
Conclusion
The developments I have traced in ritual manuals culminated in the late eighth and ninth centuries with the rise of esoteric initiations, the fourth empowerment, and the direct transmission of awakening through poetic or symbolic gestures—hallmarks of later tantric Buddhism.
While I have limited my argument to the evolution of ritual manuals, it is tempting to see a connection between these literary developments and the emergence of direct transmission methods in traditions like Dzogchen and Zen. By the end of the eighth century, the transmission of awakening was no longer solely a doctrinal process but an experiential one, facilitated through poetic, symbolic, and ritual means.
Tantric Deception 