Tricycle | Awake in the World

Part of a new generation of teachers who grew up outside of Tibet, Mingyur Rinpoche represents an era of transition in the Tibetan community. Trained by some of the great Tibetan masters of twentieth century, he serves as a link between his father’s generation, who studied in the traditional monastic environment of pre-Communist Tibet, and teachers who were trained in exile.

Born in Nubri, Nepal, in 1976 to a family of renowned masters in the Tibetan Nyingma and Kagyu lineages, he began an education in the dharma at the age of nine, studying with his father, the late Tulku Urgyen Rinpoche, at the hermitage of Nagi Gompa in the foothills of the Kathmandu valley. At thirteen, under the guidance of his teacher, Tai Situ Rinpoche, Mingyur Rinpoche entered a traditional Tibetan three-year retreat; for three years and three fortnights he lived and studied, almost entirely in silence, in a small meditation room at Sherab Ling monastery near Dharamsala, India. He later attended the Dzongsar and Sherab Ling monastic colleges in northern India, where he officially completed his dharma education. Now twenty-seven, he is the retreat master at Sherab Ling and gives teachings in India, Nepal, and North America. Tricycle spoke with Mingyur Rinpoche last fall at Rangjung Yeshe Gomde in Leggett, California, the North American seat of his older brother, Chökyi Nyima Rinpoche. Erik Pema Kunsang translated.

You began to practice very seriously at an early age. Can you say something about that? I entered a three-year retreat at the age of thirteen. It was something I felt strongly about. I wanted to study with Tulku Saljey Rinpoche [1910-1991, an important Kagyu master], who was quite old at the time, at the Sherab Ling monastery, a couple of hours from Dharamsala.

Isn’t it unusual for a thirteen-year-old to begin such intensive practice? In India, yes, but it wasn’t so in Tibet. The major deciding factor in these cases is not age, but resolve, and after that, knowledge of the key points of practice. I had not completed my philosophical education, of course, but I had learned the general rituals, the chants.

As someone who was educated outside of Tibet, how different was your education from that of your teachers? I have tried my best to receive a traditional Tibetan education. In terms of studies and reflections, which form a major part of my theoretical education, I don’t feel there’s any real difference between what is currently taught and what was taught in Tibet. But if you compare me with the past generation, you’ll discover that people often spent more than twenty years in retreat, as did my father and Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche [a great Dzogchen master of the last century whose visits to the United States in the 1970s helped to spread Tibetan dharma]. I haven’t done that. Also, the style of retreat has differed. For example, my father spent at least three years in one place with his door sealed off; nobody came or went. There was an opening to pass food through, but that was it. That’s what you call a retreat in the real sense of the word. I haven’t practiced like that. So I’d say that between the present day and the past, there’s no difference in the theoretical studies, but with regard to the degree of perseverance in practice, there’s a big difference.

As part of a new generation of teachers that grew up outside of Tibet, how else did your experience differ from that of your father’s generation? The older generation grew up in an environment where there had been countless practitioners approaching realization. The atmosphere was different; it was easier for students to embrace the Buddha’s teachings and to persevere in practice than it is for those who come to Buddhism outside of Tibetan culture. For example, there’s the question of former lives, and the consequences of karmic actions. When you are in an environment where there have been so many masters who could see where somebody took rebirth, who could point it out and could prove it—identify the reincarnations and so forth—it makes it much easier to trust the teachings on karmic consequences.

But that doesn’t mean that we’re not allowed to investigate. You can examine the teachings for yourself. The Buddha himself said so. When you hear my teachings, you should do as you do when you buy gold: You test it first; you don’t accept what I say at face value. You don’t have to trust blindly. We can derive great benefit from using science as the example. We can use scientific understanding, for instance, to explore the benefits of calm abiding, shamatha; of compassion; of identifying negative emotions and noticing how they can be changed and transformed with Buddhist practice [see “Science and Buddhism,” Tricycle, Spring 2003]. You can, of course, combine these two approaches—simple trust and the scientific method. There’s no problem there, and for Westerners it’s probably best to hear an explanation first, and then to test it out. Once you get a taste of it for yourself, you begin to gain trust, and you can proceed to deepen your practice.

Still, it is perfectly okay to follow the Buddhist teachings through faith? Simply being willing to trust that what the Buddha taught is true is allowed. There is an approach with the Buddha’s teachings that is called the tradition of pith instructions. In this case, it is not required to conduct elaborate investigations. You trust the teachings and you apply them. Not blindly, of course, but without elaborate investigation. It’s different from studying Buddhist philosophy. There you need to investigate intelligently. Otherwise, you won’t really understand the philosophical position, which requires a lot of time and energy. But in the tradition of pith instructions, the Buddha condensed the most vital teachings of what one is to know and apply into just a few key points. Applying these, one can progress very quickly and effectively. It’s like this: Say you’re sick and you need to take a dose of medicine. You can investigate the medicine and find out what it’s made of, who concocted it, how much it cost, how it’s made and so forth, and then take it. That’s perfectly fine. It just takes longer. Or, if you trust the doctor and you feel it’s the right medicine, you take it, and then also it’s fine, and even faster. In both cases you get cured.

Many Westerners came to Buddhism because it seemed so logical. Impermanence made perfect sense, and was easily verified. And no-self made sense—that people and things have no intrinsic, unchanging identity. That we suffer is clear. However, in meditation, often the experience of these things is far more convincing than any of the logical proofs. Can you say something about that? There are two approaches. The first is theoretical investigation. It means using our intelligence to find out what is fact and what isn’t. And if you know how to investigate intelligently, you will discover the Buddha’s truths. You will see what is real and what isn’t. You’ll see that it is true that composite things are impermanent. And if you really pay attention, you will also discover that there is no intrinsic personal identity, that all things are ultimately empty. And that deluded states—samsaric states—are painful. It’s a fact. That’s how it is.

It’s also a fact that calming down, practicing what we call shamatha, or calm abiding in the meditative state, has sublime qualities. This is another way you can attain conviction about what is real and what isn’t, gaining trust in what is. In this case, it doesn’t help to continuously analyze, because the act of analyzing actually disturbs the calm; you cannot be confident in the experience of calmness by being analytical. It’s self-defeating. And when it comes to vipashyana meditation—the experience of seeing clearly—it’s the same; you can’t really have the experience of insight if you continuously analyze. So a different approach is necessary. Aside from intellectual trust, you have to develop an experiential trust. The first kind of trust is only good if it creates circumstances that lead to the second, experiential type. This is gained through training personally in the experience of calmness, shamatha meditation, and also in vipashyana meditation, which leads to the insight of emptiness. Not as theory, but as an experience. Developing this kind of trust, combined with compassion for beings and devotion to the awakened ones, can lead you all the way to the awakened state of the Buddha; mere intellectual understanding will not. That’s the main difference between the two kinds of trust or understanding.