The Esoteric Traditions and Antinomian Movements

It was roughly the middle of the first millennium ce that witnessed the emergence of a whole new branch of religious literature. This consists of texts which tend to call themselves ‘tantras’.

It is not just the original meaning of the word ‘tantra’ which is disputed and far from clear. The nature of the material itself found here is still extremely obscure and its critical study has only just begun. The chapter on ‘Saivism and the tantric traditions’ will summarise the results of current scholarship as far as material from Kashmir is concerned. Here some general comments will be made. Precisely because little critical study of the esoteric material has been available till very recently, all kinds of claims and global assessments by popularist writers could be made. Thus a concept ‘Tantrism’ (with the related adjective ‘tantric’) has gained great popularity, with its implied assumption that we are dealing here with a well-defined and coherent system of religious ideas and practices. But in reality, no such systematic coherence exists throughout the vast literature of the Tantras.

Historically speaking, it seems possible to explain the literary emergence of esoteric material by reference to the changed social and cultural circumstances in northern India after the collapse of the Gupta empire. A ‘normative’ and intellectual superstructure collapsed which made it possible for religious undercurrents to rise to the surface and find literary expression. It seems extremely unlikely that a new type of religion itself originated during this period. Indeed, externally not much is actually ‘new’ here. For most of the material found, earlier parallels could be cited. If anything, it is the combination of such material that is novel. Furthermore, it is the attitude and the purpose behind its application which are expressed now in a literary manner.

The term ‘magic’ is frequently used to describe or define the material found in the Tantras. But this is not a useful approach. It is in no way possible either to set up objective criteria for what features distinguish ‘religion’ from ‘magic’, or to reduce the enormous spectrum of religious activities in India to such a simplistic polarity. For example, the mantra is a particular combination of syllables (which may or may not have a direct linguistic meaning). Knowing it and reciting it is universally regarded as an act of actualising the particular power latent in the mantra. But Vedic hymns consist of ‘mantras’, the worship of God in the temple is accompanied by mantras and yogic meditation may well be accompanied by the muttering of them. Yet in all three cases it is hardly possible to regard this as ‘magic’ or ‘esoteric’, or to ignore the distinctions between these three types of religion. However, if a person actually believes in the existence of an all-powerful God and then expects to gain personal access to that power directly through the recitation of the appropriate mantra, then this must be regarded as a fourth type. To call it ‘magic’ will still obscure those cases in which the practice has a consciously expressed transcendental objective (‘to achieve liberation’). ‘The tantric approach’ will be used here as the term to refer to the type of religion which pursues the objective of gaining ‘power’, for whatever reason.

The following could be put forward as a very tentative general framework within which this type of religion could be assessed. Man lives in a universe which is pervaded by all kinds of forces. Many of them are destructive and threatening, others relate in a more positive manner to his life. What conventional society has on offer as the means of controlling these forces is believed to be limited and restrictive as to the realisation of man’s full potential. There is, however, a knowledge available which the more adventurous and mature person can draw on and thereby improve that realisation radically.

But it is esoteric, well guarded by a secret tradition. With the help of this esoteric knowledge it becomes possible to expose oneself to even the most dangerous and powerful of such universal forces and not just survive, but actually control them and absorb them for one’s own fulfilment.

Such a global description implies various important features. The world-view is that of ordinary people, not that of the philosopher or theologian. The value-system of ordinary society is maintained. For example, a potentially fatal force is still perceived as such here. But by means of the esoteric knowledge it is now possible to come in contact with precisely the taboo areas shunned by ordinary society because of these dangerous forces. Finally, just as this knowledge itself, so its application remains a secret affair. Clearly we are dealing here with a form ofantinomian- ism, but because of its secret nature it must be distinguished from other types (which are discussed below) which publicly reject certain conventional assumptions about what is ‘dangerous’ or forbidden. Naturally, in real life there will be a fair amount of overlap and fusion, but at least conceptually the differences of these types of antinomianism ought to be maintained.

When such ideas were given literary expression (however secret the texts themselves may then be kept), it became possible to draw upon the mainstream of the Indian intellectual scene. That means that the whole store of the philosophical and theological discussion could be utilised for the conceptualisation of this religion. Particularly prominent were the advaita-Vedanta, Saiva theology, and the Mahayana, and that also means that typically ‘Hindu’ and typically ‘Buddhist’ formulations evolved. Yet the presence of mainstream terminology and concepts must not be mistaken for an intrinsic relationship between the tantric approach and other forms of Buddhist and Hindu religion.

Thus there are at least three layers that have to be distinguished.

They are not just historical, but also social. At the basis, we have the ‘raw material’ upon which then the ‘tantric approach’ is imposed. This in turn was given metaphysical interpretation and thus linked with Buddhist and Hindu thought.

Attempts to define ‘Tantrism’ through catalogues of its ‘raw material’ necessarily fail, because all items of such a list are more or less Indian universals. Mantras and yantras (or mandalas), powerful strings of syllables and combinations of visual patterns, are all-pervasive in Indian religion. So aremudrds, particular gestures of the hands and fingers, andpuja, the rituals employed to propitiate, venerate or worship powerful non-human beings. The concept of s'akti (‘power’), abstract or personalised (particularly as a ‘goddess’), occurs frequently in monotheistic and other systems of thought. Certain elements are socially restricted, which means they are ‘natural’ and legitimate for some classes of society, but not for others. Among these may be mentioned the consumption of meat and alcohol and the celebration of orgiastic fertility festivals (like Holi), Inevitably the concern for ‘purity’ of some classes of society necessitates the (legitimate) existence of other classes that remove (and thus handle) ‘impurity’. Finally, certain phenomena would probably universally be regarded as taboo, like acts of wilful killing or the consumption of bodily excretions (faeces, urine, spittle, vomit, etc.), particularly of another person. All this is perceived not as objectively ‘bad’ (or even ‘impure’), but as subjectively harmful and destructive.

To understand how the ‘tantric approach’ deals with this situation, it would be of primary importance to define the social position of the tdntrika. Unfortunately, little direct information on this is available, and we have to rely on the whole on inference. But given the fact that we are dealing with actual texts in Sanskrit (however incorrect it may be in some cases) and that certain rituals can be analysed as conscious and systematised acts of breaking social taboos, it appears appropriate to locate this position somewhere above the tribals, peasants, artisans and villagers generally, with whom some of the features (like alcohol, meat, ‘impurity’) occur naturally.

For only from the vista of‘middle class’ (or better, of higher castes) certain practices could appear as ‘taboo’. Though it is useful for a social identification of the ‘tantric approach’ to concentrate on the breaking of taboos, this is obviously a far too limited overall definition. Certain types of ascetics have been suggested as more original practitioners of tantric rites.

At the heart of this religion lies the pursuit of power. Thus by drawing the right diagram (yantra or mandala) and reciting the appropriate mantras, powerful beings can be brought down into the centre of the mandala (or into the person himself). Pujd may then be offered, and that could mean to oneself as the seat of that power which has been made to enter the body. Furthermore, many forces normally perceived to be dangerous can be invoked and/or treated ritually through items equally perceived to be dangerous: blood, alcohol, etc. The setting itself could be a realm ordinary people would never enter, in particular the cremation ground, and that during night-time. Although of no such overall importance in the Tantras themselves, one particular ritual has dominated the imagination of many Western writers on the subject. These are the five M’s—a ritual involving five features which all begin with the letter ma in Sanskrit. At the beginning, there is mada, alcohol, consumed by the participants. Then there are dishes of matsya (fish) and mdmsa (meat). This is followed by mudrd, which in this context probably does not refer to gestures of the hand, but to a particular dish perceived as an aphrodisiac. Finally, there is maithuna, sexual intercourse. A host of interpretations have been proposed for this; moreover, there is enormous variation as to the precise context and the concrete details. Particularly when envisaged as practised in a cremation ground at night by male and female members of a secret cult who are not married to each other, it is not difficult to see in it a ritualised breaking of taboos.

Powers are utilised which according to ordinary perception are so dangerous that they are kept ‘taboo’, that is, outside one’s own person and realm. Moreover, the organisation of the ritual itself could suggest a progressive stimulation of sexual energies towards the final climax. But given the ritual context, such a climax is not perceived as merely physical. A force is released or realised which can be used for spiritual purposes.

How all this may work (whether specifically the five M’s or any other such rituals) depends on many factors, which include theories of a quasi-physiological nature. Accordingly, we may find that ejaculation is prevented. Whilst emission of semen is regarded as ‘waste’ of energy, the ritualised intercourse rechannelises this energy, pushing it upwards a (nominal, i.e. non-physiological) duct. This is part of a more comprehensive model, which itself may be found in a wide range of contexts (including ‘mainstream’, post-classical yoga). Two primary, complementary powers are located inside the human body, one in the head and the other at the base of the spine. By activating the lower one, pushing it upwards and letting it unite with the top one, an initially ‘diffuse’ person can become integrated and in total control of all his faculties. Alternatively, the union of man and woman can be explained as achieving a fusion of powers that normally occur only separately.

Any application of the tantric approach to the practical raw material implies some specific conception of its rationale and mode of operation. Whilst in principle it may not be impossible to establish a chronological scale of such conceptions, in practice only the more advanced levels of this conceptualisation are available to us. In other words, with the present state of scholarship these religious practices only make sense to us when they are spelled out within a known metaphysical framework. As indicated above, such a framework is not fixed or unique; a variety of very different traditions may be employed in different contexts. In Hindu environments, a whole array of associations around the concept of ‘sakti’ can be made use of. Philosophically, an in itself immutable and passive absolute can be envisaged as active (for example, as creating, maintaining and destroying the world) by envisaging saktis inhering in it. Theologically, this may be concretised as Siva and his goddesses, hissaktis, or as Kali and her ‘powers’. The tantric approach may now present itself as the concrete, ritual means of personally realising the unity of Siva and his saktis, of establishing individually the union of the absolute with the world of phenomena. In different words, liberation within the world can thus be achieved. Generally, the links with Saivism are quite pronounced in tantric literature, and Saivite symbolism and terminology is ubiquitous. But often it is not Siva, but Kali, who appears at the centre of such systems. Moreover, there are examples of a Vaisnava and Krsnaite character. The Bengal Sahajiyas draw heavily on the Krsnaism to which Caitanya gave shape in the sixteenth century, and from the twelfth century south Indian Srivaisnavism knows a Laksmi-Tantra, a work quite popular in the official temple worship of the Pancaratra.

More complex is the Buddhist application of this material. But even here it is possible to correlate the intentions with standard Buddhist ideals. Late popular Mahayana Buddhism may have venerated Bodhisattvas and Buddhas on a large scale, but, in terms of Mahayana metaphysics, these could never be regarded as ‘objective’ realities or beings. Instead, they shared with all other phenomena the basic characteristic of being ‘empty’. Particularly with the help of a model like that of the trikdya it was possible to emphasise the emptiness of all Buddha- and Bodhisattvafigures, while stating their ‘reality’ on the level of phenomenal existence. On this level, worship in temples and prayers addressed to them made sense. To proceed further and manipulate such figures ritually was in fact far less ‘sacrilegious’ than in a monotheistic Hindu system. For on the plane of absolute truth, no omnipotent absolute being can be envisaged. Moreover, the evolution of specific Bodhisattva- and Buddha-figures, with their mythologies, was a special development out of the original ideal that every good Buddhist should be a bodhisattva. The tantric approach allowed for precisely such an identification between the individual person and the— artificially projected—image of a (mythologised) Bodhisattva. As to the breaking of taboos, it could be argued that any view of the world that maintains as absolute a division of the respectable versus the forbidden is still limited and, in fact, characterised as fundamental ignorance. All phenomena are relative, because they condition each other. Ritually breaking taboos is a concrete way of transcending the level of the conditioned. Finally, the grand ideal of the Mahayana is the union of the perfections of wisdom and compassion. Now just as in Hindu contexts the conception of two complementary forces could be presented in Tantric contexts as the union of Siva and sakti, Buddhism could envisage it as the ritual concretisation of the union ofprajhd and karund.

But in some ways, the Buddhist conceptualisation of the tantric approach differs fundamentally from the Hindu varieties. Thus it does not break any metaphysical taboos; there is no clash here between the conception of an omnipotent highest reality (say Bhagavan Siva) and its tantric manipulation. That means, in its intentions tantric Buddhism is not esoteric, is not the alternative to an insufficient and mistaken mainstream religion. It simply presents itself as an easier, more efficient means of achieving standard Buddhist ideals, through methods that are appropriate for a feeble and decadent age. Thus when we sometimes find this form of Buddhism described as a third ‘ydna’ (most often, ‘Vajrayana’), this is not really parallel to the critical self-definition of a Mahayana vis-a-vis the Hinayana. Tantric Buddhism applies the abstract insights of Mahayana thought to concrete, ritualised practice.

The tantric approach is not uniform in other respects as well. By no means all applications can be called religious in any sense of the word. Often quite practical aims are being pursued: increase of wealth, power (in a political or economic sense), victory in military matters, health, etc. As far as the latter aim is concerned, there is an overlap with an enormously complex and variegated range of material which all deals with ‘healthy living’ and curing diseases. This includes the use of drugs, elixirs, medicines, yoga and sexual practices. In such contexts we may well encounter the ideal of ‘liberation’ expressed as ‘bodily immortality’. Secondly, where the tantric rituals are envisaged as operating on some internal aspect of the person, say mental or meditational, it was logical to internalise the ritual itself with its concrete, physical utensils, or present the latter through innocuous substitutes. A traditional classification of left- and right-hand Tantra refers to this possibility. Only the left-hand variety would physically and literally execute the rituals; the other variety obviously ceases to be truly antinomian.

Tantric Buddhism dominated the Indian scene during the last few hundred years of Buddhist presence in the sub-continent (untile. 1200 ce). China took in pre-Tantra Buddhism, and acted as a kind of filter when tantric material began to appear for a brief period. Only a minute amount of tantric materials was taken over, to become the Chen-yen (Japanese: Shingon) school. Tibet on the other hand encountered Buddhism during the flourishing phase of its tantric expression, and it is fundamentally this type of material which was translated and preserved in the Tibetan Canon (where hundreds of Tantras can be found). The Tibetans adopted tantric Buddhism not as an already fixed system, but as a still dynamic affair, and they actively continued the conceptualisation of the tantric approach in terms of Mahayana thought. But it would be unrealistic to assume that the north Indian Buddhist ‘universities’, where tantric Buddhism was cultivated, received from many Asian countries students and endowments merely because of the lofty ideal of achieving supreme enlightenment. As a system of gaining ‘power’, in a variety of senses, it had an attraction far beyond the strictly religious realm. The same applies to tantric Hinduism. Here the history has continued up to the modem time, although the practice of left-handed rituals must be assumed to have become extremely rare, if ever it played a significant role among non-ascetics. The boundaries between more abstruse forms of yoga, medicine, alchemy, pujd and right-hand tantra have become almost totally blurred during the second millennium ce.

In some senses related to, and in other senses radically different from, the tantric approach is another component of the Indian religious scene. This may be called the ‘antinomian movements’. What links them with the material discussed so far is a conscious rejection of certain socially accepted taboos, and of a belief in the efficacy of official religion. What is different is the rejection of any external expression of religion, including the forms of tantric ritual. Moreover, this antinomianism expresses itself publicly, without resorting to clandestine alternative or additional practices. Again, it is easy enough to draw conceptual distinctions; in reality the differences are blurred, particularly in the case of the ‘right-handed’ tantra, which has become ‘domesticated’.

Such antinomian movements have occurred in most regions of India over most of its history. The following observations can do no more than provide a very general characterisation of these movements. While it is inevitable that every religion creates its own external forms of expression, the antinomian critics point out that a mere adherence to such outside manifestations cannot be regarded as ‘true religion’. Institutionalisation allows for ossification: the inner life has died away, while the shells of outer form remain. Rituals, sacrifices, temple worship, yogic postures, social structures, sacred language, nocturnal tantric rites in cremation grounds— these and many similar phenomena may all be practised in a purely external, mechanical manner, without a commitment to an inner purification. Moreover, they may act as obstacles to the live religious realisation.

No study of the Indian religions would be accurate which did not pay attention to the permanent dynamism of evolving such forms (as signs of religious expression) and criticising them when they are perceived to have lost the life they are meant to contain. A classic example is obviously early Buddhism. Already here we see many factors at work which time and again during the following centuries generate similar antinomian attitudes. The Buddha quite consciously rejected ‘Brahmanism’, with its restrictive claim that only a minority of the population could have access to ‘true religion’, that the latter was contained in the Vedas, and that only the brahmins could be the legitimate guardians and ritual functionaries of this religious reality. The Mahayana in turn reacted against institutionalised forms of a slightly later Buddhism. In the course of the centuries, other areas of attack can be identified in ‘Hinduism’: its temple worship, folk rituals, forms of esoteric yoga and indeed tantric practices. What is set up as the live alternative is an inner religion that produces a real change in the person, non-ritualistic expressions, a fluidity that avoids solid and permanent structures (both literally and metaphorically), usage of the vernacular directly accessible to all members of a society and democratic and non-elitist social structures. The last mentioned point has often been called ‘attack on the caste system’, but this label is not very useful, for on the whole the attack was restricted to aspects of the social system which were discriminatory in religious matters alone. Generally it did not affect features like marriage or economic status. In terms of metaphysics, we can find time and again Buddhist undercurrents at work (for instance, in some of the Tamil Cittars). With the Manbhavs of Maharastra some Jain influence might be detected. Advaita-Vedanta with its conception of oneness of all beings could be applied, and radical forms of monotheism (around Siva or Visnu) also produced antinomian movements. Frequently, commonsense and arguments derived from what resembles our ‘proto-science’ are used to demonstrate the meaninglessness of rituals etc. In northern India, after the gradual permeation of society by Islamic ideas, Sufism in particular (itself a potentially antinomian phenomenon) began to interact with the traditional Indian attack on ossified religion. The arrival of Western ideas about religion and democracy added a further theoretical basis for antinomian attitudes. In many cases at least, what has conventionally been described as ‘reform Hinduism’, with the West priding itself in having provided the inspiration, ought to be regarded as modern representatives of the age-old antinomian dynamism.

The information on antinomianism during the first millennium ce is relatively sparse; a separate section deals with various Saivite movements that can still be identified. Towards the last few centuries of this millennium, the Apabhramsa language established itself as a lingua franca over wide areas of northern India. Derived from various local vernaculars, it produced a literature which included antinomian strands. Thus we have from this period Saraha’s Dohdkos'a, a work that officially would belong to Tantric Buddhism, but in terms of its ideas is perhaps more typical of the antinomianism discussed here. The religious realisation is sahaja, ‘innate’ in man, and will occur ‘spontaneously’, once all external and ossified religious forms have been removed. The Jains also expressed similar ideas in works like the Pdhudadohds and Paramappapaydsu.

From around the thirteenth century, a more pronounced regionalism emerges, with the return to the actual contemporary vernaculars. Various antinomian movements were directly involved in this linguistic and literary change. Thus during the twelfth century, in what is today the state of Karnataka, originated the Vira-Saivite or Lihgayite movement, with Basavanna as its primary instigator. Monotheism (with Siva at the centre) provided the metaphysical framework, but by attacking temple worship, brahmin rituals and the restrictions of the caste system (which in this particular case seems to have included the ‘secular’ side as well, i.e. marriage), the Lingayites are clearly antinomian. A large store of religious poetry in the vernacular Kannada (Kanarese) was produced by Basavanna and other poets like Allama-prabhu and the poetess Mahadeviyakka. The thirteenth century witnessed in neighbouring Maharastra the rise of the Manbhavs (Mahanubhavas) to whom Cakradhar gave its structure. This movement is characterised by a pronounced anti-Vedism and emphasis on asceticism. At a later stage, it developed the concept of the five Krsnas (which includes Cakradhar, the Hindu figure of Krsna and the central deity, Para- mesvara). It produced a sizeable literature in Marathi. Both movements have continued up to the present day; the Lingayites in particular, with five million followers in 1959, constitute an important influence in Karnataka. In Tamil- nadu, Srivaisnavism under Manavala ma muni (fifteenth century ce) derived from the total submission to Visnu’s saving grace an alternative social structure which discarded all the paraphernalia of ‘orthopraxy’.

In many other instances, less well-defined movements occurred. Thus in the Tamil-speaking region, we find a whole string of individual poets (from well back in the first millennium ce onwards), who are called Cittar (from Sanskrit Siddha) and who all share certain typically antinomian ideas. Northern Buddhism also knows of a series of Siddhas (which includes Saraha mentioned above). The theoretical centre of Siddha religion is at least the cultivation of siddhis, ‘miraculous’ powers gained through esoteric yogic practices. Closely related are the Nathas who all over northern India have produced a more clearly defined movement. From Bengal must be mentioned the Bauls, whose poetry has had a considerable impact on Bengali thought and religion. Here the interaction between Sufi and antinomian Hindu ideas is particularly strong, and indeed members of both religions join the (loosely defined) movement which still exists today.

Finally, in the Hindi-speaking regions of northern India we find another string of individual antinomian poets, the Sants. In most cases, these ‘saints’ did not create religious institutions as permanent frames for their ideas. Often from humble origins and also from Muslim backgrounds, they sang their religious songs on the market-places and by the roadside. Their deity is ultimately ineffable and beyond all human comprehension and conception. Thus they refer to it indiscriminately as Allah, Ram, etc. Divine saving grace is available everywhere; by purifying the heart and removing the obstacles of external religious forms, man can open himself up for it. Perhaps the most famous individual among the sants is Kabir (fourteenth century). But it was Guru Nanak (fifteenth century) and his nine successors who created a well-defined religious organisation within the overall framework of the sant tradition. This is the religion of the Sikhs (on which see the separate section pp. 714—25).

As an example of the continuity of the antinomian movements well into the nineteenth and twentieth centuries may be mentioned Narayana-guru. He belonged to a relatively low caste of Kerala, but managed to acquire the Sanskrit learning which on the whole had been restricted to the highest castes. Not only did he make the teaching of Advaita-Vedanta available to his own caste-fellows by transposing it into the vernacular Malayalam language. From its teaching on the oneness of all beings he also derived a social programme that challenged established modes of religious practice.

No discussion of antinomian movements in India would be complete without a reference to the further histories of such movements within the context of Indian society. They all may set out to challenge society at large, in a variety of ways. But most end up once again contained within the overall social fabric, for example as yet another caste or caste-cluster. Internal hierarchies and status symbols evolve which produce a new form of stratification. The spontaneous religious poetry in the vernacular of the past poets gets collected and turns into a ‘sacred scripture’ (often no longer comprehensible due to linguistic changes in the community). Hagiographies of the grand saints of the past are produced, and often Sanskrit is resorted to in order to define the belief-system within the framework of the Vedanta. Temples are erected and modes ofpujd are developed, not just in honour of the central deity, but also of the images of the past saints (often regarded as incarnations of the deity). Even such sants who refused to create institutional structures for their religious message may be drawn into this development. Thus around the figures of Kabir and Ravidas religious movements arose long after their deaths. Yet it would be a mistake to regard this return to external forms of expression simply as the reassertion of some ultimately static reality. The continuous emergence of new antinomian movements maintains a dynamism, and however formalised individual movements may become in due course, something genuinely new may well be added to the whole. For example, the way Manbhavs venerate Krsna in their temples, Sikhs deal ritually with their Sacred Book and even the Jains worship at temple images of their Tirtharikaras, is something new which cannot be subsumed under some general and fixed heading ‘Hindu temple worship’.

The Esoteric Traditions and Antinomian Movements

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