The Great Stupa of Jonang, built by Dolpopa in 1333, is not merely a monument; it is a three-dimensional representation of the Zhentong vision and the Kalachakra Tantra:
Mount Meru and the Cosmos: Architecturally, the stupa represents the center of the universe. Its construction “raised Mount Meru,” establishing an axis connecting this plane with Buddha realms.
The Kalachakra Mandala: The structure is an architectural mandala. Its levels and chapels correspond to the different Yidams and stages of the Kalachakra Tantra, symbolizing aspects of the purification of body, speech, and mind.
The Three Turnings of the Wheel: Unlike other stupas, the one at Jonang was designed to reveal the Third Turning of the Wheel of Dharma, teaching that Buddha Nature is a radiant and permanent reality, not a simple non-affirming negation.
Architecture of Awakening: As a Kumbum (meaning “one hundred thousand images”), the stupa contains innumerable murals and statues. Circumambulating the stupa is a moving meditation that imprints the structure of the enlightened universe onto the practitioner’s mind.
Victory over Oblivion: The Stupa of Victory symbolizes the triumph of definitive teachings over provisional interpretations.
The philosophical meaning of the Great Jonang Stupa is inseparable from the Zhentong (Other-Emptiness) view and the Kalachakra Tantra. Architecturally, it serves as a “living map” of the practitioner’s journey from relative confusion to ultimate, radiant reality.
The Core Philosophy: Zhentong (Other-Emptiness)
The stupa’s philosophy emphasizes:
The Absolute as “Full”: Unlike the “Self-Empty” (Rangtong) view, which focuses on the absence of inherent existence, Zhentong teaches that ultimate reality (Buddha Nature) is not empty of itself. Instead, it is empty of relative phenomena like suffering and delusion.
The Radiant Foundation: The stupa represents the “Mountain Doctrine”—the idea that Buddha Nature is a permanent, radiant, and unchanging essence present within all beings.
The Third Turning: Philosophically, the stupa is the ultimate expression of the Third Turning of the Wheel of Dharma. It moves beyond the negation of the Second Turning (emptiness) to affirm the positive qualities of Enlightenment.
Kalachakra: The Cosmos and the Body
The stupa is a physical manifestation of the Kalachakra Tantra (The Wheel of Time), which connects three dimensions:
Outer Kalachakra (The Universe): The stupa represents Mount Meru, the axis mundi or center of the Buddhist cosmos. Its construction was described by Dolpopa as “raising Mount Meru” to establish a direct connection between the earthly realm and the enlightened realms.
Inner Kalachakra (The Subtle Body): The structure mirrors the human body’s energy channels and chakras. Each level of the stupa corresponds to a stage of purification of the practitioner’s body, speech, and mind.
Alternative Kalachakra (The Path): The 108 chapels and thousands of images (Kumbum) serve as a meditative tool. Circumambulating the stupa, the practitioner imprints the mandala’s enlightened structure onto their own mind, transforming ordinary perception into wisdom.
The Symbolism of Victory
Often called the Stupa of Victory (namgyal chorten), it symbolizes:
Triumph over Ignorance: Victory of definitive over provisional teachings.
Integration: Reconciliation of diverse views and practices in the “Ocean of Definitive Meaning”.
Most Tibetans say that in the Three Turnings of the Wheel of Dharma, the First Turning is false because all phenomena are taught to be truly existing; the Middle Turning is the definitive meaning because it teaches emptiness; the last turning is provisional because it teaches the existence of an absolute.
Generally speaking, not all provisional meanings are false words. In the stages of the path that lead to the excellent way things are, The teachings on the relative are provisional in meaning, While the teachings on the way reality exists Are taught as the definitive meaning and asserted by the wise.
The three-fold turning of Nāgārjuna, Asaṅga, and his brother [Vasubandhu] are established to have one meaning. In the First Turning, the relative is taught In accordance with the way it appears. Since analyzing for true existence, the actual way things are, Is not taught in that turning, these are not false words.
The Middle Turning refutes all phenomena within saṃsāra and nirvāṇa and all that is relative. However, the subject of whether Buddha Nature Exists or does not is never taught and thus is not analyzed. Therefore, these first two turnings do not contradict the last.
While the relative is primarily taught in the First Turning, The definitive meaning is merely mentioned in the middle [turning]. Only in the last [turning] is the absolute taught completely. Using the examples of medicine and learning the alphabet, This is the intended meaning, while the others are inconsistent.
[…]
In the First Turning, if “all phenomena are self-established” was taught, then that would contradict the Sūtraof Advice to Kātyāyana and so forth. In the middle [turning], if the absolute space of the dharmadhātu and so forth were refuted, then that would necessarily contradict the Request of Maitreya and so forth. According to those words, since the Three Turnings of the Wheel of Dharma lack even the slightest degree of internal contradiction, the way of distinguishing the provisional and definitive is like climbing a staircase of unique teachings with wondrous and eloquent expressions. This is what allows the skillful means of pith instructions to be realized by beings. Moreover, the final turning brings forth the unique teachings that are the profound essence of the Victorious One’s intended meaning. They are elucidated as the definitive meaning. That elucidation is no mere personal fabrication.
Receiving a Dharma Name (tib. Choe-ming) is a significant milestone, marking a “second birth” as you enter the Lineage. The name reveals your character or the qualities you need to cultivate.
There are various methods to give Dharma names. In the Jonang Lineage, we use the Golden Urn system.
A Dharma Name drawn from the Holy Remnant (Ratna Shaka) Golden Urn carries deep significance:
That our Lamas use the Golden Urn for all Jonangpas —and not just for Tulkus— is a profound act of resistance and sovereignty.
As members of the Holy Remnant (Ratna Shaka), our names are part of an unbroken, pure stream that survived four hundred years of persecution.
Using the Golden Urn for Refuge names turns a tool of state control into one of pure Lineage transmission.
How to “Carry” the Dharma Name
When you contemplate your name, see, feel, and manifest the ever-present qualities of Buddha Nature that are empty of other (Zhentong), the incidental stains. Your name is not something you become; it is the reality of what you already are.
Ways to Use Your Dharma Name
As a personal mantra, a call to observe your vows and commitments.
When dedicating merit and receiving transmissions or empowerments.
Whenever interacting with the Lama and Sangha.
In Dharma circles only, or as openly as you may want.
In his 2024 presidential campaign and in recent months, US President Donald Trump has repeatedly cast himself as a peacemaker—while simultaneously escalating threats, normalizing coercion, and deepening fear within the United States and internationally. In Venezuela, Trump welcomed an offer from government opposition leader María Corina Machado to symbolically share her Nobel Peace Prize as an “honor,” before sidelining her in favor of a more pliable interim authority tied to the previous regime. On Greenland, he has insisted that US ownership of the island is necessary for “psychological” and strategic reasons, refusing to rule out military force against a NATO ally and entertaining inducement and disinformation campaigns to sway a referendum. On Iran, Trump has urged protesters to “take over” their institutions, promising that “help is on its way,” even as death tolls rise, executions loom, and the nature of that help remains ominously undefined. (Reuters)
In the US, Trump has threatened to invoke the Insurrection Act of 1807 to deploy federal troops against protesters in Minneapolis, following weeks of unrest sparked by a fatal shooting during immigration enforcement operations. Framing demonstrators as “insurrectionists” and federal officers as “patriots,” Trump has presented military force as a pathway to restoring order and peace—over the objections of state officials and amid lawsuits alleging racial profiling and warrantless arrests. The result is a familiar pattern: a rhetoric of peace as a promised outcome while force, intimidation, and spectacle are normalized as the means.
Across these disparate contexts—Venezuela, Greenland, Iran, and Minneapolis—the throughline is both unpredictability and the repeated substitution of personal authority for ethical restraint. Peace, here, simply means compliance with power. Buddhist history offers a striking analogue in the figure of Devadatta, the Buddha’s cousin, whose reformist rhetoric and charismatic certainty nearly tore the early sangha apart.
In early Buddhist texts, Devadatta is not a simple villain. He is disciplined, eloquent, and persuasive; someone whose moral seriousness appears, at least initially, beyond reproach. He proposes stricter ascetic rules for the sangha, presenting them as necessary to preserve the purity of the Dharma amid rapid growth and increasing royal patronage. To many monks who were no doubt anxious about decline and eager for clarity, his message resonates. He offers certainty where there is ambiguity, discipline instead of compromise, and decisive leadership where restraint seems slow.
Yet Devadatta’s reforms are inseparable from his ambition to rule. When the Buddha declines to impose these rules universally, Devadatta frames this restraint as moral weakness and positions himself as the true guardian of the Buddhist community. He cultivates alliances with political power, seeks to split the sangha, and ultimately escalates to violence, including attempts on the Buddha’s life. What he offers as peace through purity reveals itself as an attempt at control through coercion.
This dynamic—moral language leveraged to justify domination—reappears often when leaders promise peace while threatening force. In Greenland, Trump’s insistence that only American ownership can ensure Arctic stability has been paired with rhetoric that Greenlanders describe as disrespectful and colonial, producing fear and anger rather than trust. In Venezuela, praise for “peace, freedom, and democracy” quickly gave way to backing an interim leader acceptable to Washington, despite her deep ties to a discredited regime. In Iran, exhortations to protest are issued from afar, without accountability for the lives placed at risk or clarity about what “help” entails. And in Minneapolis, the promise to “quickly put an end to the travesty” by deploying troops recasts rising militarization as peacemaking, even as it risks further violence and erosion of civil trust.
The Buddha’s Sangha was not insulated from politics. It relied on public trust and royal patronage. A schism threatened not only spiritual cohesion but material survival. Devadatta understood this well. By aligning himself with rulers and mobilizing grievances among monks, he sought to replace the Buddha’s authority with his own. Had he succeeded, the Sangha would likely have become an instrument of state power, enforcing conformity rather than cultivating liberation.
The Buddha’s response is telling. He does not counter Devadatta with force or propaganda. He refuses to collapse discernment into decree. Instead, he trusts practice over performance and restraint over reaction, allowing Devadatta’s ambitions to reveal themselves through their consequences. The Sangha survives because leadership is measured in the depth of moral character, not by charisma or rhetorical certainty.
This stands in sharp contrast to contemporary politics, where peace is often equated with compliance and stability with silence. In Minneapolis, federal raids, tear gas, and the threat of troops have deepened fear among immigrant communities and fueled protests, prompting school closures and emergency measures. State officials have pleaded for de-escalation, warning that campaigns of retribution erode trust and make genuine safety harder to achieve. The specter of the Insurrection Act—historically invoked at the request of local authorities—now hangs over the city as a unilateral threat, transforming a legal instrument into a symbol of domination.
In Greenland, residents have spoken plainly, telling the world that they cannot be bought. The administration’s belief that incentives, pressure, or intimidation can secure alignment has hardened opposition and revived memories of colonial domination. Even those open to independence report being repelled by the rhetoric that treats them as assets rather than people. Peace, here, is framed as ownership and control—an end to be achieved, as Trump says, “whether they like it or not.” (Politico)
In Iran, the logic is inverted but no less troubling. Protesters are encouraged to escalate, to “take over,” while Trump retains plausible deniability about what follows. Peace is promised as a future reward, but the immediate costs are borne by those facing bullets, prisons, and gallows. Buddhism would recognize this as a profound ethical failure: inciting action without sharing risk, speaking of justice while refusing responsibility for harm. Even if tensions calm in Iran or certain Venezuelans celebrate the arrest of their leader, which they might, what is the cost in terms of moral order?
In Minneapolis, the pattern returns to domestic soil. Protests born of people caring for their neighbors are met with the language of insurrection and the threat of overwhelming force. The distinction between maintaining order and imposing submission blurs. When peace is defined as the absence of visible dissent—secured by troops rather than trust—it becomes indistinguishable from repression.
Devadatta’s certainty operated in much the same way. Convinced of his righteousness, he felt authorized to coerce, divide, and ultimately to kill. His tragedy—and the lesson it carries—is that moral language, when severed from compassion and restraint, becomes a weapon.
Buddhism repeatedly urges communities to judge leaders not by eloquence, confidence, or symbolic gestures, but by the effects of their actions. Do they reduce greed, hatred, and delusion? Or do they inflame them while speaking noble words?
False peacemakers thrive when discernment is outsourced, when communities mistake decisiveness for wisdom and charisma for care. Peace prizes, reformist slogans, and promises of “help” are no substitute for ethical practice. The Buddha’s counsel is demanding but clear: peace is not claimed, transferred, or imposed; it is practiced—patiently, accountably, and with reverence for those whose lives bear its costs.
From Devadatta’s failed attempt to take over the sangha to contemporary interventions abroad and militarized responses at home, the pattern endures. The gravest dangers often arrive speaking the language of peace. The work of discernment—then as now—belongs to us all.
In a time of rising global tensions, deepening division, and widespread mistrust, the Dharma offers steadiness, dispassion, and moral clarity. Buddhism has never promised that we can extinguish every fire that arises in the world, nor that awakening insulates us from danger or loss. Yet it has always insisted that the vow to alleviate suffering requires our attention and, at times, our embodied presence.
This truth was articulated with stark honesty this week by an Episcopal bishop from New Hampshire, Robert Hirschfeld, who invoked the memory of Jonathan Daniels, the seminary student killed by a sheriff’s deputy in Alabama during the US civil rights movement. Addressing fellow clergy, Hirschfeld warned that, “. . . we may be entering into that same witness. And I’ve asked them to get their affairs in order, to make sure they have their wills written, because it may be that now is no longer the time for statements, but for us with our bodies, to stand between the powers of this world and the most vulnerable.” (NHPR)
For Buddhists, such words resonate uncomfortably but clearly. The Middle Way is not neutrality in the face of harm or an excuse for disengagement. The story of Devadatta reminds us that action severed from wisdom quickly curdles into coercion and that moral urgency untethered from compassion becomes yet another form of violence. As we respond to this moment—whether through protest, presence, speech, or service—let us do so grounded in the Dharma’s deepest teachings. And let us act from love rather than hate, from clarity rather than confusion, and from wisdom that refuses both despair and domination.
The way of virtue is respecting the world — respecting our own bodies, respecting the rights of other beings, living in a way that is not cruel, not harmful, not divisive, not insensitive, not brutal.
When I was a child, each year in December, I was given the task of arranging the manger scene in our home. I would place the figures carefully – the Virgin Mary, St. Joseph, the shepherds, the animals. But the three Wise Kings… those I would place very far away, on the other side of the room. And each day, day after day, I would move them a little closer. It was my sacred responsibility, my secret Advent practice. The Magi were traveling, approaching, persevering in their search for something precious they could barely imagine.
I didn’t know then that I was practicing Dharma. I didn’t know that I was meditating on the Noble Path itself.
Now, decades later, having traveled my own path from the West toward the teachings of the East, I want to share with you a beautiful story – a legend that unites these worlds, that honors both the tradition of our childhood and the truths we have come to know.
There exists an ancient story, whispered in the monasteries of the Himalayas, carved in the margins of forgotten texts, that tells of three great Buddhist masters who once traveled westward in search of an enlightened being.
They were high-ranking Lamas – some say they were recognized tulkus, others that they were Mahāsiddhas who had achieved great realizations. They knew the arts of astronomy and the observation of auspicious signs deeply. For years, they had studied the heavens, consulted ancient prophecies, and meditated on the signs of the times.
And in their most profound meditations, in their most precise calculations, in their most lucid dreams, they received the same revelation: a being of immense spiritual realization was about to manifest in distant lands of the West. A Bodhisattva, a teacher, someone whose Buddha Nature would shine with such intensity that it would transform the world.
They didn’t know exactly where. They didn’t know exactly when. But they knew they must go. They knew they must bear witness. They knew they must offer recognition to this enlightened being, because that is the sacred duty of those who can see the true nature.
So they prepared their journey.
Each one prepared precious offerings to bring to the enlightened being:
Gold – the purest metal, which neither corrupts nor rusts – symbol of perfect generosity, of incorruptible Buddha Nature, of merit accumulated through countless lives.
Frankincense – which, when burned, transforms completely, rising as an offering – is a symbol of devotion that gives itself totally, of a practice that transforms ordinary substance into spiritual fragrance.
Myrrh – the bitter resin used for embalming, which knows death – symbol of renunciation, of the profound recognition of impermanence, of the acceptance that all that is born must die.
These three gifts were the three doors of Dharma: generosity, devotion, and renunciation.
The journey itself became their deepest practice. They crossed deserts that reflected the empty space of meditation – vast, silent, stripped of all that is superfluous. They traversed mountains that challenged their physical and mental endurance. They followed a star that shone in the darkness – as we follow the Lama’s guidance through the darkness of ignorance.
They didn’t know precisely what they would find. This is the essence of authentic faith – not blind certainty, but the deep confidence that allows us to advance toward the unknown, guided only by the most subtle signs and inner conviction.
They traveled for months. Perhaps years. Time became fluid in their walking practice. Each step was a prayer. Each night under the stars was a meditation on vastness.
Finally, the star stopped. It led them to a humble place – not a palace, not a monastery, but a simple stable where animals sought refuge from the night cold.
And there, in the straw, they found what they had been seeking: a newborn infant.
The three Lamas knelt down. Not because the baby had done anything extraordinary. Not because he had demonstrated miraculous powers. But because they could see.
Through deep training and years of contemplative practice, they had developed the eyes to recognize the Buddha Nature when they encountered it. And in this child – in his clear eyes, in the radiant presence that emanated even from that small body – they recognized what they had traveled so far to find.
This is what our teacher, Dolpopa, teaches us: Buddha Nature is not something that is created or developed. It is primordially present, complete from the beginning, radiant in its own light. The baby didn’t have to wait to become enlightened – enlightenment was already there, complete, perfect, shining.
The Lamas were simply recognizing what had always been true.
They presented their offerings – gold, frankincense, myrrh – not as gifts to a worldly king, but as formal recognition of a master. This is our lineage too: we recognize tulkus when they are children, we see the continuity of realization through lifetimes, we honor the presence of wisdom no matter what form it takes.
The mother watched them with wonder. The father, confused but respectful. And the child… the child simply was, radiant in his own nature, needing to do nothing more than exist.
The three Lamas remained in contemplation. They recited mantras of auspiciousness. They made aspirations for the benefit of all beings. And in that humble stable, surrounded by the warm breath of animals, they experienced the direct truth: the sacred manifests where it wishes, as it wishes, defying all our expectations of worldly grandeur.
The story tells that the three Lamas returned to their lands “by another route.”
This is not just geography – it is spiritual transformation. You cannot truly encounter an enlightened being and return by the same path. The path of return is necessarily different because you are different.
They had set out as seekers. They returned as witnesses.
They had set out with theories and calculations. They returned with direct experience.
They had set out asking, “Where is the enlightened being?”
They returned knowing “Buddha Nature is everywhere, waiting to be recognized.”
Some say they carried teachings back to their monasteries – stories of this Western master, predictions of how his Dharma would spread. Others say they simply remained silent, keeping what they had witnessed as a secret treasure in their hearts.
But all agree: they were transformed. The journey changed them. The recognition changed them. And that transformation flowed outward in ever-widening circles, touching all whom they met afterward.
Because this is how Dharma works – not in grand public gestures, but in silent transmissions from heart to heart, in recognition that passes from those who can see to those who are ready to see.
I share this story with you not as historical fact – perhaps it happened, maybe it didn’t – but as a beautiful truth. It’s a story that honors our cultural roots while opening doors to Dharma. It’s a story that says: “The recognition of Buddha Nature transcends borders, traditions, geographies.”
When I, as a child, moved those figurines of the Wise Kings closer to the manger each day, I was practicing something profound without knowing it. I was meditating on the spiritual journey. I was honoring perseverance. I was recognizing that encounter with the sacred requires patience, requires constant movement, requires faith in what we can barely see.
And now I ask you: Where are you in your own journey? Are you still far away, beginning to move? Or are you close, almost ready for recognition?
More importantly, can you recognize Buddha Nature when you encounter it? Not only in exalted teachers or sacred texts, but in the ordinary, in the humble, in the stable of daily life?
The three Lamas teach us that authentic wisdom is not impressed by palaces. It seeks truth wherever it shines. And when it finds it – even in a baby in the straw, even in the simplest circumstances – it kneels in recognition.
This Day of the Kings, when we celebrate this beloved tradition, let us also remember this deeper dimension. Let us remember that we are all travelers, following our own star. We all carry precious offerings – our generosity, our devotion, our renunciation. And we all seek the same recognition: the Buddha Nature that shines in every being, waiting only for us to open our eyes to see it.
May our journey continue with joy. May our recognition be clear. May our return be by a transformed path.
By the merit of sharing this beautiful story, may all beings recognize their own Buddha Nature. May everyone’s journeys reach fruition. May recognition blossom in every heart.
I recently attended the annual Animal Advocates Online Meditation Retreat, led by the Venerable Tashi Nyima — a monk, longtime animal activist, and one of the calmest and most joyful people I’ve met. Someone asked how he maintains that calm and joy amid so much suffering in the world. He answered, simply: “I focus on the people doing good.”
Our natural tendency is to focus on the bad. The hens locked in cages. The broiler chickens limping in pain. The fish suffocating in silence. Or the people who enable it: greedy executives, cowardly politicians, indifferent media. And all of that is real.
But so too is the good. The progress listed above is not the result of luck or fate. It is the result of people’s actions: advocates who relentlessly campaigned for reforms, volunteers who contacted companies and politicians, and donors who generously funded them.
You are one of those people. You may have been dismissed as a do-gooder, a sentimentalist, or even a fanatic. And you are — in the very best way. The abolitionist and RSPCA co-founder William Wilberforce put it best: “If to be feelingly alive to the sufferings of my fellow-creatures is to be a fanatic, I am one of the most incurable fanatics ever permitted to be at large.”
You have chosen to feel intensely alive to the suffering of your fellow creatures — and to spend your time, money, and focus helping them. You do this knowing they will never thank you, never recognize you, never even know your name. You do it simply because it is the right thing to do.
Thank you for making that choice. And happy holidays.
I prostrate before my spiritual father, Buddha Vajradhara, And express here the few words that flow from my heart…
This life’s appearances are like rainbows; Don’t chase after them, I beseech you!
These appearances and what is made by mind are one; Don’t be attached, grasping to them as separate, I beseech you!
If your awareness does not arise without attachment, There is a danger that your meditation will become a white lie.
If you don’t firmly control your mind, There is a danger that you’ll waste your life in meaningless acts.
If you don’t focus entirely on your own benefit [in dispelling non-virtue], You’ll fool yourself with the seeming appearance of helping others.
This human body you have right now Is very difficult to attain repeatedly. Once you are reborn in the three miserable states, You’ll have no chance whatsoever to meet the sacred Dharma.
Now, if your foot slips, you’ll fall, To become like a stone in the depths of hell. Such is the result of virtue and experiential cultivation put off for later— Negative acts and faults pour down like rain. Think of this and devote yourself to the Dharma.
Aging’s suffering will soon come; Once illness and unwanted circumstances appear, It is hard for the Dharma to draw a mind tormented by suffering to the path. I ask you to devote yourself to the Dharma while you’re content!
Now, during our human lives, Our country’s and region’s changing fortunes, Our spiritual masters’ and teachers’ lives, Our monastic companions’ and Vajra brothers’ and sisters’ destinies, And our parents’, friends’, and foes’ situations All expose the innate faults of impermanence. Each passing year, month, and day Is an instructor who teaches impermanence, Evokes disillusionment, and is right beside us.
We will eventually have to leave behind Any act we do at any time during this life— Give up activity, my child, and meditate.
Your body is impermanent; it’s flesh and bone part ways. As precious as this body is to you, It will finish as a heap of bones. All the wealth you accumulate with diligent greed Will be gained and shared by who knows whom [after death]? Even the clothes and food you now own Are the shroud and dry food of a corpse. Even if you amass great power and armies, When the unpredictable time of your death arrives, You will give up wealth, power, dominion, and possessions And see yourself wander in the three miserable states. Impermanence is the common nature of composite phenomena. Contemplate this and devote yourself to the Dharma.
Train in universal love and compassion And maintain lack of attachment toward whatever appears. In this life, the next, and the intermediate state, What is always precious in every circumstance Is confidence in your father-like spiritual master: Put your trust in him. Make heartfelt prayers to him, I beseech you! Surely you will never be deceived [by him].
Disengagement, compassion, devotion, And lack of distraction within nonattachment— If you can be diligent in these four points, You will reach the summit of your aspirations.
Buddhism presents a fascinating study of how a religious tradition adapts to diverse cultural contexts while maintaining its essential teachings. This process has been central to Buddhism’s remarkable spread across Asia and, more recently, to Western societies.
Historical Patterns of Buddhist Inculturation
Buddhism demonstrated remarkable cultural adaptability from its earliest expansion beyond India. When it entered China along the Silk Road, it encountered a sophisticated civilization with established Confucian and Taoist traditions. Rather than replacing these entirely, Buddhism engaged in creative dialogue, adopting Chinese philosophical vocabulary and concepts. Chinese Buddhists employed Taoist terms to explain Buddhist concepts, with wu wei (non-action) serving as a means to clarify mindfulness, and the Taoist concept of te (virtue) providing a bridge to understanding Buddhist ethics.
In Tibet, Buddhism encountered Bon, the indigenous shamanistic tradition. The resulting synthesis created unique Tibetan Buddhist practices that incorporated ritual elements, deities, and cosmological concepts from Bon while maintaining Buddhist doctrinal foundations. The Jonang tradition exemplifies this process, developing distinctive philosophical positions, such as the Shentong (other-emptiness) view, which emerged from this Tibetan cultural matrix.
Mechanisms of Inculturation
Buddhism’s inculturation typically occurs through several key processes. Translation becomes transformation – as Buddhist texts move into new languages, subtle shifts in meaning create space for cultural adaptation. The Sanskrit concept of dharma is translated as fa in Chinese and chos in Tibetan, each carrying slightly different connotations that reflect local philosophical emphases.
Ritual practices adapt to local customs and sensibilities. Japanese tea ceremony incorporated Zen mindfulness principles, while Southeast Asian Buddhist festivals synchronized with agricultural cycles and local spirit beliefs. Monastic codes adjusted to climate, social structures, and cultural norms while preserving core ethical principles.
Contemporary Western Inculturation
Buddhism’s encounter with Western culture presents unique challenges and opportunities. Western psychology has found common ground with Buddhist meditation practices, leading to therapeutic applications like Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction. However, this medicalization sometimes strips away deeper dimensions, raising questions about the authenticity of transmission.
Western individualism has influenced the reception of Buddhist teachings, sometimes emphasizing personal liberation over community interdependence. The democratic ethos challenges traditional hierarchical teacher-student relationships, while the gender equality movement questions the historical dominance of male monasticism.
Tensions and Authenticity
Inculturation creates productive tensions between preservation and adaptation. Critics worry about Buddhism becoming diluted or commercialized, transformed into mere self-help techniques divorced from ethical foundations and liberation goals. The challenge lies in distinguishing between skillful adaptation that makes teachings accessible and distortion that compromises essential meaning.
The Jonang tradition itself illustrates these dynamics – once suppressed in Tibet, it has experienced revival while adapting to modern contexts, maintaining its distinctive philosophical positions while engaging contemporary scholarship and global Buddhist dialogue.
Philosophical Implications
From a Buddhist perspective, inculturation can be understood through the lens of skillful means (upaya), which involves adapting teaching methods to different audiences while preserving liberating wisdom. The Buddha himself demonstrated this principle by teaching differently to various audiences, tailored to their capacities and cultural backgrounds.
The doctrine of emptiness suggests that Buddhism has no fixed, essential form that exists independently of conditions. This philosophical insight supports adaptive flexibility while maintaining that certain elements —such as the Four Noble Truths, ethical conduct, meditation practice, and wisdom cultivation— remain universally relevant across cultures.
Inculturation ultimately enriches both Buddhism and receiving cultures, creating new forms of expression that can illuminate universal human concerns while respecting particular cultural contexts. The ongoing dialogue between Buddhist wisdom and diverse cultural traditions continues to generate creative syntheses that serve human flourishing across different societies.
Wisdom traditions navigate the balance between preserving essential teachings and adapting to new cultural contexts—a challenge particularly relevant for practitioners engaging with Buddhism in diverse cultural settings today.
The Jonang tradition offers a particularly compelling case study in Buddhist inculturation, illustrating both the creative potential and political complexities of doctrinal adaptation within Tibetan Buddhism.
Origins and Early Inculturation
The Jonang tradition emerged in 13th-century Tibet through the work of Kunpang Tukje Tsondru and later Dolpopa Sherab Gyaltsen. Their development of the Shentong (other-emptiness) philosophy represents a distinctive form of inculturation – not adaptation to a foreign culture, but creative Buddhological development within Tibetan Buddhist culture itself. This illustrates how inculturation operates not only across ethnic boundaries but also within established religious cultures.
Dolpopa’s Shentong teaching arose from his deep engagement with the Kalachakra Tantra and Yogacara philosophy, synthesized through a Tibetan cultural lens. Rather than seeing ultimate reality as empty of inherent existence (rangtong or self-emptiness), he proposed that Buddha Nature is empty of adventitious defilements but not empty of its own luminous qualities. This represented a bold reinterpretation that some viewed as innovative wisdom, while others saw it as a dangerous deviation.
Cultural and Political Dimensions
The Jonang experience reveals how inculturation intersects with political power. The tradition flourished under Mongol patronage, particularly during the Yuan dynasty, when Mongol rulers favored certain Tibetan Buddhist schools. The Jonang monastery of Takten Damcho Ling became a major center, and Jonang teachings had a significant influence on Mongol Buddhist culture.
However, this political association later proved problematic. When the Fifth Dalai Lama consolidated power in the 17th century with Mongol military support, the Jonang tradition faced suppression partly due to its previous Mongol connections and Buddhological differences with the dominant Gelug school. This demonstrates how inculturation can become entangled with ethnic and political identities, making religious adaptation a site of cultural conflict.
Doctrinal Adaptation and Resistance
The Jonang Shentong philosophy can be understood as an inculturated response to certain tensions within Madhyamaka philosophy. While upholding Buddhist orthodoxy, it addresses concerns that the doctrine of pure emptiness might lead to nihilistic interpretations. The Shentong view preserved a positive description of ultimate reality that resonated with tantric practice and devotional sensibilities.
This Buddhological creativity faced resistance from more conservative elements who viewed it as too close to Vedanta or as compromising Buddhist distinctiveness. The debate reveals how inculturation generates internal tensions about authenticity and boundaries, questions that persist in contemporary global Buddhism.
Survival and Adaptation
Following the 17th-century suppression in central Tibet, Jonang communities survived primarily in eastern Tibet (Amdo and Kham regions). This geographical marginalization forced further adaptation. Jonang practitioners developed more decentralized organizational structures and maintained the tradition through family lineages and small monastic communities rather than large institutional centers.
The tradition also adapted by emphasizing certain practices over others. The Kalachakra Six-Branch Yoga became central, both as a practice and an identity marker. This focus on advanced tantric meditation helped preserve the tradition’s distinctiveness while requiring fewer institutional resources.
Contemporary Inculturation Challenges
The current Jonang revival presents new challenges to inculturation. The tradition now operates in multiple contexts: traditional Tibetan areas, exile communities in India, and increasingly in Western countries and other parts of Asia. Each context requires different adaptive strategies.
In academic settings, Jonang scholars engage in scholarly discourse about their philosophical positions, translating traditional concepts into modern academic language. This has led to renewed interest in Shentong philosophy among Western Buddhist philosophers and practitioners of other Tibetan schools.
The tradition also faces questions about gender inclusion, democratic governance, and engagement with secular education that challenge traditional structures while potentially enriching the tradition’s contemporary expression.
Lessons for Buddhist Inculturation
The Jonang experience offers several insights into Buddhist inculturation processes. It demonstrates that Buddhological creativity can be a form of cultural adaptation, showing how doctrinal development responds to cultural needs and philosophical challenges. The tradition’s survival through persecution illustrates how marginalized communities develop resilient adaptive strategies.
Perhaps most significantly, the Jonang case reveals that inculturation is never purely religious – it’s always embedded in broader cultural, political, and social dynamics. The tradition’s historical suppression and contemporary revival show how changing political circumstances can either hinder or facilitate religious adaptation.
The Jonang emphasis on Buddha Nature as ultimate reality has found particular resonance in contemporary contexts where practitioners seek positive foundations rather than purely deconstructive approaches. This suggests that the tradition’s distinctive Buddhological position, once controversial, may serve critical pastoral functions in modern Buddhist practice.
The ongoing Jonang experience demonstrates that authentic inculturation requires both faithfulness to essential teachings and creative responsiveness to changing circumstances – a balance the tradition continues to negotiate as it adapts to an increasingly globalized Buddhist world.
Something often overlooked in discussions of inculturation is that it’s not just a sociological phenomenon but fundamentally a process occurring within individual streams of consciousness.
From the Yogacara perspective, when we encounter Buddhist teachings from Tibet or India, we’re not simply receiving “external” cultural forms. Instead, our vijñāna (consciousness) is constructing these cultural objects through our own karmic imprints, conceptual frameworks, and accumulated bīja (seeds) in the ālaya-vijñāna. The Tibetan iconography, Sanskrit terminology, or philosophical concepts we “encounter” are actually arising within our own consciousness-stream, shaped by our particular cultural conditioning and spiritual maturation.
Authentic inculturation isn’t primarily about translating external cultural forms, but about the more profound transformation of consciousness itself. When a Western practitioner truly integrates Jonang Shentong teachings, for instance, it’s not merely adopting Tibetan concepts but allowing those insights to mature within their own consciousness according to their particular desa-kala-patra.
This also highlights why the same teaching can manifest in such different ways among practitioners, even within the same cultural context. Each individual’s ālaya-vijñāna contains unique karmic seeds that will cause the Dharma to unfold in distinctive ways, creating what appears as “cultural adaptation” but is actually the natural expression of consciousness recognizing its own Buddha Nature through particular conceptual formations.
We receive, reinterpret, internalize, and embody the Dharma and thus become inculturated. Inculturation is cultivation. We don’t know how the Dharma will look, sound, and feel in the West. We keep a beginner’s mind.
There’s much wisdom in recognizing that authentic transmission occurs through this receptive, transformative process, rather than merely replicating external forms. The emphasis on beginner’s mind is particularly crucial here. By not predetermining how the Dharma “should” manifest in Western consciousness, we allow space for genuine creativity. This kind produced the distinctive insights of the Jonang tradition itself when Indian teachings encountered Tibetan consciousness.
This approach honors both the integrity of the lineage and the natural unfolding of wisdom within new circumstances. The Dharma that emerges through Western practitioners may carry qualities we can’t yet imagine, perhaps integrating contemplative depth with scientific understanding, or expressing karuṇā through forms of social engagement that reflect Western capacities for systematic organization and technological reach.
This mirrors the Yogacara understanding that enlightenment itself is always both universal and utterly particular: the same Buddha Nature expressing through infinite unique manifestations. Each Sangha member’s cultivation becomes a laboratory for discovering how timeless wisdom might clothe itself in contemporary consciousness.
This patient not-knowing requires considerable trust, both in the Dharma’s inherent power to adapt skillfully and in the natural wisdom of sincere practitioners to receive and embody it authentically, a profound act of faith in the self-liberating capacity of consciousness itself.
Great Middle Way 
