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Improvising Tradition: Lay Buddhist Experiences in
Cosmopolitan Ulaanbaatar
Saskia Abrahms–Kavunenko
Bachelor of Arts (Hons) University of Western Australia 2002
This thesis is presented for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy of The University of
Western Australia
School of Social and Cultural Studies
Anthropology and Sociology
2011
Abstract
Western scholars did not predict the enthusiasm for religion that would follow
the end of socialism in Mongolia, yet it is an undeniable aspect of contemporary life in
Ulaanbaatar. After the Mongolian Democratic Revolution of 1989–1990, many Mongols
have sought to reconnect to their Buddhist past to reconstitute a sense of national
identity and to deal with the economic and spiritual insecurities of the new market
economy. This dissertation is an exploration of lay Buddhist experiences in Ulaanbaatar
connected to two different imaginings of Buddhist tradition, or what I term ‘cultural’ and
‘reform’ Buddhism. Cultural Buddhist institutions answer Mongol desires for national
identity based in religion, whilst reform Buddhist organisations offer a universal form of
Buddhism that provides comprehensive doctrinal and moral education and teaches
transformative practices. Both anchor themselves in tradition and both are heavily
influenced by global religious pressures.
The majority of Mongols visit local temples for ritual efficacy, yet, for many lay
Buddhists, the break in the continuity of public institutions during the socialist period
and the switch to a new and broad religious marketplace has created an environment
where interactions with religious specialists are fraught with uncertainty. Most lay
Buddhists are worried about their own religious ignorance and doubt the efficacy and
competence of religious practitioners. For many, memory and exemplary family members
are central in the creation of religious beliefs and practices, yet, often the information
passed down through families and remembered from the past is incomplete and fractured.
For most Mongols in Ulaanbaatar, Buddhism is a religious bricolage created from a
combination of old knowledge passed down from their forebears, influences from other
religions such Christianity and Shamanism, and new ideas about spirituality from New
Religious Movements such as Sri Sri and the Supreme Master Ching Hai.
Reform Buddhist organisations combine Tibetan religious teachings and Western
religious expectations. The Dharma centres run by global Buddhist organisations offer an
alternative to lay Buddhist uncertainties and the improvised religious systems that lay
Mongol Buddhists tend to create. The people who visit them are embracing an alternative
i form of spirituality that is comparatively free from feelings of doubt. These lay Buddhists
have greater consistency in spiritual concepts and their beliefs are characterised by
confidence and consistency. They also learn Buddhist transformative practices in order to
actively propel themselves towards Buddhist moral ideals.
ii Contents Page
List of Illustrations
v
Dedication
vi
Acknowledgements
vii
Notes on Transliteration, Spellings and Photographs
ix
Statement of Candidate Contribution
xi
Introduction: Religion and Morality After Socialism
1
Anthropology and Morality
5
Religious Cosmopolitanism in Ulaanbaatar
8
Two Buddhisms
12
Field Sites: The Two Buddhisms
16
Hybridity and Religious Rituals
23
Thesis Outline
26
Chapter One: The History of Buddhism in Mongolia: From the Mongol Empire to the
Socialist Revolution
31
Buddhism During the Mongol Empire: Chinggis Khan – Khubilai Khan (1204–
1294)
32
Altan Khan, the Dalai Lama and the Destruction of the Ongod
37
Zanabazar and the Jebtsundamba Lineage
39
Revolutions: The Khutagt, the Mad Baron and the Reds (1911–1921)
43
The Leftist Deviation and the Repression of Buddhism (1921–1940)
46
Chapter Two: From Private Faith to National Identity: Chinggis Khan and Buddhism
53
Buddhism and Chinggis Khan: Symbols of the Democratic Revolution
56
Nationalism and Its Discontents
62
Capitalism and Change: The Shift to a Market Economy
68
Chapter Three: Temples and Lamas, Memory and Forgetting
iii 77
Buddhist Institutions and Activities at the Temple
79
Religious Education
85
The ‘Domestication’ of Religion: Religious Practitioners and Trust
87
Who Is A ‘Real’ Monk? Uncertainty, Tradition and Reform
93
Capitalism, Tax and Charity
99
The Importance of Exemplars: Memory and Trust
103
The Influence of Folk Rituals and Traditions
107
Chapter Four: Reform Buddhist Education: Philosophy and Spirituality
115
Globalization: Changing Attitudes Towards Religion
116
Transmissive Frequency and Religious Exegesis
120
Religious Consistency: Karma, The Law of Cause and Effect
123
Samsara and Enlightenment: Agency and Determinism
133
The Four Noble Truths: Purification, Enlightenment and Compassion
138
Chapter Five: Transformative Practices: Embodying Emotion, Reshaping Morality 142
Intention and Buddhist Morality
144
Transforming Inner Experience: Personal Practice and Emotion
146
Mantra, Prayer and Prostrations: Formal and Informal Practice
153
Public Rituals
156
Chapter Six: Globalization, Hybridity and Change in Contemporary Lay Buddhist
Thought: New Religious Movements and Christianity
162
New Religious Movements: Hybridity, Meditation and Vegetarianism
164
The Supreme Master Ching Hai: Enlightenment and Veganism
170
Christianity: God, Buddha and Life After Death
174
Conclusion
186
References
193
Glossary
208
Appendix One: Formal Interview Questions for Lay Buddhists (Template)
213
Appendix Two: Formal Interview Questions for Monastics (Template)
216
iv List of Illustrations
Figure 1 – An ovoo overlooking Ulaanbaatar from the southern mountain, Bogd Khan
9
Figure 2 – Lamas at Gandantegchenling Khiid.
10
Figure 3 – Jampa Ling
19
Figure 4 – Shankh Khiid
20
Figure 5 – Gachuurt gardens run by Asral NGO
21
Figure 6 – The FPMT’s Shredrup Ling
22
Figure 7 – The Bogd Khan Winter Palace one of the four homes of the Eighth
Jebtsundamba
42
Figure 8 – Chinggis Khan’s face on the one thousand tögrög note
56
Figure 9 – The central temple of Gandantegchenling Khiid is visible from many of the
tall buildings in the city
57
Figure 10 – Large statue of Chenrezig in Gandantegchenling Khiid
58
Figure 11 – Ger districts. Picture taken from Jampa Ling in the Third and Fourth District
71
Figure 12 – Centre: the Manchu architecture of Choijin Lama Temple Museum, to the
left the an unfinished modern skyscraper, to the right a Soviet style administrative
building and unfinished apartment blocks
74
Figure 13 – Gandantegchenling Khiid at Tsagaan Sar
81
Figure 14 – Feeding the birds at Gandantegchenling Khiid
84
Figure 15 – Paying for prayers at Gandantegchenling Khiid
101
Figure 16 – Lama Zorigt in the shrine room at Jampa Ling
129
Figure 17 – Laypeople listening to Panchen Ötrul Rinpoche’s teachings
132
Figure 18 – Woman using prayer beads while listening to Panchen Ötrul Rinpoche’s
teachings
154
Figure 19 – Laypeople and monastics attending a Buddhist ritual
157
Figure 20 – The Dalai Lama visiting Jampa Ling in 2006
159
Figure 21 – An ovoo with offerings that include: a litre of milk, blue, yellow and green
khadags and a picture of the Buddhist figure Yamāntaka (M. Yamandaga)
v 167
Dedication
For all my friends, students and teachers at Jampa Ling, may the blessings flow. For my
parents without whose support none of this would have been possible. And, of course,
for Shultz, for making me blueberry pancakes and pumpkin soup and for supporting me
always.
vi Acknowledgements
I would like to thank all of my students, teachers, friends and acquaintances at
Asral NGO without whom I could not have carried out my research. My boundless
gratitude to Zorigt Ganbold, whose weekly Buddhist classes were always a pleasure and
whose friendship warmed even the coldest of winter days. Many thanks to Baasansuren
Enkhtungalag for being a great friend and a very patient translator (I hope you’re still
enjoying the gloves). Thank you also to Munguntsetseg Natsagdorj, Pürevsükh Urtnasan
and Otgonchimeg Tsendjav for always making us feel welcome at Jampa Ling and to
Tsevlee Ongio for countless cups of süütei tsai, delicious vegetarian food and the company
of her lovely children. My gratitude to Caitriona Ni Threasaigh and to Amber Cripps for
introducing Shultz and I to Jampa Ling, for generously allowing the use of their photos,
and for their ongoing friendship. Many thanks also to Panchen Ötrul Rinpoche and
Geshe Lhawang Gyaltsen for supporting my research at Jampa Ling.
Thanks to my wonderful supervisors Victoria Burbank and Debra McDougall for
providing such marvelously balanced critiques of my work and for their unflagging
support. Thanks also to everyone at the Department of Anthropology and Sociology at
the University of Western Australia.
Thank you to Brian Baumann for closely examining the first two chapters of my
dissertation, and for guiding many fabulous walks on Bogd Uul. Thanks also to
Bumochir Dulam and Lhagvademchig Jadamba from the National University of
Mongolia, and to the American Centre for Mongolian Studies.
Thanks to all those from the Foundation for the Preservation of the Mahayana
Tradition who supported my research, and especially to Thubten Gyalmo (Glenda Lee),
whose generosity of spirit and deep calm contributed greatly to my surviving fieldwork
(with nerves intact). Thanks also to Ani Thubten Samten and Ani Tenzin Tsultram
whose warmth and smiles were very much appreciated.
Thanks to all the people who helped me with translation. In particular Zolzaya
Sukhbaatar, Altantsetseg Genden, Selenge Baatartsogt, Munkerdene Gantulga and
Hishgue Tumurbaatar.
vii Thanks to all the friends who were willing to answer my questions and those who
took the time to do an interview with me.
A colossus of thanks to Emma Browne for your invaluable friendship and for
introducing me to so many interviewees. Adventuring to Amarbayasgalant Khiid with you
is one of my fondest memories of Mongolia.
Thanks to Lama Karma Chimé Shore for suggesting an elusive group of Buddhists
in the Baikal region that inspired us to travel to Mongolia and for introducing me to
Buddhism in the first place.
Thanks to my parents, Mike and Helen, for supporting me and for winning the
most stoic parents award on our very bumpy journey through the Mongolian countryside
(and for paying for us to get home at the end).
And again thanks to my husband, Shultz, who cannot possibly be thanked
enough.
viii Notes on Transliteration, Spelling and Photographs
Transliteration of Sanskrit, Mongolian, Pali and Tibetan terms are noted by the
use of italics. I have used an S. for Sanskrit, M. for Mongolian and T. for Tibetan terms.
For Tibetan transliterations I have used Wylie’s system. However, where possible, to avoid
complicated transliterations, which are difficult to read for the non-specialist, I have
opted for the most commonly used spellings of religious terms, such as Gelugpa for dGe
lugs pa and Rinpoche for Rin po che, where either Mongolian or Tibetan transliterations
could have been used. Likewise, I have spelled Mongol historical figures with their most
commonly used spellings, in particular for the Jebtsundamba. Unless otherwise stated
foreign language words in italics are Mongolian.
I have chosen to use a capital ‘S’ for Shamanism even though I am aware of the
anthropological debates about ‘shamanism’ being an outdated category that attempts to
capture too wide a variety of distinctive practices. This is because my interlocutors
consistently referred to Shamanism as a category of religious belief.
Photos taken by Amber Cripps or Caitriona Ni Threasaigh are referenced as such
and my husband Shultz Abrahms–Kavunenko or myself, took all others.
ix x Statement of Candidate Contribution
This thesis does not contain work that I have published, nor work under review for
publication.
xi xii Introduction
Religion and Morality After Socialism
Western scholars did not predict the enthusiasm for religion that would follow
the end of socialism in Mongolia, yet it is an undeniable aspect of contemporary life. The
Mongolian Democratic Revolution of 1989–1990 ushered in a new era of religious
freedoms that has allowed a variety of public forms of religiosity to emerge within the
capital. The end of socialism has been characterised, not by the continuation of its atheist
trajectory, but by the rapid increase in both nationalism and religiosity. Nationalist and
religious discourses about tradition are providing an anchor for contemporary Mongols
who are struggling to deal with new and unstable social and economic landscapes
(Kaplonski 2004).
During the twelve months I did fieldwork in Ulaanbaatar from 2009–2010 I
noticed that whilst religion is being greeted with a great deal of enthusiasm within the
capital, for most middle class Mongols, religious experiences are characterised by a degree
of uncertainty, ignorance and doubt. Many of my interlocutors feel unsure about which
religious practitioners to trust and interactions with religious institutions often expose
feelings of ignorance and dissatisfaction, instead of providing spiritual consolation. As
local institutions fail to meet the religious expectations of these middle class participants,
numerous competing translocal religiosities have flooded the capital. These groups
frequently present themselves as being part of Mongol ‘tradition’ in various ways. Global
Buddhist organisations see themselves as reconnecting the lineages that were broken
during the socialist period (see Chapter Four and Five); New Religious Movements fit
themselves into existing ideas about Buddhism (see Chapter Six); and Evangelical
Christian organisations have appropriated key Buddhist terms to express Christian
concepts in their new translation of the Bible (see Chapter Six).
During the Democratic Revolution, Mongols started looking back to their pre–
socialist past in order to define a new identity that contrasted with those encouraged by
the socialist government (Kaplonski 2004). The opposition symbolically used Buddhism,
Mongol bichig, the traditional Mongol vertical script that was replaced by Cyrillic in 1941,
1
and exemplary figures from the past, such as Chinggis Khan, to formulate alternative
identities (Kaplonski 2004).
As Buddhism has become increasingly popular in the capital, Buddhist
institutions have interpreted ‘tradition’ in contrasting ways. Lamas, who survived the
socialist purges of the 1930s, now practice in public, continuing the private practices they
had performed at home throughout the socialist period. These practices mostly centre on
ritual efficacy and consist of reading prayers, making astrological predictions and
conducting other rituals (Elverskog 2006; Jadamba & Schittich 2010; Majer & Teleki
2009; 2008). Because these lamas headed households during socialism, they have become
married lamas and do not conform to Tibetan expectations of Gelugpa 1 (M. Shar!n
Shashin, T. dGe lugs pa) monastic discipline (Elverskog 2006; Jadamba & Schittich 2010;
Majer & Teleki 2009; 2008). Given that their teachers are married and have families, the
students of these lamas see no contradiction in becoming a lama as well as maintaining a
household (Majer & Teleki 2008).
If local lamas returning to public practice see themselves as returning to an
authentic tradition of Mongol Buddhism, global Buddhist organisations, connected to
the Tibetan diaspora, see ‘tradition’ as reconnecting Mongols to the written doctrine and
living lineages of Mahayana Buddhism. These global institutions encourage lay Buddhists
and monastics to learn about the dharma2 and Buddhist transformative practices, as well
as reuniting practitioners to the transmission lineages necessary for tantric initiation
(Elverskog 2006).
This thesis is an exploration of the lay experiences of two divergent
conceptualisations of Buddhist tradition. Whilst local Buddhist institutions answer the
Mongol desire for cultural identity based in religion, global organisations offer a universal
form of Buddhism that provides comprehensive doctrinal education and teaches
transformative practices (Elverskog 2006). Both anchor themselves in tradition and both
are heavily influenced by global religious pressures. The majority of my interlocutors that
visit local temples are immersed in the cosmopolitan religious landscape of Ulaanbaatar.
They frequently read non–Buddhist literature, visit other religious groups and are
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
1
2
Also known as the ‘Yellow Religion’ in Mongolian is a lineage of Mahayana Buddhism found in Mongolia.
Natural law. It also refers to the teachings of the Buddha.
2
exposed to non–Buddhist religious discourses (see Chapter Six). Global Buddhist
organisations, on the other hand, present Tibetan teachings that have interacted for
decades with the expectations of interested Westerners. After high religious teachers left
Tibet as refugees in the middle of the twentieth century, those that resettled in the West
(and in India) were exposed to new teaching expectations of interested Westerners
(Tweed 2006). These new students, who often came from Protestant backgrounds, were
not interested in living in monasteries or taking monastic vows (though some did). They
wanted to engage with Buddhism as lay people (Ignacio Cabezón 2006) and to
understand doctrine and transformative practices, such as meditation (Tweed 2006). As a
result of this interaction, global Buddhist organisations that have entered Mongolia since
1990 centralise doctrinal teachings, discussion, and personal practice amongst lay
Buddhists and monastics.
A study of the experiences of lay Buddhists in Ulaanbaatar adds to the existing
literature on religion in Mongolia in multiple ways. Presently, most of the literature on
the resurgence of religion in the Mongolian cultural region has focused on Shamanism
(Buyandlegeriyn 2007; Højer 2004; Humphrey 2007, 1999; Humphrey & Onon 1996;
Metzo 2008; Shimamura 2004; Tsydenova 2008, Zhukovskaya 2000). There has been an
increase in research on Buddhism in the Mongolian cultural region in Buryatia
(Bernstein 2010; Buck Quijada 2009), Kalmykia (Sinclair 2008), Altai (Halemba 2003;
Khomushku 2008; Kos’min 2007), Inner Mongolia (Mair 2007) and Mongolia (Elverskog
2006; Havnevik et al 2007; Højer 2009; Jadamba & Schittich 2010; Majer & Teleki
2009; Sneath 2007; Wallace 2008). However, research about lay Buddhist experiences in
Mongolia is relatively thin on the ground. With the exception of Johan Elverskog’s article
on the ‘Two Buddhisms’ (Elverskog 2006), Havnevik, Ragchaa and Bareja–Starzynska’s
work on Nyingma (M. Ulaan Shashin, T. rNying ma)3 traditions in Mongolia (Havnevik et
al. 2007), Lkhagvademchig Jadamba and Bernard Schittich’s work on ethnic identity and
Mongol Buddhism (Jadamba & Schittich 2010) and Lars Højer’s description of lay
uncertainties surrounding Buddhism (Højer 2009), the stories of lay Buddhists in
Mongolia remain largely undocumented.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
3
Also known as the ‘Red Religion’ in Mongolian is a lineage of Mahayana Buddhism found in Mongolia.
3
A study of Mongol lay Buddhist experiences, in addition to filling substantial
holes in the anthropological literature on religion in Mongolia, can shed light on
religious revival in Mongolia more generally. Unlike Mongols practicing Shamanism, lay
Buddhists have access to a written and living tradition of Buddhism through global
Buddhist organisations. The communication or lack of communication with these
organisations elucidates some of core motivations for lay Mongol identifications with the
‘traditional’ religions of Mongolia. In addition, contrary to lay Buddhist experiences
elsewhere in the Mongolian cultural region, Khalkha Mongols in Mongolia are not an
ethnic minority and the connections between nationalism and religion appear in
different ways to those presented in case studies of Mongols living in Russia and China
(Bernstein 2010; Buck Quijada 2009; Mair 2007; Sinclair 2008).
Mongol lay Buddhist experiences can also provide valuable insights in the field of
Buddhist Studies. Buddhist Studies has predominantly focused on the translation and
preservation of classical texts (Lopez Jr. 1995: 252). The early anthropological studies of
Buddhism often explored the question of how lived experience reflected Buddhist
doctrine, and, if it were possible to have, as Durkheim put forward in 1912, a religion
without God (Orrù & Wang 1992). Buddhist societies were measured against core
Buddhist texts and lived experience was often seen in early ethnographic studies of
Buddhism through the lens of how it deviated from those texts (Gombrich 1971a;
Southwold 1978; Spiro 1982; Tambiah 1970). As Julia Cassaniti explains:
There had been a tendency in scholarly work to isolate Buddhism as an objective
system that only elites can understand and to relegate Buddhist practitioners to a
lower level of Buddhism emphasising good karma through merit making rather
than the pursuit of nirvana (2006: 59).
Expectations that lay people have about religion in contemporary Ulaanbaatar challenge
these presuppositions. For many of my interlocutors the lines between ‘high’ and ‘low’
forms of Buddhism are blurred. One of the continuities from the socialist period has
been the educational aspirations of the middle class. Most middle class interlocutors are
self–conscious about their own ignorance of Buddhism and tend to be dissatisfied with
attending religious rituals that they do not understand (see Chapter Three). After decades
of state sponsored atheism and high levels of literacy, approaches to religion (at least
4
amongst educated members of the middle class) involve expectations about religious
education that challenge the idea that religious practices are inherently mysterious and
beyond their reach. At the same time, global Buddhist organisations are importing
expectations about religious education that encourage their students to learn doctrine as
well as attending rituals (see Chapter Four and Five).
This thesis also adds to postsocialist literature documenting lay interactions with
religion. Mongolia, like many postsocialist countries, is experiencing an upsurge in
religion that is tied to nationalism. This research adds to the emerging field of
postsocialist religious studies, particularly new research exploring the relationship
between religious revival and nationalism (Blazer 2005, Hann & Pelkmans 2009, Papkova
2008, Peyrouse 2007; Wanner 1998) and the multiple global influences on religious
revival in postsocialist nations (Caldwell 2005; Goluboff 2001; Mandelstam Blazer 2005;
Peyrouse 2007; Wanner 2004; Zigon 2009).
Anthropology and Morality
In order to explore the renewal of Buddhism in Mongolia we must also look at
the accompanying economic, social and political changes that have followed the
transition to democracy. The rise of religiosity in Mongolia cannot be separated from the
rise in nationalism that has accompanied the transition to a capitalist economy (and its
attendant political, economic and social changes). Amongst many of my interlocutors,
nationalism is the main motivation for identifying as Buddhist. In others, particularly
amongst those who attend global Buddhist organisations, moral transformation is the
central incentive. In the latter case, the moral imperatives encouraged by the socialist
government have been replaced by Buddhist conceptions of morality, and contemplative
practices that allow individuals to transform in accordance with these moral ideals. The
analysis of this second group of participants follows the work of theorists such as Saba
Mahmood (2003; 2001), Charles Hirschkind (2001) and Tanya Luhrmann (2004) whose
interlocutors go against mainstream religious practices to embody religious morality.
James Laidlaw (2002) argues that the intellectual legacy upon which discussions of
morality in anthropology are based comes from Durkheim’s alteration of Kant’s moral
5
philosophy. In his Groundwork for the Metaphysics of Morals (1993), Immanuel Kant argues
that human beings have an innate capacity to act morally through the discovery of moral
laws through rational means. According to Kant, through pure reason one can
understand the universal moral law granted to us by God. As Laidlaw writes, instead of a
God given universal moral law, Durkheim presents morality as derived from social moral
obligations. By substituting society for God an individual’s free will to understand and to
choose moral actions disappears. Where Kant posits that free will and rationality are
instrumental for verifying and following God’s universal law, for Durkheim free will has
evanesced into the all–encompassing moral dictates of society.
Durkheim saw it as an advantage of his own views over those of Kant that he was
able to explain not only why moral rules are felt to be obligatory, but also why
following them seems an attractive thing. As the products of society we not only
feel that we ought, we also want to follow its dictates... Thus what for Kant was a
conundrum that stood at the centre of his moral theory – what is the nature of
human freedom and of the moral will – is entirely spirited away by Durkheim
(Laidlaw 2002: 314).
Durkheim provides a theory of moral reproduction without accounting for individual
agency.
Joel Robbins (2007) argues that the problems left by the philosophies of Kant and
Durkheim can be overcome by analysing the value conflicts that characterize societies at
different periods in time, and by adapting our theories of morality accordingly. The first
of these value conflicts he calls stable conflicts. These are the stable tensions within a
society found in the conflict between moral ideals and lived experience. For instance,
according to Robbins, in Laidlaw’s study of Jain society (Laidlaw 1995), this conflict is
between the moral virtue of non–violence presented in the monastic/ascetic community
and the day–to–day values of lay merchants. Individual agency exists here in the exchange
and interaction between these two different value systems and the moral problems that
they pose (Robbins 2007: 301). The second type of value conflict is that caused by
cultural change. This can be the result of new ideas entering a society from outside or to
do with changes in hierarchical relationships (Robbins 2007: 301). This second value
conflict, he argues, is less stable than the first and, whilst it may become stable over time,
6
people are particularly sensitive to the weight of their moral decisions whilst this type of
conflict is prevalent. Here, he argues, the reproduction of morality that we find
emphasized in Durkheim becomes less possible and people begin to examine moral values
about such things as sexuality or politics more than usual (Robbins 2007). Robbins argues
elsewhere (2010) that conditions wherein this second type of value conflict is heightened,
such as when a community enters the global economy, tend to make deontological forms
of morality more attractive than consequentialist ones – in other words, in times of
change people are more prone to adopt ethical systems based on moral laws rather than
ethical systems focused on the outcomes of actions. This, he argues, is the reason for the
increasing attraction of religious groups with strict moral guidance (such as Pentecostal
groups and certain Islamic religious movements). Consequentialist forms of morality
become less attractive because it becomes harder to predict the outcomes of one’s actions
in an unstable value system and consequentialist morality is measured by the results of an
action, not the adherence to a clear set of rules (Robbins 2010).
According to Robbins’ definition, the residents of Ulaanbaatar are experiencing
value conflicts that arise in times of cultural change, though certainly not for the first
time. Whilst there is also continuity with the past, the city is undergoing a rapid influx of
new ideas, changes in the urban landscape, alterations to social reproduction and
hierarchies, and a sharp increase in the diversification of religious possibilities. Most, but
not all, of the people I interviewed had a heightened sense of the moral weight of their
actions and were concerned about the formation of ethical systems for the broader
Mongol population. Whilst one can find religious groups that encourage rigid
deontological ethical systems, this is not the case with any of the Buddhist groups with
whom I had contact. Buddhist societies are certainly not immune from fanaticism
(Tambiah 1992), however, the global Buddhist organisations with whom I studied stress
that self–transformation and adherence to moral guidelines should always be conducted
with an awareness of the consequences of one’s own actions. Teachers from these
organisations always encourage their students to ‘test’ to see if what they have said is true.
The central difference between the global and local Buddhist organisations in ethical
formation is not in the distinction between deontological or consequentialist forms of
moralities. It is that the global Buddhist organisations teach their students extensive
methods to scrutinize one’s inner self and one’s moral self and a shared philosophy
7
against which to measure their progress. Lay Buddhists who infrequently attend local
Buddhist institutions, on the other hand, tend to collate transformative practices and
philosophies from a variety of sources that are often being contradicted by new
information from religious sources or their peers.
Like the interlocutors in Saba Mahmood’s study of the Egyptian piety movement
(2003; 2001), global Buddhist organisations teach their students how to condition their
bodies in accordance with Buddhist morality. They are consciously training their feeling
states or inner experience. As Mahmood writes of her participants:
The conscious process by which the mosque participants induced sentiments and
desires
in
themselves,
in
accordance
with
a
moral–ethical
program,
simultaneously problematizes the ‘naturalness’ of emotions as well as the
‘conventionality’ of ritual action, calling into question any a priori distinction
between formal (conventional) behaviour and spontaneous (intentional) conduct
(2001: 828).
Whilst the moral objective of Mahmood’s participants, to become a pious Muslim, was
different from the people I interviewed in Mongolia, similarities can be found in the
depth of their transformative experiences. Like Charles Hirschkind’s study of Egyptian
audio sermons (Hirschkind 2001) and Tanya Luhrmann’s study of the Evangelical
Christian movement in America (Luhrmann 2004) being and becoming a moral being is
not just about articulating certain views or behaving in a certain way but involves
transforming inner experience, emotions and intentions.
Religious Cosmopolitanism in Ulaanbaatar
The policies of the socialist government that aimed to destroy religion as a
superstitious vestige of the past certainly failed in Mongolia as it did throughout the
Soviet Union (Blazer 2005; Caldwell 2005; Hann & Pelkmans 2009; Peyrouse 2007;
Rogers 2005). Religious practices of all kinds are blooming in Ulaanbaatar. Buddhist
lamas have a visible presence on the streets, dressed in their red or yellow robes and
cuffed with the characteristic Mongol blue that is found embellishing many religious
8
objects and sites. Ovoos (sacred rock cairns) that incorporate both Buddhist and shamanic
elements are visible adornments to the topographically higher sites within the city,
including a hill next to the major Buddhist monastery, Gandantegchenling Khiid4. New
Christian churches are also visible in the capital and, whilst only around four percent of
the Mongol population practices Christianity, there were 198 Christian places of worship
at the beginning of 2010 and a further estimated 250 unregistered evangelical churches
(Bureau of Democracy, Human Rights and Labor 2010). This is incredibly high given that
the majority of the Mongol population identify as Buddhist and yet there are only around
200 registered places of Buddhist worship in the country (Majer and Teleki 2009). There
are also many other religious and spiritual groups operating within the capital. Recently,
the local Kazakh community, who account for at least four percent of the national
population (Kaplonski 2004: 16), were granted permission to build a mosque in the
capital (at the time of writing this was, as yet, incomplete). Other religious groups, such as
the Baha’i Faith, and a myriad of New Religious Movements have emerged within the
capital.
Figure 1 – An ovoo overlooking Ulaanbaatar from the southern mountain, Bogd Khan
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
4
Khiid is the Mongolian term for monastery or temple.
9
Figure 2 – Lamas at Gandantegchenling Khiid
In labelling religion in Ulaanbaatar as ‘cosmopolitan’, I am calling attention to
the way that the characteristics of religious life arise from multiple translocal origins that
are not limited by Mongolia’s national borders. Anthropologists have used the term
‘cosmopolitanism’ in many different ways in recent years. Some have seen it as the
possibility of building connections between ‘others’ and as pregnant with the possibility
of ‘progressing’ towards a human universal that lies behind the veil of human culture. In
contesting such visions of a cosmopolitan anthropology, Bruno Latour offers an
alternative in his conception of compositionism (Latour 2010). His inclusion of the idea of
‘composition’, as he describes it, ‘underlines that things have to be put together… while
retaining their heterogeneity’ (Latour 2010: 473–474). As a theoretical stance
compositionism attempts to resist both universalism and relativism.
From universalism it takes up the task of building a common world; from
relativism, the certainty that this common world has to be built from utterly
heterogeneous parts that will never make a whole, but at best a fragile, revisable,
and diverse composite material (Latour 2010: 474).
There is no ‘globe’ or ‘human universal’ that Mongol Buddhists are interpreting or
progressing towards. Rather, the lay Buddhists that I interacted with were each
constructing and deconstructing their own heterogeneous compositions. Sometimes these
10
compositions are successful and sometimes they appear to fail. Yet, they are all, in one
way or another, participating in a range of religions from multiple origins.
Although religious cosmopolitanism (or compositionism) is flourishing in the
capital, there is a tension between Mongol ideas about tradition, identity and ethnicity
and the magnetism of translocal religious groups. Mongolia has long been a site for
diverse transnational religious (and anti–religious) traditions, demonstrated in its
historical interactions with Tibet and the almost complete destruction of religion at the
behest of the Bolsheviks during the socialist period. The switch to an independent
democracy and a global economy has fuelled new discourses about national character,
ethnicity and tradition. Although some Mongols regard Buddhism as a foreign imperial
force due to its historical and contemporary connections with Tibet (Elverskog 2006: 30),
Buddhism, along with Shamanism, is still seen by most of my informants as a ‘traditional’
religion of Mongolia. Many different religious groups, both those with historical
precedents in Mongol religious life and newer forms of religiosities (New Religious
Movements and Christianity), have flourished in the capital since the end of socialism.
The residents of Ulaanbaatar now have access to a broad ‘religious marketplace’ and the
city has become a melting pot for religious ideas and practices. Mongols are increasingly
able to create syncretic belief systems out of a range of inputs: those remembered,
reinterpreted, and newly encountered.
Estimates vary on the number of Buddhists in Mongolia. The World Factbook
suggests that Buddhists make up around fifty percent of the population (Central
Intelligence Agency 2011), whilst the US Department of State reports that over ninety
percent of the Mongol population identify as Buddhist (Bureau of Democracy, Human
Rights and Labor 2010). Whatever the case, Buddhism seems to be the major religion in
Mongolia, even if it is unclear if this majority is an overwhelming one or not. My own
experience suggests that most Mongols do identify as Buddhist even if they do so with
some confusion, feelings of inadequacy about their own ignorance of Buddhist doctrine
and antipathy towards aspects of local Buddhist institutions.
11
Two Buddhisms
Describing her research on Buddhism in the Republic of Kalmykia, Tara Sinclair
(2008) distinguishes two alternative movements within the new Buddhist emergence that
she labels as ‘revival’ and ‘reform’ (Sinclair 2008). Located on the European continent in
Russia, the Kalmyks are an ethnic group descended from the Oriat Mongols of Dzungaria.
They settled in Europe in the mid seventeenth century and maintained close ties with the
Tibetan religious community, sending young Kalmyks to receive religious education in
Tibet until the Soviet period (Sinclair 2008). During the Soviet period Buddhism was
repressed and since the beginning of perestroika (Mikhail Gorbachev’s policy of reform
introduced in the Soviet Union in the 1980s) the restoration of Buddhist institutions has
become a Kalmyk national concern. The recent history of the Republic of Kalmykia
parallels Mongolia’s (because Mongolia followed the policies of the Soviet Union during
the socialist period) and, as in Mongolia, the Buddhist revival in Kalmykia has not been a
straightforward process.
Sinclair uses the terms ‘revival’ and ‘reform’ to distinguish two styles of Buddhist
practice that she observed. The revival movement is led by those who continued privately
practicing Buddhism during the Soviet period without formal public institutions and the
reform movement is being initiated by outside groups, such as global organisations
connected to the Tibetan diaspora, whose intention is to help ‘repair’ surviving Kalmyk
Buddhist practices, which they see as having been corrupted by the loss of monastic
traditions and teaching lineages during the socialist period.
Buddhist revival is a widely articulated aspect of new national identity...
According to the monks who were interviewed for this research, and also most
Kalmyks, authentic Buddhism must simply be rediscovered and distinguished
from those historical practices and beliefs that are mistaken… ‘Reform’ entails the
‘purification’ of Buddhism through the condemnation of particular practices as
‘corruption of practice’, while ‘revival’ emerges as an expression of this rediscovery of ‘original’ textual tradition (Sinclair 2008: 242).
12
The revivalists emphasise public ritual, while the reformists emphasise doctrinal
understanding. Most Kalmyk lay Buddhists engage with Buddhist institutions for the
efficacy of public rituals, not to deepen their own doctrinal understandings. In these
public rituals the relationship between the sa!gha (M. Khuvrag, the Buddhist monastic
community) and the laity is emphasised, whilst revivalists do not see lay knowledge of
doctrine and contemplative Buddhist practices as being centrally important. According to
Sinclair, the reformists consider this kind of Buddhist practice to be superficial and see
doctrinal understandings as central to the restoration of Buddhism (2008: 257). Because
of the central importance of imparting doctrine to lay people, these groups tend to set up
Dharma Centres – non–monastic Buddhist community centres that teach doctrinal and
contemplative practices to lay people.
The two movements that Sinclair describes in her work are similar to the kinds of
divisions that I observed during my fieldwork. Most Mongols, like most Kalmyks, have
little understanding of Buddhist doctrine and tend to go to temples for ritual services. At
the same time, there is also a relatively small movement initiated by global Buddhist
organisations connected to Tibetans in diaspora that emphasises the development of
doctrinal understandings and introspective Buddhist practices. Whilst I think that both
categories have considerable descriptive utility, for my study the term ‘revival’ has
misleading connotations for contemporary Buddhist practices in Ulaanbaatar due to the
considerable influence of translocal non–Buddhist religious groups on philosophical and
spiritual beliefs and practices amongst lay Buddhists (see Chapter Six).
Elverskog writes that in contemporary Ulaanbaatar there are two distinct paradigms
of Buddhism (2006). Though Elverskog himself never did extensive fieldwork in
Mongolia, his description of the ‘two Buddhisms’ as he calls them, accord approximately
with my own observations. Whilst these ‘two Buddhisms’ are not mutually exclusive, he
argues that they are, nevertheless, useful categories for understanding Buddhism in
Mongolia. His division is based on Paul Numrich’s Two Buddhism Further Considered
(2003), an article in which Numrich suggests that the dichotomies of ‘ethnic Buddhists’
and ‘convert Buddhists’ or ‘traditionalist’ Buddhists and ‘modern’ Buddhists have not
outlived their usefulness in elucidating Buddhist practices in the United States. These
categories, in the American context, describe the differences between those from
13
immigrant Asian backgrounds who have inherited Buddhism from their parents, and
those of a non–Asian background that have chosen to convert to Buddhism. These two
classifications describe people who are Buddhists for different reasons and tend to
practice in different ways. Whilst cultural Buddhists often identify as Buddhist to
maintain cultural continuity and identity, convert Buddhists visit Buddhist institutions
because they are interested in Buddhist philosophy and practice. This, in turn, tends to
lead to two different styles of practice, one foregrounding ritual practices and the other
emphasising philosophical exploration and contemplative practices, respectively.
Numrich acknowledges that these groupings are somewhat problematic: it does not, for
example, provide an adequate category for the children of convert Buddhists or cultural
Asians who attend Western– style Dharma Centres. Still, he continues to argue for their
validity (Numrich 2003: 63).
Elverskog argues that like cultural Buddhists in America, many Mongols are
motivated to identify as Buddhists by cultural or national concerns (see Chapter Two), as
he writes, ‘the majority of the population is not really engaged in a continuing religious
“tradition”; rather, they are “converting”, with ethnicity, or a longing for a sort of ethnic
or national unity, as their prime motivation’ (2006: 29). This form of Buddhism contrasts
with the kind of doctrinal Buddhism promoted by transnational organizations that are
interested in promoting knowledge about the dharma and that encourage the kind of
‘convert Buddhism’ that Numrich describes as characteristic of Western converts in his
article. Interestingly it is the transnational organizations linked to the Tibetan diaspora,
not the local Mongol Buddhist clergy, who advocate the translation of texts from Tibetan
into Mongolian Cyrillic. This, they say, will increase the appreciation and understanding
of Buddhism by the local population. As Elverskog writes:
The local Buddhist clergy does not accept this argument, instead asserting the need
to maintain the liturgy in Tibetan because the revival of the dharma is not
predicated on the modern ontological need to ‘know the dharma’. Rather, it is tied
into the traditional symbiotic relationship based on ritual that united the monastics
with the laity. For the clergy, the future of the dharma, or more particularly
Mongolian Buddhism, resides in rebuilding the samgha [sa!gha] based on the
traditional boundaries of the Buddhist community, which today is invariably tied to
14
the state formation of the nation. Thus they continue to maintain Tibetan as the
liturgical language and do what they have always done: perform ritual for the laity
and the state (Elverskog 2006: 36–37).
Like Sinclair, Elverskog explains that whilst local Buddhist organisations focus on rituals
and on the preservation of the relationship between the sa!gha and the laity for
nationalist goals, the transnational Buddhist groups tend to focus on meditation and
promoting doctrinal understandings in Dharma Centres. Importantly, Elverskog
highlights how the historical relationship between Tibet and Mongolia influences these
trends. If Buddhism is answering nationalist and cultural concerns, Mongols want to have
their own form of Buddhism and one that fits into a nationalist agenda. Reform
organisations are promoting a universal Buddhism that could be just as easily found in
Australia as it is in Mongolia. As noted above, this has resulted in the Mongol Sa!gha
promoting the transmission of liturgy in Tibetan, whilst global organisations are
translating texts into Mongolian. Additionally, it is the Mongol Sa!gha that emphasise the
preservation of the relationship between the sa!gha and the laity in a monastic population
where the boundaries between lamas and the laity are rendered permeable by the lack of
extensive monastic vows, celibacy and renunciation (Majer & Teleki 2008).
As we can see by these two articles, the emergence of Buddhism in Mongolia is a
complicated and multifaceted arising. It contains within it the movements and
conceptions of globalization and nationalism, purity and hybridity, continuity and change,
and local and translocal influence. Throughout this thesis I will borrow from Sinclair the
term ‘reform’ to describe the Buddhists that I met in Dharma Centres and for whom
doctrinal understandings and contemplative practices were of central concern. I will
borrow from Elverskog’s article the designation of ‘cultural’ Buddhists to describe those
who are ‘converting with their ethnicity’ as he so aptly describes it (2006: 29).
This thesis describes some of the multiple experiences of lay Buddhists in
Ulaanbaatar coalescing around the two divergent paradigms of cultural and reform
Buddhism. The majority of Buddhists are, as I explained before, involved in Buddhist
rituals not in order to explore Buddhist philosophy, but in the hope of ritual efficacy. For
many lay Buddhists, the break in the continuity of public institutions and the switch to a
15
new and broad religious marketplace has created an environment wherein interactions
with religious specialists are fraught with uncertainty. As Mongolia’s entry into the global
marketplace has flooded the capital with burgeoning religious possibilities there has also
been an increase in economic and spiritual insecurities. Most cultural Buddhists I spoke
to are worried about their own religious ignorance and doubt the efficacy and the
competence of religious practitioners. For many, memory and exemplary family members
are central in the creation of religious beliefs and practices, yet, often the information
passed down through families and remembered from the past is incomplete and fractured.
For most Mongols, Buddhism is a religious bricolage created from a combination of old
knowledge passed down from their forebears, influences from other religions such
Christianity and Shamanism, and new ideas about spirituality from New Religious
Movements such as Sri Sri and the Supreme Master Ching Hai.
The Dharma Centres that reform Buddhists visit offer an alternative to these
uncertainties and the bricolage religious systems that cultural Buddhists tend to create.
The people who visit them are embracing an alternative form of spirituality that is not so
saturated with feelings of loss and doubt. Amongst reform Buddhists there is greater
consistency in spiritual concepts and they learn Buddhist transformative practices to
actively propel them towards Buddhist moral ideals.
Field Sites: The Two Buddhisms
During my fieldwork in Ulaanbaatar, for twelve months between 2009 and 2010,
I interviewed and did participant observation with lay Buddhists that loosely coalesced
around these two different paradigms of Buddhist practice. Studying these two different
types of Buddhism required somewhat different research techniques. Because reform
Buddhists spend time attending classes at Dharma Centres, I was able to learn about their
lives by attending classes, participating in social activities, public rituals and conducting
formal interviews. As cultural Buddhists tend not to associate themselves with any
particular Buddhist institution in a regular way, I came to know these Buddhists in my
daily life. These were friends, acquaintances, friends’ friends, friends’ mothers, friends’
colleagues and anyone else who agreed to talk to me. As a result, this sample of
16
interlocutors had a narrower socio–economic range, and their ages ranged from twenty–
one to fifty. They were all middle class, highly educated and spoke fluent English. I
formally interviewed twenty–three people that fitted this category, twenty–one that
identified as Buddhist, a Muslim and a Christian. Out of the twenty–three participants,
thirteen were women and ten were men. Quite simply these were the kind of people,
outside of Dharma Centres, that I was most likely to meet.
All formal interviews conducted with participants (both cultural and reform) were
carried out once in private sessions that ranged from twenty–three minutes to one hour
and forty minutes. The average time for interviews was around one hour. Only one
interview, at a reform Dharma Centre, contained two participants. During these formal
interviews my interlocutors were asked a series of questions beginning with general details
about their age, background and religious identification. These were followed by
questions about religious practices, such as the frequency of temple or Dharma Centre
visits, what they did at religious institutions and any other daily or intermittent ritual
practices. Next were questions about religious ideas that focused on core concepts, such
as what the participant thought happens after death and the description of core Buddhist
terms such as Burkhan5, enlightenment6 (gegeerel) and karma7 (üiliin ür). I also asked about
visits to non–Buddhist religious sites and practitioners. The interviews generally ended
with questions about the interviewee’s perceptions of Buddhism in Mongolia: did they
think that there were enough monastics? And was Buddhism in Mongolia becoming
stronger or weaker? The templates for the questions asked of both lay Buddhists and
monastics are attached as appendices (see 213–218).
Before arriving in Mongolia I had intended to make the nunnery Dara Ekh Khiid
my primary fieldsite and to write about the Mongol nuns’ experiences of meditation
practice. However, due to some difficulties the management were having with the
operation of the nunnery and to its difficult location, in a ger district8 on the eastern side
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
5
Burkhan can mean Buddha, deities from the pantheon of Buddhist deities or God in a monotheistic,
pantheistic or polytheistic sense. For further discussion see Chapter Six.
6
Awakening, the ultimate goal of Buddhism, reaching Buddhahood.
7
Actions and the accompanying reactions.
8
Located on the fringes of the city (but housing the majority of the city’s population) ger districts are urban
areas subdivided by fences and (mostly unsealed) roads. Within the fenced off areas usually there are
around one to three gers (nomadic felt tents) and sometimes a wooden, concrete or brick house. These areas
generally have electricity but no running water and have pit toilets.
17
of the city, it was impossible for me to participate in regular activities at the nunnery. The
inaccessibility of the nunnery culminated in an electrical fire that burnt down a
substantial part of it at the beginning of December 2009. Luckily no one was hurt,
although the oldest nun, who was ninety–five at the time, was almost killed because she
was sleeping in the building adjacent to the kitchen, which was the first to catch fire. I
was told that in spite of her advanced years she managed to escape through a window and
was unharmed. Because of her age and a desire to not be a burden on the organisation,
she had hidden money for her funeral in between the pages of a s!tra (M. sudar, Buddhist
scriptures or prayers). After the fire had been put out, even though most of the other
things in the room had been thoroughly burnt, providence preserved the s!tra and the
money that it contained, as well as a portrait of Lama Zopa Rinpoche9.
It became apparent to me in the first few months of my fieldwork that the energy
and enthusiasm I had expected to find amongst monastics was most perceptible amongst
lay Buddhists. The earnest curiosity with which the students at the Foundation for the
Preservation of the Mahayana Tradition’s (FPMT) Shredrup Ling centre asked questions
at the end of the introductory meditation classes initially piqued my interest in lay
Buddhist stories in Ulaanbaatar. As a result, my husband and I arranged to volunteer at a
Buddhist centre in the Third and Fourth District called Jampa Ling. There we taught
weekly English classes to young children and to university age students who attended
Buddhist teachings at the centre. We also traded English lessons for Buddhist lessons on
the Lam Rim Chen Mo from Lama Zorigt Ganbold, a twenty–four year old Mongol monk
who had trained in India at the Drepung Gomang Monastery and was teaching the
weekend classes at Jampa Ling during our stay. Because of my growing friendships at the
centre, I decided to study lay Mongol Buddhist experiences instead of focusing on
monastics, and Jampa Ling became my primary field site.
As a result of the charitable work that Jampa Ling does, I had contact with a wide
range of socio–economic groups. Whilst some people travel from the wealthier sections of
the inner city to learn about Buddhism, others come from nearby apartments or ger
districts or attend classes because they have connections to the centre as a result of
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
9
The organisation’s spiritual head. Rinpoche (M. Khutagt, T. Rin po che) is an honorific title meaning
‘Precious One’ given to high-ranking lamas.
18
receiving charity. The organisation, like most in Mongolia (including the FPMT), is part
of the Gelug lineage. It is headed by Panchen Ötrul Rinpoche, a Tibetan born lama who
now lives in Ireland. Panchen Ötrul Rinpoche was born in 1939 and was chosen as a
candidate for the reincarnation of the Panchen Lama at the age of seven. He was arrested
by Chinese soldiers in 1959 and managed to escape to India in 1960. He has lived in
Ireland since 1990 where he now teaches regular Buddhist classes. In 1995, he made his
first visit to Mongolia with His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama. During this trip the Dalai
Lama asked if he could stay to teach Buddhism in Mongolia. As a result, Panchen Ötrul
Rinpoche now returns annually to give teachings to the Mongol community during
summer (Jampa Ling Tibetan Buddhist Centre n. d.).
Figure 3 – Jampa Ling
The modern building of Jampa Ling Mongolia was completed in 2003 and is a
teaching and welfare centre connected to the NGO called Asral. While I was there it
housed two residential monks along with visiting teachers and volunteers. The
organisation provides funding and employment for women who head, or are part of,
impoverished families and it has a hot meal program for their children before they go to
school. They have a felting centre where the women gain skills and employment, and
19
their children are taught English and given extra classes by visiting foreign and local
Mongol volunteers. In winter they provide coal, warm clothes and other essential services
for poor families. They also run three rural charities, one in the nearby town of Gachuurt,
another to the southeast of Ulaanbaatar in Shankh and one at Öndörshil in Dundgov
Aimag. In Shankh they have a monastery that provides education for novice monks from
Ulaanbaatar during the summer. Jampa Ling teaches Buddhism to old and young
students on the weekends, conducts bi–monthly takhil (S. p!j"s: ritualised offerings made
in the form of food, flowers, chanting and bowing), holds rituals and public teachings. All
but three of the fifteen formal interviews I conducted at Jampa Ling were in Mongolian
with help from translators Baasansuren Enkhtungalag and Selenge Baartartsogt. The ages
of the participants varied from sixteen to seventy–five and only four of the interviewees
were men. As the Tsongkhapa’s 10 text the Lam Rim Chen Mo is central to Gelugpa
teachings and was the text that Lama Zorigt was teaching his Mongol students and myself,
Lama Zorigt’s teachings of the text had a resounding influence on my perspectives about
Mongol Buddhism.
Figure 4 – Shankh Khiid (photo taken by Amber Cripps)
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
10
(T. Tsong kha pa) a Tibetan master whose teachings led to the foundation of the Gelug School.
20
Figure 5 – Gachuurt gardens run by Asral NGO (photo taken by Amber Cripps)
The other two field sites where I met people who were being regularly educated
about Buddhist doctrine were the Dara Ekh Khiid and Shredrup Ling, an inner city
Buddhist centre. These are both run by the global Buddhist organisation the FPMT,
which is headed by Lama Zopa Rinpoche and, like Jampa Ling, are in the Gelug lineage.
Part of the nunnery is also used as a community centre that does charitable works. They
have a soup kitchen that feeds over seventy people each day and a small medical centre
that provides basic medical services. They also run a sewing centre for unemployed
women. There are some problems with the nunnery’s location in the ger districts, though
congenial for social work. Because of the poor neighbourhood, some of the nuns
confided that they were concerned about their safety if they went outside the compound
and one of the nuns had been mugged when going to buy something from the local shop.
The nunnery has to hire a guard to protect the fences, which get ripped down for
firewood in winter, and to protect against the theft of Buddhist statues, which is not
uncommon in the city. Some statues had been previously taken from the nunnery and a
German–run Kagyu (T. bKa' brgyud) centre that I visited to the north of the city had had
their retreat centre broken into and some statues stolen. These, I heard conjectured, are
21
sold to tourists as antiques. The Dara Ekh Khiid is the only residential nunnery in
Mongolia and has fourteen Mongol nuns, though two were studying in India at the time
of my fieldwork. Two Tibetan nuns, who were visiting from the Kopan Nunnery in Nepal,
were teaching the residential nuns. At the time of my stay the nuns’ ages ranged from
fourteen to ninety–five. I formally interviewed two nuns, aged nineteen and twenty–four
and one FPMT translator aged forty–two.
Figure 6 – The FPMT’s Shredrup Ling
Shredrup Ling houses international volunteers, teaches Buddhist and English
classes and has a vegetarian café. It has weekly meditation classes, a beginner’s course on
Buddhism, yoga lessons, Tibetan language classes and holds takhil and other rituals. It is a
very popular place for people to learn about meditation and Buddhism and most of the
people I interviewed at Jampa Ling had at some time attended, or were currently
attending, classes there too. The shrine room, which is located on the second floor, is
frequently filled with more than a hundred people, especially when a new teacher arrives
to give teachings. When I was visiting, an Australian nun, Ani Gyalmo, was the director
of the nunnery. She also taught Buddhist courses, introductory meditation and yoga
classes at Shredrup Ling. In addition to the interviews and participant observation I did at
these fieldsites I also interviewed one lama from the Tüvdenpejeelin Khiid and a
22
translator working at Betüv Khiid. In direct quotations from my interlocutors I have used
pseudonyms with the exception of stories and quotations from Lama Zorigt.
Hybridity and Religious Rituals
A few months after arriving in Mongolia my husband and I visited a place called
‘Mother Rock’ (Mong. Eej Khad or Avgai Khad). I had become interested in Eej Khad
after reading the article Avgai Khad: Theft and Social Trust in Post-Communist Mongolia
(Humphrey 1993). Eej Khad is a pilgrimage site located an hour and a half off–road–
driving to the south east of Ulaanbaatar. As this thesis is about Buddhism in Mongolia’s
capital, Ulaanbaatar, it may seem strange to include a story about an apparently shamanic
sacred site in the countryside. It is included here because my experience of visiting Eej
Khad exemplifies both the syncretic nature of Mongol popular religious rituals and the
Mongol enthusiasm for all things religious. The short story I am about to describe
presages some of the key themes of this thesis: the impact of religious repression during
the socialist period on contemporary practices and beliefs; memory and the
‘domestication’ of religion; translocal influences on religion; religious syncretism; and the
upsurge of religious practices after socialism.
I visited Eej Khad in Töv Aimag11 in late May 2009. The rolling steppe had just
begun to turn green, except for the indentations caused by the roaming four–wheel–drive
tracks that crisscross the countryside’s valleys and hillsides. The first stop on the
pilgrimage route from Ulaanbaatar was ‘Money Rock’ or ‘Rich Rock’ (M. Yembüü Khad).
It stands a little below the height of an average person and is rather squat in appearance.
When I visited, it was covered in blue khadags (ceremonial scarves used in Buddhist and
shamanic ceremonies) and was surrounded by people. It is said that if you
circumambulate Yembüü Khad clockwise three times pressing your money against the
rock, this money will multiply in your wallet and increase your fortune. Mongols
circumambulate anything of significance in the clockwise direction: ovoos (sacred rock
cairns), temples, stupas and the inside of gers. Clockwise in Mongolian is narzov literally
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
11
The Mongolian term for a province.
23
meaning the correct way of the sun. I ceremonially held my one hundred tögrögs12 and
pressed it against the rock. As I did so others walked around with hundreds or thousands
of tögrögs, some with fistfuls, others with their whole wallets. I saw a young couple in their
early twenties standing next to the rock trying to scrape bits of it into their wallets.
Another entrepreneurial young woman pressed her bankbook against the rock as she
walked around. Perhaps the enthusiasm for Yembüü Khad is a reflection of some of the
hopes and insecurities of Mongols who have recently entered the global capitalist
economy.
Following the other shiny cars over the mountains and down into valleys, we
approached Eej Khad. I was surprised to find an enclosure encircling her. Around the
outside of the wall people walked in a clockwise direction, throwing offerings of milk and
vodka towards the centre. Copying others, I circled her enclosure offering milk and then
joined the line of people waiting to receive her blessings.
The line was long and divided into two: the women’s line and the men’s line. The
women’s line was considerably longer than the men’s. I waited for over three hours for
my brief consultation with Eej Khad, whilst the men in our group only waited for half an
hour. A middle–aged lady reasoned that the women’s line was longer because women
have more to wish for. ‘They are wishing for the health of their family. The men’, she
conjectured, ‘only wish for themselves’. She told me that if I whispered three wishes
under her arm that Eej Khad would make those wishes come true. A teenage girl in front
of me said that visiting this rock makes people very beautiful.
Another Mongol woman explained that the Mongol people only discovered Eej
Khad after 1990. Before then its existence was known only to locals and was hidden from
the general public by the government. There seems to be a variety of stories about the
origin of the rock. Humphrey writes that in the 1970s local people started worshipping
the rock and it reached the attentions of the local district leader (Humphrey 1993: 13).
Then the story varies but I have read and been told that a group of people were sent to
destroy her with a tractor (Humphrey 1993) or dynamite. Somehow these attempts were
thwarted, either by the death of a child (Humphrey 1993) or by bad luck befalling all
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
12
Mongolian currency, at the time of my research one thousand tögrögs was worth around one Australian
dollar. Also commonly spelt tugrik.
24
those involved in the plotted destruction. Whatever the case may be, any attempts to
destroy her were thwarted and the rumours surrounding them no doubt deterred others
from trying to raze her and so she remained a local secret until the end of socialism in
Mongolia in 1990.
As I waited I spoke to another middle–aged lady who was interested in my
research. She told me that she had been a Buddhist ever since she was born and strongly
identifies with Green T"r" (M. Nogoon Dara Ekh), as this is the astrological symbol for the
year she was born. She now regularly reads the mantra of Green T"r" for its positive
affects. She explained that I should place a blue khadag upon Eej Khad as an offering,
with the fold opening towards her, the same way that you would offer a ceremonial scarf
to a lama as a sign of respect (or they would offer one to you during blessings) in
Buddhist ceremonies, and then make your wishes.
As I gradually got closer to the inside of the wall I noticed that the wall looked a
little like one you would expect to surround a Soviet swimming pool, a style of enclosure
that seemed inappropriate for a sacred space. Inside I could see her covered in beaded
necklaces, wearing a dress, her shoulders were laden with a great many blue khadags. In
front of her was a table replete with offerings. People were placing offerings as they
walked in and taking something from the table as they left. One table was covered in milk,
biscuits and sweets, another with bottles of vodka. Behind her was a table with lit butter
candles and incense. Some people in the line read Buddhist mantras quietly to
themselves as they approached her, whilst others chatted and giggled. Even though some
visitors seemed to take a lot of items from the table as they left, at all times the offerings
table was crowded with gifts.
I approached Eej Khad, placed my khadag upon her and made my wishes. I then
lit my incense and took a biscuit from the table and left. Eej Khad is the height of a small
woman (it is said that she is squatting) and has the appearance of a pregnant belly,
though it is hard to make out her shape through the weight of the khadags and all her
clothes. She is much smaller than I expected. I expected her to be outside, with offerings
only just managing to cover her feet and no protection from the elements. But there is
something about her, deeply calm amidst the hustle and bustle of the worshippers. She
25
had a great dignity amidst the chaos and it was deeply comforting to place my head
underneath her arm and make my three wishes.
The patience displayed by the worshippers at Eej Khad, who waited in the line for
three hours for a ritual activity that lasted around five minutes, really highlights the depth
of commitment to religious rituals in Mongolia. Judging by the conversations I had in the
line waiting to visit her and afterwards amongst friends and informants, most people did
not distinguish Eej Khad either as a shamanic or a Buddhist sacred site, nor did it seem
to be important. Given the lack of a clear ritual exegesis around this pilgrimage site, as
would be expected, interpretations about the efficacy of visiting her vary a great deal
(Whitehouse 2001a). Most of the people I interviewed said that they had been to visit Eej
Khad, or one of the other sites of religious pilgrimage in the countryside (such as ‘Mother
Tree’, M. Eej Mod). Reports as to the efficacy of the wishes that they made varied from a
definite ‘yes’, to a hopeful ‘yes’, to uncertainty or forgetfulness. It is not unusual for lamas
to participate in ceremonies at these sacred places and none of the monastic people that I
spoke to saw problems with people visiting sites like Eej Khad as long as they asked for
help with problems in this life and did not expect help for soteriological ends.
Folk rituals such as visiting Eej Khad have an influence on Mongol religious
cosmologies. The popularity of visiting Eej Khad demonstrates that lay Buddhists are
involved in multiple hybrid ritual activities outside of temples. Folk rituals tend to be
syncretic, incorporating symbols from Buddhist and shamanic rituals as well as answering
contemporary concerns about social and economic security. Perhaps the existence of
hybrid rituals has arisen along with the open and interested attitude that cultural
Buddhists tend to have towards other religions (see Chapter Six).
Thesis Outline
Chapter One describes the history of Buddhism from Chinggis Khan in the
thirteenth century to the repression of Buddhism during the socialist period. It presents
this history as the common basis for the alternative traditions that cultural and reform
Buddhists are trying to reinvent or reconnect to. It also highlights the changing translocal
influences in the region, in particular three foreign forces: Tibet, the Qing Dynasty and
26
Russia. During the Mongol Empire, from the rule of Chinggis Khan (r. 1206–1227) to
the reign of his grandson Khubilai Khan (r. 1260–1294), the prestige and consequence
that Buddhism had in the region changed substantially. Towards the end of the Mongol
Empire, during Khubilai Khan’s rule, ties between Mongolia and the Tibetan Buddhist
Sakya13 (T. Sa skya) lineage were strong and the Sakya held considerable influence within
the realm. Buddhism, which lost its privileged position as a result of the Empire’s decline,
made a recovery in the region during the sixteenth century. This time a new relationship
was forged between the Gelug lineage and Altan Khan (1507–1582). In 1691 when
‘Outer’ Mongolia14 became a suzerainty of the Qing Dynasty, the Manchu administration
interfered with Mongol–Tibetan relations, taking upon itself the responsibility for
deciding where reincarnations of important Buddhist figures were to be located. When
Mongolia declared independence from the Qing Dynasty in 1911, a period of great
upheaval began. The next ten years saw Mongolia suffering from invasions by the Chinese
and the White Russians, and finally the Mongol administration sought help from the
Bolsheviks. After seeking assistance from the Bolsheviks, Mongolia’s gaze turned north
and its relationship with the Soviet Union was cemented. After the death of the Eighth
Jebtsundamba 15 in 1924, Mongolia’s policies mirrored those of the Soviet Union,
including an intolerance for religion, which had disastrous results for Buddhist
institutions against whom, during the 1930s, a brutal campaign of repression was waged
(Bawden 1968; Moses 1977).
Chapter Two looks at the re–emergence of Buddhism after the end of socialism,
describing the interaction between Buddhism and nationalist discourses in Ulaanbaatar.
During the Democratic Revolution of 1989–1990, pre–socialist symbols, in particular
Chinggis Khan and Buddhism were presented as alternatives to the Mongol identity
promoted by the socialist government (Kaplonski 2004). These alternative identities have
become increasingly popular as Mongolia has switched from a socialist autocracy to a
capitalist democracy and rapid changes to social, political and economic life have
occurred (Rossabi 2005; Sneath 2002). As economic and social insecurities have
increased, both religion and nationalism have become popular anchors to secure
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
13
A lineage of Mahayana Buddhism.
A designation created by the Manchu government to distinguish northern and southern Mongolia.
15
(M. Javdzandamba Hutagt, T. Jetsun Dampa) is the lineage of ‘reincarnate’ lamas following from Zanabazar
in the seventeenth century (see Chapter One).
14
27
contemporary identities (Humphrey 1992). The material and ontological insecurities that
have followed from the abrupt switch to an open capitalist economy have created an
environment highly conducive to religion and nationalism (Højer & Pedersen 2008).
Unfortunately, as is common with constructions of the nation, there are those who do
not fit into new nationalistic ideals and these people are often left out of definitions of
the nation (Bulag 1998; Tumursukh 2001).
Chapter Three discusses the interactions that most cultural Buddhists have with
Buddhist institutions. Following the Democratic Revolution there was a rapid increase in
both public religious institutions and Buddhist monastics. Most Mongols that I spoke to
visit temples at least once a year and visiting temples is the main way that cultural
Buddhists confirm their religious identity. However, the relationship between cultural
Buddhists and the Mongol Buddhist institutions tends to be strained. Many people are
unsure about key doctrinal concepts in Buddhism and they are self conscious of their
ignorance. At the same time, they frequently report that their interactions with Buddhist
institutions do not assist in their religious education. Most cultural Buddhists that I
interviewed were not satisfied with the religious education that they were receiving from
Buddhist institutions. Most attend temples to have prayers read for them by lamas in
Tibetan, circumambulate sacred objects and temples, feed birds, ask lamas for advice,
pray, light candles and enjoy the ambience of the temple, yet these activities do little to
elucidate central Buddhist ideas. Adding to this, there is also uncertainty about the
credentials of some of the monastic community, as lineages were broken during the
socialist period disrupting education. Some interlocutors expressed concern that some
lamas, though not all, wore robes simply to make money. Partly as a result of these
concerns, and partly due to other factors (such as the ‘domestication’ of religion during
the socialist period) many people prefer to become educated about religion in the private
rather than the public sphere, by learning from family, friends and through folk
traditions. These forms of education assist in filling the gaps left by a lack of public
education about Buddhist concepts, however, the information that is acquired from the
private sphere is often incomplete and inconsistent.
Chapter Four describes the attitudes that reform Buddhist organisations have
towards religious education and how they offer an alternative to cultural Buddhist
28
experiences. Global Buddhist institutions’ ideas about doctrinal pedagogy have arisen out
of decades of communication between the Tibetan diaspora and Western expectations
surrounding religious education. These institutions make doctrinal explanation a key
element of their weekly religious classes. They aim to teach individuals how to practice for
themselves so that they can pursue enlightenment as well as make their current lives
better. Whereas cultural Buddhists learn about religion from friends and family in the
private sphere, reform Buddhists learn about Buddhism from religious specialists in the
public sphere. As a result, religious exegeses amongst reform Buddhists tends to be
characterised by consistency, confidence and stability.
Chapter Five discusses the transformative practices that reform Buddhists are
taught at Dharma Centres and explores the efficacy of these practices. I contend that
reform Buddhists are encouraged to ‘embody’ morality, not just to learn rules about what
they ought and ought not to do. Through meditation, reciting mantra16, prostrations and
public rituals, these lay practitioners are taught how to move towards the ideal of
enlightenment, and therefore attempt to transform themselves in line with Buddhist
morality. I argue that these practices distinguish cultural and reform Buddhists. Reform
Buddhists not only understand doctrinal Buddhism but they also learn to embody
Buddhist ideals and have a toolbox of practices that they can use to attempt to alter their
lives.
Chapter Six describes the translocal influences on religious philosophies and
practice amongst cultural Buddhists. Accompanying the rise in Buddhist religious
institutions across Mongolia a wave of New Religious Movements and new religions have
entered the capital. New Religious Movements, such as Sri Sri Ravi Shankar and the
Supreme Master Ching Hai are very popular amongst my middle class interlocutors.
These groups often teach meditation and yoga, preach the value of vegetarianism, and
explain core Buddhist concepts such as karma, reincarnation and enlightenment in their
own ways. They are so popular that many ideas cultural Buddhists have about key
Buddhist concepts come from these groups, rather than from Buddhist institutions
themselves. Alongside New Religious Movements, Christian missionaries, especially
Evangelical groups from Korea and America, have entered the capital. Some of these
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
16
A sound or series of sounds and words that are repeated for religious efficacy.
29
Christian groups have appropriated Buddhist terms to explain Christian concepts and
these terms are feeding back into popular explanations of core Buddhist terms, and are,
in turn, altering the meaning of key Buddhist concepts for some cultural Buddhists.
The Conclusion draws together elements from the rest of the dissertation and
presents my conclusions.
30
Chapter One
The History of Buddhism in Mongolia: From the Mongol Empire to the Socialist
Revolution
I contend that cultural and reform Buddhists are trying to reinvent tradition by
connecting themselves to the history of Buddhism in Mongolia. This past, however, is
being interpreted in different ways. For cultural Buddhists, Buddhism connects them to
the grandness of the Mongol Empire, to Chinggis Khan’s initial relationship with
Buddhism and to his grandson Khubilai Khan’s relationship with the head of the
Sakyapa. It also connects them to the historical Mongol figures that shaped the character
of Mongol Buddhism. These are figures such as Altan Khan from the sixteenth century
and Zanabazar from the seventeenth century. Reform Buddhists, on the other hand,
emphasise the textual tradition of Buddhism, tantric transmission lineages and what they
see as the ‘priest–patron’ relationship between the Tibetans and the Mongols.
Most Mongols I met in Ulaanbaatar identified themselves as Buddhist and this
identification is one with historical roots. Contemporary Mongols are in the process of
restructuring their identities amidst abrupt changes in their political, economic and
ideological milieu. Part of this reconstruction involves looking back into the ‘deep past’
for ‘exemplars’ that can provide a basis for morality and spirituality in the present
(Humphrey 1992). The socialist period not only decapitated public institutions from
religious life but also severed the relationship between Mongolia and Tibet. Cultural
Buddhism, tied strongly to ideas of ethnicity and nationalism, and reform Buddhism,
attached to Tibetan–style global organisations, are connected to this past.
The history of Buddhism in Mongolia has not been a peaceful one; it has been
marked by numerous political disturbances, powerful and dangerous liaisons and brutal
repression. Buddhism, and the powers that have governed with it, has been embroiled in
power disputes and challenges in the Mongolian cultural region, from the Mongol
Empire in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries (Rossabi 1988; Sagaster 2007), to the
reintroduction of Buddhism and the repression of Shamanism beginning in the sixteenth
century (Atwood 1996; Bawden 1968; Elverskog 2000; Heissig 1980), to the subjugation
31
of Mongol Buddhism during the early twentieth century (Bawden 1968; Lattimore 1962;
Lattimore & Isono 1982; Moses 1977).
Three foreign interests have powerfully affected the development of Buddhism in
Mongolia. The first of these is Tibet, whose relationship with Mongolia came to
prominence during the Mongol Empire. After the Mongol Empire had disintegrated,
another Mongol figure, Altan Khan, made use of the template of Buddhist partnership
initiated by Khubilai Khan and forged an alliance with the Tibetan ‘reform’ school, the
Gelugpa, in the sixteenth century (Elverskog 2000). The second major foreign influence
on Buddhism’s development in Mongolia was the Qing Dynasty or Manchu Dynasty
(1644–1912). As a suzerainty of the Qing Empire, Mongolia’s religious relationship with
Tibet was carefully monitored. The Manchu government frequently interfered with
Mongol incarnation lineages when they feared that they were becoming too powerful and,
from the seventeenth century, the Manchus decreed that all incarnations must be found
in Tibet and Qinghai, not in Mongolia (Bulag 2007: 21; Lattimore 1962). During this
period the Qing Dynasty manipulated the religious relationship between Mongolia and
Tibet and Buddhist institutions increasingly became vehicles for state control. The third
significant foreign power came into influence during the upheavals that shook Mongolia
in the first half of the twentieth century. This time the government did not intend to
control Buddhism or use it for political advantage, but to wipe it out (Bawden 1968;
Lattimore 1962; Moses 1977). Following the dramatic power struggles in the early
twentieth century, Mongolia formed an alliance with the Soviet Union and followed its
policies of religious repression. It conducted a brutal campaign against Buddhism and it
was not until 1990 that religious freedoms were genuinely reintroduced (Kaplonski 2004;
Rossabi 2005).
Buddhism During the Mongol Empire: Chinggis Khan – Khubilai Khan (1204–1294)
The Mongolian region had contact with Buddhism as early as the fourth century
AD (Heissig 1980: 4). Whilst Buddhism was practiced on the Mongolian plateau before
Chinggis Khan’s birth, many Mongols see Chinggis Khan as the leader who first brought
Buddhism to the country. Chinggis Khan’s popularity in Mongolia along with his
32
posthumous connection to Buddhism is important in contemporary Mongol associations
between Buddhism and ethnic identity (see Chapter Two). During Chinggis Khan’s
lifetime, after he brought together the Mongol and Turkic tribes in 1206, Buddhism
changed and grew within the region. According to historian Klaus Sagaster, these
developments came from four directions: the Uighurs, the Tanguts, and the inhabitants
of Tibet and China (Sagaster 2007: 379).
Sagaster writes that in 1204, two years before the unification, Chinggis Khan (r.
1206–1227) already had contact with the Buddhism of the Uighurs. The Uighurs at this
time practiced three religions: Buddhism, Nestorian Christianity and Manichaeism
(Sagaster 2007: 379–380). From 1205 to 1209, as Chinggis Khan fought the Tangut
Empire, it was probable that he would have encountered the unique form of Buddhism
that existed in the area. The Tanguts themselves had developed their own kind of
Buddhism from a mixture of influences from Central Asia, China and Tibet (Sagaster
2007: 381).
From 1211 to 1216, as Chinggis Khan waged a campaign against the Jin State, he
met with Chinese Buddhist representatives who practiced Chan Buddhism (Zen
Buddhism). The travelling Daoist monk Qiu Changqun's disciple Li Zhichang recorded
(1220–1223) that Chinggis Khan exempted Daoist monastics from paying taxes (trans.
Bretschneider 1888). By 1229, Ögedei Khan (r. 1229–1241), Chinggis Khan’s son and
successor, decreed that both Buddhist and Daoist monastics need not pay tax, evidence
that by this time both Buddhism and Daoism had influence within the Mongol Empire
(Sagaster 2007: 381–382).
Whilst the early Mongol Empire had contact with a variety of forms of Buddhism,
it was the Tibetan Buddhists who were to have the greatest continuous impact on the
formation of Buddhism in Mongolia. The Mongol Empire did not have direct contact
with Tibet until 1240 when Ögedei Khan’s son, Prince Köden, sent an army to Central
Tibet.
The main army of the Mongols advanced to the territory in the Northeast of
Lhasa. They destroyed the Rua–sgreng and rGyal–lha–khang monasteries and
killed 500 monks. When, further to the east, the Mongols also sought to attack
33
the ‘Brigung monastery, the principal seat of the ‘Bri–gungb Ka’–brgyud–pa
[Drikung Kagyu School]… a High Lama, prevented this by causing stones to rain
from heaven… this legend is typical for the tactics of the Tibetan Lamas to
demonstrate the strength and value of their religion through alleged wonders and
through this, to impress the Mongolian rulers (Sagaster 2007: 383–384).
Sagaster argues that the army’s military leader, Doorda Darkhan, was so impressed by the
Tibetans that he encouraged Prince Köden to invite an important Tibetan Lama to the
Mongol court. Whilst other scholars contend that it was a purely tactical move to bring a
respected representative to surrender the Tibetan plateau (Wylie 2003: 321–322),
Sagaster maintains that, in addition to political incentives, Prince Köden agreed because
that he was concerned with his ability to encourage extra–worldly forces to work in his
favour (Sagaster 2007: 385).
Whatever their motives, in 1244, an invitation was sent to the Sakya Pandita (T.
Sa skya Pa"#ita Kun dga’ rGyal mtshan), the head of the Sakya lineage, and it was accepted.
At age sixty–three, and in the company of his two nephews, the Sakya Pandita set out for
Liangzhou. In 1246, when he met with Prince Köden, the lama is said to have healed the
Prince from an intractable illness (Sagaster 2007: 386). Impressed with the sage, and his
medical skills, Prince Köden became a patron of the Sakya lineage in 1249 (Jerryson
2007: 15; Sagaster 2007: 386).
Whilst there were periods of religious tolerance within the Mongol Empire, there
were also quarrels between different religious groups. During these disputes the rulings of
the Khans were often partial, favouring one sect over another. Möngke Khan (r. 1251–9),
a nephew of Ögedei’s, and Güyük Khan’s successor (r. 1246–8), famously held religious
debates in his court. The Flemish Franciscan, William of Rubruck (1220–1293), recorded
one of these in his chronicles as he was invited by Möngke Khan to partake in a debate
between Buddhist monks, Nestorian Christians and Muslims (trans. Rockhill 1900).
Following an unsuccessful debate with the Buddhists, William of Rubruck was expelled
from the Empire.
During Möngke’s rule there was an ongoing conflict between the Buddhists and
the Daoists. The Daoists had taken over and destroyed Buddhist monasteries, acquired
34
Buddhist religious artefacts and forged two religious documents that insulted the Buddha
(Rossabi 1988: 36). As Rossabi writes:
Power, not ideology, motivated the struggle between the Buddhists and the
Taoists in the 1250s. A variety of Taoist sects… had proliferated… Some of them
clearly lusted after worldly gains and access to political power, desires that placed
them on a direct collision course with the Buddhist sects. During the Mongol era,
the Taoists appear to have been the more rebellious of the two groups, but this
impression may derive from the bias of the Buddhist sources on which we are
dependant (1988: 37).
After receiving complaints from the Buddhists, in 1255, Möngke Khan invited the
patriarch of the Daoists, Li Zhichang, and the Shaolin Buddhist Fuyu Zhanglao to
participate in a debate to solve the matter. The Shaolin monk won the debate with his
outstanding argumentation and the Daoists were ordered by Möngke to make
concessions (Sagaster 2007: 389–390). In 1258, the conflict was still unresolved and
Möngke Khan asked his younger brother Khubilai to adjudicate a series of further
debates. This time:
Khubilai decreed the Taoists to be the losers in the debates and punished their
leaders. He ordered his retainers to shave the heads of seventeen prominent
Taoists and to compel them to convert to Buddhism. All copies of the two forged
texts were to be burned… The Buddhist temples occupied by the Taoists,
numbering around 237, and the properties the Taoists had confiscated were to be
restored to their rightful Buddhist owners (Rossabi 1988: 42).
After Möngke Khan’s death, Khubilai Khan (r. 1260–1294) treated the Tibetan
style of Buddhism preferentially (Rossabi 1988). Khubilai, having shown an interest in
Chan Buddhism at a young age, first met with the Tibetan form when he was leading a
military expedition to Dali (in the modern day Yunnan province). He passed through
Liangzhou, where the Sakya Pandita was staying, and asked to meet with the Tibetan
Lama. Due to the Pandita’s poor health Khubilai met with his nephew ‘Phags pa (T. ‘Gro
mgon Chos rgyal ‘Phags pa) instead. Between ‘Phags pa and Khubilai’s first two meetings the
35
Sakya Pandita died and ‘Phags pa took his place as the head of the Sakya lineage. Sagaster
writes that on his second encounter with ‘Phags pa:
Tradition has it that Qubilai asked so many questions about the history of Tibet
and about Buddhism and was so impressed by the answers of the young monk,
that he became a religious follower, received the consecration of the tantra deity
Hevajra from ‘Phags–pa and chose him as his spiritual guide (Sagaster 2007: 387).
Rossabi contends more pragmatic motivations for Khubilai’s conversion. He writes that
in addition to the ‘purported magical powers of the Tibetan Buddhists’ Khubilai was
aware that ‘the politically experienced lamas could be useful political allies’ (Rossabi
1988: 40). After Khubilai’s conversion, and in the same year as his ascendancy to Great
Khan in 1260, he appointed ‘Phags pa as State Preceptor (Ch. Guoshi). An alliance with
the Sakya lineage was forged and the school gained a position of leadership over the other
Tibetan lineages and the Chinese Chan Buddhists who had held power during Möngke
Khan’s administration (Sagaster 2007: 391–392).
Heissig argues that during this period contact with Buddhism affected the ruling
classes and the elite only, and had very little effect on the lives of the lay population. As
Heissig writes, ‘the broad Mongolian public was not… touched by the first Lamaist
conversion’ (1980: 25). However, not all historians agree that this first contact with
Buddhism was such a superficial one. Sagaster points out that during this period there
were many requests for translations of important Buddhist texts into Mongolian. At the
end of the thirteenth century and during the first half of the fourteenth century the first
translations of many s!tras were produced that are still popular today. These include
s!tras such as Altan Gerel, The S!tra of Golden Light (Sagaster 2007: 394).
Whilst Heissig maintains that little remained of the first conversion to Buddhism
after the Mongol Empire’s collapse due to an exclusive identification with the elite
(Heissig 1980: 25), Sagaster points out that:
[It is highly] improbable that all these texts, some of which are still popular in
present–day lay Mongolian Buddhism, were only circulating in elite circles and
were unknown to the common people – regardless of how these texts may have
been understood. Also, the monasteries, for which so much generosity had been
36
displayed, cannot have been hermetically sealed from the common people
(Sagaster 2007: 394–395).
Sagaster goes on to contend that Buddhism, though weaker after the collapse of the
Mongol Empire, survived its fall and that the religion was robust enough to build new
monasteries (Sagaster 2007: 396). Either way, Buddhism in Mongolia did not become a
powerful force until the late sixteenth century.
Altan Khan, the Dalai Lama and the Destruction of the Ongod
Buddhism did not see a strong re-emergence in Mongolia until Altan Khan
(1507–1582) adopted the Gelugpa order in the second half of the sixteenth century. In
1573, Altan Khan, the leader of the Mongol Tümed people, engaged in conflict against
the Shira Uighur. He took a number of prisoners and among them were two lamas.
Apparently, one of the lamas proselytised the merits of the Buddha’s teachings to Altan
Khan and he was so convinced that he became a Buddhist (Bawden 1968: 28).
In 1576, three years after Altan Khan’s conversion, his nephew, who had been
sent on a military expedition to Tibet, encouraged him to invite the head of the newly
reformed Buddhist school, the Gelugpa, to meet with him (Bawden 1968: 29). Sonam
Gyatso (T. bSod nams rGya mtsho, 1543–1588) accepted this invitation, and in 1578, met
Altan Khan at the Chabchiyal Monastery, near lake Kökenuur, now in the Qinghai
province (Sagaster 2007: 396). During their meeting, Altan Khan bestowed the Gelugpa
lama the title of Dalai Lama (literally meaning ocean-like teacher) and posthumously
recognised his two previous incarnations, the First and Second Dalai Lamas. Sonam
Gyatso became the Third Dalai Lama and, in return, he bestowed upon Altan Khan the
title of Cakravartin Sechen Khan ‘the real ruler of the world... whose epithet was Se#en,
“the wise one”’ (Sagaster 2007: 397).
According to sources written during the lifetime of the Fifth Dalai Lama, some 65
years later, Altan Khan and the Dalai Lama then proclaimed themselves to be
incarnations of Khubilai Khan and ‘Phags–pa respectively. These same sources record
that a rapid transformation of the religious environment throughout the Mongolian
37
region subsequently ensued (Elverskog 2000). Some historians have used these sources to
argue that Buddhism, when it arrived in Mongolia in the sixteenth century, waged a
brutal war of repression against the local forms of Shamanism (Atwood 1996; Bawden
1968; Heissig 1980).
Elverskog argues that although Altan Khan’s power was ritually strengthened
through the unification of the two spheres of religion and the state, he did not claim
himself to be Khubilai’s incarnation. Instead:
It was only by uniting the two spheres of political legitimation, Supreme Tengri’s
blessing of the State through the Chinggis Khan cult, and the adoption of
Buddhism as the imperial Religion, that Altan Khan could claim affinity with
Chinggis and Khubilai Khan (Elverskog 2000: 394).
Instead of portraying the interaction between Buddhism and Shamanism as one of
suppression, Elverskog argues that by exchanging these titles in front of the Eight White
Tents, a shrine to Chinggis Khan, Altan Khan gained sacred legitimacy through the
respect of the old shamanic practices and ritual exchange with the new religious power
(Elverskog 2000). He argues that the ritual, rather than obliterating the old religion,
incorporated both Buddhist and pre–Buddhist elements. As he writes:
During the reign of Altan Khan there was an amalgamation within the
ritualisation of emperorship which included both the indigenous Mongolian
religion and the newly adopted Dgel–ugs–pa [Gelugpa] lineage form of Tibetan
Buddhism. The notion that it was some form of Caesaropapism, emulating an
idealised Buddhist conversion that inherently dissociated the Mongols from
their own cultural traditions, privileges later narratives that are intrinsically tied to
the narrativisation and ritualisation of colonised Mongolia (Elverskog 2000: 403).
He writes that Altan Khan was, initially at least, buried according to shamanic, not
Buddhist customs (Elverskog 2007: 64). The symbolic exchange of titles did, however,
have important ramifications for Buddhism in the region. Following the conferral of titles,
Altan Khan built new monasteries and commissioned translations of important Buddhist
texts from Tibetan into Mongolian. The Dalai Lama encouraged him to implement a
number of edicts. He outlawed the killing of women, slaves and animals during funerals,
38
and the killing of animals and human beings for monthly offerings. He also made the
possession of the Ongod, the sacred ritual objects of the shamans, unlawful (Heissig
1980: 26–27).
Such was the promise for the Gelug sect that before the Third Dalai Lama died he
declared that his next incarnation would reappear in Mongolia. Seven years after Altan
Khan’s death, Altan Khan’s great grandson was recognised by Gelugpa lamas as the
Fourth Dalai Lama and was sent to Lhasa at the age of twelve to gain a Buddhist
education (Sagaster 2007: 401). The new religion spread to the rest of Mongolia. A
contemporary of Altan Khan’s, Abadai Khan (a Khalkha Mongol), met with the Dalai
Lama at Altan Khan’s city, Kökeqota (now in Inner Mongolia), and after this meeting
built the Erdene Zuu Monastery at the old site of Kharakhorum. This monastery is now
thought to be the oldest surviving monastery in Mongolia (Jerryson 2007: 21).
Zanabazar and the Jebtsundamba Lineage
There is little doubt that after Buddhism arrived in Mongolia it integrated various
aspects of Mongol culture and took on new and unique forms. When discussing
Buddhism, my interlocutors occasionally mentioned a number of popular figures from
the period after Altan Khan. Most often mentioned was Zanabazar, the first
Jebtsundamba, who like other important historical figures provides a template for
Mongol Buddhists, demonstrating that Buddhism was not just an external religion
imported by Tibetan lamas, but also contained unique Mongol elements.
Zanabazar (1635–1723) was the great grandson of Abadai Khan, the founder of
Erdene Zuu Monastery. He was the first of the Jebtsundamba lineage and is famous
chiefly for the artworks that he produced during his lifetime. Zanabazar was born in 1635
as the son of Gombodorj (Abadai Khan’s grandson) and his wife Khandujamtso. Prior to
his conception legend has it that Gombodorj was riding past a landmark:
When he suddenly saw that there was a fine–looking lama... ‘What are you doing
here?’ the khan inquired. ‘I am honouring this place with sacrifices’, the lama
answered and suddenly became invisible. After this a rainbow stretched across the
39
heavens day after day, and Gombo–dorji Khan and his spouse had dreams of
portent and auguring good, and at last Khansha Khandu–jamsto became pregnant
(Pozdneyev 1892: 324).
According to the story, during Khandjamts’s pregnancy there was a fertile summer in the
surrounding regions and when the baby was born Gegeen Setsen Khan came to visit him.
When the Khan held the baby upon his knee he was said to have had a vision of three
Indian holy men with whom the boy conversed in a strange tongue. Awed by this
experience, Gegeen Setsen Khan bestowed upon the youngster his own title of Gegeen,
meaning saint (Bawden 1997: 107). The child was later to be known as the Öndör
Gegeen, öndör meaning tall or high and gegeen meaning brilliant, the title Öndör Gegeen
meaning ‘of Lofty Brilliance’, a term reserved for holy lamas (Bawden 1997: 275).
According to legend the young boy did not speak until he was three and when he did his
first words were a Tibetan Buddhist prayer (Podzneyev 1892: 325). During the same year
he took his monastic vows from a Sakya lama and was given the Sanskrit name of
Jnanavajra (meaning thunderbolt of wisdom). This, in Mongolian, became Zanabazar
(Croner 2006: 11).
His depictions of T"r", based on his wife or consort, Dorjiinnaljirmaa, survived
destruction during the socialist period and are still on display in Ulaanbaatar today. It
was controversial then as now for a monk to keep a wife and, as Bawden writes:
A legend tells how some of the Khalkha nobles, who at first took exception to this,
were put to silence by the lady’s evident miraculous nature. The Khutuktu
[Khutagt17] was an excellent sculptor and founder of bronze images as well as
being a prince of the church. One day, while he was exercising his craft, some
nobles came to remonstrate with him for keeping a woman. His consort, who was
known as the ‘Girl Prince’, came out of the tent, and the Khutuktu sent her back
to fetch what was inside. She came out again, kneading in her hands a lump of
molten bronze as if it were dough, and formed a Buddha from it in front of the
visitors’ eyes. In view of such evident holiness the nobles abandoned their
objections and left without another word (Bawden 1968: 56–57).
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
17
An honorific title meaning ‘Precious One’ given to high-ranking lamas (T. Rin po che).
40
Zanabazar and his students left behind many highly regarded sculptures and depictions of
Buddhist iconography. His moving ger temple called Örgöö, literally meaning ‘palace’,
eventually became the basis for Ulaanbaatar. As an influential political figure he is also
remembered for his role in the Mongol submission to the Qing at Dolonnuur in 1691, a
fact that was later emphasised by socialist historians (see Chapter Two).
Over the course of his life the Mongol region was politically unstable and
Zanabazar had to flee on several occasions to escape the encroaching armies of the Oriat
leader Galdan Boshogtu Khan (1644–1697). Pozdneyev writes that it was a result of this
instability that Zanabazar encouraged the Khalkha Mongol Princes, with whom he had
considerable influence, to join the Qing Empire to avert their own destruction. As
Pozdneyev recounts:
‘To the north of us’ said the Gegeen, ‘there lies the great state and peaceful
government of the Russian tsar… Buddha’s faith has not yet spread there, and,
besides, these people button up the skirts of their dress on the left side – to go
there would be impossible; to the south of us lies another great and peaceful
government, that of the Chinese… peace and tranquillity, the faith of the Buddha
is found there, and, as far as the Manchu dress is concerned, it is in truth just like
the clothing of the inhabitants of heaven; their property and riches are equal to
the precious stones of the sovereign of the dragons, and they have delicate silk
fabrics, khadaks [khadags], and damask materials beyond counting; if we should go
to this land we would live in quiet and contentment’ (Pozdneyev 1892: 332).
Encouraged by the Öndör Gegeen and other political interests, in 1691, Mongolia
became part of the Manchu Empire. Zanabazar died in the Yellow Temple in Beijing on a
visit to the heart of the Manchu Empire in 1723. Following his death the Qing Emperor
Kiangxi thought it proper that a monastery should be built to house Zanabazar’s remains.
His successor Emperor Youngzhen commissioned the building of Amarbayasgalant Khiid
in 1728 and Zanabazar's remains were moved there in 1779 (Pozdneyev 1892: 338;
Croner 2006).
Since Zanabazar there have been eight more incarnations in the Jebtsundamba
lineage. Only one more of these, the Second Jebtsundamba, was born in Mongolia. The
41
Qing Dynasty, worried about the powerful political influence that the Jebtsundamba held,
decreed that all subsequent incarnations within the lineage be found in Tibet and
therefore not amongst the Mongol nobility (Bawden 1968: 33). The Eighth
Jebtsundamba was, like Zanabazar, both an enigmatic and controversial figure. He was
renowned both for his exceptional character and because he had the unfortunate task of
steering Mongolia through the revolutions of the early twentieth century (see below).
Figure 7 – The Bogd Khan Winter Palace, one of the four homes of the Eighth Jebtsundamba
The Ninth Jebtsundamba, a Tibetan born lama, is still alive today and has visited
Mongolia on two occasions in 1999 and 2009. After the Eighth Jebtsundamba died in
1924, the socialist government declared the existence of a prophecy that foretold the
Eighth Jebtsundamba to be the last of the lineage. In doing so they prevented the location
of any further incarnations (Lattimore 1962: 107). The Ninth Jebtsundamba was
‘recognised’ at the age of four (in 1936) by a Tibetan Rinpoche and his identity was kept
42
secret because of the political conditions in Mongolia. He was officially recognised by His
Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama in 1991 (Majer 2009).
Revolutions: The Khutagt18, the Mad Baron and the Reds (1911–1921)
The beginning of the twentieth century was a dangerous and bloody time for
Mongolia. Chinese migrants, Russians, Mongol nobles, laypeople and the Buddhist clergy
alike, found themselves negotiating a quick succession of invading forces and Mongol
uprisings. The period from 1911 to 1921 saw five different ruling interests exerting
control over Khüree (present day Ulaanbaatar): the Manchus, the Mongols, the Chinese,
a brief intrusion by the White Russian General Baron Ungern–Sternberg and, finally the
Bolsheviks.
In 1911, ‘Outer’ Mongolia declared its independence from the Manchu Empire
(Bawden 1968: 201). The Eighth Jebtsundamba became the political head and the
fledgling nation was run, for a brief period, as a monarchy under his rule. He was chosen
as the leader because, in spite of being Tibetan by birth and having lost his sight to
syphilis, he was a figure in whom every Mongol had faith (Bawden 1968: 195). After the
declaration of independence some of the Manchu administrators gave up with almost no
conflict and others, such as those in Khüree itself, were pushed out with great ferocity. As
Bawden writes, in Khüree:
The Chinese shops were thoroughly plundered, and the Mongol commanders…
performed a grisly ceremony of dedicating their war banners. The living hearts were
torn out of the chests of Chinese prisoners of war, and the banners were daubed
with their blood, while ancient ritual texts were recited (Bawden 1968: 197).
During this early period of independence the costs of supporting military
engagements, along with the indulgence of the Mongol nobility, were taking a heavy toll
on the lay population causing widespread starvation and extreme poverty (Bawden 1968:
203–204). Buryat Mongols, living in Russia, to some extent assisted the unskilled Mongol
administration by introducing modern medicine and helping set up mines, scholarships
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
18
An honorific title meaning ‘Precious One’ given to high-ranking lamas (T. Rin po che).
43
and schools. However, when Russian power collapsed in 1917, this assistance was
withdrawn and the Chinese saw an opportunity to reassert their presence, supposedly to
‘protect’ the Mongols from a Russian invasion from the north (Bawden 1968: 204). In
1918 and 1919 this presence increased and in February 1920, after negotiations to ensure
the place of the Mongol nobility were drawn up by the Eighth Jebtsundamba, Mongolia
once again came under the administration of the Chinese. After their authority was
secured the Chinese soon began abusing their powers. They robbed and assaulted men,
women and children, attacking them in their gers at any time during the day or night, and
they insulted the Eighth Jebtsundamba by not following appropriate ceremonial etiquette
(Lattimore & Isono 1982: 103–104) and imprisoned him (Bawden 1968). While the
Eighth Jebtsundamba appealed to the Chinese to stop the violence perpetrated by their
troops, a group of revolutionary Mongols from Khüree travelled to Russia to try to get
help. They obtained the seal of the Eighth Jebtsundamba who in desperation granted his
permission to seek Russian aid. This group was made up of seven people including the
romanticized Sukhbaatar and the man who later became known as Stalin’s right hand in
Mongolia, Choibalsang (Bawden 1968: 210). As Bawden writes:
The comrades who were to go to Russia to seek help were chosen by lot. This fell
on Sukebator, Choibalsang, Danzan, Bodo, Losol, Dogsom and Chagdarjav: all of
these, except for the first two, were to be liquidated on one pretext or another
during the next twenty years (Bawden 1968: 210).
In October 1920, as some of this group were traveling on a diplomatic mission to
Moscow, and Sukhbaatar and Choibalsang waited in Irkutsk, an invasion of White
Russians was happening in the north of Mongolia. This invasion was led by the Baltic
Baron Ungern–Sternberg who Owen Lattimore describes as ‘a pathological sadist who
was soon to make himself infamous as the “Mad Baron”’ (Lattimore 1962: 63). Seeing the
Russian invasion as a chance to free themselves from the Chinese, Mongols joined the
Baron’s army. By February 1921, the Baron had reached Khüree and successfully
removed the Chinese authorities and returned the Eighth Jebtsundamba to his position
as monarch (Bawden 1968: 216). At first it appeared as though the Baron would be
Mongolia’s saviour but this soon proved to be an optimistic reading of his character. As
Lattimore describes him:
44
Of the Russians in Mongolia he killed every Jew he could find, shot any other
Russian he thought might not be entirely one of his own men, and to maintain
‘discipline’ among his troops would pick out men here and there in the ranks and
have them shot, just to ‘encourage the others’. He also had insane dreams of
uniting Mongolians, Tibetans, Manchus – anybody who was not Russian and not
Chinese (since he himself was a Balt not a Russian) – to sweep the world with a
conquest more devastating than the wildest exterminations attributed (not always
correctly) to Chingis Khan (Lattimore 1962: 64).
In March 1921, in direct opposition to the Jebtsundamba’s administration, a
provisional government was set up in Russian Khiakta. They published a letter that was
sent to lamas and nobles in Mongolia telling them to desist in their support for the Baron.
The new Mongol–Soviet alliance entered Mongolia from the north and under the
command of Sukhbaatar defeated Ungern–Sternberg’s troops in the northern region.
Their army entered Khüree without any real obstructions (excepting a magical protection
ritual performed by the Eighth Jebtsundamba) on the 6th of July 1921. The government
that was to follow remained, until the democratic revolution of 1990, a Mongol one with
very strong allegiances to Soviet Russia. As Bawden writes:
The fact that… it was to the guidance and help of the Comintern and the Soviet
communist party that the revolutionaries owed their success, meant that… those
men who failed to conform to the pro–Soviet line as developed by Choibalsang and
his faction, and reinforced from 1922 onwards by a department of internal security
and a secret police force largely under Russian control, were to fall from power and
most often be denigrated and liquidated as and when they ceased to serve the
narrower purposes of the revolution and became an inconvenience to the ‘general
line’ of the party (Bawden 1968: 237).
This debt to Soviet Russia at the cost of all other allegiances was the beginning of a
difficult period for Buddhism in Mongolia, which declined precipitously over the course
of the following years. This demise came, partly because the government chose to follow
the Soviet ideological agenda, and, more importantly, because the Buddhist order
commanded considerable power and resources and no opposition was to be tolerated
under the new regime.
45
The Leftist Deviation and the Repression of Buddhism (1921–1940)
The Russian Soviet treatment of the Russian Orthodox Church prior to World
War II, can be divided into five periods: 1917–1923: Intense anti–religious activity,
often violent; 1923–1927: Propaganda campaign; 1928–1932: Renewed attack;
1933–1937: Relaxation; 1937–1941: Renewed attack. A similar table for the
campaign against the Mongol Lama Church would follow the identical chronology
with the same shifts in the nature and intensity of attack, but with radically
different results: 1921–1924: Anti–religious activity against Jebtsundamba; 1924–
1928: Sporadic campaign Pan-Buddhist period: 1928–1932: Violent attack; 1933–
1937: Relaxation: 1937–1941: Destruction of all vestiges of Church and religion
(Moses 1977: 174–176).
Whilst Larry Moses overstates the consequences of the socialist campaign against
religion in Mongolia, he demonstrates how over the course of the next two decades
Mongolia closely followed Soviet anti–religious policy. The new government, albeit with
changing faces, sought to eliminate any opposition to its power and Buddhism was their
greatest challenge. In the middle of the 1920s a quarter of Mongolia’s national wealth
belonged to the nobility and a quarter belonged to the monasteries (Lattimore 1962: 111).
According to Lattimore, there were 767 monasteries in ‘Outer’ Mongolia in 1936 and
almost 100,000 lamas in the country. The lamas accounted for eleven percent of the
population and forty percent of the adult male population (Lattimore 1962: 137). While
other historians estimate the number of Buddhist monks to be around 75,000 before the
purges (Moses 1977; Jerryson 2007) even with this discrepancy the number of would–be–
working adult males, who were, in the minds of the communists, idly passing their time
in monasteries, made up too large a portion of the population to be ignored. Lattimore
writes elsewhere that whilst this number of monks may have created shortages of labour
this did not have a disastrous consequence on the propagation of the Mongol population,
as it was common for lamas and women to cohabit outside the monasteries (1935: 42).
The monasteries themselves occupied strategic positions all over the countryside.
Buddhist missionaries had built them over many centuries at the intersections of old
caravan routes and at the sites where the shamans previously held their sacred rituals.
They had chosen these sites so that they could appropriate the sacredness of these places
46
and ensure that the nomads, who came to these spaces for social gatherings, would
frequent their monasteries (Moses 1977: 114). In such locations, the monasteries:
Became places to which people came for protection from the elements and from
bandits; they sought protection there in times of war; they came there to buy and
sell from the Chinese and Russian traders who gradually moved in; and finally,
some became a part of the monastery as a noble grant, or at their own request
(Moses 1977: 114–115).
The monasteries were also where people came for medicine, advice and to view
Mongolia’s most important and revered artworks and sacred objects. In a predominantly
nomadic society, these locations presented themselves as spaces with an obvious strategic
advantage where the new government could encourage herders to work for the interests
of the state. As the Mongolian People’s Revolutionary Party (MPRP) was in the early
1920s headed by fairly moderate members, initially it took a lenient approach. Their first
line of attack was to destroy the ‘superstitious’ reliance on the Buddhist clergy by
educating the lay population and, at the same time, by indoctrinating the often very poor
lower lamas with a class consciousness exposing their exploitation at the hands of the
‘feudal overlords’ or high lamas (Bawden 1968: 244). Interestingly, whilst officially the
Party took an anti–Buddhist line, there were still many lamas who were party members
(Bawden 1968).
In 1926, two years after the Eighth Jebtsundamba’s death, the Party officially passed
a law that separated Church from State. In the same year they decreed that no more
incarnations were to be found in Mongolia (Bawden 1968: 260–263). By the mid
twenties both sides were engaged in a propaganda war against the other: the lamas
foretold terrible rebirths for those who supported the government and the Party floated
rumours of a grand conspiracy wherein the Mongol clergy, supported by the Panchen
Lama, were plotting to join forces with the Japanese and invade Mongolia. These
conspiratorial claims formed the basis for many of the allegations of the mock trials, often
ending in executions, which set the paranoid tone of the period (Bawden 1968).
The nobles were the first to have their wealth expropriated, as they were easier to
target than the lamas. In 1929, 669 noble families had their property expropriated and
47
another 837 households, including that of 205 important religious figures, followed from
1930–31. During this period the heads of 711 households were imprisoned or executed
for ‘opposing the state’ (Lattimore 1968: 122). The expropriated livestock from
monasteries and the nobility were placed in newly founded (and often coerced)
cooperatives that were very poorly managed. As a result the total head of livestock
decreased by a third from 1929 to 1932 (Bawden 1968: 311). This drop was exacerbated
by the emigration of Mongols who fled into China to avoid the theft of their herds and
the destruction of their property. In addition to these unpopular economic policies the
MPRP’s increasingly heavy-handed approach towards the monks and monasteries started
to provoke hostility from the general population. Bawden quotes an official letter sent
out by the Youth League to its members in 1930 that implores them to desist in
aggravating the populace. It reads:
The arbitrary expulsion of young lamas from their lamaseries has taken place in
almost every aimak [aimag], and other actions contrary to policy have occurred,
offending the piety of the people and the lamas. Such activities include: the
destruction of stupas; the gouging out of the eyes of the statues of the Buddha,
stopping people giving free–will offerings to the lamaseries, and so on. Offensive
actions of this sort have proved a great hindrance to the work of getting the poor
lamas on the side of the People’s government, and attracting the people away from
the lamaseries (Bawden 1968: 314).
This letter apparently had little effect, not surprisingly perhaps, as earlier in the same year
the Anti–Buddhist League, intending to copy the work of the USSR’s League of the
Militant Godless, had been formed (Bawden 1968: 313).
Towards the end of the twenties a few small uprisings began to erupt in the
countryside. By the beginning of the 1930s these uprisings became increasingly serious
and in 1932 there was so much resistance to the policies of the new government in the
western aimags that a civil war almost began. These rebellions were most often led by
lamas and nobles and often included disgruntled members of the MPRP and the general
population. Some of them were brutally violent and were it not for the advice and
intervention of the Russians the rebels had the real potential of usurping the MPRP’s
control over the population. However, as the USSR could not afford to have a weak
48
Mongolia and lose its buffer against the invasions of the Japanese in the east, they
intervened and the Comintern came up with a strategy to calm the angst of the Mongol
people (Bawden 1968: 351).
After the 1932 uprisings in the west the government promised to change its
direction. For a brief while the monasteries gained a reprieve under the New Turn Policy
that the government employed after 1932. The government labelled the period 1929–
1932 the ‘Leftist Deviation’, and people were assured that the policies, which had
infuriated them to the point of civil war, were to be abandoned. The Anti–Buddhist
League was disbanded and it was announced that people were free to practice religion.
Traditional medicine was allowed to be practiced and people were assured that they
would not be persecuted because they attended religious services. Lamas who had been
forced to disrobe were told that they could re–join the monasteries without any fear of
harassment (Bawden 1968: 351–352).
In 1936, as Choibalsang won power and started his own dictatorship, politics
once again turned against Buddhism. Under Choibalsang (who closely followed the
political advice of Soviet Russia), the annihilation of Buddhism became an important
vision of the government, and this time it was an objective that could be achieved. The
government had abandoned the unpopular collectivisation policy and they were assisted
by the large presence of Soviet forces within their borders. They started their new attacks
by attracting the poorer lamas away from the monasteries with economic enticements and
started a taxation system that discriminated against the higher lamas. The rate of taxation
went up steeply in a couple of years so that a young high lama who was paying 120 tögrögs
in 1933 was paying 1,000 tögrögs in 1938 (Bawden 1968: 361). The taxation rate now also
took into account private property in its assessments. This meant that lamas could not
escape the cripplingly high taxation rate by keeping privately given donations. New laws
were passed which forbade the teaching of religion in schools and public religious services
were prohibited. Furthermore, the government outlawed the recruitment of minors for
the monasteries and banned any new building of temples (Bawden 1968: 364). As the
Buddhist clergy’s resources and prestige were quickly sapped by the government’s harsh
policies, the MPRP once again stepped up its propaganda campaign. This time the
monasteries had no resources to counter the Party’s attacks. The MPRP then mobilised
49
its military strength to close down monasteries. Within a couple of years most of the
country’s monasteries were looted and burnt and the monks were forced to disrobe and
join the laity. Many lamas of military age were required to join the army and others were
arrested and/or executed. Michael Jerryson quotes a plaque in the Memorial Museum for
the Victims of the Political Repressions (Ulaanbaatar) that reads that from ‘1937–1939,
there were 767 monasteries. There were around 70,000 lamas, 17,000 of whom were
arrested and 13,680 of whom were shot’ (Jerryson 2007: 92-93). As Bawden writes:
Between 1935 and 1938… the female population of Mongolia rose by 12,500.
The male population should have risen by a similar amount, but in fact fell by
3,200, indicating the loss of about 15,700 men or some four of five percent.
Between 1938 and 1944 the female population rose by a further eight thousand…
At the same time, the male population increased by only half as much, by about
3,600… Few of these losses can be attributed to the war with Japan: a note
addressed by Mongolia in 1945 to the Far Eastern Commission detailing her
contribution to the defeat of Japan mentions that the total casualties suffered
between 1935 and 1945 were 2,039 men (Bawden 1968: 343).
The strategies of the MPRP to eliminate Buddhism were so successful that in 1940 there
were only 251 lamas left to pay the exorbitant taxes exacted upon them by the
government (Bawden 1968: 362).
After the 1930s Buddhism in Mongolia was all but completely suffocated. Only
one monastery, the Gandantegchenling Khiid in Ulaanbaatar, was permitted to function
after 1940 and this was done so under the close supervision of the MPRP. The monastery
was reopened in 1944 as a showcase for foreign dignitaries to demonstrate that Mongolia
still enjoyed ‘religious freedoms’. In 1977, Moses wrote that:
Significantly across the country outside the capital religion is rarely invoked, and
an entire generation has grown up without an ecclesiastical institution in which it
could be taught the religious heritage of Buddhism. Religion has survived in the
minds of the older generation but it will continue to survive only as an oral
tradition. It will not have the vital support of churches, monasteries and holy
relics to reinforce its teachings, those have been destroyed. It will not have a
50
tutorial clergy. They have been forced into secular life or exile. It will not have the
daily ritual of prayer and example to demonstrate faith to the believers. Those acts
have been foresworn or forbidden. Religion, in short, is no longer a social factor
in the Mongolian People's Republic (1977: 3).
For Moses in the 1970s, Buddhism had been all but completely destroyed. Yet, his
projection that Buddhism would no longer be a social factor in Mongolia was erroneous.
Forming a new identity from pre–socialist history has become an important project in
defining Mongol nationhood after socialism. The historical weight of Buddhism as the
dominant religion preceding the socialist revolution has propelled Buddhism back onto
the nationalist agenda of the newly democratic Mongolia, as religion has been propelled
elsewhere in post–socialist nations (Blazer 2005; Froese 2001; Goluboff 2001; Hann &
Pelkmans 2009; Papkova 2008; Peyrouse 2007).
Buddhism is now being utilised by some for nationalist ends. Historical
associations with Buddhism are part of the reason why so many Mongols identify as
Buddhist, even though this identification is one that is more often than not loaded with
insecurities. On the other hand, the complexities of Buddhism’s history pose some
difficulties for those using it as a tool for nation building. Some contemporary Mongols
see Buddhism as an imperial force, and one that has historically served to weaken the
Mongol nation (Bulag 2007: 22). It was, after all, used by the Manchu Dynasty to control
Mongolia during its suzerainty as part of the Qing Empire. In spite of these complexities,
given the overwhelming difficulties that Mongols have faced since the end of socialism it
is hardly surprising that Buddhism has attracted so many adherents. After spending an
endless Mongol winter in relative comfort in the smoggy capital of Ulaanbaatar I can
understand why many are seeking a little ‘extra help’ from religious practitioners. Along
with the urge to identify with Buddhism as a part of a newly independent and strong
nation, many seek comfort in Buddhist institutions because life is hard and because
cultural Buddhism doesn’t ask for the drastic lifestyle changes that some of the Christian
groups or New Religious Movements expect. Others are seeking more in–depth religious
connections and attempting to change their life through religious means. In both these
cases Buddhism as a cultural signifier still informs the milieu in which lay Buddhist
experiences are set. The next chapter will discuss the symbolic role that Buddhism had in
51
the Mongolian Democratic Revolution. It will also discuss its relation with the rise of
nationalism, the social ramifications of transforming to capitalism, and the urban
environment of Ulaanbaatar.
52
Chapter Two
From Private Faith to National Identity: Chinggis Khan and Buddhism
The Mongolian People's Republic is perhaps unique in having successfully
eradicated almost all vestiges of religion, from the dogma once taught to the
people, to the individual monastic institutions that once existed all across
Mongolia (Moses 1977: 2).
Everyone has faith in Buddhism. Since my childhood I have been exposed to this
environment. This is the traditional religion in Mongolia (Naranbaatar).
I think most Mongolians are Buddhist and I think from my birth I have been a
Buddhist (Bolormaa).
During the socialist period in Mongolia (1921–1990), foreign scholars believed
that Buddhism in Mongolia was so close to being completely extinguished that it ought to
be considered as such. Anti–religious state propaganda dominated public discourse and
only one monastery, the Gandantegchenling Khiid, remained open. It was exhibited as
‘proof’ of religious tolerance and made to serve as a showcase for the feudal stage of
development necessary for the Marxist model of human evolution (Kaplonski 2004: 152).
However, within twenty years of the Democratic Revolution (1989–1990), most Mongols
that I spoke to have dispensed with almost 70 years of anti–Buddhist propaganda and
consider Buddhism to be the ‘traditional’ and ‘natural’ religion of Mongolia. I was
frequently told by my interlocutors that they were ‘born Buddhist’, even when they were
born decades before the end of socialism. These changes in public religious affiliation
cannot be addressed without a closer look at the Democratic Revolution of 1989–1990,
the political, social and economic reforms that followed and the accompanying rise in
nationalism.
During the Democratic Revolution, in order to construct an alternative to
socialism, the opposition to the MPRP encouraged Mongols to look back to a time before
the revolutions of the early twentieth century into their ‘deep past’ (Humphrey 1992) to
Chinggis Khan and the old traditions, to try to make sense of the rapidly approaching
53
changes. Mongolia, like other postsocialist nations 19 , has reconstructed its national
identity from ideas of its pre–socialist past. As Humphrey writes:
The Mongols are now in the process of rethinking their ‘deep past’, not only
because this is for once their own, but because historical origin in Mongolian
culture is the source of moral authority in the present. Thus the ‘deep past’ is
being called upon to provide the inspiration for a discontinuity of the immediate
past (1992: 375).
She argues that the history of pre–revolutionary times is treated as a kind of ‘single other
world’ from which ‘images can be picked almost at random’ (1992: 376). Whilst there are
disagreements about which aspects of the past should be emphasised, both Chinggis
Khan and, more controversially, Buddhism are seen by most as core components of this
new Mongol identity.
Buddhism did not simply vanish during the socialist period and start anew at the
beginning of the Democratic Revolution. Many Mongols practiced it in their homes and
most of my interlocutors had memories of hidden sacred objects and rituals that family
members conducted in secret during the socialist period. In spite of the best efforts of
socialist educators, the memory of Buddhism was not erased. When the opportunity was
presented, Buddhism, along with other repressed traditions and exemplars, re–emerged
from the private sphere to become important symbols of Mongol identity and ethnicity.
However, it is important to remember that not all Mongols were at home secretly
practicing Buddhism during the socialist period, some saw, and still see, Buddhism as an
imperial force and others have rejected it for other reasons20. Not everyone agrees that
being Buddhist is a core component of being Mongol and, as with any form of
nationalism, there are always those whose identities do not fit into national ideals. Yet, in
spite of these conflicts, Buddhist symbols are frequently used to signify Mongol ethnicity
and many Mongols identify as Buddhist because they see it as an essential part of their
ethnic identity (Elverskog 2006).
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
19
See also Blazer 2005, Hann & Pelkmans 2009, Papkova 2008, Peyrouse 2007 and Wanner 1998.
Other reasons I heard for rejecting Buddhist identity included: membership to another religious group or
ethnicity, strong opposition to the doctrine of karma, and a belief that Buddhist doctrine leads to nihilism.
20
54
After the Democratic Revolution, Mongolia was transformed from a socialist
autocracy to a newly democratic independent nation. This independence, and the lack of
support from former allies that initially accompanied it, ushered in a new period beset
with uncertainties (Rossabi 2005). Mongolia has only recently become part of the global
capitalist economy and the transition has been a difficult one for most of the population
(Buyandelgeriyn 2007; Højer & Pedersen 2008; Rossabi 2005; Sneath 2002). It must not
be overlooked that many are turning to Buddhism, and religion more generally, for the
comfort that it can provide during this period of dramatic change. In the relatively short
period of the last twenty years Mongolia’s economy has transformed from a state run
socialist economy with collectivised pastoralism to a highly urbanised market economy
experiencing a mining boom. Where socialism provided an ideology of progress and
evolution that accompanied its economic models, in the new market economy the moral
imperatives that accompany it are largely unclear. As Mark Steinberg and Catherine
Wanner write of the former Soviet Union:
We need to recognise that however coercive Soviet socialism often was, it
provided a type of moral community, a sense of integration, order and shared
values. It is not surprising, therefore, that many mourn the loss of community and
seek to recover, rebuild, or invent new communities, however divergent their
visions (2008: 3).
As the opposition who inspired the Democratic Revolution looked back to the past to
affirm a new national identity, a difficult transition into a new economy began
(Humphrey 1992; Kaplonski 2004; Rossabi 2005). As Mongolia left the securities found
in a state run economy, a rupture occurred from the ideological certainties that were
espoused by socialist ideologies and the moral community that accompanied it. These
changes, however, have not meant a complete severance with the past. The Democratic
Revolution also brought to the surface many ideas and symbols that were never really
destroyed by socialist education (Kalponski 2004). Religion has been allowed to emerge
from the private sphere into the public sphere and people are now able to look back to
the pre–socialist past to form a new Mongolian national identity.
55
Buddhism and Chinggis Khan: Symbols of the Democratic Revolution
The first thing one notices on arrival into the ‘Chinggis Khan Airport’ in
Ulaanbaatar is that Chinggis Khan is associated with everything Mongol. His face and
name seem to be everywhere in the capital, from the white stone portrait on the southern
mountain Bogd Uul (visible only during summer when it is not covered in ice and snow),
to the adornment of vodka bottles. His face is printed on Mongol currency and there is a
large Chinggis statue outside the front of parliament house. There is a Chinggis hostel
and hotel, Chinggis wallets and souvenirs, Chinggis rugs and home wares.
Figure 8 – Chinggis Khan’s face on the one thousand tögrög note
Buddhism, on the other hand, is conspicuous in the capital mostly due to the
visibility of monks. There always seem to be monks walking around, dressed in Mongol
monastic robes, with their hats and traditional Mongol clothing (deels) with striking blue
cuffs. Gandantegchenling Khiid is visible from many of the tall buildings in the city, as
the central temple housing the giant statue of Chenrezig (M. Janraisig, T. Spyan ras gzigs, S.
Avalokite$vara), the Bodhisattva21 of compassion, towers above nearby buildings. As one
travels from the city centre west to the Third and Fourth District, the orderly tree–lined
street that leads to the monastery’s main gates is a noticeable change from the haphazard
appearance of the rest of the city’s streets. There are other monasteries nearby like Betüv
Khiid and the astrological monastery Tuvdenpeljeelin Khiid. The FPMT centre, Shredrup
Ling, is a visible landmark in the centre of Ulaanbaatar with its entrance marked by a
clean white stupa, prayer flags and broadcasts of Buddhist chanting that are audible from
the street. To the southeast of Sukhbaatar Square, the Choijin Lama Monastery
Museum’s Manchu era architecture sharply contrasts that of the modern buildings that
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
21
(M. Bodsadvaa, T. byang chub sems dpa) an enlightened being, one that has attained bodhicitta: (M. bod
cetgel, T. jang chub sem), the wish to attain enlightenment for the benefit of all sentient beings.
56
now surround it. A large golden statue of the Buddha has recently been built at the foot
of the Bogd Uul Mountain, however, unlike the stone portrait of Chinggis Khan and the
nearby white stone Soyombo symbol, it is invisible from Sukhbaatar Square.
Figure 9 – The central temple of Gandantegchenling Khiid is visible from many of the tall buildings in the
city
Chinggis Khan’s image is found in the holiest site for Buddhism in Ulaanbaatar,
that is, next to the central figure of Chenrezig in the Gandantegchenling Monastery.
Behind the enormous statue of Chenrezig, hangs a very large thang ka22 of Vajrap"$i (M.
Ochirvaan, T. Phyag na rdo rje) the Bodhisattva protector of the Buddha and the dharma.
Beneath this wild blue figure, an image of Chinggis Khan sits enthroned between his son
and grandson, Ögedei and Khubilai. This very well known image, painted by a famous
Mongol artist, Lama Purevbat (see below), is reproduced in postcards and can be seen
enshrined in shops, businesses and Buddhist centres. Chinggis Khan is prominent in this
holy site for three primary reasons. First, as discussed in Chapter One, he is associated
with the emergence of Buddhism on the steppe. Second, historically his image has lent
legitimacy to Buddhism (Hurcha 1999). The missionary lamas of the sixteenth century
posthumously proclaimed Chinggis Khan to be an emanation of Vajrap"$i, one of the
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
22
Silk painting or applique depicting Buddhist religious iconography.
57
three main protectors of the Buddha, in an attempt to incorporate the influential cult of
Chinggis Khan, which had existed since the thirteenth century, into the Buddhist cannon
(Hurcha 1999). Alongside the Bodhisattva Mañju%ri (M. Mandzushri, T. jam dpal dbyangs)
representing wisdom, and Chenrezig, representing compassion, Vajrap"$i represents
power and strength: an appropriate image for the warrior Chinggis Khan. Third, placing
this image at the heart of Buddhism in Mongolia aligns Buddhism and Chinggis Khan
together as traditional parts of Mongol heritage. Just as Buddhism is anchored in
tradition by the image of Chinggis Khan, so too is the image of Chinggis Khan, as
peaceful ruler and law–giver, strengthened by its placement in this holy site.
Figure 10 – Large statue of Chenrezig in Gandantegchenling Khiid (photo taken by Amber Cripps)
This recent prominence of Chinggis Khan and Buddhism in the capital is
somewhat surprising when considering the representation of both during socialist times,
only 20 years before. As Christopher Kaplonski writes, during the socialist period,
Chinggis Khan was begrudgingly included in state sanctioned histories as a ‘necessary evil’
58
(Kaplonski 2004: 108). These histories acknowledged that he built the foundations of the
Mongol state, and therefore provided the grounds for Marxist agendas of social evolution,
but emphasised his role as exploitative conqueror and oppressor. Buddhist lamas
similarly were viewed by socialist historians as dominating and subjecting both the
populace and lower status lamas in a relationship of feudal overlord to serf. The worst of
these were the reincarnate lamas or the Khutagts (Rinpoches or high lamas) notably the
lineage of the Jebtsundambas. As Kaplonski writes, in socialist history books:
We find, as we may well have expected, the feudal lords scheming to control and
oppress the masses, most effectively by means of religion. Class relations and
ideology find their most perfect feudal expression: a feudal lord who was also a
god (Kaplonski 2004: 148).
In addition to this portrayal of feudal oppression the first of the Jebtsundamba lineage,
Zanabazar was seen in socialist history as the Mongol who gave Mongolia to the Chinese
(see Chapter One). Yet, in spite of these socialist histories, on the eve of Democratic
Revolution in Mongolia images of Chinggis Khan and of Buddhism started to appear
throughout the capital.
In the mid 1980s, following the dismissal of Tsedenbal (p.m. 1952–1974) and the
rise to power of Batmönkh (p.m. 1974–84) the Mongolian People’s Revolutionary Party
(MPRP) started to implement reforms that reflected Gorbachev’s policies of glasnost
(openness and transparency) and perestroika (reform) in the Soviet Union. These reforms
were aimed at addressing the inefficiencies of centralised planning and bureaucracy, and
increasing openness in governance (Rossabi 2005: 7–8). They weren’t intended to
dismantle socialism in Mongolia but rather were meant to be ‘ideological house–cleaning’
in the socialist form (Kaplonski 2004: 51). By 1989, the state newspaper Ünen (meaning
‘truth’) had occasional columns discussing the importance of both ‘renewal’ and
‘tradition’ for socialist governance (Kaplonski 2004: 56).
Taking advantage of the mood of openness facilitated by the government, and
informed by changes that were sweeping the rest of the Soviet world (as many of the
opposition had studied overseas), a number of secret meetings were held by a group that
was soon to call itself the Mongolian Democratic Union (MDU). On December 10th 1989,
59
International Human Rights Day, around 200 people gathered outside the Youth
Cultural Centre calling for a democratic system, respect for human rights and a free press
(Kaplonski 2004: 57). The group then issued a petition that, alongside other demands,
requested that the government acknowledge the political repressions of the past and in
particular the violence against Buddhism during the 1930s. The government responded
positively to these initial demands fearing, amongst other things, that any sign of
domestic instability may have provoked interference from the Chinese (Rossabi 2005: 12).
However, the response of the government was not decisive enough to be accepted by the
MDU and the movement continued, quickly gathering momentum. The next protest,
held a week later outside the State Drama Theatre, attracted around 2,000 people
(Kaplonski 2004: 57). As the protests persisted, in spite of the harsh Mongol winter, the
crowds grew larger still. By January 21st 1990, the protest had moved to Sukhbaatar
Square in front of parliament house and attracted a crowd estimated to be 20,000 by
Mongol sources (Kaplonski 2004: 61). At this protest, the grandson of revolutionary hero
Sukhbaatar, Sukherdene, spoke to the crowd, and a well–known Mongol singer sang a
traditional folk song that exalted the figure of Chinggis Khan. This protest effectively
appealed to tradition, firstly in the proximate image of Sukhbaatar, hero of the socialist
revolution, and secondly, in Chinggis Khan, the distant founder of the Mongol state.
Kaplonski writes that by exalting Chinggis Khan the protestors directly challenged the
official state history that saw him as despot and oppressor. They also defied Russian
imperialism; after all, Chinggis Khan and his descendants had once conquered Russia
(Kaplonski 2004: 62).
Following this protest, cultural icons became increasingly relevant in the
opposition to the one–party socialist regime. Protestors carried banners with Chinggis
Khan’s portrait, Buddhist symbols and Mongol Bichig. Socialist symbols were also targeted
and, on February 22nd 1990, the large statue of Stalin that stood outside the State Library
was removed by anti-government protestors in the middle of the night23 (Rossabi 2005:
18).
On March 7, still unhappy with the response to the demands made by the
protestors, ten men started a hunger strike in Sukhbaatar Square (Rossabi 2005: 19).
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
23
This statue is rumoured to have later appeared in the centre of a nightclub called Ismuus.
60
Several hundred workers from Ulaanbaatar stopped work to express their solidarity with
the hunger strikers and workers from Erdenet, Darkhan and Mörön also went on strike.
As the government met inside parliament house they knew that they were loosing control
over the population. The following day, as the hunger strike continued into International
Women’s Day (a public holiday in Soviet countries and Mongolia) the crowds continued
to increase in the Square. At this time it seemed like the MDU were loosing their grip on
the crowd and the policy of non–violence was not being ubiquitously upheld. Estimates
of the size of the crowd vary from ten of thousands to 90,000 people. Finally on March 9,
amidst growing pressures from the crowd and encouragement from the Soviet Union, an
agreement was reached. Batmönkh and the Politburo announced that they would resign
and the hunger strike finally ended (Rossabi 2005: 22–23).
In spite of this agreement, demonstrations continued, as the opposition were still
unsure that fair elections could be possible due to the uneven access to funds and the
media (Rossabi 2005: 24). On March 11th and April 2nd the MDU held religious rallies at
the Choijin Lama Monastery Museum. As Kaplonski writes:
These rallies were an adroit move, for people link Buddhism to a wider
conception of ‘Mongol–ness’, viewing it as the traditional religion of Mongolia.
To hold a rally for Buddhists then was to play a trump card, linking even further
the opposition to some (vague) concept of traditional Mongolia, which was
rapidly being constructed in opposition to socialism (2004: 64).
By the 21st of March 1990, amendments were made to the constitution ending the legal
right of the MPRP as the only party able to form government. Shortly after, in July of the
same year, the first democratic elections in Mongolian history were held. The vote from
98% of eligible voters elected a parliament of which the MPRP held 84.5% of the
positions (Kaplonski 2004: 68-70).
Since the Democratic Revolution, Mongols have been re–imagining the Mongol
traditions that predated socialism and that were discouraged during the socialist period.
In the early 1990s, television shows tested people’s knowledge about Mongol customs and
proverbs (Marsh 2009: 121). People now widely celebrate the old Mongol Lunar New
Year, Tsagaan Sar, which was banned by the socialist regime in the 1950s and permitted
61
later only in the countryside as the ‘herders holiday’ (Kaplonski 2004: 177). Many people
I spoke to now have calendars that include important Buddhist astrological dates that tell
them what to do on certain days. It is common for lamas to give blessings after weddings,
to visit people’s homes to conduct rituals and to advise people about the best name for
their newborn child. In the countryside ovoos and stupas now dot the landscape and
monasteries are being restored. People travel long distances to visit sacred sites in the
countryside such as Eej Khad, Eej Mod and the ‘Energy Centre’ at Sainshand in the Gobi
Desert.
Nationalism and Its Discontents
Benedict Anderson defines the nation as a political community ‘imagined as both
inherently limited and sovereign’ (1983: 6). For Eric Hobsbawm, nationalisms are ‘dual
phenomena, constructed essentially from above, but which cannot be understood unless
analysed from below’ (1990: 10). The symbols of nationalist discourse make little sense
without understanding the relationships that people have to them on a personal level and
how they affect individuals unevenly along gender, ethnic and economic lines. Nationalist
symbols come from somewhere; to be effective they must also have resonance with ideals
already embedded in the minds of the populace.
Uradyn Bulag argues that nationalism in contemporary Mongolia can be
separated into three distinct ways of imagining the nation: pan–Mongolism, civic
nationalism and Khalkha–centrism (1998). Pan–Mongolism, the most inclusive of these
visions, imagines the boundaries of the Mongol nation, extending beyond the boundaries
the state. It includes within the cultural concept of the Mongol nation Mongols who live
within the nation states of Russia (ie. Buryatia) and China (Inner Mongolia). This is
presently the most marginalised of nationalist discourses partly because Mongolia has
made a political commitment to respect the sovereignty of both Russia and China
(Batbayer 2002: 333) and partly because of the popularisation of ethnic boundaries to
distinguish the Mongol nation.
The second of these is civic nationalism propounded by Mongol intellectuals and
politicians such as Baabar. Civic nationalism imagines the boundaries of the nation to be
62
the same as the boundaries of the Mongol state. It identifies the members of the Mongol
nation by formal citizenship rather than primarily in terms of ethnicity (Tumursukh
2001: 126–128). As Undarya Tumursukh describes it:
This discourse maintains ethnic characteristics and, just as in the other two
versions of national identity, subscribes to the powerful heroic image of Chinggis
Khaan and the unique, and therefore valuable, nomadic heritage. However, their
interpretations of Mongolian historical and cultural attributes stress the
commonalities (real or imagined) between Mongolian and western liberal states
and differences between Mongolia and other Asian states (2001: 128).
For example, the democratic success of Mongolia relative to other nearby states is
emphasised by proponents of civic nationalism, and it is argued that democracy’s success
in Mongolia has its roots in its traditional nomadic lifestyle.
The third and most pervasive form of nationalism is Khalkha–centrism. Khalkha–
centrism centralises ethnicity and ‘racial purity’ as the defining feature for membership
within the Mongol nation. Whilst the Khalkha ethnic group only constitute around
eighty percent of the Mongol population within the state of Mongolia (Kaplonski 2004:
15), proponents of this form of nationalism consider Khalkha ethnicity to be the sign of
true Mongol identity. Within this conception, other ethnicities and people of mixed
heritage (erliiz) are marginalised and are seen as Mongolian in name only (Bulag 1998,
Kaplonski 2004).
This search for tradition and identity has not been positive for all members of
Mongol society. In order to have a nation there must be those who do not fit within its
boundaries.
The most powerful image of the nation, the voice that wins out in the
competition of identities, is most likely to project and protect the self–image of
the most privileged societal group that is able to institutionalise its own vision of
national identity and impose it on other through the use of state apparatus or the
mass media (or both). Such domination results in an internal cultural imperialism
(Tumursukh 2001: 122).
63
Buddhist lamas are sometimes involved in nationalist debates. In the magazine
CityNight 24 well known artist Lama Purevbat, proposes that being a Buddhist is an
inherent part of being Mongol. To be any other religion, he opined, ‘means that you are
not a true Mongolian, but someone alien, though your appearance, flesh and blood is
Mongolian [sic.]’ (Tuyagerel 2009: 63). Furthermore, he promotes the idea that having
one religion means that a nation can maintain its boundaries from foreign threats.
Buddhism, he claims, can provide Mongolia with a kind of ‘protective aura’ or ‘immunity
against unfortunate events and suffering’. A nation that ‘has lost its religion is doomed. If
it does not have its own cultural roots it is doomed to be assimilated into the culture of
other nations. There are many cultures and entire nations disappearing forever and
irreversibly [sic.]’ (Tuyagerel 2009: 63). To be Mongol, according to Lama Purevbat, is also
to be Buddhist. Here we see that by postulating Buddhism as an essential part of the
national character, he denies certain people and groups access to the imagined
community of the nation on the basis of ethnicity and individual religious preferences.
For example, the Kazakhs, one of the other major ethnic groups that live in Mongolia, are
Muslim and account for over four percent of the population (Kaplonski 2004: 16). Most,
but not all, of the Kazakh minority live in the western aimag Bayan–Olgii. When I
interviewed a Kazakh woman living in Ulaanbaatar about her religious beliefs and
practices I was surprised to discover that the government had only recently given
permission for the Kazakhs to build a mosque in the city. According to my interlocutor,
the reason that the government had given for not approving the project before was
because they were concerned that it might attract terrorists to the capital. Additionally,
many people have chosen to belong to other religious groups or are atheist or agnostic.
Most of the people I interviewed presented a tolerant attitude towards other
religions and I was surprised to see an article from such a prominent Buddhist figure so
antagonistic towards them. As one of my interviewees said:
As you know Chinggis Khan respected all religion. I think that he liked to say, ‘we
are living under the one sky’. It means, I think, that he means that there is only
one God. But the approaches are in different ways. They are talking about the one
thing from different sides (Sarantuya).
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
24
A popular magazine published in both Mongolian and English.
64
In this quote, Sarantuya uses Chinggis Khan as an exemplar who gives Mongols a moral
impetus to be tolerant towards other religions25.
The other thread of nationalism that emerges in the article is the fear of invasion
and cultural assimilation. In an interview, one of my reform Buddhist participants, who
was aged twenty–four and lived in the ger districts, told me that he had been reading
literature written by Lama Purevbat. According to my interlocutor, Lama Purevbat has
predicted that in 201226 the Chinese will invade Mongolia and cause great suffering to
those who do not have ‘clean’ karma. He was very worried about this date and was
following the book’s advice on ways to clean his karma through meditation.
S: Do you read Buddhist books?
D: Yes, I last read ‘Prophecies from the Wisdom of Greater Mongolia’ by Lama
Purevbat.
S: Has it changed the way that you think?
D: In general, yes, it has. I have thought about preparing or purifying myself.
Some of the things mentioned in the book are happening now as well as what
will happen in the future. Something will happen in 2012, many people will die.
S: What will happen in 2012?
D: I do not know that much about it but it is said that Bogd Tsongkhapa27 (T.
Tsong kha pa) prophesied that two people will arrive here from China to create
suffering.
S: Is this something that a lot of people have heard about?
D: I think the people that read those books have heard about it but it is not
very common.
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25
For a discussion of the use of exemplars in Mongol morality see Humphrey (1997).
A date usually attributed to the end of the Mayan calendar and popularly predicted among conspiracy
theorists worldwide to bring the end of the world. This connection was explicit in popular Mongol
consciousness at the time of my fieldwork due to the release of the film 2012, a Hollywood apocalyptic
action movie, in 2009.
27
Tsongkhapa is generally conceived to be the founder of the Gelug lineage. Bogd in Mongolian means holy,
sacred or divine.
26
65
S: Is there anything that you can do to avoid this from happening?
D: Yes, there are many possibilities, but if you should suffer, you should suffer.
You will experience the suffering if you are supposed to feel it, because of your
karma. Even there will be suffering for those who survive... I do not know much
about it, but it is said that there are two people that are being trained for nine
years to be sent to Mongolia to make Mongols fall out with each other and start
fighting. The book suggests that we should keep peace amongst the nation
without fighting each other to prevent this suffering. I saw the movie [2012]. It
should be very similar to that (Dorj).
This fear of an immanent Chinese invasion (though not necessarily in 2012) was almost
ubiquitous amongst the Mongols I spoke to during my fieldwork. In many ways this fear
is understandable. China has the largest population in the world and already occupies
Inner Mongolia. In 2000, eighty percent of the population of Inner Mongolia was
Chinese (Cribb & Narangoa 2004: 174) and Mongols were persecuted during China’s
Cultural Revolution (Sneath 1994). China could also consider itself to have a historical
claim to Mongolia as it used to be part of its jurisdiction during the Manchu era. In
addition, there is a steady stream of communication between the Tibetan diaspora and
Mongol monastics and most of the Tibetan lamas that visit Mongolia in summer are part
of that diaspora. As a result of international trade relationships there is also an imbalance
between exports and imports that is weighted in China’s favour. Chinese companies are
often the ones who export the mineral and pastoral wealth of Mongolia whilst their
imports, because they are cheap, are often of very low quality (Rossabi 2005: 237–239). I
once had a woman approach me in the Ikh Delguur (the State Department Store) to tell
me not to buy the fruit as it was poisoned with Chinese chemicals and Chinese products
were often referred to by Mongols as shiin hogsh, ‘new rubbish’.
I had many arguments with friends and acquaintances about whether or not all
Chinese people were bad people. Once someone tried to convince me that the 1989
protests in Tiananmen Square were protests by the Chinese people demanding the
invasion of independent Mongolia. I heard that because the Chinese one–child policy
had meant that there were more men than women in China that the Chinese were going
66
to invade and start marrying Mongol women28. In winter when a ‘Chinese’ bus driver hit
and killed twins on an icy road because his brakes didn’t work the Mongol media
emphasised that he was from China. Gregory Delaplace argues that Mongols tend to see
the Chinese as ‘parasitic’ living off Mongol resources and threatening their ‘ethnic
integrity’ (2010: 129). Bulag writes that Mongols are suspicious of children of mixed
marriages with foreign fathers imagining them to be ‘hidden moles, gradually
transforming themselves to expose more of their patrilineal bone, so that they may stage a
quiet coup d’etat in Mongolia’ (Bulag 1998: 159). When Mongols from Inner Mongolia
came to Mongolia after the end of the Sino–Soviet dispute, many were disappointed to
find that the people who they considered to be kinsfolk did not, in turn, consider them
to be Mongol (Bulag 1998).
The fears of Chinese invasion have, in their most extreme cases, given rise to a
Neo–Nazi movement in Mongolia. Friends told me that these extremist groups built
upon anti–Chinese sentiment to put pressure on the government to remove Chinese
writing from Chinese businesses. They have used the example of the import of Chinese
workers by mining companies and building sites to incite hatred against Chinese migrants.
I was also told that sometimes they use violence against these illegal workers as a kind of
vigilante law enforcement. They also oppose inter–ethnic marriages. One friend told me
that once, when she was walking on a street in Ulaanbaatar with a western male colleague
they were threatened by a car full of young men who then chased them down the street.
In most cases, this fear of China does not translate into a dislike of all things
foreign. I was surprised by how quick most urban Mongols were to embrace global trends.
Mongols are always proud of their ability to speak other languages and wealthy Mongols
often travel, work and study overseas. South Korean melodramas are the most popular
shows on television and the Japanese martial arts of sumo and judo are well loved
throughout Mongolia. When Mongol judo player N. Tüvshinbayar won a gold medal at
the Beijing Olympics, a public holiday was declared in celebration. Hip hop and indie
music are very popular amongst young people and fashion trends tend to follow those of
the ex–Soviet bloc and America. Mongols have embraced new religions as well as
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
28
For further discussions about nationalist concerns over the purity of reproduction see Bulag (1998) and
Tumursukh (2001).
67
traditional ones. Alongside Christianity there has been a rise in New Religious
Movements in Ulaanbaatar (see Chapter Six). I was clearly an outsider yet, the majority of
Mongols that I met were very friendly and were more than happy to talk to me about
religion. On the few occasions that my husband and I were mistaken for Russians by
older (and most often drunk) people it was always an amicable interaction.
Capitalism and Change: The Shift to a Market Economy
The introduction of democracy and the entry of Mongolia into the global market
place has been a double–edged sword. It has meant greater ‘freedoms to’ in the forms of
freedom of speech, association and religion while lesser ‘freedoms from’ as poverty and all
of its associated problems have increased across Mongolia. Whilst some Mongols have
profited from a capitalist economy and the resources boom that followed, many more
have had their livelihoods challenged or destroyed (Højer & Pedersen 2008; Rossabi
2005; Sneath 2002). During my fieldwork I saw more Hummers than I have ever seen
before. Once whilst sitting at a restaurant on Seoul Avenue I saw five drive by and three
parked outside the front. When Louis Vuitton came to Mongolia in the autumn of 2009,
they did so with a great deal of pomp, placing a giant replica of a Louis Vuitton suitcase
in the centre of Sukhbaatar Square for weeks and hosting fashion shows inside. Yet this
rise in wealth, so typical of postsocialist nations, has been a rise of the few at the expense
of the many. In 1989 income poverty was at 0%, by 1994 it had reached 24% (Sneath
2002: 193). In 2007–2008 the United Nations Development Programme Mongolia wrote
that those living below the poverty line accounted for 35.2% of the population (2009: 7).
This poverty is unevenly distributed between rural and urban areas with 46.6% of the
rural population living below the poverty line (UNDP Mongolia 2009: 7). Extreme
poverty is visible throughout the city, a serious problem in such an extreme climate. In
the rubbish dump outside our building homeless people collected plastic bottles (which
they exchange for money) at all times in the day or night during the coldest winter
Mongolia had seen for 35 years (with ambient temparatures that dropped down to minus
45°C). Friends told me that the cold was so extreme that many homeless people
(including children) who usually take shelter in the underground heating ducts of the
centralised heating system had been found frozen to death.
68
In the early 1990s the government had high hopes that it would become the fifth
Asian Tiger economy (Sneath 2002: 191). Economist and first deputy minister
Davaadorjiin Ganbold was enthusiastic about Mongolia’s potential for economic
transition and keen to involve the International Monetary Fund (IMF), the Asian
Development Bank (ADB) and the World Bank. In 1990 and 1991 the IMF and the
ADB sent teams to talk to and advise the Mongolian government’s economists about how
they could shift to a free market economy (Rossabi 2005: 43). Previously, socialist
paradigms of progress through social evolutionism had legitimated power and assisted the
interpretations of everyday life. As Buyandelgeriyn writes:
Ironically, the end of Marxist–Leninist evolutionism was also the beginning of the
transition theories, another version of evolutionism that operates on the
assumption that all societies are parts of a global developmental continuum based
on a free–enterprise–driven global economy. The practitioners of the transition
theory — the neoliberal economists — hold that the road from totalitarianism to
capitalism runs through a rupture known as ‘shock therapy’ – a rapid demolition
of state enterprises and support systems (2008: 236).
Just as the USSR had advised the Mongolian government in accordance with their own
principles of progress, so too did neoliberal organisations. As a reflection of neoliberal
paradigms, the IMF and the ADB advised the government to privatise state owned
enterprise and start the transition to a market economy. State enterprises were seen as
inefficient and it was assumed that their privatisation would increase their efficiency. In
accordance with neoliberal economic imperatives, taxes and barriers to trade were
reduced (Rossabi 2005).
In addition to the withdrawal of economic advice from the Soviet Union after
1989 two other external factors effected Mongolia’s transition. First, Soviet Aid which
previously accounted for around a third of Mongolia’s GDP began to decrease in 1989
and was completely withdrawn by 1991. Some of this money was replaced by aid from
western nations, Japan and international organisations, and already in 1991, alternate
foreign aid accounted for fifteen percent of the GDP (Sneath 2002: 194). Second, there
was a sharp drop in exports and imports as the former Soviet trading blocs collapsed. The
old Soviet nations started to demand hard currency for goods and the transportation of
69
products became unreliable. This meant that in the early 1990s shortages of fuel,
materials and spare parts were common. Due to these shortages, factories closed, leading
to unemployment, and some crops were not planted and harvested. In the cities sugar,
butter, milk, meat and matches had to be rationed and rural areas had shortages of flour
and sugar (Rossabi 2005: 35). One of my language teachers told me that when she was
younger, in the early 1990s, her local shop in the sum (subdistrict) centre had empty
shelves for a couple of years.
However, as Sneath argues, these external factors can only partially account for
the dramatic decline in Mongol living standards during the 1990s. For example, in
accordance with western economic advice, at the same time as these external forces were
placing pressure on the Mongolian economy, the prices of milk were liberalised on the
assumption that by liberalising prices incentives to produce milk would increase and
there would be an increase in supply that, in turn, would drive the price of milk down.
However, within 6 months of the reform the price of milk had increased by nine times
and the actual amount of milk available in the city had halved (Sneath 2002: 194–195).
The economic policies that the government had started to follow meant that liberalised
prices for meat and dairy were being introduced at the same time as the state run
procurement systems were being destroyed.
Without the transportation arrangements of the official procurement system,
selling meat and milk represents a good deal of effort for hard–pressed pastoral
families, and there was no longer any official obligation for them to do so. In
rural Mongolia the reality of institutional settings and their associated methods of
operation and transportation had a greater influence on pastoralists than the
prices for commodities paid in distant urban markets (Sneath 2002: 195).
The World Bank estimated that between 1990 and 1992 wages halved and by 1993 again
decreased by a third (Sneath 2002: 193). By the time that products came back on the
shelves in the mid 1990s, few people had enough money to buy them (Rossabi 2005: 53).
Additionally, along with cut backs to state economic institutions came cuts to education,
welfare, health and culture. After visiting Mongolia in 1991 the ADB spoke highly of the
health system saying that, overall, the population had good access to health care. Yet in
the same report it advocated the introduction of fees to make the health care system more
70
‘efficient’ and the reduction of the doctor–to–patient ratio (Rossabi 2005: 169). This
advice did not take into account the demographics of Mongolia, where the population
density in rural areas is very low and therefore the doctor to patient ratio needs to be high
in order for herders to be able access doctors. From 1990–1992 government spending on
health decreased by 43% and spending on education fell by 56% (Sneath 2002: 193).
In addition to all of these changes Mongolia suffered from terrible winters (dzud)
in 1999–2002 and during my fieldwork in the winter of 2009–2010. The dzud29 of the
winter of 2009–2010 decimated 8.5 million heads of livestock, almost 20% of the
national herd (UNDP Mongolia 2010: 2). These winters have the greatest effect on the
livelihoods of the poorer herders and female–headed households, whose livestock are for
subsistence and who have very little money to buy feed for the cattle when conditions
necessitate it (UNDP 2010). Also, because collective farms were dismantled in the early
1990s, herders are often no longer able to move to winter seasonal pastures, having lost
the state run transportation that used to buffer the blow of these extreme winters (Sneath
1998). The loss of a herd often means migration to the capital to borrow money from
relatives and/or to look for work. Over the past ten years the population of Ulaanbaatar
has doubled to over a million and it is creaking under the strain. It is estimated that over
fifty percent of the national population now lives in the ger districts that surround the city
(UNDP 2010).
Figure 11 – Ger districts. Picture taken from Jampa Ling in the Third and Fourth District
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
29
A winter with very heavy snowfall causing conditions in which animals are unable to feed.
!
71
All these changes have led to a social climate characterised by increasing levels of
unemployment, corruption, crime, alcoholism, domestic violence and uncertainty. As
Højer and Pedersen write:
Large numbers of Mongolians for a period of more than 15 years have not known
whether they would still have a job the next day... Nor have they had access to
reliable information about what their salary could buy them a year, a month or
even a week from now… or, indeed, whether whatever savings they might have
would be available the next day (2008: 73–74).
In this context it is hardly surprising that Mongols have been searching for alternative
forms of stability. The rupture that occurred in the 1990s was not just marked by political
changes, it also profoundly shifted the Mongolian socio–economic landscape and
removed the moral imperatives that people had during the socialist period.
The city landscape continuously changes. As fancy new shopping malls and luxury
goods crop up to service the new urban elite in the centre of the city, the periphery
constantly expands with its haphazard ger districts, lacking infrastructure and beset with
poverty. Every year, the winters become increasingly unhealthy for the city’s residents as
the pollution from these growing districts increases, choking the city as ger residents burn
around two bags of coal and half a bag of wood a day (if residents are lucky enough to be
able to afford it) to keep them warm during the freezing winter (Hamilton 2011). In early
2011 the Mongolian government admitted that the pollution problem had become so
bad that it had reached ‘disaster’ status (Hamilton 2011) with epidemiologists saying that
hospitalization from respiratory related complaints was causing a public health crisis
(Jacob 2011). The pollution has the worst health impacts for ger district residents who
have little to protect them from the pollution created by their own and their neighbours’
stoves. This issue has received considerable political attention because, unlike the
problems of accessing adequate sanitation and water in the ger districts, pollution affects
the wealthier inner city residents as well as the urban poor.
According to Mongol friends, as little as ten years ago the ger districts that now
surround the city were much smaller and only a few cars were on the road. The UNDP
estimates that the capital city’s population more than doubled from 1998 to 2008
72
(UNDP Mongolia 2010: 12). Now cars congest the roads and the ger districts are
continually expanding as more people from sum (district) centres and rural areas migrate
to the capital. When Kaplonski described Ulaanbaatar from his fieldwork experiences
from the 1990s to the early 2000s he wrote that, though ‘large, the city does not feel
crowded. The central part of the city is spacious and open’ (2004: 29). This is no longer
the case. As Kaplonski himself predicted, new constructions have been built where many
of the open spaces used to be and the city now has a frenetic and surprisingly crowded
feeling given its relatively small population, especially in the warmer months.
The switch to sedentary life itself is a relatively new phenomenon in Mongolia.
Whilst there have been major settlements since the Mongol Empire, such as
Kharakhorum (Bulag 2006), Mongolia has only undergone intense sedentarization since
the start of the socialist period (Campi 2006: 21). In the past Mongol settlements were
relatively small and mainly found on caravan routes, around monasteries and in
important political or military positions (Campi 2006). Later, during socialist times,
industrial cities were built near mineral deposits and agricultural centres (Campi 2006:
46). Ulaanbaatar, itself, began as the mobile ger temple of Zanabazar, the first
Jebtsundamba, in 1639, and the temple was nomadic for 139 years (Campi 2006: 37). In
1778, the city became sedentary and it is now home to more than one million people.
The history of the built environment reflects the changing pressures of foreign
influence in the region. In spite of the fact that in 2009, 63.2% of Mongols lived in
urban areas (National Statistics Office of Mongolia 2009: 79), there is ambivalence
towards sedentary lifestyles in the Mongol national imagination (Delaplace 2010; Bulag
2006; Kaplonski 2004). Built dwellings (especially those with cellars) are seen as being
contrary to Mongol ethics of dwellings wherein nomads are enjoined to leave behind no
evidence of their residence and avoid digging holes in the ground (Delaplace 2010: 137).
This endemic attitude towards sedentary life is why the growth of Ulaanbaatar’s city
centre can be seen as a concretized history of Mongolia’s foreign relationships, especially
those of the modern period. From its origins, as the settlement of a Buddhist monastic
community and a small accompanying trading centre for Chinese merchants, during the
socialist period (1921–1990) Ulaanbaatar grew rapidly. The socialist government saw
pastoralism as ‘backward’ and, as a result, encouraged urban development (Brunn &
73
Narangoa 2006: 4). The Russian influenced Mongol administration built Soviet style
apartment blocks and grand public buildings with the help of the Russians, Japanese
prisoners of war in 1939 and Chinese labourers during the 1950s and 1960s before the
Sino–Soviet split (Campi 2006: 40). Now a new form of urbanism has reached
Ulaanbaatar as Mongolia joins the global neo–liberal economy. Western–style buildings
and shopping malls are being built, though not always completed. Following the
trajectory of the city’s existing built environment many contemporary buildings are built
by foreign aid money from places such as Europe, Russia, Japan, Korea and China
(Rossabi 2005). Foreigners are still employed on construction projects as companies tend
to employ foreign workers (especially from China) on construction sites (Rossabi 2005:
102–103).
Figure 12 – Centre: the Manchu architecture of Choijin Lama Temple Museum, to the left an unfinished
modern skyscraper, to the right a Soviet style administrative building and unfinished apartment blocks
Saskia Sassen writes that ‘cities have long been key sites for the spatialization of
power projects – whether political, religious or economic’ (2001: 13). Ulaanbaatar, as the
main site for interacting with the global economy, has a structure that is analogous to the
relationship of the centre–periphery in the country. The relatively wealthy centre is
74
modernizing quickly while the ger districts that expand on all sides of the city often lack
basic infrastructure and are plagued by poverty. This analogy also expands to the
comparison of urban and rural areas in Mongolia more generally. Whilst three quarters
of the urban population has adequate access to sanitation and hygiene, only one third of
the rural population do (UNDP Mongolia 2009: 14), and though poverty decreased in
urban areas from 30.3% to 26.9% from 1994 to 2008, in rural areas it increased from
43.4% to 46.6% (UNDP Mongolia 2009: 7).
The built environment of the city reflects to the recent history of globalization
and the growth of inequity in Mongolia. It also demonstrates how quickly things are
changing. As Ole Bruun and Li Narangoa write:
Few other nations have experienced changes so rapid and radical as the Mongols:
from little sedentary life in 1900 to cosmopolitan city life in the 2000s; from
scattered settlements to intense urbanization and demographic concentration;
from nomadic pastoralism to Chinese and Soviet plan economies to market
liberalism; from Buddhist monastic learning to modern education; and from
imperial domination to separate autonomous and independent polities (2006: 1)
The translocal influences on the built environment mirror the changing global pressures
on religion. From the multiple influences during the Mongol Empire (1206–1368) to the
influence of Buddhism officiated by the Tibetans (and mediated through the Qing
dynasty) to the almost complete decimation of Buddhism and Shamanism mirroring
Soviet policies in the early nineteenth century. Contemporary influences on religion
reflect contemporary interactions with the global economy, culture and politics.
Catarina Kinnvall argues that contemporary forms of globalization lead to an
increase in both religion and nationalism because people no longer feel ontologically and
existentially secure (2004: 741). In this context:
Nationalism and religion supply particularly powerful stories and beliefs because
of their ability to convey a picture of security, stability and simple answers. They
do this by being portrayed as resting on solid ground, as being true, thus creating a
sense that the world is what it appears to be (Kinnvall 2004: 742).
75
Having newly joined the global economy, and facing the economic and ideological
vulnerabilities that have followed, many Mongols are seeking the ontological security that
nationalist narratives and religion can provide. The Democratic Revolution utilised old
symbols from the pre–socialist past to present an alternative to socialist ideologies and
these symbols are still used in nationalist discourse today. Mongolia has joined a new and
unknown economic system and this has fuelled nationalist concerns. Along with
Chinggis Khan, being Buddhist is seen by most as an important ethnic signifier. Yet,
whilst many identify as Buddhist, doing so in contemporary Mongolia is fraught with
difficulties. Most Mongols are not sure about the efficacy or legitimacy of religious
practitioners and some are worried about the quality of Mongol religious institutions.
Connected to these insecurities are the difficulties of piecing together coherent religious
narratives from available and preferred sources of information. Whilst religion has the
potential to provide people with ontological security, being Buddhist in Mongolia is not
as straightforward as it might seem.
76
Chapter Three
Temples and Lamas, Memory and Forgetting
The growth of Buddhism after the change to a democratic system in Mongolia in
the early 1990s led to a rapid increase in the number of Buddhist institutions and lamas
in the capital. All but one of the cultural Buddhists I interviewed visit temples at least
once a year30 and visiting temples is a key way that cultural Buddhists confirm their
religious identity. However, the relationship between most cultural Buddhists and
Buddhist institutions is somewhat strained. Most feel unsure about the quality of the
education that religious practitioners receive and a few are cynical about lamas’ intentions.
Whilst some lay Buddhists have a particular lama that they regularly visit, most do not,
and there is a sense amongst most of my interlocutors that, whilst some lamas are very
good, not all can be trusted. In addition to these concerns, cultural Buddhists tend to be
self–conscious about their own ignorance in religious matters and the activities at temples
do little to ameliorate this feeling. At temples prayers are read in Tibetan and personal
visits with lamas focus on astrological or practical advice for help with worldly problems
rather than for soteriological ends. As a result, most cultural Buddhists learn about
religious matters from alternative places. Friends and family members, living or dead, are
frequently referred to in discussions of religious concepts and practices. Many of my
interlocutors also referred to folk beliefs and alternative religious doctrines such as
Christianity and New Religious Movements (see Chapter Six) when explaining core
religious concepts.
When I first started interviewing friends who were cultural Buddhists, I was
struck by how different each person’s interpretations of Buddhism were. Unlike reform
Buddhists, knowledge of concepts such as karma (üiliin ür), sa%s&ra31 (orchlon), life after
death, and enlightenment (gegeerel), are divergent, not just from the Buddhist
philosophies that I have been exposed to in Australia, but also between one another. This
is in spite of the fact that the religious practices that people engage in fit into recognizable
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
30
With the exception being a woman whose husband visits a temple once a year at Tsagaan Sar on behalf of
the family.
31
Suffering attendant to the endless cycles of existence.
77
patterns. Most cultural Buddhists that I interviewed attend temples at least once a year
and only a few go to temples more than three times a year. At temples they all participate
in some or all of the following activities: paying for prayers to be read, observing chanting
and rituals, spinning the prayer wheels, seeking advice from a lama, lighting candles,
feeding the birds and enjoying the ambiance of the religious environment.
The kinds of Buddhist rituals cultural Buddhists participate in tend to be opaque.
When lay Buddhists go to a temple they enter an environment where they understand
certain ritual expectations. Each person I interviewed knew, for example, the direction to
walk around sacred objects, where to pay for prayers to be read, and, in some cases, where
to find a lama to ask for advice. However, the meaning of religious activities is obfuscated
in a number of ways. Firstly, the prayers are read in Tibetan, a religious language that not
all monks, and very few committed lay people, understand. Secondly, religious objects,
such as tantric paintings and sculptures, are enigmatic and very few lay people have more
than a superficial understanding of them. Thirdly, participants often told me that they
didn’t know where to find out about religious teachings. Meetings with lamas tend to
focus on astrology and advice about which prayers to have read, rather than Buddhist
philosophy. Alternative sources of information, such as books, include terms that most
Mongols find very difficult to understand. Many people told me that they had tried to
read Buddhist literature but could not understand the Mongol religious language that it
used, probably because during the socialist period Buddhist terms were either
appropriated and used for other meanings or abandoned.
I argue that there are three identifiable factors contributing to the diversity of religious
interpretations. The first, as I explained above, is the irregularity and opacity of religious
rituals and interactions with Buddhist institutions. Secondly, most cultural Buddhists
continue to learn about religion in the private sphere, from friends, family or folk
tradition. There are a number of reasons that Mongols tend to do this. During the
socialist period religion was eradicated from the public sphere and pushed into the
private sphere; lay Buddhists and disrobed monastics carried on Buddhist ritual
traditions within the home or forgot or rejected them. When religion returned to the
public sphere most Mongols were uncertain as to whether or not they could trust
religious specialists. Religious lineages have been broken and alternative standards for
78
religious practitioners have now entered the capital. Additionally, as a result of
Mongolia’s entry into a capitalist society, there is now a material incentive for becoming a
religious specialist and not everyone is sure about monastic motivations. Partly as a result
of these difficulties, many Mongols still learn about religion in the private sphere. The
third factor is due to the contingencies of living in a rapidly changing urban environment
characterized by the constant introduction of new ideas and religious forms. Like family
and friends, global Buddhist institutions, New Religious Movements and Christianity
(and other religious groups) offer accessible ideas about religion that can fill the doctrinal
gaps interactions with Buddhist temples leave open ended.
Buddhist Institutions and Activities at the Temple
The activities that most cultural Buddhists participate in at temples confirm their
Buddhist identity. Zsuzsa Majer and Krisztina Teleki estimate that there are now around
200 Buddhist institutions in Mongolia (2009: 542) and about 36 of these are in
Ulaanbaatar (Majer 2009: 53). Inside most Buddhist temples are ritual spaces used for
chanting (nom unshik) with low seats and tables facing inwards for monastics to sit and
read s!tras. Heading these seats to form three sides of a square is a high and ornate seat
to the northern side (facing the door) that is reserved for high lamas or Rinpoches. These
temples can be circumambulated from within and the walls are covered with Buddhist
paintings and statues. The wealth and size of these temples range from some of the large
temples within the complex at Gandantegchenling Khiid, to smaller temples that are
housed within gers. They generally have a community of lamas or female lamas and an
emphasis on chanting and providing advice to lay people. Within some temple complexes
there are schools for Buddhist monastic education as is the case in Gandantegchenling
Khiid, Betüv Khiid, Daschoilon Khiid and the FPMT nunnery the Dara Ekh Khiid. All
temples provide some form of Buddhist education for their sa!gha (Majer & Teleki 2008).
Some of the temples, such as Tüvdenpejeelin Khiid, have a stated astrological or medical
focus, though astrological predictions and soothsaying are employed in many Mongol
temples. Six of the temples that were recorded were housed in gers (Majer 2009: 57) and it
is not uncommon for ger temples to be run by only one lama (Majer & Teleki 2008).
Only one of the temples Majer and Teleki recorded in Ulaanbaatar chant in Mongolian,
79
all others use Tibetan as the liturgical language (Majer 2009: 55). Only a small number of
these institutions were female with one nunnery and two women’s centres in the Gelug
lineage and one women’s centre in the Nyingma tradition (Majer 2009: 54).
Majer writes that of the Buddhist institutions in Ulaanbaatar, 25 are in the Gelug
lineage, 11 are Nyingmapa and one centre (which runs out of an office) is Kagyupa (2009:
54). These categories, however, are not exclusive and there is often an overlap between
Gelugpa and Nyingmapa temples (Havnevik et al. 2007). In Mongolian these schools are
referred to as the ‘yellow hat’ (shar malgaitan) and ‘red hat’ (ulaan malgaitan), or ‘yellow’
and ‘red’ religions, respectively. These classifications, however, are unclear and
inconsistent amongst laypeople. Some say that the ‘yellow’ school is only found in
Mongolia and Tibet and that all other Buddhist schools are ‘red’ including the
traditionally ‘black hat’ Kagyu and the Theravada schools (Havnevik et al. 2007). Adding
to this confusion, Buddhism is most often referred to as the ‘yellow religion’ (Shar'n
Shashin), although some people call it the Buddhist religion (Budd'n Shashin) or lama’s
religion (Lam'n Shashin). Some Mongols I spoke to used the division to identify one or
other of the schools as more serious than the other: that the lamas from the ‘red’ or the
‘yellow’ sect abstain from sex and alcohol32. The distinctions that people reported for the
differences between the schools were the same as those that continually came up in
conversations about being a ‘real’ lama: whether they were married, drank alcohol,
allowed women to become lamas, had too much money, or were following Mongol
tradition.
Gandantegchenling Khiid, a Gelugpa temple, is the largest of the temple
complexes and most Mongols consider it to be the centre of Buddhism in Mongolia. Yet,
in spite of its size and prestige, many lay Buddhists said that they preferred to go to
smaller temples for a variety of reasons. These ranged from a dislike of crowds, to
cleanliness, to family history and personal preference. The majority of cultural Buddhists
in my study visit temples anywhere from once a year (generally after Tsagaan Sar, the
Lunar New Year) to once a week.
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32
Though being more serious was not always viewed positively.
80
Figure 13 – Gandantegchenling Khiid during Tsagaan Sar
On special days some people walk around temples handing out donations to all
the individual lamas and very wealthy people pay for entire services to be read. Inside the
temples the higher the pile of cushions on which a lama sits, the more senior he is
considered to be. People often give individual donations to lamas considered to have
greater knowledge because they want the best lama to read their prayers. One informant
told me that in some temples lamas hire the best spots to sit on so that they can collect
more donations. These personal donations, unlike those paid for at the ‘prayer shops’,
add to the very small income that most lamas receive without incurring a government tax.
During Tsagaan Sar 2010, the previous Sumo Yokozuna (the highest rank in Sumo
Wrestling), Asash&ry! Akinori (M. Dolgorsürengiin Dagvadorj), paid for a day of prayer
reading at one of the temples in Gandtegchenling Khiid as a demonstration of his
family’s power and prestige33.
Most temples have ‘prayer shops’ or booths where lay people go to order and pay
for s!tras to be read by lamas. In each temple these places are different, some have lists
with prices for each prayer written on them, whilst at others you pay by donation
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
33
And, perhaps, to exonerate himself from a controversy around assault charges in Japan that led to his
early retirement in early 2010.
81
according to what you can afford. At busy times in the year, particularly during Tsagaan
Sar, these ‘prayer shops’ become very crowded. At the one I visited during Tsagaan Sar
the hum of cash registers printing off receipts filled the room. Lamas with shaved heads
and yellow robes sat behind the desks collecting payments and there was a place to buy
incense (arts) and blessed water (arshaan). After you had ordered your prayers from a set
prayer list you were given a receipt with the title and price for each prayer that you had
ordered and your name on it. Within the temple complex there were temples full of
lamas reading s!tras and these were crowded with people circumambulating, sitting and
listening, or picking out individual lamas to pay to read s!tras. As a friend in his mid
twenties describes the process:
The scripts [s!tras] have different meanings; some scripts are good for your health
or prosperity. And some are good for if you did something bad to clear away the
sins that you have done… So usually you go to the front desk and you give your
name and you request what kind of script that you want to have read by monks.
So if you killed a dog or if did something really bad then you ask for a script. You
know, ‘please can you get rid of my sins that I’ve done lately’ and then ask for
good health, or something like this. So people go there and give their name and
request the script and then voluntarily you can donate money to the monastery.
So you go to the monastery and then you sit there you wait and then all the
monks come in and then they start reading… people sit around the temple at the
corners and in the middle the monks sit down and they start reading. And then
one of the monks he goes around the outside and has different holy waters and
flowers to be touched by the skin in order to get bad things out of your body and
to be thrown away and things like that. So this is kind of the basic procedure as
far as I know… I’m not a really good or really devoted Buddhist. This is just my
experience (Sükh).
Whilst a few informants said that they went to the temple only briefly to order prayers
and then left, most stayed for longer to pray, spin prayer wheels, circumambulate the
temples and feed the birds. As a friend who works for a NGO describes:
I don’t necessarily just go there for something to be read for me. Its just nice to
visit there you know, kind of nice to sit there and hear the ceremony, to attend
82
the ceremony… I don’t have to sit in a queue to give an order for s!tra to be read
you know. There is a queue. Of course if I am lucky there wouldn’t be any line
but I would have to pay for some readings and then afterwards after some time
they would read it. But I don’t do that because it’s time consuming and I would
have to wait. But it’s nice just to jump in, just to see what’s happening. To attend
the ceremony and see what’s going on. It’s nice to visit the deities and make the
circle and have a good wish and then just leave (Oyunbileg, 31).
Some people also said that they went to temples to light candles (dzul), and one informant
said that he goes to a temple every year to light a candle for his father on the anniversary
of his father’s death. It is also common for high school and university students to study
inside the temple complex at Gandantegchenling Khiid on the morning of an important
exam, as it is believed that the positive energy absorbed from the monastery will boost
their exam results. After official wedding ceremonies, most wedding parties visit temples
to receive blessings from the lamas.
Most people said that they felt better after visiting a temple, that they felt a sense
of lightness, calmness or happiness. As Chuluun, a professional in his early 40s describes:
A little bit of freedom, I can say. My stress goes down a little bit. Any bad things
fly out of me... I feel a little bit lighter than before. Because I don’t think about
anything else during this time. During my work maybe I think about a lot of
things which have happened or not happened and this makes me stressed.
Many of my interlocutors reported that they felt better after attending temples because
they had spent time affirming the positive things that they wanted to happen in their lives.
Whilst some people saw it as fulfilling an obligation almost like a kind of spiritual
insurance, others felt that visiting temples gave them space away from the stresses of daily
life.
83
Figure 14 – Feeding the birds at Gandantegchenling Khiid
Only one Buddhist that I interviewed said that she did not like going to temples.
This interlocutor had heard a story about someone she knew visiting a temple in order to
absolve her son of a crime that he had committed. She felt that because lamas read
prayers for people who have done bad things and help them to feel better about their bad
actions that temples are attracting negative energy.
I prefer to stay at home. I feel a lot of bad energy. I’m sorry saying that one. But
I’ve seen a lot of bad energies when I go [to the temple]... That is because some
people… do bad things and then ask them [lamas] to clear them away… I don’t
know but I feel that my energy hurts a lot when I go there. This means that bad
energies run there. That’s why I avoid being there and prefer to stay at home or
somewhere quiet or peaceful and stay there and meditate for the special days
(Tsevelmaa, 39).
As a result of this, whilst she still occasionally goes to temples she did not feel good after
visiting them.
Some Mongols go to temples to visit lamas or female lamas to ask for advice.
Several people said that they go to see a lama before Tsagaan Sar to ask which s!tras they
84
should have read for the coming year and in which direction they should walk in (dzüg
gargak)34 on the first day of Tsagaan Sar. Others said that they ask lamas for advice if they
are having trouble at work or if there is illness in the family. One friend told me that she
visited a lama because she had a dream about her teeth falling out a couple of nights
before taking a long journey and she wanted to ask him if she should still go. He
instructed her to order certain prayers and assured her that if they were read correctly she
would have a safe journey, which she did.
Religious Education
Whilst most cultural Buddhist participants go to temples and most also enjoy the
experience, there is a level of dissatisfaction about the education that people receive from
these institutions. Some people expressed concerns that because of the types of activities
in the temples there is nowhere for Mongols to learn about Buddhism.
At least the s!tras should be translated into Mongolian… for the ordinary people
are able to understand what is in there... Even for the lamas themselves, they have
to be educated about what they are reading you know... You pay for something
and you get something back. But there is no such spiritual part involved in it you
know. You go to a store and you pay some money and you buy something. It’s
exactly the same way that you would behave in the monastery. You go there, you
pay for it and you get back something. But what is missing is there is… a lack of a
spiritual part... They don’t educate much… I think there should be at least some
kind of a room where people can just go to read something. I don’t know there is
this public space, public sphere, missing at the monastery. It’s very crowded and
there is really a special part missing… In a Christian church, or in a Catholic
church, you can really see it. There’s plenty of nice room and space and it’s clean
and they do a lot for the prayers and there is always something going on
(Oyunbileg).
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34
This direction is different depending on the year that you were born.
85
Like Oyunbileg, many of my interlocutors said that they want Buddhist institutions to
elucidate Buddhist doctrine in addition to conducting religious services. Most expected to
be able to understand religion, not just to follow culturally defined ritual activities.
In some of my conversations this attitude towards religious education was linked
to global religious organisations or religious figures. In others, it seemed to come from
the pedagogical ideas imbedded in secular education (influenced perhaps by decades of
socialist atheism). For example Sarantuya, a forty–one year old professional woman,
referenced both in her dissatisfaction with low levels of doctrinal education. As she
explains:
Now I’m improving. I want to follow Buddhism in a more practical way. Because
Mongolians, as you know, approach this issue without theory. When the Dalai
Lama came to Mongolia several years ago he said to Mongolians ‘you should study
the theory of Buddhism. Without theory you can’t pray’. He found that
Mongolians just pray without any theory. But my understanding of religion is
more scientific.
In order to follow the Dalai Lama’s advice Sarantuya has attended two weeklong retreats
run by Sri Sri Ravi Shankar’s group35, is reading books about Christianity and the Dalai
Lama’s books in English, has attended a couple of classes run by a Thai Theravada monk
(who only visited Mongolia for a short period) and now visits local temples once or twice
a month. She seeks astrological advice from a ‘red’ lama and reads the mantra of
Chenrezig and Medicine Buddha 36 (M. Manal, T. Sanjai Manla) every morning and
evening before eating.
Sarantuya believes that all Mongols (herself included) need to become better
educated about religious doctrine and she feels that more texts need to be translated into
Mongolian if Mongols are to understand Buddhist theory better. She stated that she is
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35
Sri Sri Ravi Shankar is the spiritual head of a Hindu-based New Religious group that is very popular in
Ulaanbaatar. On their weeklong retreats (taught by Mongols) participants are told to eat only vegetarian
food. They learn how to meditate, practice yoga and listen to spiritual and moral lectures. For an in depth
discussion see Chapter Six.
36
The Bodhisattva considered to be a powerful antidote for physical and mental illness.
!
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improving her own knowledge about religion in a ‘systematic’ and ‘scientific’ way and
would like others to have the opportunity to do the same.
I have a small amount of knowledge. I need to follow Buddhist theory to be good
to other people, to have a positive mental attitude toward others and to be able to
help them. But I have limited time and a limited body (Sarantuya).
Sarantuya frequently expressed the desire to incorporate more of what she has learned
about Buddhism into her daily life. For instance, whilst she has been on two Sri Sri
meditation retreats she does not meditate because she is too busy. Religious education for
Sarantuya is the first step towards understanding religion; practicing what you have
learned comes second.
A number of my interlocutors, like Sarantuya, in some way referred to ‘science’
during interviews. Many mention ‘science’ as forming the basis for religious evidence.
Some use the idea of ‘science’ to explain why lamas are knowledgeable (as religion is seen
as a science), whilst others use it to critique monastic education. For instance, when
Batbayer complained about monastic education he said that ‘Buddhism is a science, they
must learn it and then people can believe them.’ This idea of learning more about
religion as though it were a science is very common amongst my interlocutors. As with
science, if laypeople don’t understand religion then they need to be able to rely on
specialist understandings. However, as the relationship between religious practitioners
and the laity is strained, these specialists cannot necessarily be trusted, leaving religious
rituals fraught with uncertainty and doubt.
The ‘Domestication’ of Religion: Religious Practitioners and Trust
The socialist period was characterized by heavy restrictions on religious activities.
As a result of this oppression, religion was forced out of the public sphere into the private
sphere. Tamara Dragadze has described this shift as the ‘domestication of religion’.
I use the term domestication in two closely related senses. On the one hand it
embodies the idea of shifting the arena from public to private, from outside the
home to its interior. On the other hand, it also signifies the harnessing and
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taming of that which seemed outside the control of ordinary people (Dragadze
1993: 144).
As public religious institutions were suppressed, religion moved into the private domain
of the home where ideas, practices and objects were either passed down from generation
to generation, rejected or forgotten. After 1990, and the end of the socialist era, new
public religious institutions opened up around the country. Yet, for most cultural
Buddhists that I spoke to, religious education still happens in the private sphere. This
education is often incomplete or vague and yet is often more trusted than public sources
of information.
This mistrust of public religious institutions is not due to a lack of belief in the
power or efficacy of religion. The public destruction and desecration of religion by the
state has not always lead to a weakening of belief in religious power (Berliner 2005;
Højbjerg 2002; Højer 2009). As Lars Højer argues, in postsocialist Mongolia, the socialist
government’s persecution of religion in some ways strengthened people’s belief in it.
Socialism’s attack on its imagined enemy backfired, because not only did
socialism’s imagination of superstition serve to eradicate such superstition, but it
did – while eradicating it – bring it into existence as superstition: that is, as
something which was important and powerful enough to necessitate destruction.
The point is that the force of destruction and the sheer amount of energy
expended on superstition mystified ‘mystification’. It fashioned an entity and gave
it potential life. Much ‘superstition’ was lost, surely, but simultaneously an
imagined space of absence was created. People were made to know that certain
things existed of which they did not, and should not, know, and the negative
came into being and gained power by virtue of being subject to destruction (Højer
2009: 579).
By taking religion and repressing it, the socialist government made of religion a powerful
and unknown entity that must have been worthy of repression. Instead of being
something that is understandable, religion is obfuscated and unknown, and yet ever
powerful. The correlation between knowledge about religion and the strength of belief is
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not always positive. Belief in the power of religious rituals and practices can increase the
more mystified and unknown religious doctrine is.
Many cultural Buddhists told me stories about how the improper treatment of
sacred items or places had lead to ill effects. Solongoo, a government employee aged 30,
told me:
I heard that in Zavkhan province they have some mountain and Ochirvaan'
[Vajrap"$i] is the god from that mountain. Have you heard about Otgontenger
Mountain? It has a small river and people throw gold and silver cups in it. If the
cups go down then you have good karma. If you are a bad person then it floats…
In 1990, some people took the bowls that people put out for the gods. All the
gold and silver cups. Afterwards this province had difficulties for four years.
Tampering with sacred sites or religious objects is considered to be dangerous and stories
about people who tried to, or successfully, destroyed religious sites before the end of
socialism still hold currency today.
Whilst the negative consequences endured by those who damaged places or
objects of religious significance were often reported to be the result of greed for power or
money, ignorance about the proper treatment of sacred objects could also cause
misfortune. As Oyunbat, a middle–aged professional originally from the countryside,
recalls:
When I was a child my younger sister had a problem. She was one year old but
she had a serious illness. My parents went to many hospitals many times for about
one year. But she wasn’t well. One time my aunt went to a Buddhist lama who
mereglekh [divines]. You use coins. This lama said that they had some Buddhist
Burkhan at home but that the Burkhan was not in a suitable place. After that my
aunt came to my home she said that to my parents. We found a Burkhan picture.
About two years before my grandmother died and she had some Burkhan, some
pictures. But we didn’t have any religion so after she died we put them in there
[gestures like a cupboard]. We searched and we found them and we relocated and
renewed them. After that my younger sister was well. I was young, about 10 years
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old, but I thought that this is not ordinary. This is not simple. The lama has
powers. The lama knew about this. So I believe in religion, I believe in Buddha.
Yet, belief in the potential powers of religious practitioners does not always result in
people engaging with religious specialists. As Højer writes, in Mongolia, strong beliefs are
often characterized by avoidance rather than engagement (2009: 578).
Højer’s argument accords with my own research. I noticed that a lack of
knowledge and experience was often characterized by avoidance and fear, especially in
relation to Shamanism. Most of my interlocutors described Shamanism as a strange and
powerful religion that they did not understand.
I’m afraid of shamans because very recently I read a book about the healing of the
horse boy. In this book in Khovsgol Lake this reporter says that they went to the
number one shaman... And this shaman said, ‘after I make this ritual you should
leave after my performance because many other elements that we cannot see will
come and they might hurt you. I can protect myself’, this shaman said, ‘but you
cannot. That’s why it is better for you to leave very soon’. This is my
understanding. Shamans they call many other elements and then I cannot protect
myself. It is not like with Buddhism or Christianity, which are easier. For example,
in Japan I had some problems with the school because they prohibited students
from working and I found a job. Someone told the school that I was working and
they called me. And then I went to the school and during the walk there I asked
Fuji Mountain, Japanese Gods ‘please help me’. And nothing bad happened...
This is my way of being religious, its very easy (Odgerel, 50).
In this quote Odgerel indicates that she would rather be cautious in religious matters
than expose herself to powerful religious practices that she does not understand. This
quote also provides a rather fascinating example of the diverse ways that lay Mongols
educate themselves about religion. The Horse Boy (Isaacson 2009), which Odgerel had read
in English, is a non–fiction story and documentary written by an English–born author
based in Texas whose child has autism. Upon discovering that his son’s condition
appeared to improve around horses the family travels to Mongolia in order to combine
the potent mix of shamanic healing and horses. This book, and the descriptions of
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Shamanism that it contains, provides Odgerel with the foundation for her interactions
with Mongol Shamanism.
The people that I interviewed tended to see shamans (if at all) when some
problem was not being fixed by western medicine, Buddhism and, or other religions.
Sarangerel, a middle aged professional originally from Bayankhongor, told me that she
went to a shaman after her husband left her and her three children. Looking for some
‘extra help’ with the problem she sought advice from a domestic female astrologer who
divined with Tarot cards37. During the session she was advised to go to see a shaman. As
she recounts the experience:
He was wearing interesting clothes and jumping and doing many things. I was
surprised. Then he read this book and is singing words slowly, slowly. I couldn’t
catch the words. And after that my friend said, ‘Did you hear the words?’ And I
said, ‘no, why? Did I have to hear?’ And she said, ‘yes, he tells you everything that
you have to do’. But I didn’t hear [laughing] (Sarangerel).
The second and final time she went to a shaman was because her son had jaundice and
was very ill. During his one–month stay in hospital a close friend recommended that she
go to a different shaman and so she followed her advice. When I asked her if the shaman
helped her that time she responded ‘Did it help or the doctor help? I don’t know.’
Most people seemed to think that there were shamans powerful enough to help
with spiritual and practical problems but were unsure if the shamans that they had been
to were efficacious. Like Manduhai Buyandelgeriyn’s Buryat interlocutors, my informants
weren’t sure if the shaman that they had seen was authentic (Buyandelgeriyn 2007). Like
Mongol attitudes towards lamas, they were concerned with an individual’s motives for
becoming a shaman, whether they had learnt from a proper lineage and whether they
were powerful enough to be able to channel the spirits properly (see Buyandelgeriyn
2007). One person that I spoke to told me that there were too many shamans in
Ulaanbaatar now and that, as a result, there was going to be a shamanic war. This war,
which she said would be fought on a spiritual level, would end in only the most powerful
shamans in Ulaanbaatar being able to keep practicing. Other people told me that the
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An unusual medium for divination amongst Mongols who usually use coins or anklebones.
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sudden upsurge in practicing shamans was due to the switch to a capitalist economy and
that most shamans only wanted to make money. People referred to expensive ceremonies
or rituals conducted for powerful families or politicians as evidence of this phenomenon.
Yet, like discussions about lamas, people were also sure that there were some genuine
shamans. I heard stories about people’s friends or acquaintances that had fallen very ill
and had been unable to cure their illness. They were then told that they needed to
become shamans in order to cure their illness. This is seen as being an authentic reason
to become a shaman (Buck Quijada 2009; Shimamura 2004).
Most people who had been to see a shaman responded to the question of ‘did it
help?’ in an uncertain way. As Solongoo responded:
S: One time the shaman said that in my body I had a monster and that I needed
to take it away. And my parents took me to a shaman and they did that. I don’t
know, maybe shamans are sometimes true. They gave me some flour in a mixture
and said that I needed to cover your body with it. I did it and after that I fell
down and asked, ‘what happened?’
SAK: And did you feel better afterwards?
S: I think so… She just read for me some things and she had a stick and they hit
me with it.
SAK: Do you think that that helped you?
S: Maybe.
This uncertainty about the efficacy of people in positions of religious authority also
extends to lamas and other religious figures. Whilst a number of people said that they
asked lamas for advice, most said that they would only follow the lama’s suggestion if they
thought it was correct. A young professional is his mid–twenties told me that he would
only listen to a lama’s advice if he believes that they are right and if he already knows that
they can be trusted. This was especially important if he asks them for specific advice,
which he believes they are more likely to get wrong.
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It takes time to believe in that person because you have to see the result of it, if
that person told the truth or not. So it’s really hard for me to a hundred percent
believe any lama’s opinions but I can follow general things but not specific things
(Nergui).
This kind of religious pragmatism was common amongst the people I interviewed. People
seek advice about problems but if it contradicts what they already think, especially if they
do not know the lama well, they will decide for themselves. As Nergui says, not all lamas
are good or tell the ‘truth’ so lamas need to be tested before they can really be trusted.
It is also common for people to visit many people when a problem occurs as a way
of hedging their bets. If you do not know which religious practitioners to trust then it
seems logical to visit them all. As Solongoo said later in the interview:
You know, last year my mum died and people said, ‘you need to visit the lama or
the shaman and they will help your mum go to heaven’. And me and my dad
visited everyone, Buddhists, Christians, everyone, but now I don’t know if it’s true
or not.
Like Sarangerel who visited allopathic medical centres, lamas, astrologers and shamans
when her son was sick, Solongoo wanted to make sure that she had the best possible
chance of helping her mother and so she visited multiple religious specialists.
Who Is A ‘Real’ Monk? Uncertainty, Tradition and Reform
Majer estimates that there are around 1000 lamas in Ulaanbaatar and that 660 of
these are affiliated with the two largest monasteries (2009: 57). However, there is a lot of
controversy about what constitutes a ‘real’ male or female lama. Partly due to the
‘domestication’ of religion during the socialist period the majority of the Mongol Sa!gha
do not follow full monastic vows (Majer & Teleki 2008). In opposition to this, new ideas
about monastic discipline are being imported by global Buddhist organisations and
influencing lay perspectives on Mongol monastics. After 1990, many old men, who had
been part of monasteries as young men before the socialist period, once again identified
as lamas, shaved their heads and started to wear robes. These lamas had been forced to
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disrobe and marry during the 1930s and when they again became lamas they already
headed a household. Some of these lamas had been practicing in secret during the
socialist period and they saw no contradiction in being a Buddhist lama and maintaining
a family. These lamas have taken on students who, following their teachers’ examples,
have a girlfriend or a wife and practice as lamas. In addition, these lamas, due to a lack of
temple resources, cannot live inside the temple where they work and have to ‘return’ to
society after working hours like any other householder (Majer 2009). This is from an
interview with Batbayer, a professional aged thirty–nine:
S: Did you and your parents practice during the communist period?
B: Yes.
S: And was that difficult?
B: It was difficult, I observed it. They hid some things and read some secret things.
During the socialist times my parents told us ‘don’t talk about Buddhist things
during school time, it’s dangerous’.
S: Did you learn about Buddhism in school?
B: No, I learned some things from my parents and other Buddhist lamas. One of
my uncles was a good lama, he read a lot of books in Tibetan and taught me
about some things and some historical things about Buddhism. I never learnt
formal things about Buddhism.
S: So your uncle was a lama?
B: Yes. He was a lama and at the end of his lifetime it was very hard. Maybe every
morning and every week the police visited his home and took something,
everything. If you had some Buddhist things and you were doing something you
must go to prison. Therefore, it was very difficult, and he moved to another place,
to Darkhan. He died in this area.
S: And was he married?
B: Yes.
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Most of my interlocutors (who were old enough) mentioned someone who was respected
for having knowledge about Buddhism and conducted rituals as householders in the
domestic sphere during socialism. Now that public institutions have reopened many of
these practitioners are able to practice in the public sphere but they still maintain their
domestic connections. Some of the Mongol Sa!gha that do not follow extensive Buddhist
vows consider themselves to be following this tradition, whilst others see the lax attitude
towards celibacy as a transitory, yet necessary, part of the transition to rebuild strong
Buddhist institutions (Jadamba & Schittich 2010).
As local Buddhist practitioners became public lamas, international Buddhist
organisations connected to the Tibetan diaspora came to Mongolia with the hope of
‘reforming’ and helping to spread Buddhism in Mongolia. There are several international
Buddhist organisations in operation in Mongolia and these often send Mongol monastics
to India or Nepal to receive a comprehensive Buddhist education and learn to live within
strict monastic vows. Some of these organisations prioritise lay education and charity,
such as the FPMT’s centres and Jampa Ling. Others, such as Bakula Rinpoche’s monastic
legacy Betüv Khiid and the FPMT’s Dara Ekh Khiid, stress monastic education and
discipline. Over the summer months numerous Tibetan Rinpoches and respected foreign
teachers visit Mongolia to give teachings to lay Buddhists and monastics and to conduct
ritual tantric initiations. Some Theravada monks, who have taken an interest in the
growth of Buddhism in Mongolia, also visit the country at various times in the year.
From the global (which are most often also Gelugpa) Buddhist organisations’
perspective, Mongol monastics that do not follow monastic vows have had their lineages
severed during the socialist period and need to obey strict monastic rules in order re–join
the global Buddhist sa!gha. Traditionally in the Tibetan Buddhist sa!gha there are a
number of different types of religious vows that monastics take. The first, which young
novices take upon entering a monastery, is the five basic genen or genenmaa vows, which
can also be taken by a layperson. These are injunctions against sexual misconduct, theft,
intoxicants, harmful speech and killing. Taking additional vows and taking on a religious
name can reinforce these vows if the young novice chooses. After this monastics can
become a getsel or a getselmaa (for women) by taking ten precepts and then can become
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fully ordained as a gelen after taking 253 precepts or a gelenmaa (for women) after taking
364 (Majer & Teleki 2008).
In Mongolia monastics do not necessarily observe these vows (Majer & Teleki
2008). For instance, in their survey Majer and Teleki found that only gelen lamas observed
celibacy and most getsel lamas did not, even though the getsel vows prescribe it. As they
write, ‘married getsel “lamas” are so common that it is often said that there is a different
interpretation of the vows in Mongolia to the extent that it is not necessarily considered
to be case of breaking the vows to be married’ (Majer & Teleki 2008). From their research
they estimate that seventy to eighty percent of lamas do not strictly observe the monastic
getsel vows.
Whilst I knew male and female lamas who had taken extensive vows and were
serious about their ordination, for many Mongol monastics being a lama is quite like any
other job. Outside work hours they take off their robes and behave as any other Mongol
does after work. Some lamas have day jobs and practice as lamas on their weekends or
when they are asked by family, friends or acquaintances to conduct rituals in people’s
homes. One lama who had studied in India, with whom I had acquaintance, fell in love
and consequently decided to disrobe. His family members, who saw no contradiction in
being a lama and getting married, were confused by his decision and still can’t
understand why he became a layperson. Most male and female lamas live in residential
situations almost identical to laypeople. They may live with their parents, teacher or with
their wife (or husband) and children. One lama told me that the Dalai Lama has asked
Mongol lamas who are not following the vinaya38 to disrobe. Another interviewee told me
that Gandantegchenling Khiid, aware of the distractions that come with social immersion,
has plans to build a residential monastery in the countryside where young lamas can learn
about Buddhism and observe monastic discipline.
Both the cultural and reform movements argue that they are following ‘tradition’.
Mongol lamas who are married maintain that they are following the Mongol variant of
Buddhism (rather than the Tibetan one) and those who have been influenced by global
Buddhism argue that Mongol lamas who are in breach of the vinaya should not wear
Buddhist robes. These monastic discussions have an influence on laypeople’s ideas about
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Traditional monastic vows that date back to the time of the Buddha.
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how a ‘real’ lama should behave. The central concerns that laypeople expressed were
based on celibacy, the consumption of alcohol, education, money, whether or not their
lineage allowed women to become monastics and whether they were following Mongol
tradition. A friend who worked at a reform Buddhist organisation told me:
There are a lot of monks in Mongolia. But I’m not sure about the quality and
that’s the important thing. Because they have to follow their vows. Vows are very
important, because without the vows it is very easy walk around as a monk. It’s
very easy to put on a robe, to cut the hair. It’s very easy, but the main thing is that
they have to follow a hundred percent. But I think it’s very rare for someone to
keep their vows. That kind of real monk is very rare (Ganbaatar).
As a reflection of these attitudes, cultural Buddhists often told me that a person wasn’t a
‘real’ lama because they were married, had a girlfriend or drank alcohol. I heard
complaints about religious rituals being conducted in people’s homes where the payment
for the service was food and alcohol.
Not everyone thought that being married or drinking were the central problems
for the monastic population. One friend told me that in the ‘yellow’ Buddhist school it
was traditional for the lamas to get married and that it was the ‘red’ lamas who were
celibate. Confusions about the rules that lamas were supposed to follow often came up in
discussions about ‘red’ and ‘yellow’ lamas. Batbayer told me that he didn’t respect the
‘red’ Buddhists because they allowed women to become lamas.
There are two kinds of Buddhist theory in Mongolia, ‘red’ and ‘yellow’. Mine is
‘yellow’ Buddhist. In ‘red’ it is different they can have nuns. In my mind it is not
possible, it is not good. Lamas must be men. For girls it is hard, meditation is
hard. Especially when they visit the mountain and stay for a long time it is hard.
Meditation is not good for ladies.
In fact female lamas are found in both the Gelug and the Nyingma lineages in Mongolia.
Batbayer’s attitude that there is just something not quite right about becoming a nun
reflects that of many Mongols.
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Whilst most of my informants didn’t think that becoming a nun was a ‘normal’
thing for a woman most people didn’t think that it was a problem if that was what they
really wanted. When I asked Tömörbaatar, a university student in his early twenties, if he
thought that there was equality for both men and women to become lamas he replied:
Culturally no. If we have a little boy who wants to become a lama then it is
normal and everybody says ‘oh good luck, bye bye, go there’. But if a little girl says
that then ‘oh are you stupid? What are you doing?’ And everybody would behave
in this way. So culturally no, it is men.
A few people thought that it would be difficult for a woman to become a nun because of
institutional bias against them. Some female informants thought that it was very strange
for a woman to become a female lama, as it was ‘natural’ for women to want to have
children and look after a household. This exposes the assumption that most of my
informants expect a woman who has become a female lama to stay celibate, an
expectation that is not always placed on male monastics. Whilst there is only one
nunnery in Ulaanbaatar that maintains extensive Buddhist vows because there are so few
female lamas, proportionately, more of them maintain vows of celibacy. Also there are a
few high profile female Buddhist teachers (from global Buddhist organisations) who
maintain very high levels of discipline and their influence may be affecting attitudes
towards female monastics.
Another common criticism that emerged from interviews was about the level of
education of the lamas.
When we see that there are nowadays so many lam, maybe some people will think
‘ah Buddhism is developing in Mongolia’. But in the real case so many lam does
not mean it’s developing. I’m a meteorologist, I have to learn so many things
about meteorology. They are a lam they have to know about Buddhism.
Everything, not only one little boy in lamas clothes, it is not Buddhism
(Sarangerel).
Other lay Buddhists complained that because of the low level of education for lamas that
most did not understand what they were reading because it was in Tibetan. Some said
that they had seen lamas skipping through texts that they assumed they should be reading
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and one told me that he thought that the monks didn’t really focus on what they were
reading and were probably thinking about women or troubles they were having at home.
Overall, the contemporary practices of the Mongol Sa!gha are largely a product of
historical, cultural and economic forces. The controversial practices of the majority of the
Mongol Sa!gha who do not follow the vinaya are the vestiges of the domestication of
religion that occurred during the socialist period. Contemporary practices that dominate
temples have also arisen in part because of limited resources and economic imperatives
that temples face.
Both lay Buddhists and monastics are concerned about the ways that Buddhism is
developing in Mongolia. A mild or strong level of dissatisfaction characterises most lay
people’s attitudes towards their own knowledge about Buddhism and/or these public
institutions. Whilst this is being informed to some extent by global Buddhist
organisations and pressures to ‘reform’, it is also seems to be influenced by people’s own
sense of a ‘lack’ of a more complete religious worldview. Most of the middle class
Mongols I interviewed, like Sarantuya, are highly educated and expect to be able to
understand religious doctrine, not just to follow ritual etiquette.
Capitalism, Tax and Charity
The other major critiques of Buddhist institutions and monastics centre on
economic concerns. Because Mongolia now has a capitalist economy many of my
interlocutors are suspicious that lamas may have chosen their profession because of
economic incentives instead of wanting to help people. The government’s taxation of all
religious institutions and the visibility of the charitable works of Christian organisations
add to the feeling that Buddhist institutions are becoming too economically oriented and
aren’t doing enough for the Mongol public.
In the 1992 constitution Buddhism was not sanctioned by the state as the
national religion (Rossabi 2005: 191). Like Islam in Central Asian countries (Peyrouse
2007), Buddhism in Mongolia is mobilised by political parties to fulfil a nationalist
agenda but is still treated by the government with caution because it contains a potent
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alternative political ideology. In contrast to Western countries where churches are often
given tax–exempt status, officially, all religious organisations have to be registered with
the government and any financial contributions that they receive are taxed. Whilst only
half of the temples that Teleki and Majer recorded in their research were registered, it is
the government, and not Gandantegchenling Khiid or any other Buddhist authority, that
decides whether or not a temple is allowed to operate (Majer 2009: 56). The government
also requires regular checks of foreign religious visitors to ensure that all their visa
requirements are met and most politicians are personally involved in Buddhist
organisations. People told me that it was common for powerful families and political
parties to be involved in both public and private rituals and that it is common for
businessmen to consult lamas to see who will most likely win the election before
financially backing a political candidate.
To control the growth of religious organisations and create revenue, the
government taxes all religious institutions. Some lamas estimated that this tax was twenty
percent of an organisation’s income irrespective of size. A few of my interlocutors
identified this tax as the reason that some temples have elected to put up prayer price lists.
The process of paying for prayers was the most criticised characteristic of Mongol
Buddhism by the laypeople and monastics that I interviewed and many laypeople told me
that they did not like to visit monasteries where there was a price list for prayers.
It’s becoming like a business now, that’s what I really don’t like about going to
monasteries at the moment. Because I know that they are helping people and so
on, going to houses and driving their own cars and everything its just not what its
about, it doesn’t feel right. It just looks like a business… Ideally… I want to see
monasteries that is very, very peaceful to visit and very calm, where I can stay calm
and you know really concentrate on what I’m trying to pray because that’s what a
spiritual place is all about (Nergüi).
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Figure 15 – Paying for prayers at Gandantegchenling Khiid
The creation of revenue through reading prayers also means that whilst some temples are
poor, others are relatively wealthy. One lama estimated that most lamas get paid a very
small monthly salary of around 60 000 tögrögs a month. At the time of my fieldwork the
average wage was an already low 200 000 tögrögs a month. Some monastics explained that
this lack of income was the reason why some lamas appeared to be very poor and dirty
and that some temples were unkempt and needed repair. Unfortunately, because some
temples make their incomes from reading prayers there is a growing discrepancy between
the wealth of the lamas. Some can afford to drive around in four–wheeled drives whilst
others, often those who attend educational temples, have very little income.
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A number of my interlocutors worried that some lamas were just lamas because of
financial imperatives and that they didn’t really care about their respected role as a
religious specialist.
Ten years, fifteen years, twenty years ago the monks really didn’t think about the
money. It was cheaper. You had to give some money but it was cheaper. And they
don’t look at the money they’d look at the people how to help them away from
the suffering. Now, and I’m sorry if I am wrong, most of the monks look at
making money. Parents think of their boys becoming a monk because it is good
business (Tsevelmaa).
Some lamas also visit homes and businesses to conduct ceremonies and this activity
contributes to their earnings. The globally funded FPMT supports two of the educational
temples at Gandantegchenling Khiid so that they can feed their lamas lunch. However, as
they don’t have enough donations to feed them breakfast and dinner the lamas have to
return home in the evenings.
I wonder sometimes, who is the real monk? You know I think that that is
important, to be a real monk. I don’t know if the number will increase because
there are not very good conditions in the monasteries… to really practice and to
live in your ordination and in your vows and to stay in the monastery. I think
financially and all the conditions are just not there. And that is why I don’t think
that the number will increase much. I really hope that the quality of the monks
will increase (Oyunchimeg).
Very few of the temples have residential quarters for lamas or female lamas, and this
means that it is very difficult for lamas to live within the vinaya and to be separate from
society39.
The taxation of religious groups has also contributed to an environment where
there are major discrepancies between the finances of local Buddhist organisations and
international Christian missionary organisations whose supporters give a set portion of
their income to the church. The resources of a large international Christian missionary
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
39
The assumption that monastics ‘traditionally’ live in isolation from householders in Tibetan Buddhism
has been questioned by Martin Mills (2000).
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organisation with an international network of supporters who give a regular portion of
their income to the church is far greater than that of a local Buddhist temple whose
income depends on the irregular donations of visitors. Whilst there are some Buddhist
organisations that provide charitable services to the poor, Christian organisations, at least
in the capital, have greater visibility in charitable works. This is a source of confusion for
some informants who cannot understand why Christian organisations give so much to
charity in comparison to Buddhist ones.
They have not got a lot of money but they should feed the street children or those
who haven’t got a lot of money. There are a lot of poor people in our country.
They should do things as much as possible for these children. Because these
children will grow and they have only two ways. One way is to go to the jail,
another way is to become a Mormon. If they would like Mongolia to be a good
Buddhist country they should make good things for those who haven’t anything
to live with (Chuluun).
The Importance of Exemplars: Memory and Trust
Cultural Buddhists may prefer to become educated about religious matters from
people they know due to a lack of trust or confusion about the reliability of religious
public figures. One of the main ways that cultural Buddhists told me they had learned
about religion was from personal conversations with friends or family who were thought
to have ‘special knowledge’ about religious matters. These could be a mother, a father, a
grandparent, or an uncle. These figures were occasionally a victim of persecution and
either practiced secretly during the socialist period or had discovered religion after 1990.
Humphrey argues that Mongols tend to refer to an exemplar when discussing morality
(1997). An exemplar is a kind of teacher, who may be from the past or alive today, who
embodies a moral ideal. Whilst Mongols have some fixed rules, she argues that what is
most important for the formation of morality is an individual’s relationship with
precedents and exemplars (Humphrey 1997).
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I noticed that cultural Buddhist interlocutors often referred to someone they
knew or a family member when asked questions about core religious concepts or the
reason that they identified as Buddhist.
S: Are you a Buddhist?
C: Yes. I think I am a Buddhist because my grandfather was Buddhist. He was a
good Buddhist. Even though he participated in the Second World War before
1946 against Japan, when Japan came to Mongolia… When he retired… he told
me that when he was a child he was a teacher [a lama]… When he retired he…
believed in Buddha…
S: Did you grandfather practice Buddhism before 1990?
C: A little bit. During this time it was prohibited by the government, but he made
some Mongolian traditions at home... For example, during Tsagaan Sar, we
should make something. We lived in the city and this festival was prohibited but
we had this festival every year. We woke up very early and offered some things to
God and made a candle and burnt incense and read the books. When he died I
got one type of s!tra. It is in Tibetan. He wrote it down in old Mongolian [Mongol
bichig]. But I don’t know old Mongolian… most things came to me when my
mother died… I have a bell from my grandfather and an ochir40 [S. vajra]… Before
Tsagaan Sar or before Nadaam… I try to read the s!tra from my grandfather ... I
can’t read it but my grandfather recommended that I should make this [turn the
pages of the s!tra]. The wind will go through it and it is the same as if you read it.
Even though you can’t read it please do this (Chuluun).
Whilst Chuluun cannot read the s!tra that his grandfather left behind he still continues
the practices that his grandfather recommended to him. Throughout the interview he
referred to advice that his grandfather had given him about religious matters. For
example, he visits Dashchoilon Khiid to have prayers read on certain days because his
grandfather told him to avoid the larger monasteries.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
40
A ritual object representing a thunderbolt and adamantine insight.
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Most of the people who were thought to have special knowledge about religious
matters were not former lamas like Chuluun’s grandfather. They were often mothers,
grandmothers, siblings, uncles, fathers, and occasionally family friends. As the socialist
government destroyed all public congregations and buildings, people suddenly found
themselves without religious custodians and practitioners. In this situation, many people
who had knowledge about religious matters were compelled to practice privately. This
private practice continues today. When Oyunbileg described her family’s practice she
talked about a couple of family members who were important in religious transmission
and a close family friend.
I don’t read [mantras]. I don’t know very much about it even. But my grandfather,
we have our grandfather’s notebook. He’s passed away but he had written a lot of
mantras... There was someone in my extended family and he was a Buddhist and
he would do a lot of readings and actually we recorded his readings and some of
our family members have it. So they just have the recording and they play it.
In addition to her grandfather, Oyunbileg had a close friend who she talked to about
religious matters. She referred to conversations she had had with him throughout the
interview. He was not a lama but someone who was very interested in Buddhism, as she
describes him:
I have a friend. His family is very much into Buddhism. They are not really like
our family members because I would say we are very superficial practitioners.
Superficially talking and superficially practicing, you know... They don’t think
that much about what they are practicing or why they are practicing. It is just
something that I think they think is close to their heart… I think I am a little bit
ashamed of not having much knowledge about it. So he’s my friend and he’s
really into it... For example his mother would go to the temple and she would
spend one night cleaning with her friends... But we would just go there to look
around you know. But his mother spent the whole night, rather than sleeping, she
just cleaned everything. The family is really devoted to it. He is also. He took
some time off from his work and he did meditation for about one year or so.
With his friend to some place that is quiet and I think they practiced. And he
knows some Tibetan and he is studying the Tibetan language and I think he can
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read it and understand what is meant in the s!tra. And I think there is someone
who is coaching him and they are kind of supporting each other. I’m not so much
aware of it but that is what I understand (Oyunbileg).
Many people described themselves as ‘just following’ others during religious or ritual
services. In some cases a family member would ring up to tell them to go to the temple on
a certain day and order certain prayers, or they would be told which day to avoid eating
meat or to light candles and make offerings.
It was common for people to take the ritual advice of family members, especially if
they were older than themselves. When I went to Gandantegchenling Khiid with a friend
during Tsagaan Sar she arrived with a list of prayers that her mother had written down
for us that she thought my husband and I should have read for us. Another friend, in his
mid twenties, told me that he relies on his mother for religious direction.
I’m not that well educated in Buddhism my mum knows much better about it.
For me I’m just a good follower. We watch and listen. As far as I know the
meaning is wishing happiness, prosperity and health. So it’s not really
complicated. Something that one asks from god or something. It’s just a wish to
have health, prosperity happiness and things like that (Sükh).
Mongols often mention a person within their family or close friend (whether alive or
deceased) who has special knowledge about religion. Not all of these are former lamas
many were mothers, grandmothers, siblings and fathers, and occasionally family friends.
Unfortunately, much of this domestic knowledge has been lost.
S: My mum’s grandmother: she was sewing some gods [making applique thang
kas] and her dad was a lama who read [s!tras]. And when my grandmother was
young they took, her mum and her grandmother, took all the things and took the
s!tras to the mountains and they hid them. I heard that every family has some
same thing from this.
SAK: Do you still have some of things in your family?
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S: No. Just maybe in any mountain. We didn’t find them. Every family has this.
But now there are people who really want to take antiques and they really want to
sell them maybe they really want to go to the countryside to find them (Solongoo).
The Influence of Folk Rituals and Traditions
The other major influence on cultural Buddhist beliefs was stories from folk
tradition. When I asked what happened after death not all believed in reincarnation (see
Chapter Six). Those that did believe in it had very diverse interpretations about what
reincarnation meant. Most people that reported a belief in reincarnation referred to
Mongol death rituals, extra–normal events and/or monastic advice as evidence for the
theory of reincarnation. Traditionally, after a person dies, their body is marked from the
underside of a cooking pot (or pen, charcoal or milk) so that if they are reborn back into
the family they can be recognized by the appearance of birthmarks in the same spot
(Humphrey 2002: 78–79). It is common for family members to seek advice from lamas at
this time for prayers, predictions for the deceased’s rebirth and advice on appropriate
etiquette for the 49 days that it is said for a spirit to find a new birth (Humphrey 2002).
In many interviews people cited the appearance of birthmarks as evidence for
reincarnation. However, reincarnation was a flexible concept. In one interview,
Munkhtsetseg explained that in her view reincarnation as a human being was
enlightenment. She told me that karma was the accumulation of negative actions, not
positive ones and that if you accumulated too much karma then you could not be reborn
as a human and, therefore, you would go to hell. Being reborn as a human was the best
possible rebirth and if you became a human again you had become gegeerel (enlightened,
educated, bright).
S: What happens to you after you die if you are a good person?
M: You’ll be born again. Maybe you heard before about in Mongolia if someone
has died and you put black points on the body and then if someone is born again
in this family these points come on the opposite side of the body and then people
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realize that this is the person who died and he or she has been born again… In
different provinces it can be different but in Bayankhongor they put black spots.
S: And do you know anyone who has these marks?
M: I’ve seen someone. Someone who had many points here [pointing to her back].
It was when I went to the countryside and the grandfather of this child told us
that his daughter had died in a storm. She was under a tree and it was raining very
heavily and she died and then they put some spots, some black spots. Then
another daughter of his had a baby and this baby got these points on the other
side. I was thinking ‘wow, really?’ (Munkhtsetseg, 24).
People also referred to lamas’ predictions as evidence for reincarnation. Lamas often
predict that recently deceased relatives will be reborn into the same family. Advice from
lamas was sought during the socialist period and according to Humphrey, lamas often
give very specific information, predicting which part of the family the person will be
reborn into and what kind of life that person will lead (Humphrey 2002: 76). As
Otgonbayar, aged 25, explains:
O: I think depending on what you do in your life you go to the heaven or you can
be reborn or you can be like an animal, like a monster. Depending on what you
do. If you do bad things a lot you go hell or if you do good things, to heaven I
think. We went to a monk and he said your grandfather’s soul is coming to your
family again and then my uncle’s youngest son, his soul would be reborn into this
child. That’s what the monk said.
S: Do you believe it?
O: I think so. Because the monk said if he is reborn into your family again you
can check if he has your grandfather’s soul, that if he has some marks here and
here [pointing to her back and back of the neck]. I didn’t see that, but my
grandmother and the grandson’s parents, they saw the marks. So I think its true.
Whilst both Otgonbayar and Munkhtsetseg referred to birth–marks as evidence for
reincarnation Munkhtsetseg’s rebirth possibilities were more limited than Otgonbayar’s.
For Munkhtsetseg there was two options, rebirth as a human or in hell, whilst
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Otgonbayar believed that rebirth could be into multiple realms including the human
realm.
Another participant, Bolormaa, believed that it is possible for a single person to
be reborn into two different people.
Usually Mongolians say that after they die if I did good things when they were
alive they will become a person. But if I did bad things I will become an animal or
a wolf something like that. And also if you did good things and [believed in]
Burkhan you will become like Burkhan. For example my husband’s father… he died.
He was 75. When he was alive his children… never went to the hospital because
when the children were sick he did all the things. He read mantras and he also
blew and made light. He was not a lama but he did all things like a lama... He
always explained about Burkhan… After his death my husband’s older brother’s
son, he was 4 or 5 years old… Once he started to say ‘oh I saw my grandfather in
the sky’ and the father asked him ‘what did you see’ and he said ‘look he is in the
sky, he is standing on the clouds’ and also he talked about Yanjinlham... And a
few days later my lama brother’s wife’s child was born. We went to the lama and
asked what kind of name is better. And he said, he looked in the book, and he
said Yanjinlham… And also when the father died we left marks and that girl, that
newborn girl, and at that time I gave birth to my young girl and between them
there was five marks. I had already given birth to my girl and after 5 months that
girl Yanjinlham was born. And both of them have the same marks. And my
husband’s family were talking about they are both, my girl and Yanjinlham, are
their father. People when they die become a person but it could be several people.
My husband’s father especially loved my husband and my husband’s older brother
very much. So they believe my father returned into my family (Bolormaa, 33).
A couple of informants said that for 49 days the human soul would wander around
looking for a suitable rebirth. Sarangerel said that for 49 days after her grandfather died
she was told by friends to do good deeds, such as reading mantras, giving out ice cream to
children and giving food to homeless people. This she said was supposed to have a
positive influence on her grandfather’s next life. Other people thought that for 49 days
people became disembodied spirits looking for their next rebirth.
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It is also possible that if you have been a bad person, or become too attached to
material possessions that you could become a ghost and be unable to find a rebirth.
Delaplace writes that contemporary Mongol beliefs in Chinese ghosts can be traced to the
belief that having too many attachments to the material world can cause one to become a
ghost (Delaplace 2010; see also Humphrey 2002). Because Mongols stereotype Chinese
people as greedy it is thought that they are unable to leave their material possessions
behind and many people believe that Chinese merchants still haunt certain places
(Delaplace 2010). One informant told me that he did not like to visit cemeteries because
there could be spirits from the deceased still hanging around their body.
B: Recently I think that after death there is something. I don’t know in English
this word. But I think there is something. For example I heard that before death
some scientists have measured the weight of a man and after death they again
have measured like that and after death the weight of man has been reduced. By a
very small amount. I think it is proof. Spirit weighs some grams.
S: Does your spirit go back to the earth or go somewhere else?
B: It’s a very difficult question for me. If man before his death did something
wrong his spirit can remain on the earth. Or if for example if man before his
death really liked something very valuable then after death his spirit will remain.
If he is comfortable his spirit maybe go to paradise like some people say.
S: Do they have a new body?
B: No body, just without it. I don’t like to go to the place where people have been
buried because I’m sure there are very bad spirits. I don’t like to attend
(Baterdene, 27).
Whilst Baterdene is not talking about Chinese spirits specifically he expresses this idea
that being attached to material possessions at death means that you might stay as a ghost
on the earth. He also demonstrates the tendency that many of my informants had to refer
to scientific examples or concepts to add weight to religious ideas.
Like ideas about reincarnation, ideas about karma are also influenced by folk
tradition. When I asked my cultural Buddhist interlocutors if they believed in karma all
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but two said yes. Like reform Buddhists, they all said that karma was some kind of cause
and effect. You produce an action and somehow that action would create a result. The
Mongolian word for karma is literally action–result üiliin ür, üil meaning deed or action
and ür meaning result. The term’s very literal meaning, unlike sa%s&ra (orchlon) or
enlightenment (gegeerel), increased the consistency of the respondents’ explanations. The
most common response was that karma was the result of an action that would occur,
either in this life, and/or after this life.
I believe that if someone does bad things in the first half of their life then after
forty, maybe fifty years, they will face some difficulties in their life. Religion thinks
that it’s after you die, but I think it happens in this life (Ganzorig).
If you behave badly, then in the next life your life will be worse (Sarantuya).
Everyone that believed in karma thought that it was the relationship between actions and
results. However, the specifics of when the result would happen, in this life, or in the next,
differed. Although not every person who identifies as Buddhist believes in karma, the
concept seemed to be widespread in Ulaanbaatar. I was surprised to find in an interview
with a Muslim woman of Kazakh ethnicity that she believes in the concept (see Chapter
Six). Most informants are unsure exactly how karma works. People think it comes from
either a supernatural source, some kind of natural law or has something to do with energy
and/or a person’s psychology.
A number of respondents emphasized the energetic aspects of karma. Two of
them directly referred to a book on karma by popular Russian psychologist and self–help
guru Alexander Sviyash. This book has been translated into Mongolian. As Sarangerel
recalls:
In my opinion, karma is people’s thoughts. It only happens after thinking. For
example, if I think about bad things, my karma will increase. Whoever has a lot of
karma will suffer a lot. After reading this book, I am slowly limiting my bad
thoughts. Of course every person thinks some bad and some good things. But
sometimes I think a lot of bad things… If you think many bad things your karma
box will be full… For example, there is Bayaraa. I hate Bayaraa. I hate him because
I think very bad things about him. During that time my karma is increasing. But it
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does not influence him. Maybe if I hope that he will go well or she will go well I
will decrease my karma.
As you can see from this quote, Sarangerel conceives of karma as the store of negative
thoughts. In order to decrease bad karma one must replace negative thoughts with
positive ones. Unlike the separate bank accounts of good and bad karma that is a
common metaphor among reform Buddhists (see Chapter Four), for Sarangerel there is
only one box of karma and the challenge is to decrease the karma in the box. Other
participants think that karma is only negative and were confused when I asked them to
name things that created good karma.
Whilst all reform Buddhists see the actor as being at the nexus of the cycle of
cause and effect, cultural Buddhists do not necessarily see this as being a central part of
the concept. Five of the interviewees do not believe that the person who creates bad or
good karma necessarily bears the effects of what they had created. Karma, instead, can be
inherited from a person’s ancestors. One woman told me that she believed that the death
of her male work colleague’s eighteen year–old daughter, who had been killed in an
accident, was the result of her colleague’s womanizing past. The other examples all
referred to people who were benefiting from corruption, such as politicians or miners.
In Mongolia there are a lot of, not just in Mongolia but everywhere, you know,
there’s corruption. You get rich with bad money, you know, dirty money and
things like that. So for yourself, doing bad things, you could get rich and lead a
good life. But still after that the consequences and the karma I think goes to your
children, and if it doesn’t go to your children then maybe it goes to your
grandchildren and then I heard once that if you do a bad thing it goes to seven
generations. So, yeah, I kind of believe in that. And also there is a saying like in
my age there are a lot of young guys who say that if you have a small child and
then if you cheat on your wife then it will really influence your small child. So
maybe it’s kind of similar to karma (Sükh).
This seems to be a way that some people understand injustice. Whilst they do not see
corrupt officials suffering ‘instant karma’, they believe that it will have a negative effect on
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their family. It was also a way to interpret unjust circumstances or bad luck that people
experience themselves or see their friends enduring. According to Nergui:
In Mongolia we have a saying, whatever you do now affects your children and
grandchildren and so on. So I do believe that. I’ve seen people who are trying
hard but they’re not succeeding. Maybe they are just suffering from the karma of
their relatives or whoever. Whoever was close to them has caused it. But I do
think that if they really keep trying hard and then if they do good things enough
then they can stop it.
This idea that karma can be passed down from generation to generation is also found
amongst the Aginsk Buryats (Tsydenova 2008). Tsydenova argues that this concept can be
traced back to the worship of ancestors in the ancestor cults (Tsydenova 2008: 116).
Perhaps this belief amongst some of my interlocutors that karma can be passed down
from generation to generation can also be traced back to folk beliefs.
The relationship that most of my cultural Buddhist interlocutors have with
Buddhist institutions may be described as complex. Due to the irregularity of contact
with Buddhist institutions and the opacity of Buddhist ritual activities most are self
conscious about their ignorance of Buddhism. Whilst most feel good after attending
Buddhist temples, not all see their relationship with these institutions as unproblematic.
Some feel that there are not enough lay educational activities occurring in temples and
that the education of monastics could also be improved. Others are unsure if they can
trust religious practitioners because of the emphasis placed on revenue raising at the
expense of doctrinal teachings and the spiritual ambience of the temples. Still others
expressed concerns about the moral conduct of the monastic population and these
apprehensions tended to centre on celibacy, alcohol consumption and the continuity of
tradition. Along with historical contingencies, such as the ‘domestication’ of religion
during the socialist period, and cultural contingencies, such as the importance of
exemplars in Mongol morality, these uncertainties propel individuals to seek religious
education in non–institutional contexts.
Most cultural Buddhists that I spoke to prefer to be educated in the private sphere.
Talking to friends, family members or practicing folk traditions tend to form the basis of
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religious education, rather than public institutions. This tendency, along with the
irregularity and opacity of institutional interactions increases the diversity of ritual
exegeses and religious philosophies. As a result of the fractured and incomplete concepts
that this education often provides, cultural Buddhists frequently acquire knowledge
about religious matters from alternative religious groups or religious materials and, as I
will discuss in Chapter Six, these groups have a substantial effect on cultural Buddhist
religious concepts. Reform Buddhists, on the other hand, are educated in the public
sphere. At Dharma Centres they are taught complex religious doctrine and contemplative
practices, and these religious lessons, as well as public rituals, informs their religiosity. In
the next two chapters I will discuss how reform Buddhist organisations offer an
alternative to local Buddhist institutions by teaching extensive philosophical ideas and
transformative practices and how these in turn create religious exegeses characterised by
confidence, stability and orthodoxy.
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Chapter Four
Reform Buddhist Education: Philosophy and Spirituality
The experiences of the reform Buddhists who participated in my research present
an alternative to those of cultural Buddhists. Rather than focusing on ritual efficacy,
reform Buddhists learn about philosophical doctrine and how to implement doctrinal
moral standards through transformative practices. Influenced by their exposure to
Western ideas about religious education, translocal Buddhist organisations aim to
educate rather than concentrating, as local Buddhist organisations do, on the relationship
between the lay population and the sa!gha. The focus of reform Buddhist institutions is
to teach individuals about religion for soteriological ends. These ends must be pursued by
individual practitioners themselves, the work cannot be done for them by the monastic
community. Because of the regular interaction that reform Buddhists have with Dharma
Centres, complicated practices as well as doctrine can be passed down to students and lay
Buddhists can participate in transformative practices that enable them to embody
Buddhist moral discipline to varying degrees.
Whilst cultural Buddhist interpretations of Buddhism tend to be characterised by
hybridity, heterodoxy and bricolage, the philosophical interpretations of Buddhism
amongst reform Buddhists are more consistent, keeping within a close radius of Buddhist
orthodoxies. Core concepts are interpreted in accordant ways and Buddhist practices are
understood to be beneficial for similar reasons. Part of the reason for this consistency is
the frequencies of contact that reform Buddhists have with Buddhist institutions. Most of
the reform Buddhists I interviewed participate in Buddhist classes weekly and attend
religious rituals on special days. This regular interaction enables religious specialists to
impart complex Buddhist doctrine to lay people, a difficult task for the Mongol Sa!gha
that interface with lay Buddhists primarily at temples.
The attitudes that reform Buddhist institutions have towards religious education
are very different to local Mongol Buddhist organisations. When reform Buddhist
organisations conduct public rituals, such as tantric initiations, these rituals are explained
thoroughly during the transmission. When lay Buddhists participate in bi–monthly takhil
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the Tibetan transcriptions that they are given also come with a Mongolian translation.
Mantras are taught along with their meanings and during meditation classes the purpose
of meditation is clearly explained. Due to the clarity of these rituals, reform Buddhists
learn about Buddhism in the public rather than the private sphere. Unlike cultural
Buddhists who frequently refer to advice from friends and family members and hearsay,
reform Buddhists mostly mention religious teachers, Buddhist books or personal
reflection as the primary sources of religious information.
As a result of these shared religious experiences, core religious concepts about
morality and spirituality tend to be consistent. Divergence between individual
interpretations of religious concepts and practices tends to be small with the notable
exception of the efficacy of prayers read at temples by lamas and the extent to which
individuals do transformative practices outside of classes. Overall, individual ideas about
core Buddhist concepts are intelligible to one another and refer to the Buddhist doctrine
on which they are based.
Globalization: Changing Attitudes Towards Religion
The style of teaching that translocal Buddhist organisations advocate in Mongolia
is the result of decades of interaction between the West and the Tibetan diaspora. Whilst
Western scholars initially viewed the lineages of Buddhism practiced in Tibet and
Mongolia unfavourably, Tibeto–Mongolian Buddhism has become very popular in the
West. As a result of its popularity internationally, Western expectations about religious
tutelage have influenced the Tibetan diaspora’s style of religious instruction.
Initially, Western scholars and explorers did not view the Tibeto–Mongolian style
of Buddhism positively. For centuries Western scholars have referred to the Mongol and
Tibetan variant of Buddhism as ‘Lamaism’ in spite of it never being a term used by either
to describe their own religion (Lopez Jr. 1996). As Donald Lopez Jr. writes, European
explorers and missionaries were at first surprised by how alike in looks and behaviour the
Tibetan monks were to the priests of the Roman Catholic Church. The similarities of
robe, of hierarchy and the structured, yet mysterious, rituals the Tibetans were involved
in were accounted for in a number ways. Some Catholic explorers thought that perhaps
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the strange culture of Tibet was a result of diffusionism: that the Tibetan figure of the
Tsongkhapa was a Catholic missionary whose transmission of Catholicism to the Tibetan
plateau remained incomplete. An alternative view was that Tibetan Buddhism was an
inversion of the right forms of Roman Catholicism and was a method of communicating
with the devil (Lopez Jr. 1996).
According to Lopez Jr., in the last half of the nineteenth century, when Protestant
scholars described ‘Lamaism’ they presented it as an inferior devolution of the ‘true
Buddhism’ of Theravada (Lopez Jr. 1996: 13). Theravada Buddhism, considered to be
more rational and less mystical, was likened to Protestantism whilst ‘Lamaism’ was
likened to Catholicism. Unlike Protestantism, which had grown out of Catholicism,
‘Lamaism’ was viewed as degeneration from the ‘true Buddhism’ from which it descended.
The rise of interest in Buddhism in England during the last half of the nineteenth
century coincided with the ‘No Popery’ movement, marked by the Murphy Riots
of 1866–71 and the wide popularity of works such as Richard Whately’s Essays on
the Errors of Romanism (1856) and The Confessional Unmasked, distributed to
each member of Parliament in 1865 by the Protestant Evangelical Mission and
Electoral Union. It is against this setting that the Protestant discourse on Lamaism
must be placed: Lamaism, with its devious and corrupt priests and vapid
sacerdotalism, is condemned as the most degenerate form of Buddhism (if it be a
form of Buddhism at all) at the moment when Roman Catholicism is being
scourged in England (Lopez Jr. 1996: 16).
Protestant expectations about religion in the late nineteenth century dismissed Tibetan
Buddhism as hierarchical and esoteric in contrast to the ‘religion of reason’ (Lopez Jr.
1996: 18) that they saw in Theravada Buddhism. Gananath Obeyesekere argues that this
growing attraction to Theravada can also be linked to the ideal of a non-theistic religion
that was growing in reaction to the scientific atheisms that followed from Darwinism and
Nietzsche’s proclamation of the death of God (Obeysekere 2006: 71)41.
Obeysekere writes that these attitudes towards the ‘Tibetan’ style of Buddhism
began to change with the Theosophical society’s esoteric explorations of Vajrayana
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41
It should be noted here that Nietzsche was well versed in contemporary Western understandings of
Buddhist philosophy (see Morrison 1997).
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Buddhism in the late nineteenth century (Obeysekere 2006: 77). They transformed again
when the invasion of Tibet by China in the 1950s brought a once mysterious and remote
religion onto the global stage, which then began to attract a more diverse series of
interpretations. The first Tibeto–Mongolian Buddhist institution was built in the West in
New Jersey in 1955 and was started by a Kalmyk Buddhist, Geshe Wangyal, who had
escaped the persecutions of religion in Soviet Russia during the 1930s (Ignacio Cabezón
2006: 97). This was soon followed by an increase in Tibeto–Mongolian Buddhist
institutions internationally after Chinese troops reached Lhasa in 1959 and many high–
ranking Buddhists, including the charismatic Fourteenth Dalai Lama, fled across the
Himalayas and were granted asylum in India. Several high–ranking Buddhist lamas, such
as Namkhai Norbu and Deshung Rinpoche, were invited to participate in scholarly
projects in Western countries in the 1960s (Ignacio Cabezón 2006). Since then Buddhist
institutions of all of the four major lineages (Gelugpa, Nyingmapa, Sakyapa and Kagyupa)
have spread to the West and many Westerners now travel to parts of India, such as
Dharamsala (where the Tibetan government in exile resides), to receive teachings from
Buddhist lamas and the Fourteenth Dalai Lama. Film stars such as Richard Gere and
Steven Seagal are famous practitioners of Tibeto–Mongolian Buddhism and both are
advocates of the ‘Free Tibet’ movement. The charismatic presence of the Dalai Lama,
who was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1989, has added to the growing attraction of
this style of Buddhism in the West (Ignacio Cabezón 2006).
Thomas Tweed argues that American interpretations of Buddhism differ from
Asian styles in a number of important ways. He writes that they tend to be more
transnational, pragmatic, experiential, democratic, individualistic, ecumenical and
‘Protestant’ than their Asian counterparts (Tweed 2006: 165). These traits, like
Numrich’s division of ‘ethnic Buddhists’ and ‘convert Buddhists’ (Numrich 2003), are
useful when comparing global Buddhist organisations to local Mongol temples in a
number of ways. They also demonstrate how much these global Buddhist organisations
have been influenced by Western expectations of religious experiences.
Global Buddhist organisations in Mongolia are certainly transnational. They have
people working for them from Tibet, India, Mongolia, Australia, Ireland, America and
elsewhere. They are more pragmatic in the sense that they are involved in charity to help
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the poor and they tend to be more experiential than local institutions as they teach
meditation, prostrations, and other transformative practices to lay practitioners (see
Chapter Five). They also operate more democratically than local organisations. At the end
of each class the students at Jampa Ling sit in a circle and discuss what they have learned
with one another. At the end of each talk or introductory meditation class that I went to
at Dharma Centres there was an opportunity for questions, with the exception of a
tantric initiation I attended that was given by the head of the Sakya lineage, Sakya Trizin.
Reform Buddhist organisations, in comparison to cultural Buddhist institutions, tend to
focus on individual transformation rather than building the interaction between the laity
and the sa!gha. However, I would argue that in Mongolia, whilst local organisations
promote the community of the nation, global Buddhist organisations promote the
building of communities through the regular attendance of Dharma Centres. In this
sense they are not more individualistic than cultural Buddhist organisations. Many people
that attend Dharma Centres regularly become friends and community is built from
common experiences. At local Buddhist institutions this opportunity for meeting
regularly with others does not occur. Also, as both reform and cultural Buddhists I spoke
to in Mongolia tend to be ecumenical this difference is not applicable. And finally, whilst
it seems strange to apply the label ‘Protestant’ to Buddhist organisations connected to the
Tibetan diaspora, because of its imputed historical associations to Catholicism, the styles
of teaching that global Buddhist organisations encourage, with their emphasis on
understanding and translation, are more similar to the ideals of knowledge acquisition
found amongst Protestant derived educational traditions.
Gombrich and Obeyesekere in their book Buddhism Transformed (1988) detail the
idea of ‘Protestant Buddhism’ in relation to new forms of Buddhism in Sri Lanka. I will
not apply this term to reform Buddhist organisations in Mongolia as the characteristics
that the authors detail do not elucidate the current ethnography. As they describe it,
‘Protestant Buddhism’ has the characteristics of being polemic, fundamentalist, anti–
religious, and dependent upon English language concepts (Gombrich & Obeyesekere
1988: 218). Reform Buddhism in Ulaanbaatar is none of the above. For instance, when
one of the Irish volunteers at the Buddhist centre was having problems with consoling
her Buddhist practices with her Catholicism, Panchen Ötrul Rinpoche told her that she
should continue her prostrations whilst thinking about the Son, the Father and the Holy
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Ghost. The idea that monks are not practicing in an ideal way in Mongolia does not, like
Sri Lanka a former colony of the British Empire, have Protestant roots (Gombrich &
Obeyesekere 1988: 225). Rather, the idea of monastic ‘degeneration’ reflects the
historical relationship between Tibet and Mongolia where the Tibetans have historically
considered Mongolian Buddhism to be under the religious tutelage of Tibet (see Johan
Elverskog 2007). Additionally, the translations of religious concepts are not from English,
but are being translated from Tibetan to Mongolian, or from old translations written in
Mongol bichig. Unlike Gombrich and Obeyesekere’s fieldsite (1988: 228), Mongolian
monks have not taken on the roles of Protestant priests, with whom they have had little
or no contact. Whilst my interlocutors all interact with ‘modern’ ideas of education, these
ideas have not originated exclusively in the Protestant ‘West’. Years of Soviet–style
education still have an influence on lay understandings of religious education.
Furthermore, it should not be forgotten that many Tibetans in diaspora have ended up in
Catholic or Orthodox Christian countries. Many of the early diaspora, such as Namkhai
Norbu, live in Catholic countries such as Italy and Jampa Ling is run, not by an
organisation based in a Protestant country but by an Irish NGO.
Transmissive Frequency and Religious Exegesis
Reform Buddhist organisations have been considerably influenced by Western
expectations about religion. One of the consequences is that, instead of irregular contact
with Buddhist institutions, on important days or during times of crisis, reform Buddhists
attend classes once a week enabling them to learn about religious philosophy and
practices. Harvey Whitehouse argues that the transmissive frequency of rituals affects the
range of ritual exegeses between individuals in religious groups (2001a). Ritual cycles that
occur with great frequency, such as once a week church services and weekly attendance at
Dharma Centres, ‘tend to be associated with some form of widely–known exegesis,
maintained through a supervisory prominence of a religious hierarchy’ (Whitehouse
2001a: 173). On the other hand, rituals that occur infrequently, such as in societies that
practice witchcraft, tend to be interpreted amongst individuals with greater diversity. I
would argue, in line with Whitehouse’s thesis, that amongst reform Buddhists the greater
degree of consistency in ritual exegeses is partially to do with high ritual frequency, which
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is a style of religious tuition esteemed in Western religious institutions. Cultural
Buddhists, for whom religious rituals occur with relative infrequency, however, have a
wider divergence of ritual exegeses, partly as a result of this infrequency.
Whitehouse argues that the reason for differences in exegeses is that ritual
frequency alters the way that memory is encoded. Because regular rituals tend to be highly
repetitive and regularly rehearsed they are encoded in implicit memory. This kind of
memory is similar to how one learns to ride a bicycle. At first it takes conscious effort and
concentration to learn how to ride and then, after some practice, riding can be done
without much conscious effort. Like riding a bicycle, participation in regular rituals
initially involves large amounts of concentration then, after enough repetition, it no
longer requires conscious effort (Whitehouse 2001a: 175).
Whitehouse writes that repetitive rituals tend to be found in religious traditions
with complex doctrine. In order for such complicated religious traditions to be passed on
their rituals need to be ‘attributed standard meanings that are verbally transmitted and
widely shared’ (2001a: 175–176). Implicit memory coding encouraged by frequent ritual
transmissions does not encourage ‘spontaneous reflection’ on other possible meanings
(2001a: 176). The emphasis instead is on adherence to, rather than elaboration on,
authoritative and standardized exegesis. ‘When, as the result of repetition, one no longer
thinks about how to do a ritual, one becomes less likely to reflect upon why one performs
it’ (Whitehouse 2001a: 176). Whilst reform Buddhists are encouraged to reflect
philosophically on Buddhist exercises, there are certain types of scepticism, such as on the
relationship between student and teacher, that are highly discouraged. Doubt is seen as
being an essential part of Buddhist practice but too much of it, for instance doubting the
central tenets of Buddhism, is seen as being detrimental to spiritual practice. Lama Zorigt
from Jampa Ling said that whilst reasonable doubt was useful, doubt about the things
that he understood as core Buddhist teachings, such as karma, wasted time and was only
a hindrance to spiritual practice.
Cultural Buddhists, on the other hand, lack the kind of ritual frequency that
enables the transmission of complex doctrine. Whitehouse argues that rituals
characterized by transmissive infrequency tend to have a broader range of individual
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ritual exegeses. This kind of ritual transmission encourages people to participate in
spontaneous reflection about ritual events.
Major rituals, performed in cycles that have to be counted in years rather than
months/weeks/days, are not accorded meaning in the same way as routinized rites.
Not only is official exegesis lacking or restricted, but personal exegetical reflection
appears to be much more intense and widespread. People who participate in rare
initiation rites, installation ceremonies, climactic millenarian rituals, and so on,
tend to reflect deeply on the meanings of their activities, producing elaborate
exegetical knowledge that is intensely personal and often hard to communicate
verbally (2001a: 174).
A different type of memory, episodic memory, is engaged when an individual engages in
irregular rituals. This type of memory encoding, unlike implicit memory, encourages
individual reflection.
Whitehouse proposes that there is a continuum along which different ritual
transmissions and exegeses can be plotted. For example, some of the terror inducing
initiation rites in Papua New Guinea, that occur about once every ten or twelve years,
leave intense imprints in memory that he labels ‘flashbulb’ memory (Whitehouse 2001b).
Whilst cultural Buddhists did not participate in religious rituals quite so infrequently and
these rituals involved less intense experiences, I find it helpful to use Whitehouse’s
continuum to plot these two styles of Buddhism. Amongst reform Buddhists there is a
continuity of ritual exegesis that is not found amongst cultural Buddhists. Reform
Buddhists attend repetitive weekly classes with regular rituals and philosophical teachings
that are explained with great complexity, whilst cultural Buddhist participate infrequently
in rituals, most often one to three times a year. Ritual exegesis, for reform Buddhists,
rather than remaining opaque with very little, if any, explanation from an authoritative
source is explained with a great deal of depth and clarity.
Amongst the reform Buddhists that I interviewed, highly complex philosophies
and practices are interpreted without too much divergence from the source teachings.
There are, of course, some variations between individual interpretations but this is to be
expected because, in addition to the normal amount of variation one might expect, these
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participants are living in a society where their style of Buddhism is in the minority and
they are encouraged to do a certain amount of individual reflection about their religious
practice, even if this reflection has limits. In comparison to cultural Buddhists, reform
Buddhists receive complex religious transmissions that convey elaborate doctrine and
practices.
Religious Consistency: Karma, The Law of Cause and Effect
Central to Buddhist notions of spirituality and morality are ideas about karma.
When I asked reform Buddhist participants what they thought karma was most answered
that it was the natural or scientific law of cause and effect. In Mongolian the word for
karma literally means the fruits of actions (üiliin ür), üil meaning deed or action and ür
meaning result. A frequent metaphor I heard from participants was that your actions
were like the seeds of future results, which at some point, either in this life or the next, or
the next, will mature and be harvested. Simply, negative actions yield negative results and
positive actions yield positive results. You cannot expect to get cabbage if you planted
potato as one of my interlocutors put it.
According to Lama Zorigt’s teachings of the Lam Rim Chen Mo, there are three
ways to sow these seeds, through your body, your speech and your mind. Around half of
the reform Buddhists that I interviewed referred to the ten non–virtuous actions when I
asked what causes bad karma. The ten non–virtuous actions (arvan khar nügel) are divided
into actions committed through the body, speech and mind. Instead of using the word
‘sin’ here I have translated nügel as ‘action’, as ‘sin’ is a supersaturated concept in English.
Because intention and inner states are discussed as sites of moral guidance my use of the
term ‘action’ instead of ‘sin’ when referring to inner states of the mind is deliberate and
carries with it the explicit connotation of thought as action which is manifest in my
interlocutors’ explanations. Within Buddhist conceptions, the inner experiences of mind
and body carry with them karmic consequences. As such, actions are not just the things
that we do. Actions are also what we think and how we feel, as these are seen as having
real karmic consequences. Three of the ten non–virtuous actions are done by acts of the
body: killing, stealing and engaging in sexual misconduct. Four are by acts of speech: lying,
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gossiping, verbally hurting others and engaging in senseless chatter. And the final three,
which are the foundations of all bad actions, are non–virtuous actions of the mind: being
covetous, feeling malice and holding the wrong views. Holding the wrong views refer to
the misunderstanding or denial of the teachings within Buddhism. For example denying
the law of karma is thought to be a wrong view and is therefore, like ‘unreasonable’ doubt,
discouraged (Tsong-kha-pa 2000: 226-227).
To understand reform Buddhist ideas about karma we need to look at more than
just the list of activities to be avoided. When I asked the question of what created good or
bad karma many respondents listed their own experiences of things they thought should
not be done, rather than referring to these rules. Karma was explained as a law of cause
and effect that comes back to the self, in this lifetime or the next. Rather than seeing the
results of your actions as diffuse, the actor is at the nexus of karma, receiving back what
they put out42. As Chimeg a former factory worker aged seventy–five describes:
If I do bad things, the karma will be bad. If I do good things, the karma will be
good. It depends on the action. During my life times, I have experienced both
good and bad results and I might have done more bad things than good ones,
which might be the reason for my suffering. I suffered because I have done bad
actions. But I have the opportunity now to receive the teachings. This is because
of the good karma from my previous life. If my actions are bad then my karma will
be bad. If my actions are good then my karma will be good.
As explained by Chimeg, you experience the results of your own actions. Because karma
can come back to you in this lifetime or the next this explains the experience of seemingly
unjust suffering. One can create good and bad karma during their lifetime and both have
results. Whilst karma was occasionally explained to me as the balancing of a bank account,
I do not think that this is the best metaphor for how participants perceived karma. None
of the reform Buddhists discussed karma as though it was something to be counted up at
the end of a lifetime to see whether it was positive or negative. Rather, it was more like
having two stores of karma, one negative and one positive. Some actions bore positive
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To clarify, there was no evidence to suggest that any of the participants had accepted the attitude of nonself as it is propounded in Buddhist philosophy (see below).
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results and others, negative results. As Chimeg said, she considered being born as a
human and being able to hear the Buddhist teachings to be the result of the good karma
that she accrued in her previous lifetime. However, the suffering she has experienced in
her lifetime she thought was the results of the bad karma she accrued in this and her
previous lifetimes.
For many reform Buddhist interlocutors the results of karma were due to natural
laws only and no supernatural agency was invoked.
The world has its own interdependent arising and cause and effect. The nature of
existence is ruled by cause and effect. It moves in relation to the law of cause and
effect. If I receive good things, it will be because of the fact that I did good things.
There is no Buddha [Burkhan] judging you or deciding whether you will go to
good or bad realms (Erdenechimeg, 18).
The ‘interdependent arising’ (S. prat(tyasamutp&da) that Erdenechimeg referring to is the
belief, in Buddhist philosophy, that all things are interconnected and therefore arise
together. Karma, like the laws of physics, does not need supernatural beings that are
responsible for it: it is a natural law.
Others believed that there were some extraordinary beings that regulated how one
moved from this world into the next. Narangerel, a university student and former
recipient of charitable aid, told me the following after I asked her if she could influence
the ripening of bad results into bad karma once she had committed a negative action:
You know that in the teachings of the Buddha, the Buddha says that if you make
a mistake then afterwards you have to acknowledge it… I know this one story.
There is a lady, she lives in India and she’s not very generous. She’s always keeping
her things from others. If somebody asks for some bread, even if she has some, she
will not give it to them. She’s always keeping things for herself and everybody
knows that she is not a very nice person she is not that generous. One time, when
she was walking, she saw one baby cow. That cow was nearly going to die because
it was starving. She realised this and she felt such compassion in her spirit that her
clothes became full of milk. They were soaked with milk and then she cut her
clothes and then wrung out the milk and then left it for the cow and then she
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died. And then her bad things were like a mountain and then the deity of the hell
said, ‘oh now you need to go to hell’. And then she was walking down and a piece
of the cotton closed the way to hell. That cotton just closed the entrance and the
deity of the hell said that it was her clothes. Because of that cotton she gave to the
cow, to give the milk to the cow. Her merit of compassion just closed the doors of
hell and she didn’t have to go (Narangerel).
Here, Narangerel recounts that in spite of the protagonist’s bad actions, one good action
from pure compassion meant that she wasn’t reborn into the Buddhist hell realms. In
this way, good actions and bad actions have results that are weighted differentially
according to the intentions that produce them. They are not balanced against each other
at the end of a lifetime cancelling each other out. Instead, each separate action has a
separate result. Even though a supernatural agent told her to go to hell, her own action of
compassion literally blocked this decision. Although all reform Buddhist respondents
agreed that karma was the law of cause and effect this law was not thought about in an
identical way. For some there was no interference of supernatural agents, and for others
Buddhas, Bodhisattvas and deities could have an influence on the cycles of karma and
rebirth.
As Narangerel recounted in her story, actions alone do not create positive or
negative results, but it is the intentions behind those actions that have karmic effects.
When I asked Ganbaatar what karma was, he responded:
We are always making karma. We are making karma now. Your mind is always
making karma. When you sleep, when you are walking outside... But
unfortunately most people have bad habits, and make bad karma. We have to
destroy these bad habits. Because bad habits make bad karma. The habits are in
your mind, in our minds… To fix the mind is very hard. Some people never give
up smoking it’s very hard to give it up... But if someone tries, everything is
possible. We’re making karma all the time. Every living being (Ganbaatar).
Bad karma is made through more than a person’s actions. Here Ganbaatar says that to
avoid making bad karma a person’s inner states must be transformed so that their feelings
and intentions are positive. This makes the basis of their actions pure and good.
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The other difference that I noticed in the respondents’ explanations of karma is
the influence they thought they could have on the ripening of karma once an action had
occurred. As the metaphor of karmic seeds, karmic ripening and karmic fruit were
consistently used in my interviews and conversations with people about karma I have
integrated them into my own descriptions. Because karmic law comes back to you, as the
results of your personal actions, most people agreed that there is very little they can do
personally to help a loved one improve their karma after an action has occurred. My
interlocutors think that if you are able to have an effect on someone’s karma it is either
whilst they are producing bad karma or before they have committed a non–virtuous
action. When I asked Oyuna, a university student aged twenty–one, if she could influence
another person’s karma she said:
In some ways yes. For instance, if one of my family members is really angry and I
am also angry and fighting back, it makes the condition worse. So I think, ‘this
person is caught up in anger at this moment so I will talk after he or she calms
down’. I will give up. This means I am stopping that person from feeling even
angrier. If I fight back that person will fire up. Instead, after we have finished
fighting I try to give the person some advice by telling them the harm in being
angry.
By encouraging someone not to be angry and giving advice to prevent future outbursts of
anger Oyuna believes that she is discouraging the accrual of bad karma. She does not
think, however, that she can affect the repercussions for another, once the seed of bad
karma has already been planted.
Even though karma is conceived as something for which you are personally
responsible, people perceive some weaknesses in the karmic covenant. Karma can be
mitigated through personal practice by acknowledging (naminchlakh) your negative deeds.
I have intentionally translated naminchlakh as ‘to acknowledge’ instead of ‘to repent’ or ‘to
confess’ as both of these terms have Christian religious connotations in English and
misconstrue the practice. Lama Zorigt teaches that in order to prevent the ripening of bad
karma that there are activities one can do. He teaches his students that every night they
should take refuge in the three jewels: the Buddha, dharma and the sa!gha. After this they
should think through the actions of the day and acknowledge those things that have
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created bad karma. Then they should promise not to do those things again until they
reach enlightenment, pray and do prostrations. If someone does these practices with
absolute sincerity and commitment, the results of bad karma can theoretically be
mitigated. Some of my interlocutors (especially the older ones) do this practice every night.
Lama Zorigt, one of my key informants, is a Mongol lama who was teaching most
of the weekend classes at Jampa Ling during my fieldwork. He has taken extensive
monastic vows and was twenty–four at the end of my fieldwork. He was born in
Ulaanbaatar and his mother works as a businesswoman for a well–known cashmere
company and lives in an apartment near the centre of the city. When he was young he
began studying Buddhism with Tibetan born Geshe Lhawang Gyaltsen, who was also a
teacher at Jampa Ling during my fieldwork. At fourteen, Lama Zorigt travelled to India to
be educated at the Drepung Gomang Monastery in the South of India, where he studied
for seven years. This monastery, as he described it, was quite strict and his teacher
discouraged him from talking to other Mongol students because he thought it would
impede his Tibetan language acquisition. Zorigt rarely left the monastery compound, as
novices have to get several high–ranking lamas to approve their leave. The monastic
pedagogical method began with memorisation, followed by debating and then
examinations. Lama Zorigt was given a Tibetan name when he was in India but upon
returning his friends and students prefer to call him by his Mongol name. He was one of
the two residential monks at Jampa Ling during our stay (though this number expanded
in summer during Panchen Ötrul Rinpoche’s visit). The other residential monk, Lama
Pürevsükh Urtnasan, studied with Lama Zorigt at the Drepung Gomang Monastery and
was working as a translator, translating untranslated and modern Tibetan texts into
modern Mongolian. Jampa Ling received funding from one of the Dalai Lama’s charities
to build a printing press and this is now used to print translations of important Buddhist
texts into Mongolian in the basement.
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Figure 16 – Lama Zorigt in the shrine room at Jampa Ling
There are many Buddhist stories about people who have done terrible deeds and
then practice Buddhism in such a deep way that they are able to become enlightened
within the same lifetime. Lama Zorigt told us a story of a prince who was influenced by a
malicious servant. This servant kept telling the prince that he should kill his father, the
king. ‘Why aren’t you king yet?’ the servant would say, ‘Your father is old’. For a long
time, the prince did not listen to the servant but slowly the voice of the servant became
too powerful. ‘But how could I kill my own father?’ he asked. The servant said that he
would get someone else to do it and the prince agreed. After killing the king the prince
was overcome with regret. The king was very wise and had become an arhat43 and the
action of killing both a parent and an arhat created immense amounts of bad karma. The
prince felt so awful that he didn’t want to take his place on the throne. The Buddha was
travelling past the kingdom and when he visited the prince, the prince confessed his
mistakes and asked if there was anything he could do. So the Buddha taught him
acknowledgement. The prince eventually became so kind that he could purify even the
worst karma he had accrued. The Buddha did not tell him that killing an arhat and his
father created very bad karma because he knew that the prince would kill himself and
would never be able to acknowledge his wrong doings and purify his karma. There are
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Someone who has reached a high level of spiritual awakening but is not yet a fully enlightened Buddha.
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other stories like this, such as the famous story of Milarepa who killed most of his family
and then reached enlightenment within the same lifetime. These stories illustrate this
possibility of purifying even the worst of negative actions.
The idea of purifying your karma was taught by Lama Zorigt as a way to
understand suffering. In addition to understanding suffering as the result of negative past
actions it was explained that by experiencing suffering during this lifetime the bad karma
you had accrued in previous lives (or in this life) was being depleted. For example if a
person was unwell, Lama Zorigt counselled that they should imagine their store of bad
karma reducing, instead of focusing on their illness. Some respondents also thought
about reducing all the world’s suffering through their own personal suffering. When I
asked Tuyagerel, a twenty–one year old university student, to explain sa%s&ra she said:
About sa%s&ra, in books it says that it is an eternity of suffering. But, instead of
seeing everything as hard or as suffering, I try to see the side of peace. It feels like
its not suffering. If I am sick, I think that I am carrying the suffering of other
people. Like, I am blocking the suffering of other people by instead experiencing
it myself.
Here Tuyagerel is referring to practices in Buddhism (such as tonglin) where practitioners
try to take away the suffering of others by experiencing it themselves.
Whilst some reform Buddhists believe that they can influence another person’s
karma by having prayers read for them, others were sceptical about the benefits. When I
asked reform Buddhists what they thought happened after the prayers were read, some
people believed the action of the lama reading the prayer itself had a very powerful and
positive effect.
My sister burnt from like here, the back side, with hot water and then she was
staying in the hospital and for a few days she wasn’t able to walk. And then my
mum went to the lama to ask him to pray for her younger daughter. She was in
hospital, and then that lama read some prayers for my sister and then my mum
and myself came into the hospital and I saw one girl and then she was walking
with new boots. And those shoes (actually my mum bought for my sister) and
then I told my mother, ‘oh these shoes are the same like my sister’s’. And then
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she said ‘yes it’s the same for my… younger daughter’ and then we looked up and
it was my sister. She was running and then the mother of her roommate was
saying ‘your sister was running all day almost’. Oh my gosh! That lama read very
good prayers for my sister, some of them helped her (Narangerel).
Here Narangerel accounts her sister’s speedy recovery to the prayers that were read by the
lama. In this sense the lama prayers have intervened in the law of cause and effect and
have provided efficacy for an injured person.
Another response was that if you believe in the prayers that they will work, but if
you don’t then they won’t have any effect. What is important, in this view, is that you
have thought about the prayers, not that the lama has read them. Some people said that
by ordering the prayers you have spent time directing positive energy towards something
and that this, in itself, creates benefits. The prayers themselves may or may not have an
effect but it is the power of your own mind that is efficacious.
In Buddhism you have to believe in yourself. You think that you’re getting energy
even though the benefit of the prayer doesn’t affect you very much. It fixes the
mind or recharges our self with this energy by thinking that all the non-virtuous
actions are blocked. Also, of course, there must be some force coming from the
prayers. Because the lama has been doing it for many years (Oyuna).
Others thought that getting prayers read is just a form of superstition and has absolutely
no effect.
My life depends only on me. A lama’s prayers have no bearing on my suffering or
happiness. Besides, there is no possibility to ease or avoid my suffering with the
help of others. I have to endure the suffering that I have created. If I have to
overcome it, it is myself who has to manage to overcome it. Others have no effect
on it. I did not think like this when I was child. However, after becoming a
student [of Buddhism] I thought about my past and I concluded that things
depend only on me (Erdenechimeg).
None of the cultural or reform Buddhists that I interviewed emphasised the donation to
the lama itself as the cause of benefit. In this way, Mongol lay Buddhists depart from
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other lay Buddhist cultures where the merit made by giving a donation to monastics is
central to their understandings of karma. For most lay Buddhists elsewhere the merit that
is acquired from the act of donation is the core motivation for the exchange of ritual
services for ‘freely given’ donations (S. d&na) (Gutschow 2004; Samuels 2007; Spiro 1982;
Tambiah 1970). Whilst most Mongols I interviewed thought that it is a good thing to give
food or money to lamas because they have provided a service, it is the power of prayer
itself and/or your own thoughts about the prayer that is efficacious (if there is any benefit
at all). Positive results are not caused by the merit that one receives from contributing
d&na44.
One of my interlocutors is a herder who comes to the city every weekend to
receive Buddhist teachings. He is very worried about the bad karma that he has accrued
from killing animals during his lifetime. He said that he comes to Jampa Ling every
weekend to learn about how to avoid making more bad karma and to reduce the bad
results of his previous actions. He believes that attending lessons and doing his own
spiritual practice, along with having his teachers pray for him, is a powerful antidote for
the karmic effects of his previous actions. Unlike the other students at Jampa Ling,
because he lives in Töv Aimag he is able to visit Eej Khad (see Introduction) regularly and
he prays to her to help him with his problems (for example, when he loses his animals).
Praying to spirits or at shamanic sites was not seen by the teachers at Jampa Ling as
problematic as long as they asked for help in this life, not for soteriological ends.
Figure 17 – Laypeople listening to Panchen Ötrul Rinpoche’s teachings (photo taken by Caitriona Ni
Threasaigh)
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The concept of d"na refers to the act of freely given donations. As generosity is positively conceived in
Buddhism this is thought to benefit the giver through the accumulation of merit which can lead to a
positive rebirth, or good karma.
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Sa!s"ra and Enlightenment: Agency and Determinism
The cycle of rebirth due to karmic law is known as sa%s&ra. When I asked what
sa%s&ra was, reform Buddhists gave more varied responses than those they gave in
response to my questions about karma. This is perhaps because, unlike the
straightforward word for karma as action–result, the Mongolian word for sa%s&ra, orchlon,
also means world, existence, creation and cosmos (Bawden 1997: 266). This multiplicity
of meanings is partly a consequence of the word being appropriated by the socialist
government and partly because sa%s&ra in Buddhism also means universe and existence.
I think whatever we are experiencing now is sa%s&ra. It’s an endless circuit where
we are under our defilements and under our karma we don’t have our own force
to get out. Because of these defilements and karma we are born endlessly into the
cycle of the Buddhist six realms, into one of these six rebirths we are reborn. This
is sa%s&ra and, as Buddhists say, sa%s&ra is suffering (Oyunchimeg).
The six realms that Oyunchimeg describes are the hell realm, the realm of the hungry
ghosts, the animal realm, the human realm, the realm of the Asuras and the realm of the
Devas. The idea of sa%s&ra is that, according to the karma that they have accrued, each
sentient being is reborn into one of these realms, over and over. In the Choijin Lama
Monastery Museum in Ulaanbaatar the depictions of hell are grisly. One wall depicts an
inversion of life in this realm with human beings being eaten and defecated out by
Mongol animals and human tongues being ploughed. Cloth representations of the skins
of wild animals and humans are hung from the interior of the walls and on one ceiling
there are graphic depictions of humans in various states of dismemberment. As well as
hell, one can also be born into the hungry ghost realms, where it is said that beings roam
with unquenchable desires, unable to fulfil their intense cravings. Above the animal and
the human realms are the Asuras, who are a type of demi–god, who, though powerful and
capable of experiencing more pleasure than humans, are driven primarily by their
passions and are therefore never satisfied. As a result this realm is considered by
Buddhists to be another unhappy rebirth. Above the Asuras are the Devas, or the long–
living gods. This is a realm of bliss where beings with very good karma, such as the
Buddha’s mother, are reborn. Whilst this is considered to be a good rebirth, beings here
are so blissful that they forget to work towards enlightenment and, after they have used up
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their good karma, are reborn into the lower realms. A human rebirth is traditionally
considered to be the most fortunate of all, as its midway position between suffering and
bliss provides the greatest possibility for enlightenment. All realms in sa%s&ra are
considered to be suffering because, even if you are reborn into the most pleasurable of
realms, you will be reborn into all of the six realms again and again.
Whilst sometimes I have heard Western Buddhists use these realms as analogies
for the life experiences of human beings, all of my interlocutors saw them as literal places
into which beings are reborn.
After a person is dead they will get another incarnation, a body. What kind of
body? It depends on their karma. In this life, if I always do good deeds, make good
karma and I collect good karma then that karma will take me to a good body.
Maybe to a good realm, so you can find a human body. That next life depends on
your karma. There are three types of karma, but mostly two, good and bad karma.
In this life, if you keep yourself very purely in your mind, then you are always
collecting good karma. If you keep your mind very impure then you are always
collecting bad karma. For example if you are always very angry then you are always
collecting bad karma... The result will be that in the next life you could become a
wolf, or a lion or a tiger, or something like that (Ganbaatar).
As Ganbaatar describes, actions have results and these results are relative. For example,
when I asked one of my informants if she could name an action that created bad karma
she said that if you were pregnant and then had an abortion that you would become sick
in this life. Other people said that killing an animal had the result of shortening your
present life. If, however, you were very generous, then in your next life you would be born
wealthy. In this way, Buddhist morality reflects the Golden Rule. Do unto others as you
would want to have done unto you because you will, quite literally, experience what you
have done to others.
Lama Zorigt told us that in one kingdom where the Buddha visited there was a
very poor couple that were so poor that they only had one rag to wear between them.
They were poor because of the accumulation of bad karma in their previous lives. When
people came around asking for offerings for the Buddha, they gave away their only piece
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of clothing, this filthy rag. The people who were collecting offerings for the Buddha
judged the people harshly for giving such a filthy gift. Many rich people were donating
jewels and fresh fruit. However, when the Buddha received his gifts he singled out this
filthy rag as the finest offering anyone in the kingdom had made. The intention behind
this gift was the purest. At this moment all of the couple’s bad karma suddenly
evaporated. Because of the Buddha’s words the people of the principality gave the couple
new things and they became wealthy and suddenly had status in the community.
Sa%s&ra was described in the paradoxical way across interviews as being both
emptiness and everything. When I interviewed Mendbayar and Chimeg at the same time
they described orchlon (sa%s&ra) as:
C: From what I have understood from the teaching, orchlon is emptiness.
M: Orchlon is me. Orchlon consists of insects and other animals. Like the universe
is broken into different nations such as Australian, Mongol and Kazakh people.
Orchlon consists of all of these things like insects, horses and human beings and so
on. I think orchlon is the system of air.
Neither of the participants appeared to see a contradiction in these two views. This is
because sa%s&ra, whilst it is the universe and all things within it, is also impermanent. As
Spiro explains, in Buddhist doctrine:
Creation and dissolution are constant and universal processes, extending from the
microscopic level, where the constituent atoms of existence are in a permanent
state of flux, arising and passing away, to the macroscopic level – empires rise and
decay, the entire universe comes into being and passes out of existence (Spiro
1982: 36).
Because sa%s&ra is everything, and everything is in a constant state of movement, the
appearance of permanence is an illusion. Therefore, it is not a contradiction to define
sa%s&ra as both emptiness and the entire universe.
In his ethnography of Burmese perceptions of Buddhism, Spiro found a minority
of Buddhist practitioners who extended the impermanence of the universe to the
impermanence of the soul. This concept follows Buddhist doctrine’s alteration of
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Hinduism’s unchanging soul, or &tman, to anatt&, or non–self. Because everything within
Buddhist cosmology is impermanent so the eternal soul cannot exist (Spiro 1982).
However, there was no evidence that any of my participants believed in the doctrine of
non–self. As Purevsuren, an eighteen year–old university student describes:
Zorigt said that when we die that this body is like clothes. When we die we can
leave this body and our spirit goes to a different body. So we can’t take our body,
we just take our wrong doings and our good doings.
Most participants believe that when they are reborn they will not remember their previous
lives or be able to choose their next one.
As the Buddhist teachings say there is the 49 days of bardos 45 , which is the
intermediate state, and after 49 days you will get your next rebirth. You can’t
choose your rebirth, it’s just very high beings that can choose their rebirth. For us
it is a result of the karma we create. When we die, what was our mind mainly?
Positive or negative? It will influence what kind of rebirth you will take. If you
have a very negative mind like full of anger or a lot of attachment, these things
will probably get you born into a lower realm (Oyunchimeg).
As beings that have not yet reached enlightenment, we cannot chose our next lives after
death. Only after reaching enlightenment can a being navigate the bardos consciously and
choose their next rebirth.
None of my interlocutors saw a contradiction embedded in their ability to make
morally responsible choices and the determinism implied within karmic perceptions of
the world. If we are caught up in the endless cycles of rebirth and the consequences of
previous karma, can we make choices? How can one choose to do anything if all actions
and consequences are within the karmic cycle of cause and effect? However, individuals
saw themselves, whilst being born into a situation and experiencing suffering according to
previous deeds, as not being entirely pushed and pulled around by the results of their
previous actions. They have the capacity to do things, to make choices, to change their
own lives. Buddhist nun, Ani Pema told me that:
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(T. bar do) The intermediate state between death and rebirth.
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Because I am Buddhist, I need to understand and study Buddhist teachings,
implement them in every day life and make it habitual so that I will be able to
understand the meaning of sa%s&ra and look for ways to get out of this situation.
If you can implement Buddhist teachings and practice them, it is possible to get
out of this situation.
All sentient beings can be released from the cycles of cause and effect, from sa%s&ra. For
Buddhist doctrine to allow for the possibility of a being becoming enlightened,
individuals must be able to make choices for themselves, even if this capacity to make
moral actions is responsive to the karmic results that you are currently experiencing.
When I asked Ariunaa if she could affect another person’s karma she said:
A person may be enduring suffering to eradicate their karma. They might be
doing hard manual labour or maybe suffering from hunger. I can at least help by
doing things such as sharing my food. This does not mean that I am reducing
their karma, but if that person keeps suffering from hunger, then they might
think of making choices like harming themself. If they see the positive side of life,
then this will encourage them to live longer and fight for their life. If they finish
their karma in this lifetime and they might have better rebirth. In this case, I
think that I would be doing my best to reduce that person’s karma.
To be born into a human form and to receive Buddhist teachings, as I quoted Chimeg
saying earlier, is the result of the positive karma that you have accrued. When I asked
people if they were hoping to reach enlightenment in this life they often laughed. Whilst
some thought it was possible but unlikely, others thought that they needed to be reborn
many times more to have purified themselves enough to be released from sa%s&ra. If
enlightenment is possible then people must have some ability to decide upon the actions
of body, speech and mind, whether they make positive or negative choices. Depending on
the karma of your previous lives you will have greater or fewer opportunities to choose
good paths and to follow Buddhist morality. Choices are made, in some ways, relative to
your opportunity to receive Buddhist teachings, to understand the four noble truths and
embark upon the path towards enlightenment.
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The Four Noble Truths: Purification, Enlightenment and Compassion
The four noble truths are the foundation of Buddhist religious philosophy. The
noble truths that I will describe here are those taught by Lama Zorigt. The first of these is
the truth of suffering. By understanding that we are caught up in the cycle of sa%s&ra
three types of suffering become evident. The first of these is physical suffering. For
example, we all get ill, suffer from old age and death and experience mental sufferings,
such as anxiety. The second of these is the suffering of impermanence. In this world we
have many attachments, yet because everything is impermanent we are constantly losing
the things that we are attached to, whether loved ones, material objects or inner states.
The third is the suffering of being unable to choose your rebirth. You might be born into
any of the five realms of suffering or squander your good karma in the deva realm.
The second noble truth is the truth of the origins of suffering. These, Lama Zorigt
taught, are rooted in the Sanskrit term kle$a (M. nisvanis). Kle$a are defilements of the
mind and body that bring about suffering in the form of desire, anger, pride, ignorance,
doubt and holding wrong views. In order to be released from suffering one must rid
oneself from these negative aspects. The third noble truth is the understanding that there
is a way out of suffering, that enlightenment is possible. And the fourth is that in order to
release oneself from suffering you must follow the Buddhist path.
When I asked participants what enlightenment was, it was often explained as
being the release from sa%s&ra and the pressures of the external environment. Other
people described it as a state of being, like a state of peace and tranquillity. Others
emphasised compassion when they spoke about enlightenment.
It means understanding and recognizing causes of actions and things. The one
who is enlightened has compassion for others, not for themselves. They are
illuminated (Ariunaa).
Some described it as a state free from defilements, trouble and distress, as being in a state
of peace and freeing yourself from sa%s&ra and its attendant suffering.
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In my opinion it is to eliminate all the harm of the nisvanis [kle$a]. To make, or
collect, good karma. It is the person who has reached bodh' setgel [bodhicitta]
(Tuyagerel).
Becoming enlightened does not take a person to a different place, though they can decide
on their future rebirths if they have chosen to be reborn to help others out of sa%s&ra. It
is a transformation that occurs within a person’s mind. It is the purification of the
negative elements of kle$a, and, importantly for the Mahayana tradition, it is the
development of compassion for all beings through the development of bodhicitta. Lama
Zorigt taught that it was possible to have reached stages of awakening, to become an arhat,
without having developed bodhicitta, but that this was not the Mahayana path. The
development of universal compassion is an important practice in Mahayana Buddhism.
Lama Zorigt taught that there are two different ways to develop bodhicitta. The
first is by following the seven fold cause and effect precepts that were taught to Asa'ga by
the Buddha Maitreya46 (M. Maidar). And the second is by holding others’ interests before
your own as taught to ("ntideva by Mañju%ri. The seven fold cause and effect precepts
begin with the recognition that all beings are your mother. This is based on the belief that
because you have been endlessly reborn into the six realms that at some point all beings
have, in actuality, been your mother. This is central to Buddhist morality and the
development of compassion. Without it, karma could be (and in many circumstances is)
used as the justification for not helping those less fortunate than yourself. However,
because my participants believe that all beings have been their mother and that they
themselves have been, and could be again, born into negative circumstances, kindness,
rather than blame, is the appropriate attitude to express towards others less fortunate
than themselves. The second precept is that, as a result of the first, you become aware of
other beings’ kindness and the third is that you wish to repay their kindness by having a
good mind and being kind to others. The fourth precept is that you should develop
heart–warming love and the fifth focuses on the development of compassion. The sixth is
resolute intention, this means that you not only wish to help others but that you actually
do help them. And finally, after following the other six precepts it is said that bodhicitta
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The future Buddha who is prophesised to appear on earth, reach full awakening and then teach pure
Buddhist teachings.
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develops. Bodhicitta is similar to, but stronger than, compassion with resolute intention. It
is the wish to become enlightened to end the suffering of all beings.
("ntideva’s path, as outlined in his writing, A Guide to the Bodhisattva Way of Life
is to hold others’ interests above your own (1997). You should think all beings to be the
same. Think yourself to be the lowest and help all others as though they are superior to
you. This development of compassion and bodhicitta is very important in Buddhist
transformative practices.
As is evident from the responses that I received during interviews about Buddhist
philosophy the inner ‘actions’ are just as important as external actions. As inner states
have karmic consequences, and are the basis of all moral action, their transformation is of
central importance for Buddhist practice. Whilst karma may seem to be a fatalistic
philosophy, denying individuals of agency, individuals see themselves as having the
possibility through their own actions to escape from the cycles of cause and effect. Karma
is not a philosophy that necessarily implies self–interest. Mahayana philosophy is
supposed to engender an attitude of care and self–sacrifice when contemplating the
suffering of others. I noticed that within the belief systems of my participants a belief in
sa%s&ra and karma can generate genuinely felt compassion for others.
Along with teaching lay Buddhists about Buddhist doctrine and ritual practices,
Dharma Centres also teach transformative practices that direct students towards Buddhist
moral ideals, even if it is not expected that people will reach these ideals (at least not in
this lifetime). Reform Buddhists are taught to be self–reliant and they are encouraged to
engage in practices that actively transform their moral conduct. Unlike cultural Buddhists,
the emphasis placed on interactions with Buddhist institutions is about learning how to
help yourself. This is taught through lessons on doctrine and transformative personal
practices. The Buddha himself is famously said to have advised:
Therefore, O )nanda, be ye lamps unto yourselves. Be ye a refuge to yourselves.
Betake yourselves to no external refuge. Hold fast to the Truth as a lamp. Hold
fast as a refuge to the Truth. Look not for refuge to anyone besides yourselves.
(Mahâ Parinibbâna Suttanta, II, 26, in Dialogues of the Buddha, Pt. II: 108 in
Spiro 1982: 34).
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Individuals are encouraged to engage in activities that enable their own self–
transformation. Whilst the relationship between teacher and student is very important,
reform Buddhists are encouraged to do their own practice and to understand that
salvation ultimately comes from one’s own effort. One can receive help from teachers and
religious specialists but it is only through the development of proper moral conduct that
one can travel towards Buddhist moral ideals. Moral conduct is encouraged through the
transformation of inner states, and these inner states, as well as external actions, have
karmic effects. Practices such as meditation, reading mantra and doing prostrations work
to change inner states and, therefore, a person’s external actions. Enlightenment in the
Mahayana tradition not only involves the transformation of one’s inner states but it also
involves the development of bodhicitta, that is, the desire to reach enlightenment springs
from the desire to help all sentient beings escape from sa%s&ra. In the next chapter I will
describe how reform Buddhists organisations teach practices that help individuals to
develop their moral self. These practices not only alter ideas about what one should or
should not do, they also affect a persons’ reactions to external stimuli and their inner
states.
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Chapter Five
Transformative Practices: Embodying Emotion, Reshaping Morality
Reform Buddhist institutions promote Buddhist practices that encourage lay
Buddhists to transform their moral conduct. As becoming an exemplary moral person is
seen in Buddhist doctrine as being inextricably linked to one’s internal states, the
transformation of these states is a central concern. Dharma Centres, following this
philosophy, see themselves as not only imparting Buddhist philosophy and explaining
ethical conduct, but also as encouraging lay Buddhists to work to transform their inner
states and ultimately to strive towards the moral and spiritual ideal of enlightenment.
Reform Buddhists all participate in practices that attempt to transform their inner
experiences and, following from this, their moral actions. Morality according to Buddhist
philosophy is formed not through the exclusion of feeling states but through their
analysis and alteration. Reform Buddhists are involved in personal practices such as
meditation, reading mantras, doing prostrations, chanting and other public and personal
rituals. These performances actively engage, channel and transform feeling states and in
doing so, the intentions that precede actions. Following these practices, participants
report an improved capacity to act in accordance with Buddhist moral ideals, and
ultimately, to move towards enlightenment and to escape from sa%s&ra.
There has been a growing interest in morality in anthropology, particularly as it
relates to religious practices, ideas about the self and emotion (e.g. Hirschkind 2001;
Laidlaw 2005, 1995; Luhrmann 2004; Mahmood 2001, 2003). A number of
anthropological studies of religion have noted that amongst devout religious devotees of
Jainism, Islam and Christianity there are multiple ways that inner states are transformed
to comply with moral ideals. Charles Hirschkind’s Islamic interlocutors are frequently
moved to tears by listening repetitively to recorded audio sermons (2001). In James
Laidlaw’s study of Jain society, the ultimate ideal of enlightenment involves strict
adherence to ahimsa, the principle of non–harm, and a few exemplary practitioners are so
committed to this ideal that they practice meditation techniques that involve denying
themselves food and slowly starving to death (Laidlaw 2005). In Tanya Luhrmann’s study,
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‘it is not mere words that make Him so but learnt techniques of identifying the presence
of God through the body’s responses’ (Luhrmann 2004: 519). Participants in Evangelical
churches feel as though they are ‘getting to know’ Jesus in intimate ways through the use
of learned psychological techniques (Luhrmann 2004). And, amongst Saba Mahmood’s
interlocutors the practice of sal"t (or daily prayer) is a site for transforming one’s morality
and emotions in accordance with ideals of Islamic piety (2001).
Like the people in these examples, reform Buddhists in Mongolia participate in
daily or weekly practices that transform their inner states. These practices, in addition to
doctrinal knowledge and preferred methods of religious education, mean that being
Buddhist, in addition to cultural identification, involves extensive work. Most reform
Buddhists that I interviewed responded to the question of when they became a Buddhist
with the date that they started attending a Dharma Centre, not when they were born (as
many cultural Buddhists did). They did not, generally, identify being Buddhist as an
inherent part of being Mongol and, as in the Egyptian Islamic piety movement that
Mahmood describes (2003; 2001), identification with Buddhism on cultural grounds was
generally frowned upon by them. As Oyunchimeg responded to my question of ‘how long
have you been a Buddhist?’
This is a very difficult question because here mostly whenever you ask people they
always say we are born as Buddhist. But it doesn’t mean we know the philosophy
or know the meaning of being Buddhist. I think I would say in 2000, when I
started to work at the FPMT. I kind of started to understand what the teachings
are. What is the real meaning of being Buddhist? Before that of course in my
family my grandmother was Buddhist and we had an altar and all kinds of things.
But the meaning wasn’t there much.
Perhaps the tendency for cultural Buddhists to remark about their own ignorance of
Buddhism is made possible because of the presence of this reformist style of Buddhism in
the capital47. In Chapter Three, I quoted Oyunbileg, a cultural Buddhist, describing her
and her family members as ‘very superficial practitioners. Superficially talking and
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Though this is not the case in Jonathan Mair’s study of Inner Mongolia (2007). His interlocutors
expressed similar concerns about ignorance of religious doctrine without the comparative presence of global
Buddhist organisations.
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superficially practicing.’ In contrast, only one of the reform Buddhists that I interviewed
expressed hesitancy about her identity as Buddhist. Rather than centring on ignorance
she was hesitant to call herself a ‘strong’ Buddhist because she feels she doesn’t practice
enough.
It’s quite difficult. I believe in Buddhism. I’m a Buddhist but if I want to become
a strong Buddhist then it means I need to apply all the teachings into my life
(Narangerel).
Reform Buddhists, like Mahmood’s interlocutors, often expressed the hope that more
people would attend classes so that they too could understand Buddhist doctrine rather
than just visiting temples when they have problems or during Tsagaan Sar. Like
Mahmood’s participants (2003; 2001), reform Buddhists consciously engage in activities
to move towards Buddhist moral ideals though, instead of the pious self of the Egyptian
piety movement, what they are hoping to achieve (though it may take many lifetimes) is
the state of enlightenment.
Intention and Buddhist Morality
Feelings are not distractions or impediments to forming intentions but, rather,
are necessary and inevitable causal agents in making moral choices that result in
karma. Management of will, then, would seem to require attentiveness to feelings
on causal grounds, and the possibilities for performing morally significant action
will rest in part on mastery and control of their feelings (Heim 2003: 533–534).
Reform Buddhists consciously spend time analysing and trying to alter emotional states
and, in doing so, are continuously transforming (or attempting to transform) themselves
in the direction of the Buddhist ideal of enlightenment, a state of moral perfection.
In her article The Aesthetics of Excess, Maria Heim describes Buddhist
understandings of morality as being driven by, not divorced from, their basis in feelings.
Whilst her article is based on an analysis of a Theravada text the Milindanpañho48, her
description of Buddhist morality elucidates the internal logic of the moral reasoning that
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A Buddhist text dating back to around 100 BCE.
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reform Buddhists presented to me during my fieldwork. Rather than seeing morality as
entirely based in rationality, people emphasised emotionally transformative practices and
intention, as well as rationality, when discussing morality. In addition, the internal states
of how one ‘ought’ to think and feel as well as what one ‘ought’ to do were important
sites for transformation, as perfectly moral beings are purified of negative inner states and
actions, as exemplified by the Buddha.
Intention emerges, not as a result of rational reflection but as a result of feeling
and perception – our reactions and responses to the external world. Feeling, not
reason, generates the intentions on which morally significant actions rest, and
cognitive activity follows feeling and intention (Heim 2003: 533).
According to Heim, because Buddhist philosophers prioritise the causal lineage of mental
states, direct responses to the external world come before rational and moral action.
Instead of placing rationality at its base, the Pali word vedan&, or feeling, is at the
foundation of Buddhist morality. Vedan& is a broader concept than the English word
emotion, encompassing both arisings within the body and those influenced by the
environment. It includes ‘feelings produced by the humours, by the changes of the
seasons, and by the maturing of karma’ (Heim 2003: 532). Vedan&, she writes, also
encompasses mental processes making it more like the English term emotion.
In Buddhist descriptions of causality, vedan&s precede the Pali word cetan&,
referring to something like will, intention, volition and motivation (Heim 2003). Cetan&
in the vinaya emphasises intentionality and it is the intention that is expressed in an
action, rather than the result of it, that makes one morally culpable. In other texts, cetan&
is more closely aligned to the English concept of motivation, where the word focuses on
the mental effort that is involved in doing something. As she writes:
The will and motivation of an action are conditioned in part by feeling, and then
different moments of reflections occur – initial thoughts (vitakko) and sustained
reflection (vic&ra). These two terms indicate the whole cognitive process of
thinking: applying ones thoughts to and then reflecting on a matter. Thus,
intention emerges not as a result of rational reflection but as a result of feeling and
perception (Heim 2003: 533).
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As feelings come first, and are followed then by intention and then by rational processes,
Buddhist moral systems place emotion at the base of moral action. As a result, actions as
well as mental and feeling states are referred to in moral guidance discourse, as
exemplified in the ten black non–virtuous actions and discussions of kle%a49 (M. nisvanis).
As Richard Gombrich writes, ‘Buddhist doctrine agrees with Kant that what counts is
intention, not effect’ (1971b: 246). In Buddhist philosophy, the causality involved in
mental states is centralised, and as such, transforming and understanding feelings
becomes an important project for moral action.
Transforming Inner Experience: Personal Practice and Emotion
Reform Buddhists have a toolbox of transformative practices and a philosophical
background to guide them. The personal practices that people did at home and in class
were: meditation, reading mantra, saying prayers, chanting, doing prostrations,
acknowledging wrongdoings (M. naminchlal), attending tantric initiations and making
offerings. These were practiced both informally and formally. For some meditation was
something they did on a bus, whilst others had a formal time set aside everyday
(sometimes twice a day) for meditation. All meditated in classes, even if they did not
continue the practice during the rest of the week. The level of commitment to these
practices mostly increased with age, which reflects the commonly held belief that people
should become more religious as they age to prepare for death. In spite of this tendency, I
interviewed a number of young people (in their early twenties) that did extensive daily
practices.
Lama Zorigt proposed that most of the effort exerted during meditation is in
trying to calm the mind or the ‘crazy monkey’ as he often put it. This can expose valuable
insights about your body, speech and mind and increase your awareness of your
relationship to your external environment. Meditators are taught how to disengage from
extended discursive reactions that accompany troublesome feeling states and to observe,
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The Sanskrit term for defilements of the mind and body that bring about suffering in the form of desire,
anger, pride, ignorance, doubt and holding wrong views.
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rather than react to, the physical states that arise within the body. As Narangerel
recounts:
N: Two days ago I meditated. This way of meditation is very easy. I just
concentrated on my breath, on it coming out and I tried not to think of other
things. The first time it was very difficult you know, I was just thinking a lot of
things. Then, oh my gosh, I’m thinking again, then concentrating again, then
again, again. It’s difficult to concentrate only on the breath. Now I’m feeling
better but it’s still very difficult. Maybe I can concentrate on the breath for maybe
ten minutes. Then again, it’s gone. Then again, I concentrate. It’s very difficult.
S: How does this meditation benefit you?
N: First, when I’m concentrating on my breath, I feel calmer and more relaxed. It
gives me a chance to think about the other side of things. Just breathing, just
concentrating on my breath. And then after meditation I feel relaxed and calm
and I start to think about why I became angry, what was the reason? Why did that
person do that? Why did I start to feel angry? And then it’s over. Otherwise, after
a bad thing has happened it’s not very nice for me to think about the reasons for
it. At that time I was just thinking about myself. It’s quite different [after
meditation]. I’m not just thinking about myself, I’m thinking about others.
When Mahmood writes about the importance of sal&t (daily prayer) within the Egyptian
piety movement, she explains that sal&t is not just an expression of being a pious Muslim,
it is how one becomes a pious Muslim (2001: 828–829). Likewise, meditation and other
Buddhist practices assist in the transformation of individuals towards the Buddhist moral
ideal of enlightenment. Narangerel explains that through meditation she can distance
herself from an event that caused her to be angry. She is able to detach herself from her
anger and see the ‘wider picture’ of cause and effect. As a result she is better able to avoid
reacting in anger, which, in the Buddhist perspective, would lead to the accumulation of
bad karma.
Anthropologists, such as Catherine Lutz, have critiqued western theories of
emotion as overlooking the social components in their formation. As she writes, the
emotions are most often seen as ‘internal states whose nature or essence is presumed to
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be universal’ (Lutz 1988: 5). The emotions are frequently associated with the biological
and the irrational and are therefore seen as being difficult to control. Yet, Buddhist
practitioners report the capacity to be able to shape their emotions through the use of
meditation and other practices. So, how much influence do cultural practices have on
emotion?
In philosopher William James’s 1884 paper, What Is An Emotion, he asks the reader
to conduct a thought experiment, inviting them to imagine an emotion without bodily
sensation. He asks:
What kind of an emotion of fear would be left, if the feelings neither of quickened
heart–beats nor of shallow breathing, neither of trembling lips nor of weakened
limbs, neither of goose flesh nor of visceral stirrings, were present (James 1984:
134).
He concludes, that as it would be impossible to contrive such an imagining that ‘a purely
disembodied emotion is a non–entity’ (James 1984: 134). The emotions, for James, are
synonymous with their physical affects: ‘we feel sorry because we cry, angry because we
strike, afraid because we tremble’ (James 1984: 130).
A century later, philosopher Robert Solomon asks his reader to do an alternative
thought experiment: to try to imagine the emotions without involving some judgments as
to their cause. His conclusion is that you cannot: that physical sensations alone do not
create an emotion. For example, he writes, the belief (whether right or wrong) that
someone stole his car is the cause of his anger. If there is evidence against the belief that
the car has been stolen then the feeling of anger no longer exists. He writes:
I cannot be angry if I do not believe that someone has wronged or offended me.
Accordingly, we might say that anger involves a moral judgment as well, an appeal to
moral standards and not merely personal evaluations. My anger is that set of
judgments (Solomon 1993: 126).
In other words, emotions have intentionality: they are about things. And they are about
more things than isolated judgments: they are located within a complex of values, both
within oneself, and within one's culture. Rationality and cultural context have a large
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influence on the character of emotions. For Solomon our emotions are a set of judgments
and those judgments are culturally informed.
Social constructionist Catherine Lutz, in her fieldwork on the Ifaluk of the
Micronesian Atoll (1988), was heavily influenced by Solomon’s work. She found that
even the basic assumptions of inner life were not shared between her and her informants.
For example, she writes, that rather than seeing introspection as a tool to further self–
knowledge, her participants saw it as troublesome in their predominantly social
ethnopsychological schema. In addition, the Ifaluk negated the dichotomy between
thoughts and emotions and this to her suggested that their ‘inner lives’ were, in actuality,
radically different from our own (Lutz 1988).
Lutz has been critiqued for ignoring the underlying biological basis for emotion
and focusing too heavily on judgments and socialisation. William Reddy argues that the
emotions are not free–floating discursive constructions, neither are they reducible to, nor
dissimilar from their associated physiological arousal. Instead, emotional descriptions (or,
as he calls emotional terms, ‘emotives’) characteristically shift the content of the emotion,
but they do not create the feelings themselves. In this way, Reddy acknowledges the effect
that culturally informed judgments have on the emotions without reducing them to
judgment alone. In his terms
An emotive utterance... is not self–referential. When someone says, ‘I am angry,’
the anger is not the utterance – not in the way that, in ‘I accept,’ ‘accept’ is the
acceptance... Emotives are influenced directly by and alter what they ‘refer’ to...
Emotives are themselves instruments for directly changing, building, hiding and
intensifying emotions. There is an ‘inner’ dimension to emotion, but it is never
merely ‘represented’ by statements or actions (Reddy 1997: 331).
Emotives are affected by, and direct feelings, but not in any particular direction.
According to this picture they can intensify or dissipate, confirm or reject, create or
destroy feeling states. Emotives are anchored in the world by the feelings they describe
and affect the nature of those feelings. An individual’s emotional life is dynamic and
‘communities strive to shape, contain, and channel (not construct) emotional expression’
(Reddy 1997: 329).
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This conceptualisation of emotions fits well with lay meditators’ descriptions of
their relationship to their inner experiences, as meditation works to influence the
relationship between feeling states and emotives. A common theme from meditators is
that meditation is a way of gaining distance from their environment and their own
internal states. Rather than immediately labelling and reacting to those labels of feeling
states, meditators attempt to avoid attaching culturally saturated emotives to feelings and
therefore to detach discursive judgments from internal states. If, as in Reddy’s view,
bodily sensations, when attached to cognitive appraisals of like or dislike and other
discursive thoughts, become what we consider to be an emotion then meditators have a
degree of control over emotional experiences. As meditators learn to see sensations as
separate from their appraisal and the accompanying attachment of discursive thought,
they can experience a degree of separation from their reactions to feelings. This allows
them to reassess the judgments that have influenced their emotional state.
This ability to distance oneself from one’s reactions to situations is absolutely
central to Buddhist philosophy. As I described in the previous chapter, the ultimate
moral ideal of enlightenment is a being that is released from the endless action–reaction
of the karmic condition and, therefore, from sa%s&ra. Here ("ntideva, an eighth century
Buddhist sage, describes a situation where he is being repeatedly hit with a stick:
A person does not intentionally become angry, thinking, ‘I shall get angry,’ nor
does anger originate, thinking, ‘I shall arise.’
All offenses and vices of various kinds arise under the influence of conditions,
and they do not arise independently…
If inflicting harm on others is the nature of the foolish, then my anger toward
them is as inappropriate as it would be toward fire, which has the nature of
burning…
On account of them, many vices of mine diminish through forbearance. On
account of me, they enter the infernal realms with long-lasting agonies (("ntideva
1997: 64–67).
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He asks, why become angry when things are as they are due to cause and effect, when
reacting to a situation with anger and delusion leads one to be bound ever more tightly in
the grip of karma? Acting from compassion and in awareness of one’s own actions, on the
other hand, allows one to be further released from sa%s&ra. In this example, ("ntideva
says that it is he who is causing the man to accumulate bad karma through hurting
another, and therefore it is he who should feel compassion for the man who he is
effectively dooming to rebirth in the hell realms.
Whilst I’m sure that none of my respondents would have been quite so passive if
hit with a stick, people reported that meditation enabled them to distance themselves
from rising anger when provoked. When I asked Ariunaa how meditation made her feel
she responded:
When I meditate, I feel very calm, relaxed and peaceful. I feel far away from my
environment. The more frequently you do it, the more you develop the habit not
to get irritated too easily. When making a decision you develop the ability to take
into consideration different sides of the issue. Most importantly I like to be
peaceful in a quiet environment so that I feel good. It makes me happy and
pleased. And everything to do with body, speech, and mind seems nice (Ariunaa).
When I asked other practitioners how meditation benefited them, most responded that it
made them feel calmer and more at peace. Many participants explained that the
perspective they gained through meditation helped them to think more compassionately
about others in a heated situation. Later in the interview when I asked Ariunaa the
influence that meditation had on karma she said:
People are very busy with their everyday lives. Mornings and evenings are always
passing by. They do not have much time to think through different processes and
actions. When people are in contact with their environment, they don’t have time
to think things through. When you are in a peaceful state after meditation you see
more clearly your actions in the past, what you did wrong and how you should act
in the future and so on. As long as you understand that you can be in a peaceful
state when you treat others well you will have more awareness of your past actions.
If a person used to argue every time when someone said something unpleasant or
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something to make them angry, then they may realize the consequences of their
actions and stop acting in that way. The more they become aware and stop
repeating these actions, the more their karma will be reduced (Ariunaa).
Meditation allows practitioners the ability to contemplate their actions and intentions
and therefore helps to reduce the accumulation of negative karma.
When I asked Ganbaatar, a translator for a Buddhist monastery, if he had noticed
any changes in himself since he started doing meditation he replied:
Yes of course. A long time ago, I was a difficult person even though I was a
Buddhist at that time. Meditation is very useful. When you concentrate on a
specific subject it is useful because after that you can concentrate on anything.
You have to concentrate on a specific subject, for example, your breath... At first
it is very hard to concentrate, to control your mind. Your mind is very hard to
control, to keep it and to catch it... That means that person is no good morally
and needs some education. If you control your mind it is very useful in a lot of
different fields. You can control your desire, control your anger, you can control
your bad habits. That means it’s very useful in your life, in the life of anyone.
Today I am very happy with myself because before I was a different person, today I
am changed. Not perfect, but step by step.
Meditation, as Ganbaatar describes it, is about learning to control your mind and, as a
result, it helps you control your actions. Ganbaatar not only describes the benefits of
meditation but also how it relates to the Buddhist version of a perfectly moral being. Like
Mahmood and Luhrmann’s participants (Luhrmann 2004; Mahmood 2003; 2001),
becoming a perfectly moral being is not seen as being an easy process and requires
constant vigilance. He believes that he has to pay attention to himself and practice
frequently to move closer towards the Buddhist ideal of enlightenment. In line with
Buddhist philosophy, all sentient beings that have not yet reached enlightenment are still
bound up in the karmic cycles of sa%s&ra, and trying to avoid being buffeted around by
the cycles of action and reaction requires continuous effort.
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Mantra, Prayer and Prostrations: Formal and Informal Practice
All reform Buddhists know and recite mantras. Most also sometimes say prayers
and attend public chanting and tantric initiations. Some of the participants recite
mantras in the morning or in the evening in a controlled environment.
Tuyagerel practices meditation every morning. After she wakes up she does breath
meditation for fifteen minutes (which focuses the mind through attention on the breath)
and reads mantras for a further fifteen. She also prays and does prostrations when she
arrives at Jampa Ling where she attends weekly classes. These formal practices are
complimented by the informal practice of saying mantra whilst shopping or walking.
When I asked her how she felt after doing her daily practice she responded:
At the very least I will not feel annoyed or angry that day. I feel peaceful and calm.
Some days, when I am rush to go school or something I won’t be able to do
mantra. When I skip doing mantra, that day I feel disappointed. Because, it’s the
basis of my day, so I feel like that day is less productive and I’m not really working
that well.
Some of my older interlocutors I spoke to carry out Buddhist practices twice a day and do
prostrations, offerings and prayers. Mendbayer a former wrestler who was almost seventy
said:
M: When I wake I do six activities that have to be done on daily basis. There are
also 7 prayers. Before I pray I clean my house and make an offering. When I pray
I have a connection with Buddha and I pray for purification. I also pray for my
previous life. Then I pray for all living beings so that I have a connection with
them. All these prayers are done separately. I do prayers to ask for purification of
all the bad things that I have done from the infinite time until now. I also pray
that I may become enlightened through all good things I have done. Finally I pray
for all living beings and dedicate everything for their benefit. I also meditate at the
end, which is one of the 6 activities that should be done everyday
S: When do you do this?
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M: I do it in the morning and I also do it in the evening. I think of what I have
done and I also pray for purification if I have done negative actions.
Not all participants have such a rigorous system for meditation and saying mantras. One
of my interlocutors told me that he irregularly does a ten–day urban retreat where he
concentrates on his practice, does multiple prostrations, meditates, reads mantra and eats
only vegetarian food. Another reported that she lights a candle and says a prayer for the
benefit of all sentient beings every night. A number of people said that they recite
mantras or prayers when they were in particular situations, such as before exams, during
public rituals or when they were afraid.
Figure 18 – Woman using prayer beads while listening to Panchen Ötrul Rinpoche’s teachings (photo
taken by Caitriona Ni Threasaigh)
Most people reported that the prayers, mantras or prostrations they did were not
just for themselves but were repeated with the intention of benefiting others. In certain
situations, for instance when a person was walking alone at night, reading these mantras
was believed to provide them with protection. Some read mantras for specific purposes
whilst others read them with general benefits in mind. Ariunaa who is studying
traditional Mongol medicine (and at the time I interviewed her, there was an outbreak of
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the swine flu) said that she was regularly reciting the mantra of the Medicine Buddha (M.
Manal). This mantra is thought to assist both those who wish to help heal the sick and
those who themselves are suffering from bad health. I also heard it referred to by cultural
Buddhists as the child’s Burkhan, which could be because it has historically been read in
an effort to reduce childhood mortality. Another interviewee, Oyunchimeg said that her
daily practice involves reading prayers for and prostrating to the thirty–five Buddhas and
twenty one times to the Bodhisattva Vajrasattva (M. Ochir Cetgelt Baatar, T. rDo rje Sems
dpa’)50. She felt that this practice helped her to purify her bad karma and she had made a
commitment to her teachers to do this practice every morning.
Reading mantras not only helps people to feel safer but they are also read with the
intention of helping all other beings. It is believed that the efficacy of mantras work to
benefit the practitioner themselves and all other sentient beings, even if performed by a
lay practitioner. This transformation of intention, to help others as well as yourself, is
supposed to help practitioners develop bodhicitta, an essential part of becoming a moral
being in Mahayana Buddhism.
Many respondents reported that reading mantras was an effective tool to calm and
clear the mind of negative thoughts. Reading mantra, like meditation, seemed to allow
my interlocutors distance from their feeling states, whether they be anger or fear, as they
directed their attention to alternative thoughts and concepts.
Mostly I do mantra when I’m alone and reflecting or thinking about things. If
before doing mantra I was feeling unsatisfied or in turmoil after doing mantra I
feel calm. My negative thoughts disappear (Oyuna).
When I do mantra I think of all the living beings that I have benefitted. I feel that
I become light or that my work is successful. I also think that thinking of others is
the start of something positive (Oyunbileg).
Reading mantras was one of the practices that both cultural and reform Buddhists shared.
Many people started reading mantras because they had been passed down through their
family from older relatives. Some of the newer students at Jampa Ling said that they have
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Practices using the mantra of the Bodhisattva Vajrasattva are associated with purification.
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been reading mantras without really understanding their meanings since they were very
young. Family members often pass mantras down through the family telling them that
they are to be read for protection. As a consequence, for some people reading mantras
helps them to be confident in difficult situations. It is common to see older people with
beads sitting outside and reading mantra throughout the year and these and small
religious artefacts are often inherited by younger generations.
Public Rituals
Teachers and initiations play an important role in the practice of reading mantras,
doing prayers and prostrations. Every summer at Jampa Ling Panchen Ötrul Rinpoche,
the spiritual head of the organisation, visits for around three months and during this
time he teaches, gives blessings and conducts ritual transmissions. His arrival at Jampa
Ling during my fieldwork signified the start of a break from the ordinary weekly classes
taught by Lama Zorigt and Geshe Lhawang Gyaltsen (the other lama who occasionally
taught at Jampa Ling during my fieldwork). During Rinpoche’s summer visit, Jampa Ling
was buzzing with activity and many people visited to receive personal blessings. Lama
Zorigt told us that even though Rinpoche’s visiting times were from 10am to 11am,
people visited at all times during the day, sometimes after travelling great distances.
To mark Panchen Ötrul Rinpoche’s arrival a blessing ceremony was held and the
centre was filled with lay Buddhists dressed in their finest deels. Rinpoche took his place
on the (usually empty) ornate chair that is reserved for him, or other high-ranking lamas
that visit the centre. Lama Zorigt and another lama began the ceremony by participating
in a form of debating that involved some lively doctrinal discussion in Tibetan
punctuated by hand smacking. Lama Zorigt told us later that the hand smacking during
the debate represents the intention to empty the hell realms (as you smack your palm
with your fist) and as you raise your hand you metaphorically express your intention to
bring all beings up from the lower realms to the higher realms. After the debating, the
audience lined up patiently to receive a blessing. Each person offered a khadag folded
three times, with the fold pointed towards the recipient, to Panchen Ötrul Rinpoche as
they received a blessing. Friends told me that if you face the fold towards yourself it
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means that you wish the recipient injury. I was told that this is uniquely Mongol, as
Tibetans place no importance in the way the scarf is folded. Most people held out the
traditional Mongol blue khadags but there were also a number of yellow and white khadags
amongst the crowd. Whilst people waited to receive their blessings, the older students
chanted mantras led by a laywoman, who frequently leads the chanting at Jampa Ling.
Friends told me that it is unusual in Mongol Buddhist services for chanting to be led by a
woman as it is normally led by male monastics. Jampa Ling, as a global Buddhist
organisation, occasionally challenges some of the gender inequalities found at local
Buddhist institutions and this is a reflection of decades of contact between the Tibetan
diaspora and Western expectations about Buddhism.
Figure 19 – Laypeople and monastics attending a Buddhist ritual (photo taken by Caitriona Ni Threasaigh)
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As people offered their khadags, Panchen Ötrul Rinpoche asked Lama Zorigt who
each person was (if he didn’t already know), touched their hands and then their heads
and gave them a red thread with a knot tied within it (representing blessing and
protection) and some incense. He expressed an interest in everyone personally, taking
time to ask questions about each individually even though around two hundred people
received blessings.
Throughout the summer months the excitement surrounding Panchen Ötrul
Rinpoche’s visit was punctuated by visits from a number of other high–ranking teachers.
These were mostly, but not all, Tibetans. One exception was a Western monk from a
Jewish background who is the allopathic doctor to the Dalai Lama. As he walked into the
teaching room at Jampa Ling, he began by prostrating to the shrine three times,
demonstrating his humility to the Buddha, the dharma and the sa!gha. This encouraged
other lay people to do prostrations before taking their seat to listen to his teachings.
When I asked Tuyagerel what the benefit of doing prostrations was, she said that she felt
as though she was helping other sentient beings and herself.
T: The benefit of prostrations goes to all sentient beings. Basically you have to
think that you are bringing all the sentient beings up from the hell realms. I feel
like I absorb them, like a magnet.
S: How does that make you feel?
T: When I am praying I think that my bad deeds are getting thinner and that I am
making good deeds.
As the Western monk took his seat the chanting began. All of the chanting I saw at
reform Buddhist organisations was read in Tibetan but each person is given a
transcription in Cyrillic and a translation of the meaning in Mongolian. The older
students tend to be more enthusiastic about public chanting than the younger students
and most of the lay community at Jampa Ling are middle aged (and older) ladies. At this
teaching there were about fifty older ladies, a few older men and about thirty young
people. The gender distribution amongst the younger students was more even with about
two fifths of the young students at this event being men.
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After half an hour of chanting the American lama began to teach. He introduced
himself and explained his connection to Jampa Ling and Mongolia. He originally visited
Mongolia in 1995 accompanying the Dalai Lama and Panchen Ötrul Rinpoche. Linking
his teachings to tradition, he told the audience that they held a precious gem in their
hands that Buddhism was their cultural heritage and a spiritual tradition that dated back
to time of Chinggis Khan. He discussed how the hospitality of Mongols in the
countryside was part of this Buddhist heritage as showing kindness to others was the
essence of Buddhist practice. He went on to teach methods for transforming the mind as
taught by the Buddha, Tsongkhapa, the Dalai Lama and Panchen Ötrul Rinpoche. These
were through practicing generosity, ethical discipline, patience, perseverance,
concentration and wisdom.
Figure 20 – The Dalai Lama visiting Jampa Ling in 2006 (photo taken by Amber Cripps)
Another high–ranking foreign lama that visited Jampa Ling during my stay was
the head of the Sakya lineage, a Tibetan named Sakya Trizin. During his visit he gave the
tantric initiation for the popular Bodhisattva Green T"r" (M. Nogoon Dara Ekh)51. Unlike
the mysterious rituals that cultural Buddhists reported just ‘popping in’ to look at, this
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Green T"r" is the Bodhisattva of immediate help and active compassion. She is often pictured as seated
with one leg reaching down, symbolizing her readiness for assistance.
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ritual had a clear beginning and ending and was translated (as he spoke in Tibetan) into
Mongolian. The event at Jampa Ling was for those with invites only (as rituals by high
lamas can attract a lot of people) and there was an unusual amount of security. To mark
his arrival the road to Jampa Ling was lined in anticipation, people waiting with symbolic
offerings of bright blue khadags. When the Sakya Trizin arrived he was rushed forth to
plant a tree and then hurried inside the building.
Sakya Trizin sat on the golden raised ornamental chair that Panchen Ötrul
Rinpoche had sat on during the ritual blessings and this time, Panchen Ötrul Rinpoche
sat on a slightly lower seat to his right. Sakya Trizin looks different to other important
figures in Tibetan Buddhism. Unlike the monastic appearance of high lamas with their
shaved heads and lack of ornamentation, Sakya Trizin’s hair is kept long and he wears
turquoise earrings. Unlike during Panchen Ötrul Rinpoche’s teachings there was a rope
separating those conducting the rituals from the public and there was no time for
questions at the end of the ritual.
Lama Zorigt and another monk began the ceremony once again by debating
Buddhist texts. After this the tantric initiation of Green T"r" began. Tantric initiations
are supposed to connect Buddhist practitioners to living masters of esoteric practices.
After receiving this initiation, reading the mantra of Green T"r" is believed to have
greater effect. The visualisations are described in great detail during the initiation and
help practitioners visualise the Bodhisattva whilst reading the mantra. The effect of this is
intended to make the mantra and any associated practices more powerful. The Tibetan
was translated into Mongolian by the other resident lama, Lama Pürevsükh, and a great
deal of explanation accompanied the initiation.
Reform Buddhist organisations teach students how to participate in Buddhist
rituals and they also teach individuals how to embody moral discipline. Meditation assists
practitioners in directing their emotions and intentions towards the moral ideal of
Buddhist enlightenment. Practitioners not only learn doctrine to further their ethical
development but they also learn to embody Buddhist morality. In addition to meditation,
reform Buddhists practice humility through prostrations and develop kind intentions
towards others by reciting mantras and saying prayers. Private and public practices assist
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in the embodiment of Buddhist morality and reform Buddhist institutions conduct
public tantric initiations, chanting and blessings, as well as regular classes.
The central difference between public rituals at reform Buddhist organisations
and those at local Buddhist temples is in their explanation, translation and execution.
Reform Buddhists sit through entire services that often last many hours and the language
of instruction, if it is not Mongolian, is always translated. Participants are able to
understand the meaning of mantras, decipher religious symbols and learn how to
visualise deities. By combining personal and public practices reform Buddhist
organisations encourage individuals to work towards the moral ideal of enlightenment. In
order to move toward this soteriological and moral ideal, individuals must work hard
themselves, they cannot rely upon the monastic community alone.
The style of religious education promoted by reform Buddhist organisations is the
consequence of decades of communication between the Tibetan diaspora and Western
students. Reform Buddhists are connected to Western values about religious education
through global Buddhist organisations. Cultural Buddhists, on the other hand, are
connected to global styles of religiosity through their exposure to the multiple alternative
religious influences that have been flooding Ulaanbaatar since 1990. These global
religions like global and local Buddhist organisations frequently attempt to locate
themselves in Mongol ideas of ‘tradition’ in order to claim legitimacy in the capital.
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Chapter Six
Globalization, Hybridity and Change in Contemporary Lay Buddhist Thought: New
Religious Movements and Christianity
Amongst the cultural Buddhists I interviewed there is a high degree of variety
about Buddhist core concepts and ritual practices. Perceptions about sa%s&ra, karma and
enlightenment are diverse. While reformist Buddhists’ religious exegeses tend to be
consistent and stable, the religious exegeses of cultural Buddhists are characterized by
hybridity, bricolage and heterodoxy. This religious hybridity is due partly to a lack of
regular interactions with Buddhist institutions and partly to the opacity of religious
rituals. Education at public Buddhist institutions tends to be limited and, for most
cultural Buddhists, learning about religious practices and doctrine happens in the private
sphere, with friends and family members and through following ritual traditions. Because
this education is often incomplete there are substantial gaps in religious cosmologies and
ritual exegeses into which alternative religious knowledge can flow. In contemporary
Ulaanbaatar a range of non–Buddhist religious discourses are inundating the capital and
influencing the diversity that these religious exegeses take.
New Religious Movements such as Sri Sri Ravi Shankar and the Supreme Master
Ching Hai are very popular amongst my middle class interlocutors in Ulaanbaatar. As
their philosophical roots tend to be either Hindu or Buddhist, these groups already share
some core concepts with Buddhism even if they are interpreted in different ways. For
many of my interlocutors ideas about enlightenment, vegetarianism and meditation are
heavily influenced by their interactions with these groups.
The Hindu–based global group Sri Sri Ravi Shankar, referred to by most Mongols
simply as ‘Sri Sri’,52 has very high attendance amongst both reform and cultural Buddhists,
though reform Buddhists generally attended one of their weeklong retreats before
regularly attending a Dharma Centre. Amongst the cultural Buddhists that I formally
interviewed, one third had been to at least one weeklong meditation retreat run by Sri Sri.
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As this is what Mongols themselves call the group I will subsequently refer to this group as Sri Sri.
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Along with teaching meditation, yoga practice and Hindu–based philosophical concepts
the local Sri Sri group promotes a vegetarian diet.
In addition to promoting vegetarianism and meditation these New Religious
groups often have their own explanations of enlightenment (M. gegeerel) a concept that
tends to vary greatly amongst cultural Buddhists. Many groups propose their own central
figures as images of enlightenment. For instance, the Supreme Master Ching Hai claims
that she is enlightened and for many Mongols that I spoke to she is one of the few public
figures, in addition to the Dalai Lama, who they have heard is enlightened (although
there is some scepticism about her claims).
As well as these New Religious Movements, there are a lot of Christian missionary
groups in Ulaanbaatar and their presence is influencing Buddhist concepts. Most
missionary groups in the capital are Evangelical Christian and the majority of these have
adopted a translation of the Bible that appropriates Mongol Buddhist terms. This is not
the first time that Buddhist terms have been appropriated. During the socialist period,
Buddhist terms were co–opted. The term gegeerel (enlightenment), for instance, was
adapted to mean education. The ‘Ministry of Enlightenment’ (M. Gegeerüüliin Yaam) in
operation from 1969–1968, sounding a little like something from a George Orwell novel,
stood for the ‘Ministry of Education’ (Bawden 1997: 107). Many cultural Buddhists
complain about not being able to understand Buddhist literature, as Buddhist terms are
now incomprehensible; they have either fallen out of use or were appropriated to become
part of the socialist lexicon. Now Christian groups are adding to this confusion by
appropriating Buddhist terms to describe Christian concepts. For example, the word
Burkhan, which literally means ‘Buddha’ (Bawden 1997: 69), has been appropriated by
Evangelical Christians to represent a monotheistic God. This new use of the term is
feeding back into some cultural Buddhist understandings. Many informants used the
Mongol word for Buddha, Burkhan, interchangeably with a concept that resembles either
a monotheistic God and/or polytheistic gods. This trend feeds into ideas of life after
death and it is not uncommon for cultural Buddhists to reduce the multiple realms and
endless rebirths of Buddhist cosmology into two eternal realms, heaven and hell, from
which you cannot be reborn.
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New Religious Movements and Christian groups are introducing new concepts
into the capital and these concepts are, in turn, feeding back into cultural Buddhist ideas
about core Buddhist concepts. Both reform and cultural Buddhists absorb translocal
understandings into Buddhist concepts. Where reform Buddhists tend to interact with
global ideas through globalized Buddhist groups, cultural Buddhist cosmologies tend to
be open–ended and incomplete and they are more likely to absorb new translocal
religious ideas that are flowing into the capital. Occasionally these add to existing Mongol
concepts, such as associations of vegetarian food and meditation with purity. They also
transform core Buddhist concepts such as Burkhan and life after death in new and
interesting ways.
New Religious Movements: Hybridity, Meditation and Vegetarianism
The influence of globalization on religion is not a homogenizing force. As Ulf
Hannerz writes ‘the world system, rather than creating massive cultural homogeneity on a
global scale, is replacing one diversity with another’ (1987: 555). Whilst a large number of
people I interviewed said that they had attended a religious ritual or read religious
literature from another religion they had all translated and incorporated, or rejected,
what they had learnt into their own ideas about what it means to be a Buddhist, an
atheist, a syncretist, a Muslim or a Christian. The most popular groups amongst my
interlocutors were Sri Sri and the Supreme Master Ching Hai, though other groups, such
as the Ananda Marga and Gnostic Anthropology were also mentioned.
What these groups have in common is that they generally don’t self identify as
being religions. One of the people I interviewed who I would consider to be a devout
follower of the Supreme Master Ching Hai (as she meditates in the Supreme Master’s
style of meditation, is a vegan and owns a vegan restaurant) self identifies as Buddhist.
Likewise, the person I interviewed who was the most committed follower of Sri Sri Ravi
Shankar’s Mongol group considers herself to be a Muslim. The chef at the Ananda Marga
vegetarian restaurant told me that she was not involved in a religion even though she is
planning to become a nun and study at the Ananda Marga centre in Sweden. And the
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young man who regularly attends classes at the local Gnostic Anthropology group said
that he does not belong to any single religion but is ‘a respecter of religion’.
As Mongolia has shifted to democracy and has become part of the global economy,
alternative values have flowed into the capital. However, the global flows that are
reterritorializing themselves in Ulaanbaatar are not straightforward. Like reform Buddhist
organisations, the New Religious Movements that have appeared all have somewhat
complicated origins and are often already a mixture of ‘Western’ and ‘Eastern’
philosophies before they reach the capital. For example, the Ananda Marga is a Hindu–
based philosophical and yogic system invented in the 1950s in Bihar, India (Ananda
Marga Pracaraka Samgha 2006). Having global appeal, the Mongol group was started by
an Australian woman who also runs a Mongol orphanage with help from foreign and
local volunteers. She opened the first vegetarian restaurant in Ulaanbaatar and now also
runs a yoga and meditation centre.
When you walk into a Mongol bookstore it is common to see a bookshelf with
the teachings of the Dalai Lama alongside global Hindu guru Osho and books written by
Sri Sri Ravi Shankar. A range of spiritual, self–help books have been translated into
Mongolian and these are often on the ‘bestsellers’ shelf. Examples include the bestselling
book The Secret that asserts that positive thinking can alter reality (Byrne 2006); What The
Bleep Do We Know!? a classic New Age book that combines ‘quantum physics’ and
spirituality with its proposition that words, such as love and hate, can effect the shape of
water molecules (Arntz et al 2005); self–help psychology from Mongol and Russian
authors such as Alexander Sviyash; and self–help books using Mongol themes or imagery
that are available in English such as The Horse Boy (Isaacson 2009).
Most of the cultural Buddhists I formally interviewed had heard about or
practiced meditation through Sri Sri. The exceptions to this included one person that
learnt meditation by attending talks by an American monk at Gandantegchenling Khiid
and another who had learnt at work and practiced briefly with the Ananda Marga. One
person I interviewed was involved in the Supreme Master Ching Hai group and had
learnt her Quan Yin method of meditation. Another person had learnt meditation at a
reformist Buddhist group and was currently practicing a Gnostic Anthropology style of
‘meditation’ that involved listening to classical Western composers such as Beethoven.
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Other than these exceptions, if participants had learnt about meditation it was from the
Sri Sri group and it was not unusual to hear questions about Sri Sri meditation at the
introductory meditation classes at the FPMT’s Shedrup Ling. Sri Sri runs weeklong
meditation retreats that are led by a Mongol woman called Sarantuya Bagsh (Teacher).
Most people that had been to the Sri Sri meditation retreats had only been once
and no longer practiced the exercises they were taught on the retreat, though some tried
to for a period of time afterwards. During the retreat, participants were asked to only eat
vegetarian food and they were taught a series of meditation and physical exercises. They
were also given lectures about karma and reincarnation as well as on themes such as
health, morality and environmentalism.
S: How did you feel after you had finished doing the course?
O: Aimar [really!] different. Because the course is like about how people do bad
things, you know, it is bad. No matter how many people do this, it is still bad and
we shouldn’t do that. We should protect our environment and love each other or
something like that. And then after that course I felt, aimar [really!], people, they
don’t really care about the environment or they don’t really care about other
people, which is not good. And after that I knew more ways of doing things. It’s
good or important to do good stuff (Otgonbayar).
Other people talked about how they felt energized, healthier or happier after doing the
retreat. Because of the widespread attendance in Sri Sri’s courses, many Mongols that I
spoke to associated meditation not with Buddhist monastic life, or Buddhism at all, but
with something that people who are vegetarians do.
Vegetarianism, which is rarely a dietary habit of the Mongol Sa!gha, is strongly
encouraged by at least three of the most popular New Religious Movements that I came
across in the capital. As a result of this, vegetarianism is often associated with meditation
practice by lay Mongols. The growth of New Religious Movements, not the revival of
Buddhism in Mongolia, has led many Mongols to link meditation with vegetarianism.
Whilst Buddhist monastics and laypeople practice a vegetarian diet on special days, such
as the Buddha’s birthday, I didn’t meet any Mongol monastics that are vegetarian. Some
vegetarian groups in Ulaanbaatar say that traditionally Mongols ate only a vegetarian diet
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during the summer months. I heard it claimed that Mongols were vegetarian for up to
nine months of the year. Since the Ananda Marga opened the first vegetarian restaurant
in Ulaanbaatar in 2006 at least another ten new vegetarian restaurants have opened in
the city. I noticed that most of these are connected to the Supreme Master Ching Hai’s
Mongol group. There is also a Hare Krishna restaurant and the FPMT runs a vegetarian
restaurant on the ground floor of their Shredrup Ling centre.
During Sri Sri retreats people are asked to eat only vegetarian food because,
according to the group, it helps participants to attain higher spiritual states. This
association of meditation with vegetarianism and vice versa strengthens the associations
of both with purity. Vegetarian food in Mongolia has become known as tsagaan khool,
literally ‘white food’. This term describes the global concept of vegetarianism by coopting
existing associations surrounding white food and drinks with purity and cleanliness.
When I left Mongolia to visit Siberia on the Trans–Siberian railway, families who were
gathered around the train to farewell students travelling to Russia threw milk and vodka
at the train as it departed as a way of blessing their journey. In horse races people
traditionally cover the back of the horse with milk as a blessing for the race and it is
common to see people throwing milk and vodka at sacred places as they circumambulate
them in a clockwise direction. All dairy products are considered to be precious and many
Mongols offer their first cup of milk tea either to a Buddhist shrine or outside to the
spirits of the four directions: north, south, east and west. Milk and vodka are also
considered to be good offerings at ovoos and other sacred places, though offerings to
spirits depend on their character. White rice and dairy products are offered to ‘white’
spirits, while meat and vodka are offered to ‘black’ spirits (Sneath 2007: 135).
Figure 21 – An ovoo with offerings that include: a litre of milk, blue, yellow and green khadags and a picture
of the Buddhist figure Yam"ntaka (M. Yamandaga)
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During my fieldwork the only Buddhists I met who were vegetarians were either
involved in the Supreme Master Ching Hai’s group, were Westerners, or were Mongols
experimenting with regular meditation practice. Shredrup Ling houses a vegetarian café
on its ground floor, but this is a reflection of its foreign roots. At the end of a Buddhist
meditation class at Shredrup Ling a participant asked if being a vegetarian was an
important part of meditation practice. The teacher, a Westerner and a vegetarian herself,
was very careful to stress that whilst it might be helpful it wasn’t necessary. What was
important, she said, is that you hadn’t overindulged in food before sitting down to
practice. She answered in this way, I think, because of her awareness that it would be
unreasonable to ask Mongols to become vegetarians. Meat and flour are very cheap and it
is considerably more expensive to switch to a sufficiently nutritious vegetarian diet. Every
Tuesday at Jampa Ling was ‘white food’ day but I often saw people eating meat and heard
many hearty complaints about the food that was served on that day (though this could
well have been a means of teasing me, as they knew that I was a vegetarian).
In spite of the widespread attendance of Sri Sri’s meditation retreats I only
interviewed two people who still practiced what they had been taught. One, a forty–year–
old man called Oyunbat, said that he continues the morning yoga practice of ‘salute to
the sun’ (S. S)rya Namask&ra) twelve times in the morning because of its health benefits,
and a thirty–year–old woman, Tulpan, still attends regular retreats and classes. Although
Tulpan identifies as a Muslim her religious heterodoxy is representative of the kinds of
hybridity found amongst many of the cultural Buddhists I met. The only difference
between her religious identification and that of cultural Buddhists is due to her ethnicity:
she is Kazakh so she identifies as a Muslim.
Tulpan identifies as Muslim because of her Kazakh ethnicity and her parents’
identification as Muslim. She says that she is not very religious and that she and her
parents irregularly participate in Muslim community events that her relatives put together.
As there was no mosque in Ulaanbaatar at the time of the interview they did not attend
religious services. Tulpan and her parents are more involved in Buddhist religious
activities than some of the other cultural Buddhists that I interviewed. She and her
parents regularly visit a Buddhist temple around Tsagaan Sar and pay for s!tras to be read
for the New Year. She said that whilst she was at the temple she prays to Burkhan (whom
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she identifies as a monotheistic God), feeds the birds, circumambulates the temple and
spins the prayer wheels. When she is anxious about work or some other problem she goes
to a lama to ask for advice about what to do and she follows a Buddhist astrological
calendar. When I asked if she thought that getting prayers read by monks helped her she
told me that ‘it helps because religion is one of the sciences. It’s very old and it’s a
science’. She also attends Sri Sri classes at least twice a month to do exercise and
meditation and has done a number of more in depth silent weeklong retreats with the
group.
Her beliefs reflect her involvement in Sri Sri and Buddhism, as well as her
identification as a Muslim and with monotheism. She believes in karma (as the
consequences of actions coming back to you in this life) but she doesn’t believe in
reincarnation. She believes that there is only one God and that after death a person’s
spirit goes before a judge and then to either heaven or hell, which she expressed with the
Mongol Buddhist terms of divaajin53 and tam. When I asked Tulpan if she believed in
karma she replied:
I believe in it. I have one example. I take a bus, so I sat down and one woman
entered the bus with a girl. The bus was crowded with people. I didn’t see them
and the woman said that I should give up the seat. But behind me there was a
younger girl sitting and I thought that she should give up the seat. But no, she
didn’t give up the seat. And the woman shouted at me ‘why don’t you give me the
seat?’ And I said, ‘Why should I give you the seat?’ And she said, ‘this child has a
disability…’ And I said, ‘If you have this [problem] then you should take a taxi’.
And I was just arguing with them. After the bus, when I was walking on the street
to my office, I fell. I think that happened maybe from God or bad energy. If I had
given up the seat then maybe I wouldn’t have fallen.
For Tulpan, karma is a kind of instant karma, which can create immediate punishment
for wrongdoings in this life. In this quotation we can also see that there was a degree of
uncertainty about how karma operated, it might be from God or from bad energy.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
53
The literal Buddhist translation of this word is Sukh!vat" or the Pure Land.
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When I asked if she believed in enlightenment she replied:
I think it’s possible for humans because some Buddhist lamas and Buddha are
examples. We all can, if we do everything true and good and we meditate, we all
could go to gegeerel [become enlightened] (Tulpan).
She said that meditation made her feel less stressed. And when I asked her how she felt
after attending the Sri Sri classes she said:
It’s good for me. Relaxing. And it’s different… when I go there to exercise for
three hours I feel very wonderful. And I relax and when I leave the room after the
meditation I feel like I’m flying. No, not that, expanded… Afterwards, when I was
working in my office [I noticed that] people communicate bad things. I was just
thinking, where am I? One day I couldn’t communicate with people because for
four days it was very nice and we were smiling and not arguing and not saying bad
things. Just very good things and on the first workday I couldn’t imagine how we
live like this. And I thought, ‘Where am I?’ ‘Where am I?’ This life does not suit
me. And after two days I got used to the real situation. Before I couldn’t receive
this real situation. Why are we talking about this? The real situation is very
dangerous I think.
The hybridity of Tulpan’s ideas about karma, God, enlightenment and life after death are
similar to many cultural Buddhists. Like many cultural Buddhists she visits temples to
receive advice from a lama when she has a problem and she and her family visit a temple
after Tsagaan Sar. She has incorporated Hindu concepts that she has been exposed to at
Sri Sri classes, Buddhist concepts from temples and ideas from Islam into her religious
beliefs and practices.
The Supreme Master Ching Hai: Enlightenment and Veganism
Another common influence on people’s ideas of enlightenment, meditation and
vegetarianism came from the Supreme Master Ching Hai. The adherents of this group are
all vegans and they meditate at least two and a half hours a day. Led by a charismatic
Vietnamese self–proclaimed enlightened master, the group meditates using the Supreme
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Master’s Quan Yin method. Quan Yin (M. Janraisig, S. Avalokite$vara) is the archetypical
Bodhisattva of compassion in Buddhism.
The Supreme Master Ching Hai was born to Catholic parents in Vietnam and
reportedly learnt about Buddhism from her Buddhist grandmother. Her website says that
she studied under a number of Buddhist teachers and then found an unnamed
Himalayan master who gave her the transmission for the Quan Yin method of meditation.
It also states that she attained enlightenment by doing this practice in retreat in the
Himalayas (Supreme Master Ching Hai International Assoc. n. d. a). She has a 24–hour
TV channel in Mongolia and is so popular that she visited in 2009 to air one of her
international video teachings. Her central message is that vegetarianism is linked to an
environmental ethic. On the front cover of her international newsletter she is wearing a
deel to mark her broadcast from Ulaanbaatar, it reads in English, ‘Be vege, go green, save
the world. We don’t have to die to save the world, just be vegan’ (Supreme Master Ching
Hai International Assoc. 2009).
Occasionally the Supreme Master Ching Hai’s name came up in discussions about
enlightenment. One friend asked me if I thought that the Supreme Master Ching Hai
was enlightened. This claim she thought was confusing because at the time of the Buddha
everything was magical with lotuses blooming everywhere and nature at its most beautiful,
but since that clearly wasn’t the case now it seemed strange that someone else could be
enlightened. When I asked her if she thought the Dalai Lama was enlightened she
thought for a while and then said, ‘yes’ which followed with an admission that perhaps
her ideas about enlightenment were contradictory. Because of the breadth of the
Supreme Master’s popularity in Ulaanbaatar and the presence of her 24–hour television
channel, I noticed that many people’s ideas of enlightenment and meditation are being
influenced by her self–identification as someone who has reached enlightenment, even if
there is a lot of uncertainty as to the truth of her claims.
SAK: What is enlightenment?
S: It’s difficult. I don’t have any experience about that. But sometimes I watch on
the TV Supreme Master Ching Hai. Who they say is enlightened… I only watch
her speak sometimes on TV because it is in English and I use it to practice my
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English. Only on TV I’ve heard about it. Actually I don’t know about that.
Sometimes I don’t believe that people are enlightened. What does it mean?
Because I have no experience, I haven’t read about that so I don’t know it very
well. Sometimes I don’t understand, why are people enlightened? And the
Supreme Master Ching Hai always says that in your mind you’re everything.
SAK: Do you think that she is enlightened?
S: I actually don’t know. Only on TV I was told that she is enlightened. But I
don’t know if she is enlightened or not enlightened. Maybe when people are
enlightened, in my opinion, it means that she or he doesn’t think about money or
I have to buy expensive clothes, and only thinks about human things… and also
they can maybe go without food for many days. Because in their mind maybe
something happened, I think so. But about that I never read anything, it’s only
my opinion (Sarangerel).
Here even though Sarangerel expresses scepticism about the Supreme Master’s claims she
is still the first person that she recalls when asked a question about enlightenment.
Another interlocutor, Narantsetseg, runs a popular vegan and vegetarian
restaurant in Ulaanbaatar and lived in India for six years where she came across the
Supreme Master Ching Hai’s teachings and started following her practices. She said that
she became a vegetarian because of her daughter who was interested in the Supreme
Master’s teachings and decided that she wanted to become vegetarian when she was
fourteen. Narantsetseg grew up in a Buddhist family and was always taught not to kill
animals and insects (a common report amongst my older interlocutors). Her daughter
began to believe that a natural extension of the Buddhist ideal not to kill was also to
avoid eating meat. Like many Mongols the most important religious figure for
Narantsetseg growing up was a member of her family, her grandmother. And even though
she was a child during socialist religious restrictions (she is now around 40) her
grandmother performed Buddhist takhil for the family.
The Supreme Master Ching Hai requires that all who wish to be initiated into the
Quan Yin method take the five basic lay Buddhist precepts which are to abstain from:
theft, harmful speech, sexual misconduct, intoxicants, and killing. She makes some
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alterations to the precept of refraining from intoxicants by including in this category
excessively violent literature and films and pornography and a substantial extension to the
precept of not killing, which is that people must follow a strict vegan diet (Supreme
Master Ching Hai International Assoc. n. d. b). In addition to this, Narantsetseg told me
that all initiates must meditate at least two and a half hours a day.
For Narantsetseg being a vegetarian is a core part of her spiritual life. She
recounted that when she first arrived in India people would ask her what her religion was
and that when she told them she was a Buddhist they always looked at her with great
respect and admiration. Looking back, however, she describes that at that time she was
very aggressive and that this she attributes to her former meat dominant diet. During the
interview she also said that she loves talking to young people because they are not
polluted by years of eating meat and consequently don’t have a clouded mind.
Like many Mongols, her religious practice is syncretic, incorporating Buddhism
and the teachings of the Supreme Master Ching Hai. She said that her first teacher is the
Dalai Lama and that her second teacher is the Supreme Master Ching Hai. Both of these
figures she considers to be enlightened and she believes that enlightenment is within the
realm of possibility for every person on earth. She recounted with some frustration the
scornful reaction of a small group of Mongol lamas when she told them that her sister is
working hard to try to reach enlightenment in this life.
Narantsetseg has also had some interaction with Shamanism and believes in
spirits. However, she believes that using these spirits to predict the future is a distraction
that won’t help you to be released from sa%s&ra, which she sees as the ultimate goal of
religious practice. Narantsetseg said that the Supreme Master warned people about being
overly concerned with the supernatural and soothsaying, as this is a distraction. She said
that anyone could tell the future but you can only reach enlightenment through hard
work. Interestingly, this same attitude was found among many reform Buddhists.
In addition to the Supreme Master Ching Hai’s group and Sri Sri, the influence
of smaller religious groups such as the Ananda Marga and Gnostic Anthropology and no
doubt countless others are difficult to track. The rapid growth and success of spiritually
oriented groups suggests that lay Mongols have a voracious interest in spirituality and
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alternative philosophies that they yearn to satisfy, even if these pursuits, such as following
the exercises learnt on Sri Sri retreats, may well be short lived. These groups, because of
their philosophical similarities with Buddhist ideas about reincarnation, karma and
enlightenment, are often incorporated into individual philosophies to fill explanatory
gaps about concepts such as enlightenment and the purpose of meditation that are left
open by ordinary levels of contact with Buddhist institutions.
Christianity: God, Buddha and Life After Death
Christianity is the other most visible influence on religion in the capital and like
other religions that have grown in Ulaanbaatar since 1990 it has been transformed,
refashioned and/or rejected. If globalization is conceived as a network of global flows
(Appadurai 1996) these flows must also reterritorialize, creating new localizations. As
Richard Eves writes:
Global flows have always been localized – that is they have always been subject to
creative refashioning as they are incorporated into local worlds and, of course,
they are often resisted and rejected (Eves 2000: 75–76).
There are numerous missionary groups that have flowed into Mongolia since 1990.
Among them are Mormons, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Catholics, the Unification Church,
Orthodox Russian Christianity and many different types of Evangelical Churches. I will
talk mainly about the Evangelical Churches as they have the most influence in
Ulaanbaatar and most of the people that I interviewed who had been to a Christian
Church have visited an Evangelical Church. Ninety percent of Christians in Mongolia are
estimated to be Protestant and in addition to the 198 registered Christian places of
worship at the beginning of 2010 (many of which are Evangelical) there are a further
estimated 250 unregistered Evangelical Churches (Bureau of Democracy, Human Rights
and Labor 2010).
During my time in Mongolia I met numerous Christian missionaries whilst I was
studying Mongolian at a language school. They ranged from liberal minded Christians
mainly from England, South Korea and America to very conservative missionaries from
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America and South Korea. Both liberal and conservative groups tended to be involved in
aid projects in the capital. I met one man at the language school who identified himself as
a Mennonite, which he described as being ‘like a Baptist, but more conservative than a
Baptist’. He then went on to explain his violent disdain for Mongols. However, apart
from him, most of the people that I met who were involved in missionary activities
seemed to genuinely love Mongolia and were engaged with aid projects and/or in
Christian prosthelytising.
The cultural Buddhists that I met had diverse opinions about Christianity. They
ranged from an interest in Christian philosophies, to an admiration of Christian charity
work, to acceptance of other people’s beliefs, to concerns about Christian missionaries
bribing the poor to convert them or eroding Mongol traditions. Some had family
members who identified as Christian. One middle–aged man had a daughter who had
studied in South Korea and had become a Christian during university. When I asked him
how he felt about her being a Christian he replied:
I agree. This is her choice. I think that every religion has one goal but they have
different ways. Maybe Christianity will give her many positive changes. Maybe, I
hope so (Oyunbat).
Many people thought that following any religion (as long as it wasn’t extremist) was a
positive attribute, as having an interest in religion shows an interest in one’s own
development both morally and spiritually.
I believe we have many gods... If I believe in Burkhan then I can collect good
energy and then bad things can leave my body and my mind. I think that all
people should believe in one kind of Burkhan. There is Buddha and there is
Allah… maybe they are the same. If you believe, then it is ok. But to have no
Burkhan, no God, it is bad (Batbayer).
Here Batbayer, a cultural Buddhist, expresses the commonly held belief that having
religion, no matter what it is, is better than being an atheist, Burkhangui, which literally
translates to mean without Buddha or God.
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Most cultural Buddhists that I met believe that all religions are ultimately about
the same thing, but that they have many different methods of exploration. Many people
said that they had explored Christianity as well as Buddhism and see no contradiction in
combining more than one religion.
My readings of religious books started very late, only two years ago. I was working
for the Central Bank and I was very busy. Now I am quite free and I have time to
read books. I started reading the Christian Bible and then Buddhist books and
Islamic books. And now I have started to read the Kabbalah… I’m not a student
of theology and I don’t have any education in that field, but according to my
readings… I think there is only one God. It depends on the geographic difference.
For example, Europeans call it Jesus Christ, and Americans do also, because their
religion is from Europe. Middle Eastern people call it Allah or Mohamed. Asian
people call their God, the only God, Buddha. I think there is only one God and
that different people interpret it in different ways (Odgerel)
This kind of open–mindedness towards religion has an influence on what the word
Burkhan is interpreted as meaning.
When I asked people about the word Burkhan most translated it as meaning God
or Buddha or both. Whilst some cultural Buddhists described Burkhan as a real man who
had lived and found enlightenment, for most, Burkhan more closely resembled either a
monotheistic God or many polytheistic gods. This alteration of the concept of Burkhan,
whether or not it is a direct result of pluralistic religious exposure, also affects other
Buddhist concepts. For example when I asked Sükh, Odgerel’s son, what enlightenment
was, he replied:
I’ve heard it’s the same in every religion. I heard in Christianity when you believe
in Christ you will get excused for your sins… and that when you’re excused then
you can go to heaven. In Buddhism they think the same, also in the Kabbalah in
the Jewish religion, they think the same thing. Everybody. Every person who
believes in God can get enlightened. If you clear away all the sins you’ve done
before and do good things you can get enlightened. But I’ve heard in Buddhism
and also in yoga and things when you get enlightened sometimes you can make
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rain fall and sometimes you can fly and things like that. I think enlightenment is
just becoming pure, getting ready to go to heaven. I think it’s not really different
from any other religions (Sükh).
Sükh says he believes that God is the same in all religions and when you die you are not
reincarnated but you go to either heaven or hell. Enlightenment, as he describes above, is
the process of purification of wrong doings that one can do before dying and going to
heaven. When I asked him if he was worried that he might go to hell he replied that he
wasn’t. Whilst he didn’t expect to become enlightened he isn’t going to go to hell either,
which means that in his understanding becoming enlightened wasn’t a pre–requisite for
entry into heaven. This view diverges sharply from the philosophical doctrine of
enlightenment as the release from sa%s&ra: a rebirth into Buddhist heaven is still a
continuation of sa%s&ra as beings in heaven will again be reborn.
Another young man, Nergui, described his ideas about Burkhan.
N: It’s not only in Buddhism. You’ve got Christianity where you believe in Jesus
Christ. Apparently, also the Muslim ones. And then you’ve got other Buddhist
countries, such as Taiwan where you have statues lying down and then you’ve got
China, they have different ones, and then Mongolia has different ones. I mean
surely God wouldn’t have so many different ones [images], right? So basically… it’s
a major big energy or a major force …
S: Could you explain what you mean by God?
N: No [laughs]. Saying it like a person is impossible because it’s so huge, it’s like a
major force. Their arms are everywhere but its all kind of like an energy thing. But
it does exist. The way I see it is quite difficult and I have difficulty explaining it…
it’s really, really hard. And this is what I’m trying to get an answer for as well, if
you think about it, I have more questions than answers. But I do believe in it. I do
believe that the God is, I can’t say it’s a person because if you say it’s a person
then you start to wonder what the person would look like and what gender it
would be and so on and so on. So you can’t really say that, it’s impossible. But if
you say that it’s like a force, as I say its intangible, you can’t really see it. You have
to feel it. And it’s all mental. And because you believe in it, it’s all spiritual.
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Because it’s spirit, it’s intangible. So it’s basically a major force that allows you to
do good. It helps people to have a balance in life. In that case it makes sense
because if God is there to keep all the balance in the world then obviously the bad
ones get punished and the good ones get rewards.
This idea that all Burkhan is the same in all religions and the extrapolations based on this
concept was common amongst my interlocutors.
A Mongol friend, who has written her Masters thesis on the subject of Mongol
translations of the Bible, told me that there has been a split within Evangelical groups
over the translation of the Bible. Originally the translation of the Bible did not use any
Mongol Buddhist terms to represent Christian concepts. However, in the late 1990s, a
new Bible was translated which used Buddhist terms to get Christian concepts across.
This seems to break with Evangelicalism’s ability to ‘localize while holding its shape’
(Zehner 2005: 586) as according to a friend, who has read many different versions of the
Bible in English, this new Bible literally makes no sense. As Khongordzol describes it:
Starting from the first sentence, from the first word you have a problem. Where it
says ‘in the beginning there was a word and the word was God’. If you literally
translated it into English it would be like ‘Buddha was there in front of the line’
or like something the word they use is in front of the line. For the word they use
the word üg, which doesn't communicate anything to the Mongolian… it doesn't
have personality, it doesn't have anything, it is just something you say with your
mouth. So like the ‘word was with Buddha’. That sentence starts just like that and
it was really hard to analyse that. I'm like, on what basis did they choose the word
Buddha for Christian God? Because there is no connection to it. If you wanted to
list all the characteristics of Buddha and God you can't really make a connection
to it, it's too different.
This particular translation of the Bible is so confusing that it has been blamed for a
number of suicides amongst new Christian converts. One interlocutor told me that two
of his classmates at school had committed suicide and both had left notes saying that they
would be resurrected in three days. He had also heard that some people told their
families not to be worried if they die because Jesus was going to come down on Judgment
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Day and that this day was approaching soon. A number of people mentioned similar
suicides that had been reported in Mongol newspapers when discussing their concerns
about the growth of Christian groups in the region.
As the Evangelical Churches use the term Burkhan to attract more people to the
church, the word Burkhan becomes a more plastic concept, sometimes aligned with
monotheism and sometimes not. Take, for example, the following conversation with
Otgonbayar:
O: In Buddhism… you just believe that God sees you or believes you. The
Christian people feel it. Because I’ve seen people singing and closing their eyes
and making a strange face, they feel physically connecting their spirit to Burkhan.
S: Could you explain what God is?
O: I think God is Buddha. I think but there are many Buddhas and different
types of Buddhas. And depending on which year you were born you have more
stronger important Buddha you should pray to…
S: Does someone decide if you go to heaven or hell?
O: I think Buddha, God decides it. Because, I think Buddha is honest he knows
and sees what you are doing so just I think he decides.
Here we see that Otgonbayar sees the term Burkhan to refer to polytheistic gods as well as
to refer to the main Burkhan who decides a person’s future rebirth. This is a logical
extension from the Buddhist use of the term, as Burkhan is often used to refer to both
Buddha and the pantheon of Buddhist deities and Bodhisattvas. However, in Buddhist
doctrine Buddha does not decide upon your future rebirths, instead your rebirth is
dependant on the natural laws of karma. Here Burkhan more closely resembles an
interventionist God. As Otgonbayar says she believes in reincarnation, a person can be
reborn into many different realms including the human realm, and from these realms can
be reborn again. The appropriation of Buddhist terms by most Evangelical Churches in
Mongolia does not always result in a wholesale importation of a Christian view of God;
rather, individuals translate it differently to create a variety of alternative interpretations.
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During my fieldwork in Mongolia I interviewed only one Christian. Khongordzol
is a highly educated woman in her early thirties. Her parents are atheists and she has
become a Christian, though she tells most people that she is an atheist due to her
disagreements with most Christian organizations in the capital. Her father holds a
negative opinion of Buddhism and she has found an alternative moral basis in
Christianity. She has been a Christian since she was sixteen and, as she describes it:
It was just basically you know I was kind of at a point where I decided that there
was no meaning to life, like its so meaningless, and so I lost all interest. All of a
sudden I was like, this is interesting, so I started picking it [Christianity] up
(Khongordzol).
She attended a number of different Evangelical groups but became tired of the bickering
that was occurring between them. She was ‘disgusted’ at the continual fighting over
different translations of the Bible. She has had very little contact with Buddhism during
her life, as she recounts it:
I went to visit a temple once with my grandmother, with my mum’s mum… I was
like really upset and I didn’t enter and my grandma entered and then she came
back and then my father was really upset about the fact that she took me to a
monastery. And so he forbade her never to take any of us to the monastery at all. I
think I was quite scared and that’s why I was really upset and so I told my parents.
My mum isn’t, but my Dad is completely against Buddhism. Anyway, so he was
like my children should have nothing to do with such things (Khongordzol).
This experience was compounded by her visit to an astrological lama when she was twenty.
She went with her mother who was consulting a lama about the family’s future and he
told her that she would meet her life partner at twenty-three. She is now in her early
thirties and still single and as she describes it ‘he really lied, you know’.
Khongordzol speaks fluent English and is learning Chinese. She works for an
international NGO and appears to have a very global outlook. She has read many
different English translations of the Bible but prefers the King James Bible written in the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. She sees Jesus as someone who reveals God, who has
shown the way that you should live your life. God is the creator and his teachings are in
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the Bible. In her opinion, if you don’t decide to follow the teachings of the Bible then
God will punish you because that is what he said he was going to do. She told me that she
believed in heaven and hell but when I asked, ‘who decides if you go to heaven or hell?’
she said:
God decides, but everyone kind of knows where they are going I think…
Mongolians say that when someone dies they put a mark if the baby is born with
that mark they say that that person has come back. I don't really believe that, it's
not true. That cannot be possibly true. Because I've seen my grandmother and my
grandfather die and actually nothing happened. That's why I started thinking, why
am I living? Why should I live? If the end is just like I die and if you have kids
they will remember you for the first ten years and after that you'll be probably
forgotten. Unless you become a really super person who will be remembered
through their works, like Shakespeare... It's just the name that lasts and not
anything else. So I'm like I'm not going to be that super person, I can't really waste
my life trying to be that super person and trying to work out some remembered
work. I don't have that kind of talent. I'm just an ordinary person. So what's the
point? What if I don't want to marry and have kids? Who’s going to remember
me? No one, so what’s the point? So actually nothing happens after you die, that
was quite a shocking discovery to me as a child. So I don't think there is
anything… I think that the heaven and hell option might happen. But I don't
know because I never died.
Here we see that when questioned further, her view of the afterlife is open-ended. She has
considered that her beliefs might not be true, that other people have alternative views and
that her beliefs might change at some point.
This quotation also, I think, brings us to the core of her rejection of Buddhism.
Along with having experiences she describes as bad with Buddhism in the past, in her
opinion, Buddhism cannot provide the impetus for following a moral life and indeed, for
living. Of the Buddha she said:
I think his main teaching is like emptiness. But if you just take that logically, if
your life is empty and it's all an illusion, what's the point? How can you get out of
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this illusion? So, kind of like, to me it just doesn't make sense. If it’s an illusion
and the core is emptiness, you know, why do you think that you should suffer the
consequences of your action? Because you shouldn't, it’s empty, it’s meaningless.
But because it’s not meaningless because it’s not empty you just always suffer the
consequences of your actions. If you do good you just receive the consequences
and you’re happy, but if you do bad you suffer, you go through difficulties in life.
It possibly can't be the illusion or emptiness. If you take that emptiness then
you’re going to end up committing suicide. You want to finish this illusion
basically.
Here she has interpreted Buddhist philosophy as nihilistic and has rejected it because she
feels it cannot provide her with the basis for a moral life. Here we see an individual’s
choice informed in part by parental opinion and past experience, but weighted heavily on
religion’s capacity to provide moral teachings and a reason to live. In many ways
Khongordzol was one of the harshest critics of Christianity that I met in Mongolia, not of
Christian philosophy but of the conduct of Christian missionaries in the capital.
Many people had concerns about the manipulation of the poor by Christian
missionaries and I heard many stories of coercion by ‘aid’ organisations. Friends told me
about missionaries from Christian soup kitchens in the ger districts going to people’s
houses to collect (and destroy) their Buddhist statues, people exchanging blankets for
conversions in Mongol prisons, and people being coerced into saying Christian grace
before being given food. I once saw a destitute woman searching through the garbage
with a T–shirt covered with the words ‘Jesus Loves Me’ repeated over and over. There
were also some very successful Christian aid projects in the capital, such as Tsagaan Alt,
the sustainable felting factory and a group of Christians who provided coffee for
prostitutes outside the Ulaanbaatar Hotel. Because of this diversity, many Mongols felt
unsure about the activities of Christians in the capital.
Nowadays we have a lot of churches from many different religions. From the
nineties we have Christian churches and Muslim mosques that I’m not sure about.
We could have some churches or temples or mosques whose goal is not to help
people. Maybe they have some money from the other organisations and they just
doing some other activities. And we might have some problems if we don’t have
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any policies or any regulations. We could have some problems with this either
personally for people, for example some Christian people, some Mormon people
are going to people’s houses and knocking and talking with them. Maybe if those
people do believe they could help these people and then they could help. That
would be ok, but in Mongolia it seems a little bit strange. It could bring good
things for people, of course, as they are doing helpful things for homeless people.
But some of them are just brainwashing for money (Nominjin).
Some people were worried that that young people would convert to Christianity because
Christian organisations were spreading throughout the capital and the ‘traditional’
religions of Buddhism and Shamanism would be unable to compete. This was because
unlike Buddhist organisations, Christian churches tend to entice people into the church
through charity. As Munkhtsetseg said:
Now we have many Christian people and I am very worried about that. You see in
UB we have many churches, Christian churches. Many new churches are
appearing. I worry about it… They are trying to bring poor people and they give
something to them and those poor people see Christian people and they think I
want to be Christian they give us something to eat. But I think, in my opinion,
Buddhism is the best religion in the world.
Christianity is currently influencing cultural Buddhist perceptions of religion and charity
and it will be interesting to see how the interaction between Christianity and Buddhism
develops in the future. Whilst I heard many accounts of Christian organisations
manipulating their charitable works for conversions, other people are attracted to
Christianity because they find it compelling for other reasons. Some people thought, like
Otgonbayar, that Christian churches have a strong connection to Burkhan and others, like
Khongordzol, may find it attractive because it provides a complete moral and
philosophical system that they don’t see in Buddhism.
New Religious Movements and Christianity are both having an influence on
cultural Buddhist beliefs and practices. Amongst the middle class interlocutors that I
interviewed, more had been involved in New Religious Movements than had visited
Christian churches. Yet, whilst New Religious groups attracted more attendance than
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Christianity, the philosophical appeal of monotheism should not be underestimated.
Concepts from New Religious Movements fit neatly into Buddhist cosmologies because
they tend to come from similar root doctrines. Monotheist philosophies fit into existing
modes of interactions with temples. People already interact with temples as though
Burkhan were an interventionist God or gods. They pray to Burkhan at temples and ask
lamas as intermediaries with Burkhan for advice and prayers to help with their lives. In
this way, monotheism has little trouble fitting into existing Buddhist conceptions, even if,
in doing so, it departs from conventional doctrinal understandings of Buddha.
This is not to say that Buddhist beliefs and practices are inherently plastic in
Ulaanbaatar. Buddhists that have regular interactions with temples, whether they are
cultural Buddhists or reform, are less likely to form such open–ended religious
philosophies and are therefore less likely to supplement their religious education with
knowledge from external religious sources. Amongst reform Buddhists, conceptions of
key Buddhist terms are rarely influenced by Christian doctrine, as most reform Buddhists
understand the philosophical difference between God and Buddha. As Naranbaatar, a
reformist Buddhist, describes:
When I was studying about Christianity I noticed they say Lord a lot. I felt that
believers were under someone else’s influence. Rather than letting people change
themselves, the Lord will tell them what to do and they follow his direction. In
Buddhism people can change themselves and choose themselves to go in the right
direction. In Christianity they talk about the Lord and they emphasize and focus
on the Lord.
Understanding the doctrinal differences between Buddhism and other religions is one of
the key ways that reform Buddhists are different to cultural Buddhists. As a result reform
Buddhists tend to interact with other belief systems in the spirit of tolerance rather than
incorporation. In Naranbaatar’s Buddhist classes he perceives a difference between asking
for help from a supernatural agent and helping yourself. During classes he learns how to
be actively engaged in transforming his behaviour in order to travel toward Buddhist
moral ideals.
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Both reform and cultural Buddhists are heavily influenced by globalization. For
cultural Buddhists, ideas about meditation, vegetarianism and enlightenment are
frequently affected by their interaction with New Religious Movements. These groups are
most often a complex mixture of ‘Eastern’ and ‘Western’ ideas before they enter
Ulaanbaatar and reterritorialize themselves by inserting themselves into ideas about
Mongol tradition (such as through their associations of white food, purity and
meditation). Monotheistic religions, such as Christianity are having an impact on ideas
about Buddha, God or gods and life after death. Global Christian organisations attempt
to root themselves in Mongol tradition by using Buddhist terms to describe Christian
concepts. Global Buddhist organisations, on the other hand, offer a mixture of different
global influences to reform Buddhists. They are importing alternative ideas about
religious education and aim to reconnect Mongols to the ‘tradition’ of written doctrine
and living teaching lineages that was severed during the socialist period.
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Conclusion
After decades of religious repression and atheist education religion has not been
eradicated in Mongolia. Buddhism is now an important cultural signifier for many
Mongols and most now identify as Buddhist, whether they do this on cultural grounds or
because they interact regularly with Buddhist institutions. Whilst Buddhism has become
very popular in Ulaanbaatar, most of my interlocutors expressed concerns about their
own ignorance and were not entirely happy with their relationship with Buddhist
institutions. Rather than learning about religion at public Buddhist institutions, cultural
Buddhists tend to become educated about religion in the private sphere, from trusted
family members, friends and hearsay. This education is frequently incomplete and most
lay people have an awareness of Buddhist concepts that is characterised by heterodoxy
and eclecticism. For cultural Buddhists, answers to core religious questions are often
composed from a variety of Buddhist and non–Buddhist sources.
Since 1990 a large number of global religious organisations have entered the
capital. Along with Christian missionaries and New Religious Movements, global
Buddhist organisations have arrived in Mongolia to ‘help’ Mongols restore their religious
practices and ‘fix’ what they see as ‘degenerated’ Mongol lineages. These global Buddhist
organisations are often run under the auspices of high–ranking Tibetan religious figures
who now live in diaspora in the West, or in India, and have been affected by Western
ideas about Buddhism. Rather than focusing on the ritual relationship between the
sa!gha and the laity, these organisations offer regular classes to lay people teaching
comprehensive doctrinal knowledge and transformative practices as well as running
temples that impart monastic discipline to monks and nuns. Tibetan religious figures in
diaspora often run Dharma Centres in the West that respond to Western expectations of
religious education. These new expectations are now being imported into Ulaanbaatar by
global Buddhist organisations that teach doctrinal universal Buddhism to lay people and
monastics.
Alongside these reform Buddhist institutions, New Religious Movements and
Christian missionaries have flooded the capital. Many of the New Religious Movements
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teach meditation, yoga, and promote a vegetarian diet – a novelty in a meat dominated
society. Christian groups are numerous in quantity but appear, at least amongst the
middle class, to be less popular than New Religious Movements. Like New Religious
Movements they are having a significant effect on religious ideas. Because cultural
Buddhists become educated about Buddhism primarily in the private sphere there is
ample space for alternative religions to provide answers to core religious questions, such
as what happens after death.
Mongolia is opening itself up both to previously hidden forms of Buddhism that
are emerging from the domestic sphere and to a new range of cosmopolitan ideas. Both
cultural Buddhists and reform Buddhists are interacting with new global religious imports.
Whilst cultural Buddhists see themselves as identifying with Buddhism as part of their
cultural tradition, most are also heavily influenced by the alternative religious
philosophies that are flowing into the capital. Reform Buddhists also see themselves as
reconnecting with the ‘traditional’ Buddhism that Mongolia lost during the socialist
period. However, the global Buddhist organisations that these laypeople interact with are
a long way from the Buddhism that was practiced in Mongolia and Tibet before the
respective upheavals that challenged Buddhism in the twentieth century. Global Buddhist
organisations connected to the Tibetan diaspora have been heavily influenced by Western
expectations of Buddhism. When high Tibetan lamas emerged as refugees from the
Tibetan plateau, laypeople in the West wanted to learn Buddhist doctrine and meditation
techniques from them. Because of Western cultural expectations concerning religious
pedagogy, the Tibetan diaspora has adapted traditional teachings to incorporate new
methods of interactive and egalitarian teaching. These revisions have been developed over
the last fifty years and are now being imported into Mongolia by global Buddhist
organisations.
The prevalence of cosmopolitanism in Mongolia is a reflection of historical and
contemporary interactions with foreign interests. For some Mongols their identification
as Buddhists is part of an attempt to try to anchor themselves in their collective past, yet
all of the people I interviewed were influenced to some extent by new translocal ideas.
Mongolia is currently going through an ideological transition and alternative ways of
looking back to ‘tradition’ are shaping how they will move forward. Religious
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organisations are competing for space and influence in this rapidly changing environment
and many are presenting themselves in localized forms to increase their popularity. For
example, global Buddhist organisations claim to link Mongols to traditional teaching
lineages, New Age Movements present vegetarianism as a local practice and Christian
organisations have appropriated key Buddhist terms to express Christian concepts. The
education received from globally run religious organisations is having a sustained impact
on Mongol perceptions of core religious concepts and these are being translated, rejected
and accepted in myriad ways.
Buddhism has been present on the Mongol steppe at least since the fourth
century A. D. and has always interacted with foreign interests (Heissig 1980: 4). It has
been politically influential in the region since the Mongol Empire. Initially dominant was
the Chinese style of Chan (or Zen) Buddhism and later the Tibetan style rose to
prominence during the reign of Khubilai Khan (r. 1260–1294) when Khubilai formed an
alliance with the head of the Sakya lineage, ‘Phags pa (1235–1280). Since the Mongol
Empire, Tibet and Mongolia have been tied both religiously and politically. The
relationship between Tibet and Mongolia remained strong and it was only in the
twentieth century that communication between the religious and political figures of Tibet
and Mongolia was severed. Over the last century religious practices in Ulaanbaatar have
changed dramatically. The twentieth century saw three foreign forces affecting Buddhism
in Mongolia. The first was the Qing Empire, which was still in power in the early
twentieth century, the second, the Russians, and the third, (though now in diaspora) is
the Tibetans.
After the Democratic Revolution of 1989–1990, rather than continuing along an
atheist trajectory, religion in Mongolia has blossomed. Most Mongols now identify as
Buddhist and religious institutions of all kinds have arisen around the country. Lamas
who were young during the purges of the 1930s re–donned monastic robes, shaved their
heads and started teaching younger students. People who had been secretly practicing in
their homes were able to practice again in public and many, though not all, that had
practiced no religion during the socialist period, became interested in religion.
During the Democratic Revolution, the opposition to the government saw the
need to present a new Mongol identity, and Buddhism, along with Chinggis Khan, was
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rehabilitated. Mongols looked back to the pre–socialist past in search of new identities.
The transition to a new economy that followed the Democratic Revolution provided
fertile ground for the growth of both nationalism and religiosity. Many Mongols after the
Democratic Revolution were suddenly without secure incomes and rationing had to be
installed as the economic crisis of the early 1990s saw bare shelves in shops all around the
country. Concurrent with these changes, the ontological certainties that accompanied
socialist ideals of progress were abandoned and new forms of security offered by
nationalist and religious rhetoric became attractive.
All these factors have contributed to an environment where, in spite of over five
decades of anti–religious propaganda, religiosity is flourishing. Instead of religion being
driven from the lives of the Mongols, socialism in some ways gave it power. The effort
that the socialist government expended attempting to stamp out religion demonstrated
that it was a force powerful enough to be worthy of repression. Taking away public
institutions and information about religion in many ways increased rather than decreased
religious ‘superstition’. By repressing it, Buddhism became even more mystified and even
though most cultural Buddhists feel that they are ignorant about Buddhism almost all
believe it to be a powerful and potent religion.
Most of my interlocutors, even if they do not identify as Buddhist, visit Buddhist
temples at least once a year to benefit from the efficacy of religious rituals. When cultural
Buddhists visit temples they participate in a range of activities, but all of these activities,
including having prayers read and seeking advice from lamas, provide very limited
religious education. For most who participate these ritual activities are opaque. Prayers
are read in Tibetan (a language that very few Mongols can understand) and the advice
that lamas give tends to be for practical rather than soteriological ends. Very little
explanation of Buddhist concepts is provided during these sessions and interactions with
temples seem, for many, to obfuscate rather than elucidate core Buddhist concepts.
Whilst all of the cultural Buddhists I spoke to believed that Buddhism had
efficacy, most were not sure if all of the members of the Mongol Sa!gha were in it for the
‘right’ reasons, were properly educated, or were behaving in a way that was ‘appropriate’
for religious specialists. During the twentieth century the lineages of transmission were
broken and due to financial, and other, constraints many contemporary monastics receive
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limited religious education. Many cultural Buddhists complain that attending a temple
feels more like they are buying a product in a store than having a spiritually satisfying
experience. Other critiques of Buddhist institutions centre on uncertainties about what
the ‘proper’ conduct of monastics should be and on the allocation of temple resources.
The uncertainties that often accompany cultural Buddhists’ relationships with
Buddhist institutions combined with the opacity of religious rituals partly accounts for
tendencies to become educated about religion in the private sphere. Most cultural
Buddhists identify family members or close friends as key sources of religious education.
Folk tradition is also an important source of religious education and many people say that
they have learned about life after death from traditional death rituals and the stories of
friends, family or acquaintances.
The other major influences on lay Mongol religious education are translocal.
Global forms of Buddhism connected to the Tibetan tradition are being introduced into
the capital. Unlike local forms, this type of Buddhism tends to focus on doctrinal
education and imparting universal religious practices to laypeople and monastics. Reform
Buddhist organisations have set up Dharma Centres in Ulaanbaatar and a number of
temples focusing on monastic education, including one nunnery. The lay people that
attend Dharma Centres set up by global religious institutions have very different
experiences of being Buddhist. Rather than seeing their Buddhist identity as anchored in
their ethnicity, reform Buddhists view doctrinal fluency and personal practice as the
primary signifiers of their Buddhist identity. Whilst it is common for cultural Buddhists
to falter when they identify themselves as Buddhist, using caveats like ‘I don’t have
enough knowledge on Buddhism to say that I am a Buddhist. But still I say I am Buddhist’
(Tsevelmaa), reform Buddhists tend to feel secure about their Buddhist identity. Reform
Buddhists, unlike cultural Buddhists, attend regular Buddhist classes where they are
taught complicated doctrine. They are educated about Buddhism in public Buddhist
institutions and by public religious specialists.
In addition to this new globalized form of Buddhism, New Religious Movements
have become popular amongst the middle class in the capital. A large number of the
people that I interviewed who identified as Buddhist had participated in New Religious
groups of some kind, mostly with the ‘Sri Sri’ group. These groups, because they often
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share core concepts with Buddhism, tend to broaden the limited religious concepts that
cultural Buddhists have learned from interactions with Buddhist institutions. Groups
such as Sri Sri, the Supreme Master Ching Hai and the Ananda Marga all teach their own
versions of meditation which are accompanied by explanations about reincarnation and
karma. Because these groups tend to be vegetarian and, unlike most Buddhist institutions,
teach meditation, meditation for Mongols has become intertwined with ideas about
vegetarianism and purity. These practices and teachings, which might not wholly accord
with Buddhist concepts and practices, often provide answers for religious questions that
remain unanswered by cultural Buddhists’ limited interactions with Buddhist temples.
The third emerging religious influence in the capital is Christianity. Since 1990,
the government has been fairly lenient with its restrictions on foreign organisations
coming to proselytise in the capital. Global Evangelical organisations are the most prolific
of these groups and most of the missionaries come to Mongolia from South Korea,
America and elsewhere. Most of the Evangelical Christian groups use a version of the
Bible that appropriates Buddhist terms in order to make Christian concepts more
accessible to the local population. The use of Buddhist terms to express Christian
concepts is feeding back into Mongol conceptions of core religious concepts, such as
Burkhan, which is understood by cultural Buddhists to be Buddha, God or gods.
Christian concepts are also having an influence on perceptions of life after death.
Infrequent interactions with Buddhist institutions, rather than standing in opposition to
these new ideas, sometimes fit quite well with them. The types of activities that cultural
Buddhists do at temples could be and have been interpreted by laypeople to mean that
they are praying to an interventionist God to seek salvation in the next world (whether
the next world is an eternal or cyclic one).
Interestingly, whilst there are two dominant kinds of Buddhism available in the
capital, cultural Buddhism has a far greater presence. As Elverskog argues, this is because,
for most Mongols, religious identity is tied to cultural identity rather than Buddhist
doctrine (2006). Perhaps Dharma Centres in promoting a kind of Buddhism that
encourages universal Buddhist understandings, instead of Mongol nationhood, are
rendering themselves unattractive to the majority of Mongols. Or perhaps, they are simply
expecting more regular involvement than most Mongols are willing to commit to. Whilst
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it is certainly true that cultural Buddhism is much more popular than reform Buddhism
in Ulaanbaatar, the degree of dissatisfaction with the ecclesiastic community amongst
cultural Buddhists that I interviewed may well mean that some degree of ‘reform’ needs
to happen amongst the Mongol Sa!gha’s interactions with the public, if only to keep them
from converting to other religions. On the other hand, perhaps global Buddhist
organisations have something to learn from local institutions. Their views on monastic
discipline, in particular about celibacy, may need to relax if they are going to further
encourage the development of local Mongol institutions. Not all Mahayana Buddhist
lineages (such as the Sakyapa) see celibacy as being centrally important, and the extent to
which the monastic community in Mongolia is immersed in everyday life could be seen as
a strength rather than a weakness.
A number of academic discussions have focused on whether or not Buddhism in
Mongolia should be labelled as Mongol Buddhism or Tibetan Buddhism or some
combination of the two. I would argue that both of the forms of Buddhism I have
analysed in this thesis are uniquely Mongolian. This is not because they epitomise some
form of previously repressed essential Mongol attribute, but because of the novel context
in which they are developing. Reform Buddhists as well as cultural Buddhists have their
own particular ways of interpreting and transforming the cosmopolitan ideas that they are
exposed to. For cultural Buddhists their interpretations frequently become a bricolage of
old and new, remembered, inferred and invented. For reform Buddhists religious
concepts are more stable, but are composed of westernised Tibetan understandings
interpreted in local forms. Whilst reform Buddhists are learning a ‘universal’ variety of
Buddhism that is meant to be applicable in all contexts, it is a distinctive form of
Buddhism that reflects the marriage of Western and Tibetan traditions that are then
newly interpreted in the Mongol context. This opposition of local and translocal
religiosities, apparent across the postsocialist world and beyond, and newly enabled by
globalising forces, hints at new forms of religious cosmopolitanism in gestation and still
to come.
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Glossary
Aimag: Province.
Arhat: Someone who has reached a high level of spiritual awakening but is not yet a fully
enlightened Buddha.
Bardos (T. bar do): The intermediate state between death and rebirth
Bodhicitta (M. bod setgel, T. jang chub sem): the wish to attain enlightenment for the
benefit of all beings.
Bodhisattva (M. Bodsadvaa, T. byang chub sems dpa): An enlightened being, a being that has
attained bodhicitta.
Bogd: Holy, sacred, divine.
Burkhan: This can refer to the historical Buddha, deities from the pantheon of Buddhist
deities and/or God in a monotheistic, pantheistic or polytheistic sense. For an in depth
discussion see Chapter Six.
Cetan": Pali word referring to something like will, intention, volition and motivation.
Chenrezig (M. Janraisig, T. spyan ras gzigs, S. Avalokite$vara): the Bodhisattva of compassion.
Deel: Traditional Mongol clothing.
D"na: The concept of d"na refers to the act of freely given donations. As generosity is
positively conceived in Buddhism this is thought to benefit the giver through the
accumulation of merit which can lead to a positive rebirth, or good karma.
Dharma: Natural law, also refers to the teachings of the Buddha.
208
Dharma Centre: Non-monastic Buddhist community centres that teach doctrinal and
contemplative practices to lay people.
Dzud: A winter with very heavy snowfall causing conditions in which animals are unable
to feed.
Gegeerel: enlightenment, awakening, the ultimate goal of Buddhism, reaching
Buddhahood. Also educated, bright.
Gelugpa (M. Shar!n Shashin, T. dGe lugs pa): Known as the ‘Yellow Religion’ in Mongolian
is a lineage of Mahayana Buddhism.
Ger: A nomadic felt tent, a yurt.
Ger Districts: Located on the fringes of the city (but housing the majority of the city’s
population) ger districts are urban areas subdivided by fences and (mostly unsealed) roads.
Within the fenced off areas usually there are around one to three gers and sometimes a
wooden, concrete or brick house. These areas generally have electricity but no running
water and have pit toilets.
Glasnost: A policy introduced by Mikhail Gorbachev meaning openness and transparency
in government.
Jebtsundamba (M. Javdzandamba Khutagt, T. Jetsun Dampa): is the lineage of ‘reincarnate’
lamas following from Zanabazar in the seventeenth century.
Green T"r" (M. Nogoon Dara Ekh): Green T"r" is the Bodhisattva of immediate help and
active compassion. She is often pictured as seated with one leg reaching down,
symbolizing her readiness for assistance.
Khadag: Mongolian ceremonial scarves frequently used in both Buddhist and shamanic
ceremonies
209
Karma (M. üiliin ür): Actions and the accompanying reactions.
Khiid: Monastery or temple.
Khutagt: See Rinpoche.
Kle%a (M. nisvanis): The Sanskrit term for defilements of the mind and body that bring
about suffering in the form of desire, anger, pride, ignorance, doubt and holding wrong
views in Buddhist philosophy.
Lam: Lama.
Mañju%ri (M. Mandzushri, T. Jam dpal dbyangs): the Bodhisattva of wisdom.
Mantra: A sound or series of sounds and words that are repeated for religious efficacy.
Maitreya (M. Maidar): The future Buddha who is prophesised to appear on earth, reach
full awakening and then teach pure Buddhist teachings.
Medicine Buddha (M. Manal, T. Sanjai Manla): the Bodhisattva who is considered to be a
powerful antidote for physical and mental illness.
Mongol Bichig: The traditional vertical Mongol script that was replaced by Cyrillic in
1941.
Nyingmapa (M. Ulaan Shashin, T. rNying ma pa): Also known as the ‘Red Religion in
Mongolian is a lineage of Mahayana Buddhism found in Mongolia.
Ochir: see vajra.
Ovoo: sacred rock cairn.
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Perestroika: Mikhail Gorbachev’s policy of reform introduced in the Soviet Union in the
1980s.
Rinpoche (T. Rin po che, M. Khutagt): An honorific title meaning ‘Precious One’ given to
high–ranking lamas.
Sakyapa (T. Sa skya pa): A school of Mahayana Buddhism.
Sa*s"ra (M. orchlon): Suffering attendant to the endless cycles of existence.
Sa'gha (M. Khuvrag): The monastic community of Buddhist monks and nuns.
Sum: Subdistrict within an aimag.
S!tra (M. sudar): Buddhist scriptures, prayers.
Takhil: (S. p!j") the Mongolian term for devotional chanting accompanied by ritual
offerings.
Thang ka: Silk painting or applique depicting Buddhist religious iconography.
Tögrög: Mongolian currency, at the time of my research one thousand tögrögs was worth
around one Australian dollar. Also commonly spelt tugrik.
Tsagaan Sar: The Mongol Lunar New Year. This is the major festivity in Mongolia and is
accompanied by visiting relatives and eating as many Mongol dumplings (buuz) and for
some drinking as much vodka as possible.
Tsongkhapa (T. Tsong kha pa): a Tibetan master whose teachings led to the foundation of
the Gelug school.
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Vajra (M. ochir): A ritual object representing a thunderbolt and adamantine insight.
Vajrap"$i (M. Ochirvaan, T. Phyag na rdo rje): Symbol of power, protector of the Buddha
and the Buddhist teachings.
Vajrasattva (M. Ochir Cetgelt Baatar, T. rDo rje Sems dpa’): Practices using the mantra of the
Bodhisattva Vajrasattva are associated with purification.
Vedan": Pali term for feeling.
Vinaya: Monastic vows that date back to the time of the Buddha.
Yam"ntaka (M. Yamandaga, T. gShin rJe gshed): A Buddhist protector who is said to have
scared death (Yama) to death, the terminator of death.
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Appendix One
Formal Interview Questions for Lay Buddhists (Template)
How old are you?
What is your occupation?
What is the occupation of your parents?
Where do you live?
Who do you live with?
Where were you born?
Have you ever lived overseas?
If yes: Where/for how long?
Would you consider yourself to be a Buddhist?
If yes: How long have you been a Buddhist for?
Why did you become a Buddhist?
Are any of your family members Buddhist?
If yes: Did they practice during the communist period?
Were you taught about Buddhism in school?
Do you attend Buddhist temples or centres?
If yes: Which one/s and how often?
What do you do there?
Do you do mantra?
If yes: Could you explain the mantra that you do?
When do you do mantra?
Could you explain the benefits of doing mantra?
Do you pray or prostrate to specific Bodhisattvas, Buddhas or lamas?
If yes: Which ones?
Could you explain the benefits of doing this?
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Do you attend meditation classes/or meditate?
If yes: Where?
What kind of meditation do you do?
Have you noticed any changes in yourself since you started meditation?
Could you explain what happens to you after you die?
Do you believe in reincarnation?
If yes: Are you worried about a bad rebirth or hoping for a better one?
Are you hoping to reach enlightenment in this life?
Could you explain what enlightenment is?
Could you explain what Burkhan is?
Could you explain what samsara is?
Is it possible that samsara will end for all beings?
Do you believe in karma?
Could you explain what karma is?
If yes: Can you avoid the negative consequences of the bad things that you do?
How do the good things you have done influence karma?
Could you give an example of something that creates bad karma and something that
creates good karma?
How do you think meditation practice influences karma?
Can you influence someone else’s karma?
Do you attend general teachings on Buddhist texts or read Buddhist literature?
If yes: What texts are they?
Have you noticed any changes in your life since you began thinking about these texts?
Do you go to temples on special days or for special rituals?
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What do you do there? Could you explain the benefit that this has?
Do you get prayers read for family members, friends or yourself at temples?
If yes: How do you think this benefits you, your friends or your family members?
Do you ask lamas for advice?
If yes: What kinds of advice do you receive?
Do you carry out Buddhist rituals daily?
If yes: What rituals are these?
Do you have a shrine?
Could you explain the things that are on it?
Do you visit any non–Buddhist people for advice, prayers or rituals?
If yes: Who are they?
How frequently do you visit them?
What kind of help does this give you?
Do you visit any other religious or sacred places?
If yes: Where do you go? How frequently?
What help do you feel you receive from these places?
Do you think that Buddhism is different in Mongolia than in other countries?
How/ how not?
Do you think that there are enough monks and nuns in Mongolia?
Do you think that there is equity for men and women to receive Buddhist teachings?
Do you think anything should change about the way that temples are run in Mongolia?
Overall do you feel that Buddhism in Mongolia is becoming stronger or weaker?
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Appendix Two
Formal Interview Questions for Monastics (Template)
How old are you?
Where were you born?
What do your parents do?
Who do you live with? Where do you live (In a monastery, ger or apartment)?
Are any of your family members Buddhists?
If yes: Did they/you practice during the communist period?
How long have you been a Buddhist for?
Why did you become a monk/nun?
Have you ever studied overseas?
Do you read mantra?
If yes: Which mantras?
What are the benefits of doing mantra?
Do you pray or do prostrations?
If yes: What are the benefits of doing prostrations?
How does this make you feel?
Do you meditate?
What kind of meditation do you do?
What are the benefits of meditation?
What happens after you die?
Do you believe in reincarnation?
Could you explain how impermanence can coexist with reincarnation?
Are you worried about a bad rebirth?
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Are you aiming to reach enlightenment in this life?
What is enlightenment?
What is Burkhan?
What is samsara?
Is it possible to end samsara?
Do you believe in karma?
What is karma?
If yes: If you do something bad can you avoid the bad results of this action?
Could you give an example of something that creates bad karma?
Could you give an example of something that creates good karma?
Can you influence another person’s karma?
How do you think meditation practice influences karma?
What are the main Buddhist books that you read and study?
Have you noticed any changes in yourself since you began reading these books?
Do you read prayers for people?
What are the benefits of this?
Do you carry out Buddhist rituals daily?
If yes: What rituals are these?
Do you have a shrine? What is on it?
Do you visit any other religious or sacred places to do prayers or pray?
If yes: Where do you go?
How frequently?
How do you feel about Mongolians visiting non–Buddhist sacred places?
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Do you think that Buddhism is different in Mongolia than in other countries?
How/how not?
Do you think that there are enough monks and nuns in Mongolia?
Do you think that there is equity for men and women to receive Buddhist teachings?
Do you think anything should change about the way that temples are run in Mongolia?
Overall, do you feel that Buddhism in Mongolia is becoming stronger or weaker?
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