Conceptualizing utopias: Tibetan perceptions

 

Upon first being asked if I would be interested in writing a response to the articles within this special issue on religion and utopia, I felt transported back to the inception of my academic career. In the early 1990s, I was working on a project within Central Asian Studies on the Tibetan Buddhist concept of a land known as Shambhala, situated somewhere north of Tibet – a concept that has been detailed in Tibetan literature since at least the twelfth or thirteenth century. The theoretical framework for this project was Ernst Bloch’s notion of ‘geographical utopias’ (Bloch (1959) 1977; Kollmar-Paulenz 1992-3). The concept of utopia has accompanied me ever since and was reflected not only in my inaugural lecture in 1999 at the University of Bern, which focused on the paradisiacal worlds of the so-called beyul (sbas yul),¹ the ‘hidden valleys’ in the Himalayan regions, but also in courses such as ‘Buddhist utopias in the cultural history of Tibet and Mongolia,’ which I taught in 2012 at Masaryk University in Brno. Yet, reflecting self-critically on my previous use of the concept of utopia, I recognize that I never fully exploited its theoretical potential; rather, I have been culpable of what Anja Kirsch and Andrea Rota identify as the ‘sin’ of under-theorizing in their introduction. I am therefore pleased to respond to their request to provide more general reflections on the theoretical potential of the concept of utopia for religious studies analysis. By utilizing a case study from the Tibetan cultural realm, I aim to demonstrate that the term ‘utopia’ can also be fruitfully applied to Asian ideas. However, in order to do so, we must liberate ourselves from the narrow European corset into which the notion of utopia has long been squeezed. The editors of this special issue lead the way by emphasizing, drawing on Sargent’s definition, that utopianism is first and foremost a very basic human capacity for ‘social dreaming’ and is thus not bound to a particular cultural tradition. In this understanding, utopian thinking is an anthropological constant. On the basis of this fundamental assumption, I will now turn (or rather return) to the Tibetan beyul.

In the Tibetan cultural space, the notion of beyul, hidden valleys to be discovered in times of need, is very prominent in public imagination. Most of these ‘hidden valleys or ‘lands’ are located on the southern slopes of the Himalayas, characterized by scenic beauty and rich vegetation. According to legend, Padmasambhava, the cultural-religious hero of the Nyingmapa (rNying ma pa), the adherents of the ‘old school’ of Tibetan Buddhism, concealed them in the eighth century to serve as refuges during times of need. On the one hand, these valleys possess significant soteriological relevance since they are perceived by Tibetans as sacred places where people can participate in or absorb the spiritual power inherent in the landscape, earth, rocks, water, and vegetation. For instance, in a description of the hidden land of Dremojong (`Bras mo ljongs), which is today’s Sikkim, it is said very vividly that even lice that one rather involuntarily transports on one’s body into such a hidden valley are reborn in the Sukhāvatī, the pure land of the Buddha Amitābha. On the other hand, and this is evident from the very fact that Sikkim is considered such a hidden land, these regions represent very real places of refuge in the collective memory of the population during times of political unrest or invasion by enemy troops.

Both functions of a beyul are interrelated: The beyul offers concrete protection against physical harm, while such physical danger is simultaneously linked to the absence or decline of the Buddhist dharma. Conversely, only the dharma ensures the functioning of an ideal Tibetan society, as it is to be realized in the safe haven of a beyul. However, it must also be emphasized that the preservation of religion from decline is not necessarily the focus of migration to a beyul. In addition to a religious leader, a member of the Tibetan royal family must also be present and ensure the establishment of the appropriate administration in order to successfully settle in the beyul. For the successful inhabitation of a beyul, additional groups of settlers are required, as described in various guidebooks: officials, strong craftsmen, tantrics, celibate monks, and young women. These lists often include specialists tasked with ensuring the spiritual and material well-being of the community.

Hidden regions are geographically well-defined areas. They consist not only of one core-valley, but also of a series of interconnected ‘outer’ valleys, as Geoff Childs elaborated in 1999 in the most comprehensive analysis to date of Tibetan guidebooks to these sacred places (Childs 1999). There are a large number of beyul whose location cannot always be clearly determined. The best known is a list of a total of seven beyul. Notably, the first among these seven regions is marked on all modern atlases of the world. It is the already mentioned Dremojong, known presently as Sikkim.

In the beyul, religious visions and social visions of an ideal society are intertwined. It is a sacred place where individual believers from all Tibetan social classes find refuge during a time of political and moral decay. Simultaneously, it offers those who are already well advanced on the Buddhist path optimal opportunities for spiritual perfection. Additionally, the beyul represents a settlement destination where an ideal version of Tibetan society is realized, with a king at its head.

The notion of the beyul emerged in Tibetan literature in the fourteenth century, and it experienced a second literary flowering during the seventeenth century. Its genesis is closely linked to situations of existential threat: in the fourteenth century, this was the incorporation of Tibet into the Mongol Empire, and in the seventeenth century, the establishment of the political supremacy of the Tibetan Buddhist school of the Gelugpa (dGe lugs pa) with the help of Mongol troops. This political reorganization was associated with the large-scale suppression of the older Tibetan Buddhist schools, particularly the Nyingmapa. The popularity of the beyul concept was especially high among the Nyingmapa but was by no means limited to these circles.

In Tibetan literature, an entire literary genre is dedicated to the beyul, the neyig (gnas yig: ‘place guide’) or lamyig (lam yig: ‘path guide’). These texts are particularly interesting from a cultural and socio-historical perspective because, in contrast to the majority of Tibetan religious literature, they were not directed at a narrow clerical elite, but targeted a wider audience. Pilgrims’ and local guidebooks to beyul as well as to other pilgrimage sites were used by a broad section of the population. Illiteracy posed little obstacle, as these guidebooks were often read aloud by literate fellow pilgrims, who were not necessarily monks, or by shrine guardians resident at the sacred sites.

In their formal composition the neyig/lamyig follow a standardized literary pattern: they describe the route to the hidden land, its scenic features, the deities that dwell there, the auspicious times for unveiling the land, and the rituals to be performed. The description of the landscape often implies a detailed enumeration of the various medicinal plants that can be found there. On the one hand, this inventory provides extensive information for the pilgrims who set out to find the hidden land, yet on the other hand, it shapes their perception of the surrounding landscape. Thus, these guides foster and perpetuate a specific understanding and reading of the landscape.

Tibetan texts speak of three types of signs that persuade people to begin searching for a hidden land: visible, external, and internal signs. Visible signs denote events such as the destruction of sacred sites in central Tibet, as well as oppression by non-Buddhist invaders. External signs consist of earthquakes, floods, fires and storms. Finally, the internal signs are of a fourfold nature and relate to human behaviour. The texts mention quarrels and fights among living beings, familial quarrels, the destruction of temples, and the violation of monastic vows. Geoff Childs (1999, 132) has divided these three types into four categories: social decay, marked by a breakdown of social order such as non-observance of exogamous marriage rules; religious decline, characterized by the breach of monastic vows, distorted teachings, and the destruction of monasteries; natural disasters, including earthquakes and floods; and political unrest, evidenced by invasions and the fall of the royal dynasty.

A comprehensive catalogue of social and religious catastrophes unfolds, which, in turn, highlights the paradisiacal allure of the hidden valleys with even greater impact. A text attributed to Gödem Truchen (rGod kyi ldem phru can; 1337–1408) (rGod kyi ldem phru can 1983, 508–509) describes the signs of the disintegration of the social and political order in a particularly dramatic manner: the time to escape to one of the lands hidden by Padmasambhava will come when the temples in Tibet are destroyed, the laws are no longer obeyed, and the hierarchy is upended with masters becoming servants. People will then slaughter their own pets, drink blood, and cannibalize their own relatives. Hatred and disorder will prevail. In addition to the military invasion by the Mongol troops, the text mentions another political aspect, namely the collapse of the centralized political power of the descendants of the Tibetan kings from the Yarlung dynasty.

In contrast, the beyul is described as follows:

Hear now the appearance of the hidden land! […] It is as if one has entered the land of the gods […]. The mountains are pleasant, the vegetable fields are fertile. The land is surrounded by rows of snowy mountains with gleaming white peaks. […] The valleys are flat and wide, and there are many flowers and fruits. The villages are pleasant to look at and filled with lotus flowers. […] There are a large number of medicine trees [there]. The medicine has great power. […] This land is like the center of the Tibetan land. (Klong chen rab 'byams pa Dri med 'od zer, no date, folio 3r)

The beyul presents itself as a fertile valley of enchanting beauty, where food is plentiful. Its caves are full of grain and already prepared Tsampa, the Tibetan staple food of roasted barley. There are springs from which an inexhaustible stream of milk flows. The fruits are at least twice their normal size, and crops grow without the need for laborious cultivation. In addition, the hidden valleys are famous for their variety of medicinal plants and other treasures such as salt or turquoise. It is said that anyone who reaches such a valley will never have to suffer hunger or thirst again in their life.

The notion of the beyul is by no means merely historical but is still popular among Tibetan-speaking people in the Himalayas and far beyond. We are therefore in the fortunate position of being able to draw upon ethnographic reports from the early twentieth century and, more recently, on current field research. Interestingly, research into the beyul commenced not with the study of texts but with the on-site interaction of ethnographers and tibetologists with local communities, and it was only after this concrete encounter that the study of the rich Tibetan literature on the beyul began. The French tibetologist Jacques Bacot (1877–1965) was the first to report about the beyul in 1912. During his second research trip (1909–1910), which took him to south-east Tibet, Bacot learned of the hidden land of Pemako (Padma bkod) through the stories of the Tibetan guides who accompanied him. Pemako fascinated him above all because of its inaccessibility. At that time of intensified Sino-Tibetan conflicts, which were also carried out militarily, it symbolized the hope of refuge and better living conditions for thousands of Tibetans. Bacot tells us that thousands of families set out to actually reach this land (Bacot 1912).

After the Chinese occupation of Tibet in 1959, rumours circulated about beyul, which offered protection against the Chinese. People fleeing over the Himalayan passes to India deliberately chose routes that led through a region where the most important beyul were located. Refugees from the Nyingma school, under the guidance of Dudjom Rinpoche (1904–1987), a prominent Nyingmapa lama, took special note of any indications from their leader about the proximity of these hidden valleys. When they finally reached India and had come to rest, Dudjom Rinpoche is said to have stated that India itself was akin to a beyul (Brauen-Dolma 1985, 251–252).

Through studying the many works of fiction written over centuries in Tibetan-speaking regions, we see that hidden valleys, or beyul, are often depicted as inventories of an ideal space and society, described in vivid and magnificent images. A beyul is accessible from four sides, and four gates lead into its centre. One guidebook suggests seasonal access: in the fall, the hidden valley should be approached from the east, in the winter from the south, in the spring from the west, and in the summer from the north. The alignment with the four cardinal directions, the relative seclusion of the beyul, and the frequent mention of a mountain at its centre all echo the symbolism of a mandala. Yet beyul are also tangible places sought out during times of need. Although reaching them necessitates the assistance of an advanced spiritual guide and adherence to the blueprint laid down in the guidebooks, they are, in fact, reached in practice. This practical accessibility not only shapes the perception of the landscape and people’s relationship to it, but even provides a guideline for local politics, as demonstrated by the beyul of Bumthang in central Bhutan and Bhutanese politics shaped by Buddhist norms. We cannot separate the idealized concept of beyul from its practical implementation. Trying to theorize this utopian vision, Anja Kirsch’s vernacular utopia approach comes to mind, which attempts to reconcile the two poles of blueprint and practice. In the beyul discourse, elite conceptions, such as the image of the mandala or the beyul envisioned as the body of a tantric deity, merge with popular beliefs concerning the landscape being imbued with ontological significance.

To conclude: In the Tibetan concept of beyul the readers will have recognized many characteristics of utopian projects discussed in the various contributions to this special issue, such as the criticism of current living conditions and the promise of improvement, or the idea of religious perfection. Among the various theoretical and methodological approaches applied by the authors, the notion of vernacular utopia strikes me as a particularly valuable heuristic concept to theoretically outline the utopian potential of the beyul. This approach, as well as Anne Beutter and E. Sasu Kwame Sewordor’s dynamic interpretation of utopia as both a vision and a process, pays due attention to spatial considerations. Perhaps the spatial aspects inherent in utopian visions need to be reflected on even more. I realize that in my case study, space holds a culturally specific significance and role. Space is an integral part of the Tibetan beyul concept, with the potential for change deeply rooted in a tangible physical connection to space. This connection extends to the point where the landscape itself, in its physical and material quality, induces a transformation in the spiritual constitution of the settlers (or sometimes visitors) who enter a beyul. Space has direct soteriological implications: For example, the hidden land of Sikkim is said to have lakes that provide clarity of mind and caves where enlightenment is attainable. The mere presence in the land as well as the physical contact with its elements (such as soil) increases bodhicitta (the thought of awakening), while at the same time ignorance and the five poisons are diminished. In the beyul concept, the unique importance of matter and physical contact with it is intertwined with the Tibetan notion of ne (gnas), which ascribes an ontological quality to a place. According to this notion, living beings and places are involved in mutually determined relationships to varying degrees (Huber 1999, 13–14). In the Tibetan beyul, the emphasis is not so much on temporal dynamics as on spatial dynamics. Therefore, the beyul may be a case of a spatial utopia. Theorizing the spatial dimensions of utopia should include and make use of such culturally specific understandings of space as I have outlined here. If utopian thinking is indeed a fundamental human ability as posited initially, we must look beyond its purely European understanding and contribute to the de-Europeanization of the concept of utopia in religious studies by integrating non-European worlds – on an equal footing, to be sure.

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No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Additional information

Notes on contributors

Karénina Kollmar-Paulenz

Karénina Kollmar-Paulenz is Professor Emerita of Science of Religion and Central Asian Cultural Studies at the University of Bern, Switzerland. Her research focuses on the global history of religion, the Tibet-Mongolia interface, the history of non-European knowledge systems, and the relationship between politics and religion in Inner Asian Buddhism. Publications include Die Mongolen: Von Dschingis Khan bis heute (Beck 2024, 2nd edition); Grenzen der Religion: Säkularität in der Asiatischen Religionsgeschichte (Brill 2023, ed. with M. Deeg, O. Freiberger, C. Kleine).

Notes

1 I use a phonetic transcription of the Tibetan; however, the correct transliteration (Wylie) is given in brackets at the first mention.