5 min readFeb 14, 2026 06:30 AM IST
Philip C Almond’s 1988 book, The British Discovery of Buddhism, could just as well have been called The British Creation, or Reification, of Buddhism — terms he uses in the text. It is about how the colonial encounter with disparate Buddhist traditions in Asia led to the realisation of their common origins. Subsequently, “[Buddhism] becomes an object, is constituted as such; it takes the form of an entity that ‘exists’ over against [sic] the various cultures which can now be perceived as instancing it.” It was reified as a textual object, and ancient Pali and Sanskrit texts, as interpreted by Victorian minds, became the standard against which contemporary Buddhist practices were judged and often found wanting. Debates raged about what Buddhism “essentially” was — religion or philosophy, atheistic or theistic, Mahayana or Theravada — much as Indian courts today discuss what is an “essential” religious practice and what is not. All this begs the question: Beyond such external constructs, what is Buddhism, or any such diffuse and diverse “ism”?
A similar question can be asked of Sonia Faleiro’s The Robe and the Sword: How Buddhist Extremism Is Shaping Modern Asia. Is it really about Buddhism per se? The book is divided into three parts, with the first two being accounts — informed by the author’s travels and interviews with relevant figures — of the rise of violent ethnonationalism in Sri Lanka and Myanmar and the involvement of Buddhist monks in these movements. The third part, about Thailand, poses a conceptual difficulty: It does not discuss extremism at all, but the patriarchal nature, corruption and commercialisation of Buddhism in the country.
This is how Faleiro brings these strands together in the epilogue: “The ego and power — its lure, its ability to corrupt. Monks who had renounced the world now sought to control it. In Thailand, Phra Dhammachayo promised wealth to those who gave generously, turning merit into a commodity. In Sri Lanka, Galagoda Aththe Gnanasara incited violence to win political influence. In Myanmar, Ashin Wirathu’s friendship with the military had saved his life — and cost many others.” Thus, it becomes a matter of the worldliness of monks, which is an eternal question; British writers were railing against the dissipation and profligacy of Siamese (Thai) and Chinese monks in the 19th century, too. Arguably, it would have been more cohesive to leave Thailand out of this book and focus only on the more specific issue of Buddhist monks’ links to ethnonationalist violence in the other two countries.
It is as a journalistic account of these developments, including the human stories of those at their heart — such as Muslim victims of the violence in Sri Lanka, or a Myanmarese monk who dared to stand against the rising chauvinist tide and is now living in exile, or even the Sri Lankan rabble-rouser, Gnanasara himself — that the book shines. It succinctly places each country’s crisis in historical context, and shows how religious revivalism and majoritarianism have been intertwined.
Only a chicken-and-egg question remains: When one is so inextricable from the other, is this really about Buddhist extremism or ethnonationalism? When a religion is identified with a dominant ethnic group, and its leadership has a nexus with the political or military establishment, is it surprising that the majoritarian impulse should manifest through that religion?
Morally and intellectually, it may be said that this is a challenge for Buddhism in particular due to the centrality of ahimsa. Faleiro engages with this, recounting her conversation with a scholar in Dharamshala who rues the clergy’s helplessness in dealing with violent monks. The author points to “a growing realisation within Buddhist communities… merely refraining from harm is no longer enough. The crises we face demand a more engaged Buddhism — one that responds to violence not only with contemplation, but with action.” The instances of resistance narrated in the book, from the dissident Abbot Zero of Myanmar to the rebel temples of Thailand — non-commercial, female-led — may be the forms that action takes.
And yet, is there anything new under the Sun? Buddhism does not necessarily entail absolute pacifism, and justifications have been offered for war. The book talks about Dutthagamani, a Sinhalese prince who was consumed with regret after massacring the forces of his Tamil foe. Monks were there to absolve him: Only Buddhists were human beings, and most of the Tamil troops were not.
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Is it possible to salvage a pure Buddhism, shorn of these inconvenient specificities? Or, can a religion have a textual existence unsullied by its practice? The Victorians might have said yes.
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