The path to both socialism and nirvana have often been compared, yet genuine long-term experiments in fusing Buddhism and Socialism have been few and far between. For many, the two epistemologies appear fundamentally incompatible, one focused on spiritual transcendence and the cessation of suffering through the abandonment of desire, the other on the materialist transformation of society through class struggle. However, to the people of Lao in their revolution, synthesising the two was not seen as an inherent contradiction but rather a substantiation in both ideological thought and material practice. During and following the revolution (culminating in the overthrow of the monarchy in 1975), Buddhism, as the deeply rooted cultural and spiritual fabric of Lao society, was not suppressed but substantiated, simultaneously elevated, and transformed to serve the project of building socialism. The long relationship between the Lao Sangha (the institutionalised community of monks) and the State is a dynamic interplay of ideology and practice, forming a distinct model of “Lao State Socialist Buddhism”.
Revolutionary Necessity
In 1945 when the revolution began, the vast majority of the population of Laos existed in a state of entrenched poverty, indebted to feudal landlords and subjected to the extractive economic machinery of French post-colonial capital, which left in its wake a corrupt and cruel monarchy in the Vientiane. It was from this immiseration and the complete absence of pathways to dignified existence that the revolutionary struggle drew its essential strength and legitimacy. Rather than the Sangha’s goals of spiritual liberation, the promise of the revolutionary Pathet Lao was, first and foremost, a material one: the radical redistribution of land, the abolition of usurious debt, and the construction of a society where the basic needs of food, shelter, and security were guaranteed for all, making the revolution imperative for national survival and human dignity.
The U.S backed Royal Lao government in Vientiane was, of course, also Buddhist, but it was often seen as corrupt, elitist, increasingly Westernised and out of touch. The Pathet Lao positioned themselves as the true defenders of the simple, moral values taught by Buddhism against a new Yankee imperialist regime. Lay-people such as the revolutionary leader Phoumi Vongvichit, as well as monks such as Maha Khamtan Thepbuali, Pha Maha Vichit Singhalat & Pha Maha Buakham Voraphet, began formulating a revolutionary Buddhism long before the Pathet Lao insurgency had even begun. Thepbuali, in particular, had spent several years in Bangkok and Northeastern Thailand during the early 50s, where he had read the works of Marx and Lenin. Instead of seeing a contraction between Marxism and the Buddha, monks like Thepbuali saw the key contradiction as being within the institution of the Sangha. Both in Laos and Thailand the Sangha was a rigidly hierarchical organisation with the monarchy functionally at the top, taking the place of a sort of demi-god. Such practices stood in clear opposition to the teaching of the Buddha and the values the religion was supposed to uphold.
If all history is that of class struggle, then so too was the ancient Theravada cannon. The story of the Buddha’s life was reinterpreted as a fundamentally revolutionary one, emphasising his rejection of royal status and wealth as a challenge to the elite classes. They argued that Buddha’s vision of a society without caste distinctions prefigured a Marxist classless society and that both traditions shared the same goal of alleviating suffering- albeit through different methods. This theoretical reconciliation allowed the Pathet Lao to frame Buddhism as a precursor to socialist thought that had emerged from historical conditions of pre-industrial society, while Marxism represented the scientific ideology appropriate for the new industrial age.
Key to this incorporation was the fundamental critique of suffering (dukkha). While Marxism locates the primary source of this suffering in the material conditions of class exploitation and economic alienation, Buddhism focuses on the spiritual and existential roots of suffering. The revolutionary synthesis posits that these are not mutually exclusive but are, in fact, complementary diagnoses of the human condition. The socialist project of eliminating poverty, class and exploitation addresses the material causes of suffering, creating the conditions wherein the Buddhist pursuit of mental and spiritual liberation can be more genuinely pursued.
The virtue of giving (dana) is channelled into the collectivist spirit of mutual aid, while compassion (karuna) is used to reinforce the ideals of solidarity. In this reframing, Buddhism is transformed from a supposed “opiate” into a moral and spiritual foundation for the new socialist person, one who is not only materially secure but also ethically conscious and comradely.
As such Lao Socialism was a mode of organising that continued the practices of Buddhism along with the tide of socialism, rather than swim against it. This is how the contradiction was turned to a substantiation.
When Thepbuali returned to Royalist Vientiane from Thailand in the late 1950s it became apparent that a large number of monks who had also studied in Thailand were engaging in anti-communist ideological development, in line with many of the temples that they had attended in Bangkok (at the time a bastion of anti-communism). It was also well known that many of these monks had ties to the Americans and CIA connections, non-profits and aid organisations such as The Asia Foundation, which had been involved already for several years in “Buddhist programming” in the region, acting as a clandestine branch of the CIA, supporting and organising monks for counterrevolutionary purposes.
The revolutionary monks had to become organised in advance of the reactionary brethren. They began holding secret meetings. Later in life, Thepbuali described himself during that time as “a revolutionary in robes”. They orchestrated a counter-intelligence operation, much like the reactionary operation wielded against them, supporting allies in the Pathet Lao and using their position as monks to run communications between the capital and the already liberated areas. In 1959 the Sangha underwent a purge of the leftist elements, forcing many monks into the liberated zones under the Pathet Lao’s control.
Monks in the Prathet Lao liberated zone.
To The Forest
The monks travelled with the Pathet Laos over the next two decades across the liberated zones, which were increasingly devastated by American bombing, developing their brand of communist-nationalist teachings. Preachings were broadcast on radio, written in pamphlets and literacy courses were arranged for peasants and soldiers. Such teachings were given in clear language, doing away with much of the arcane vernacular of the elite Sangha in Vientiane. Thepbuali said later in life that “many of the men wore military boots under their orange robes”, whether or not this is a metaphor is unclear.
In their analysis of Thepbuali’s published work Buddhist anthropologists Patrice Ladwig and Martin Rathie write in Lao Buddhism: Faith in the Revolution:
“By employing a kind of critical historical hermeneutics, he advances perspectives that take into account the social and political forces that shaped Buddhism in the context of its respective time. Instead of simply glorifying the civilizational achievements of Buddhism, lineages of great kings, and monotonous reiterations of the value of the five precepts (the usual features of Buddhist historiography), he gives this history an unusual spin. Although the dhamma (and therefore righteousness and morality) is in his understanding always present through the ages, he also sketches out an alternative history, which is characterized by repression, and the appropriation and instrumentalization of Buddhism through hegemonic forces and rulers.
In the first chapter of The Lao Monks and the Revolution he outlines the socio-political context into which the Buddha was born: “In this era, India and many other countries in the world were in the period of feudalism (sakdina). A democratic administration conflicted with the interests of the feudalists. Therefore, there was no justice in this period, and the people and the population were engulfed by complete darkness.” Не then outlines the functioning of the caste system during Siddhartha’s time, which the latter, when growing up, also recognizes as a world of divisions, “full of injustice, suffering, torture, and cloudy darkness”. Finally this leads Siddhartha to leave his comfortable royal palace and become an ascetic, propagating the four noble truths and the dhamma. However, after the Buddha’s death, the monastic community becomes divided by different opinions, which certain feudalists exploit for their own cause.
In chapter three Khamtan (Thepbuali) moves on to Lao history, and argues that many monks upheld the dhamma in the feudalist period; they had a positive, taming influence on kings, some of which were actually righteous rulers. But over time, Buddhism became instrumentalized by the ruling class, and some monks were sullied by receiving honorific titles and high positions in the ecclesiastical hierarchy. Moreover, the feudalists manipulated the population by calling the people to perform meritorious deeds and donate their work-force in order to build temples and stūpas, but in reality, Khamtan (Thepbuali) claims, they betrayed and exploited them. What follows is a kind of false conscience production through a selective and wrong interpretation of Buddhist texts and values: “The feudalists use the values of mettä (loving-kindness), karuņā (compassion) and muditā (altru-ism) to oppress the people, and they instrumentalize upekkhā (equanimity) for keeping them in a subjugated condition”. Buddhism is here inserted into an interesting cultural Marxist view of history, its ideologies and power relations.
In other passages he continues his hatchet job on mainstream Buddhist history, but also refers to a certain resilience against appropriation: “In this historical era, the feudalists also exploited Buddhism as a tool that could be used, but the system was not able to appropriate the true dhamma as a whole because the real goal of Buddhism is to eradicate oppression. […] Therefore, Buddhists had strength to fight the feudalist system…”. He then also refers to the positive effects of Buddhism for society, and describes the temple as a school, hospital and meeting point for ordinary people. Khamtan (Thepbuali) also gives us a larger estimation of Buddhism’s fate through the ages, and refers to its unfulfilled potentials: “The truth of Buddhist morality always had progressive features, but because it existed for 2500 years in the context of systems and societies in which it conflicted with differing political goals, its development was blocked, and the Buddhist morality could not develop and expand as it was supposed to”.
In Buddhism and Society, he takes a somewhat broader perspective beyond Laos, and links the spread of capitalism in the 20th century to Buddhist resistance in other countries. After describing the theories of Marx and Lenin as a “shining ray” illuminating the global situation, and declaring that socialism abolishes class-society, exploitation and oppression, he refers to anti-colonial revolts and Buddhist activism in Cambodia, Burma, Japan and Vietnam. This global resistance is then connected to the Buddhist dhamma, and two rivaling political systems: “This struggle between capitalism and the socialist society is a fight between the representatives of the dhamma and the representatives of the anti-dhamma. The socialist society represents the dhamma, while the capitalist system is to be considered the anti-dhamma.”
Chaos
It is often argued that the Pathet Lao’s propagation of revolutionary Buddhism was just a pragmatic, opportunistic decision, to grab an institution and utilise it for their own ends. It seems easy today, in a time of relative peace, to sit and postulate on such topics discussed above as a point of interest, but attempting to resolve these contradictions, this synthesis and its revolutionary substation were achieved through a political education, popular mobilisation and frantic grassroots application during one of the most brazen acts of mass-destruction in world history.
The US bombing campaign over Laos, conducted primarily between 1964 and 1973, was a dire escalation of the wider conflict in Southeast Asia. Officially, the intervention was part of a covert effort to interdict North Vietnamese supply lines along the Ho Chi Minh Trail and to disrupt the communist Pathet Lao revolution. This geopolitical objective translated into an unprecedented volume of ordnance dropped on the country, making Laos the most heavily bombed nation per capita in history. The sheer scale of the bombardment fundamentally altered the physical and social landscape, directly targeting rural areas that were Pathet Lao strongholds and crippling the logistical and agricultural foundations necessary for sustaining their revolutionary movement.
For ordinary Laotians, the campaign created conditions of extreme hardship that extended far beyond the immediate conflict. The constant aerial attacks forced large segments of the population from their homes, disrupting agricultural cycles and leading to widespread food insecurity. The necessity of living in hiding or in makeshift shelters for years on end became a central feature of daily life. Furthermore, the contamination of the countryside with vast quantities of unexploded ordnance created a long-term crisis, rendering farmland unusable and presenting a persistent threat to life and limb that has hampered recovery and development to this day. This environment immensely complicated the revolutionary effort, which had to focus on sheer survival and protecting civilians as much as on pursuing its ideological objectives.
The relentless bombardment severely damaged the spiritual fabric of Laotian society, as countless temples, which served as community centres and shelters, were destroyed, and the monastic community was displaced alongside the general population. For many rural monks joining the Pathet Laos and practising revolutionary Buddhism was seen as a necessary monastic duty to alleviate suffering and the source of that suffering, the bombing campaign.
Monks, bound by their vows to be pacifists, could not take up arms, but they could not remain passive in the face of the complete devastation of their society. Many monks provided crucial logistical and spiritual support to the Pathet Lao and the civilian population, using monasteries as shelters, aid stations, and communication hubs. The Pathet Lao actively cultivated this alliance by promoting a doctrine of “Buddhism for national salvation,” which framed support for the revolution as a righteous duty to protect the Lao nation and its people from foreign annihilation. As such, traditional Buddhist values of compassion and merit were reinterpreted through a nationalist and anti-imperialist lens. For many monks, participating in the revolution became an act of preserving the Dharma itself from external destruction, forging a revolutionary identity deeply intertwined with their religious faith.
Image from Andrei Znamenski’s book Red Shambala (2011)
Red Shambala
While the works of holy men like Thepbuali were revolutionary, this was not the first time that there had been attempts to bridge socialism and Buddhism. In the 1920s as the Soviet Union spread the revolution to the east, into Eurasia and particularly Mongolia, cadres began incorporating local Buddhist belief structures into revolutionary Marxist-Leninism. Again, what is often today described as a cynical attempt at hijacking an existing culture can also be seen as a genuine effort at ironing out the contradictions of revolutionary modernism with indigenous beliefs and ways of life.
Cadres emphasised that Buddhism, unlike Christianity, does not have a single monotheistic god. They presented it as a rational, philosophical social system rather than a strictly theistic religion, which, given the right approach, was in no way antagonistic to Marxist modernist atheism. Some Bolsheviks interpreted the communal life of the more remote Buddhist monasteries and the egalitarian ideals of Buddhist teachings as a form of “primitive communism.” Much like the Lao monks, they argued that Buddhism, at its core, sought to dismantle class hierarchies, which was a stepping stone to communism.
Key to this was the local concept of Shambala, which, depending on the interpretation, much like Zion, is either a literal existing hidden kingdom, or a future utopian space, that will one day fight a great war against the forces of darkness to establish a golden age. Cadres recast the Bolshevik Revolution as the coming of Shambala. They portrayed the 1917 revolution as the fulfilment of this ancient prophecy, the righteous force that would liberate the oppressed from the oppressors (framed as feudal, capitalist and colonial powers). The future war of Shambala was perceived as the inevitable global class war guaranteed by the contradictions of capitalism.
A pro-Soviet faction within Mongolian and Tibetan Buddhism emerged, led by a monk named Agvan Dorzhiev, who was a senior tutor to the 13th Dalai Lama. Prior to the revolution, he promoted the idea that the Tsarist Empire was the “white” evil and the Soviet Union was the “red” Shambala. After the revolution, he worked to collectivise and nationalist monasteries– until he was caught up in the purges of the 1930s.
The primary testing ground for the faction was among the Buryat Mongols in Siberia, where the Soviets supported a group of reformist lamas. They worked to write new prayers that combined communist rhetoric with Buddhist rituals, and, again, like the Lao monks, argued that true Buddhism required both social and material justice, which only communism could deliver.
However, during the mass assault on the Soviet project in the 1930s, reactionary powers sought to utilise pre-revolutionary religious institutions to stoke counterrevolutionary flames throughout all faiths across the new union. This led to the abandonment of many such projects until after WWII, when the less ambitious Central Spiritual Board of Buddhists of the USSR was established in 1946.
Ultimately, due to intensity of counterrevolutionary currents from overseas, the Red Shambala project and prophesy was never given the space to be fufilled, whether the Lao monks were aware of this is unclear, but conversely following the revolution of 1975 and the fall of Vientienne revolutionary Lao Buddhism was afforded the space and time to develop.
Thepbuali (far left) and other monks at a conference in immediate post-revolution Vientienne (1975)
Post-Revolution
Following the people’s 1975 revolution and the fall of Vientienne to the Prathet Laos, the new Lao People’s Revolutionary Party (LPRP) did not exactly continue the syncretic “revolutionary Buddhism” model as a permanent feature of the state. Rather, they sought to reconcile it, to incorporate it into the goals of the longer-term social revolution following the capture of the state.
The revolution faced the monumental task of rebuilding in the wake of near-total national destruction and profound isolation. The physical infrastructure of the state and of institutional Buddhism had been devastated; countless temples lay in ruins, monastic libraries had been destroyed and much of the population had been decimated by war and displacement. This meant the state’s new Buddhist Fellowship Organisation had to begin its work from a position of extreme weakness, attempting to rebuild while simultaneously purging it of existing reactionary elements and infiltration (particularly from Thailand). The country’s economic collapse and lack of basic resources made the material reconstruction of monasteries a low priority, hindering the regime’s ability to win popular support through the restoration of community spiritual centres. The government’s international geographic and diplomatic isolation, recognised by few nations aside from the Soviet bloc and Vietnam, meant it had negligible external assistance for reconstruction, forcing it to rely on its own severely limited means.
The most significant step was the creation of the Lao Buddhist Fellowship Organization (LBFO) and the adoption of a new Sangha model, which included elections, of which Thepbuali became the patriarch. The LBFO’s primary role was to channel Buddhist teachings and the authority of the monkhood to support reconstructive socialist state policies. Monks were encouraged to preach sermons that emphasised themes like national unity, comradeship and forgiveness, framing these as simultaneous Buddhist and socialist virtues. This institutionalised the “patriotic monk” archetype from the war era, but now in the service of building socialism rather than fighting a hot revolutionary war.
Following the Leninist interpretation of seizing state power and wielding it for long-term revolutionary means, the Sangha was no different. Monks no longer held godlike powers and ultimate social prestige; rather, they were encouraged (and those unwilling compelled) to participate in civic projects. Unlike the monks in the highly reactionary Thai Sangha, Lao monks contributed to manual labour, such as helping build roads or schools, blending the Buddhist concept of right livelihood with socialist collective work. Sermons and religious festivals were used to promote public health campaigns, literacy, and environmental reconstruction, directly linking religious practice to socialist state-led development goals. The LBFO emphasised that being a good Buddhist was synonymous with being a model new socialist person of the Lao state.
During annual “Dharma Weeks,” monks and novices would volunteer their labour alongside laypeople, embodying the unity of spiritual and socialist practice. This active participation functionally abolished the otherworldly monk detached from society; instead, it presents the Sangha as a vanguard of social labour, leading by example in the collective work of socialist nation-building.
The state supported this new Sangha in return, creating a reciprocal relationship. The government provided funding for the restoration of historic temples, recognised Buddhist holidays as national events, and incorporated Buddhist rituals into state functions. This state patronage legitimised the new socialist leadership, presenting it as not a foreign, atheistic imposition but as the rightful continuation of both social and spiritual development. The revolution is thus framed not as a break with tradition but as its highest fulfilment. The back and forth between the socialist project and the new Buddhist project was not always a sympathetic one, again, contradictions had to be ironed out, and more often than not it was the Sangha that was forced to concede to the state. This, however, is always an inevitable part of the construction of any new social order, regardless of the contextual situation, be it socialist and Buddhist or capitalist and catholic, etc.
In 1979, with the foundational reforms of the Sangha securely in place, Thepbuali disrobed aged 50, having dedicated nearly 40 years to the monkhood, viewing his primary spiritual and patriotic mission as accomplished. He later explained this transition not as an ending, but as the natural culmination of one chapter of service and the beginning of another; with the nation liberated and a new, resilient organisation established for the monastic order, he felt free to fulfil a long-deferred personal desire for a family. When asked why in a later interview, he answered: “My job was done. The nation had been liberated, the monastic order had an organisation, and I simply wanted to have a family”. His subsequent marriage and adoption of a son were followed by a continued, unwavering commitment to his country. Serving as the director of the Department of Religious Affairs and as a permanent member of the Lao Front for National Construction, he continued to channel his deep understanding of Buddhism into the practical work of national harmony and governance. Even after his official retirement, his engagement persisted, in 2007 publishing Buddhism and Lao Society, reflecting on a lifetime of integration between faith, socialism and nationhood, blending personal reflection with his enduring belief in the role monks played in Lao’s liberation.
Today: The Revolutionary Buddhist Citizen
Fifty years after the revolution, today, at the level of everyday practice, Socialist Buddhism shapes the subjectivity of the devout Lao citizen. The daily life of a monk is regimented to reflect socialist values. Monastic discipline, with its emphasis on communal living, the renunciation of private property, and adherence to a strict code of conduct, is presented as a proto-socialist model. The monk’s life becomes a metaphor for the ideal socialist citizen: disciplined, humble, and devoted to community and solidarity.
Lao Buddhism has always been a reflection of the social and material conditions that sustain it. As the country enters a new era, with high-speed rail connections to China and greater opportunity for travel abroad– usually for those seeking to sell their labour as Laos remains a relatively poor, if stable, state– exchanges between monks from surrounding nations who did not undergo revolutionary reform have become more commonplace. Shiny temples are returning to the capital, and the clear influence of the strictly hierarchical Thai Sangha can be seen in monks and laypeople returning from extended time spent across the border. This is not to say that revolutionary Buddhism is dead, but rather it is adapting to the conditions that surround it. It is no longer a religious practice of revolutionary necessity during wartime, but a part of the wider social fabric that shifts back and forth depending on material and social conditions.
For the Lao laity though, Buddhist practice is still encouraged within a framework that prioritises socialist patriotism. Merit-making activities are often linked to national goals. Donating to a temple is good, but donating to a school-building fund organised through the temple is better, both generating merit and serving the ultimate revolution. Meditative practice is valued not for fostering withdrawal from the world, but for cultivating the mental discipline and clarity required for the socialist Buddhist citizen.
This synthesis is perhaps most visible in the education of novices. In monastic schools, the curriculum combines the study of Pali scriptures with lessons on the history of the Lao revolution, the work of Marx and Lenin, and the policies of the People’s Republic. The ideal product of this system is not just a learned monk, but a “patriotic monk” who understands his role in the ongoing project of socialist construction. He is a guardian of Dharma and the Revolution alike.
There are, of course, shortcomings. Today, the revolutionary practice has degraded, in part due to the influence of other regional Dharma organisations from counterrevolutionary sects like in Thailand and Burma. Hierarchies have emerged within the Lao Sangha, not unlike those that were fought against during the revolution. One of the most pressing issues is in regards to the role of women in Buddhist institutions, which are still largely circumscribed by traditional Theravada norms. The most formal path for women’s religious participation remains becoming a nun (mae-shi), a role that grants spiritual opportunity but occupies a lower status than the male monkhood and receives far less attention or support from the state apparatus. The socialist government’s emphasis on women’s liberation through participation in the workforce and party organisations often directed women’s energies away from religious life and toward secular, state-led projects. Women do retain a critical, if informal, role as the primary upholders of lay Buddhist practice. As the main participants in daily alms-giving, temple donations, and organising community rituals, women have become the essential grassroots sustainers of the faith, ensuring its continuity within the constraints of the new socialist system, even as the official institutional framework remained dominated by men. The process of Socialist Buddhism, particularly in the Theravada context (one of the more patriarchal branches), obviously has a long way to go, however, we must remember that this is an ongoing project, one that requires revolutionary critique, particularly as it pertains to gender liberation.
All socialist projects are, and should be, open to critique, but we must take into account their circumstances and context from which they were born and continue to struggle. The Lao experiment with Socialist Buddhism affords us an insight to the flexibility and pragmatism of their revolutionary praxis. It demonstrates a sophisticated understanding that superstructural elements like religion are not merely passive reflections of the economic base but active forces that must be engaged with dialectically. The People’s Republic, by refusing a dogmatic and destructive atheism, successfully integrated the powerful force of Theravada Buddhism into their project and redirected its once reactionary energy toward the creation of a new society.
This is not a seamless or entirely uncontested fusion. Tensions inevitably exist between orthodox Marxist materialism and Buddhist metaphysics. However, the Lao model’s great achievement is its demonstration that the core ethical and communal aspirations of Buddhism can not only be compatible with, but strengthen the socialist struggle against material deprivation and social injustice. By integrating the Sangha into the revolutionary project, the state gave socialism a distinctly Lao face, ensuring its cultural resonance and longevity. In the dialectic of Dharma and revolution, the Lao people have not chosen one over the other but have forged a unique path where the quest to end material suffering and the quest to end existential suffering advance, however imperfectly, hand in hand.
Maha Khamtan Thepbuali’s cremation was held on September 5, 2019, at Wat That Fun temple in Vientiane, the same site where, over six decades earlier in 1958, he became a revolutionary in the Lao sangha. His funeral at this symbolic location offers us an opportunity to think of the Buddhist principle of impermanence (anicca). Rather than an end, his life’s work stands as a lasting and still developing contribution. In a world often defined by relentless change and uncertainty, Thepbuali was able to demonstrate that revolutionary social experiments are never futile. His efforts to harmonise Buddhism with a vision for a just society remain a testament to the enduring human capacity for meaningful revolt and the pursuit of utopia, be it communism or Red Shambala.
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&
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