In a time of widening war and deepening uncertainty, a rare moment of interfaith clarity has emerged. Following Pope Leo XIV’s Palm Sunday appeal to “lay down your weapons,” the Dalai Lama offered his full endorsement, recognizing in the pope’s words a universal truth—that compassion, restraint, and mutual recognition lie at the heart of all authentic spiritual traditions.*

Such statements are often framed as moral or spiritual. But they are also something more—they are public, even political, interventions.

For many modern observers—especially in Western societies—this can feel uncomfortable. Religion, we are told, belongs to the private sphere as a matter of personal conviction, inner peace, and individual transformation. Politics, by contrast, is contentious, collective, and often divisive. The two, ideally, should not mix.

Yet this neat division is historically contingent, not universal. It reflects a modern Western attempt to contain religion within the boundaries of private life. Buddhism, across its long and diverse history, has rarely recognized such a separation.

From the time of the Buddha, the Dharma has been spoken not only to individuals but to rulers, ministers, and entire societies. The Buddha’s teachings to kings were neither incidental nor peripheral; they were part of a broader vision in which ethical governance and human flourishing were inseparable. The notion of the dharmaraja—a ruler guided by Dharma—embodies this integration of spiritual insight and political responsibility.

Later Buddhist thinkers continued this engagement. Nagarjuna’s famous letter to a king offers pragmatic counsel on governance, urging restraint in punishment, generosity in taxation, and a commitment to the welfare of all subjects. Here, the Dharma seeks to guide political power rather than retreat from it.

This tradition persists into the modern era. In Japan, Buddhist-inspired movements have long advocated for peace and nuclear disarmament, grounded in the conviction that nonviolence must shape not only personal conduct but national policy. In Myanmar, monastics have repeatedly taken to the streets in protest against authoritarian rule, their robes and overturned bowls becoming symbols of moral resistance. Their actions are not partisan in the narrow sense, yet they are undeniably political in their implications.

In a 2022 interview, American Buddhist leader Bhikkhu Bodhi, who posted an image of himself holding an overturned bowl in solidarity with the monastics in Myanmar, explained: “By turning the bowl upside down, we are showing that we are denying them [Myanmar’s military junta], at least symbolically, the opportunity to make offerings and to acquire merit through gifts to the Sangha.” (Insight Myanmar)

Merit (Skt. punya) has long extended beyond ritual giving into the ethical fabric of society. Merit is generated through wholesome actions—generosity (Skt. dana), moral conduct, and intentions rooted in compassion—and these need not be confined to private acts of charity. In contexts such as Myanmar, where monks have historically mobilized against injustice, merit-making itself becomes socially and politically meaningful. By refusing alms through acts such as pattanikujjana (Pali. alms boycott), monastics signal that ethical legitimacy matters. Merit cannot be accrued through harmful or unjust means. Conversely, laypeople and communities can generate merit through actions that alleviate suffering on a broader scale—supporting the oppressed, advocating for peace, or contributing to social welfare initiatives grounded in compassion. In this sense, political or social justice engagement, when guided by non-harming and selfless intention, becomes an extension of traditional merit-making: a way of cultivating virtue not only for oneself, but for the collective good.

In an essay for BDG five years ago, the late Zen abbot and peacemaker Hozan Alan Senauke asked if spiritual liberation and social justice could be truly united. Before diving into careful analysis of several texts from the Pali Canon, Senauke answered, “The short answer: Yes, the work of social justice, the deconstruction of systemic oppression based on race, caste, and gender, is at the heart of Buddhism. The Buddha and all the great teachers counsel us to look at the workings of our mind, our habits, and our preconceptions.”**

Throughout recent decades, the Dalai Lama has modeled a form of global ethical leadership that transcends borders and ideologies. His consistent calls for dialogue, mutual respect, and nonviolence—most recently echoed in his support for Pope Leo XIV—are rooted in the simple but profound insight that at the deepest level, we are all interconnected.

To speak of interconnectedness is to speak of responsibility. It is to recognize that suffering is not isolated, that policies and actions reverberate across communities and nations. In this sense, the Buddhist teachings on compassion (Skt. karuna) and wisdom (Skt. prajna) are never merely private virtues. They are frameworks for understanding and transforming the world we share.

This is why the claim that religion should remain “apolitical” can be misleading. If to be political is simply to engage with the structures and conditions that shape collective life, then Buddhism has always been political. The question is not whether Buddhists should enter this domain, but how.

In another recent BDG feature, Buddhist teacher and author Anam Thubten Rinpoche wrote:

In today’s world, we Buddhists should apply the teaching of the Buddha during these unfolding challenges. Compassion and equanimity are the best medicine. Those who live on the other side of the ideological aisle should be regarded as one of us—we cannot not exclude them by labeling them with harsh, derogatory words. We need to remember that they are human beings just like ourselves; and they too have people in their lives who they love, they laugh at good jokes, they sometimes cry, and, in their minds, they are doing their best. If we feel that they are wrong, we can have compassion for their ignorance, and we can question our own stance too, since being self-righteous is the hardest thing to recognize.***

Here, a crucial distinction emerges. Buddhism does not call for divisive partisanship. It does not ask practitioners to align uncritically with parties, ideologies, or leaders. Indeed, attachment to views—especially rigid or identity-forming views—is repeatedly identified as a source of suffering. The danger lies not in engagement but in entanglement.

The Middle Way offers a path forward. It suggests that one can speak clearly about suffering and its causes without collapsing into the polarities that often define political life. One can oppose violence without demonizing opponents, advocate for justice without clinging to ideological purity, and work for change without losing sight of impermanence and interdependence.

This is not a passive stance. It is, in many ways, more demanding. It requires discernment, humility, and a willingness to remain open even in the face of conflict.

The recent convergence between Pope Leo XIV and the Dalai Lama illustrates this possibility. Their shared appeal is not directed toward a single nation or political bloc. It is addressed to humanity as a whole. In calling for an end to violence, they are not offering a policy prescription so much as a moral orientation—one that challenges the assumptions underlying cycles of war and retaliation.

For Buddhists, such moments invite reflection. What does it mean to practice nonviolence in a world structured by violence? What does it mean to affirm interconnectedness in systems that thrive on division? And how can practitioners engage these realities without becoming consumed by them?

These questions have no simple answers. But Buddhist history offers guidance. It shows that the Dharma has long been brought into conversation with power, policy, and public life. In doing so, wise Buddhists have helped to humanize those being overlooked and pointed at ways those in power could alleviate suffering.

To retreat into a purely private spirituality may offer a sense of superiority, purity, or safety. But it risks abandoning the very beings whose suffering the Dharma seeks to address. Conversely, to plunge uncritically into partisan struggle risks losing the clarity and compassion that make Buddhist engagement distinctive.

Between these extremes lies a more difficult, but more fruitful, middle path. This path recognizes that compassion, when taken seriously, cannot remain confined to the cushion or the shrine room. It must enter the world—into conversations, institutions, and even conflicts. It must speak, act, and sometimes resist. But it must do so without hatred.

In this sense, the political dimension of Buddhism is not an aberration. It is an expression of its deepest commitments. To see clearly is to see the conditions that give rise to suffering. To act compassionately is to respond to those conditions, wherever they appear. And to do so wisely is to avoid becoming bound by the very forces one seeks to transform. As global conflicts continue to unfold, the voices of religious leaders calling for peace remind us that another way is possible. For Buddhists, the task is not to decide whether to be political, but to embody a form of engagement that remains rooted in the Dharma.

Not partisan, but principled. Not detached, but discerning. Not silent, but skillful.

* Dalai Lama Warns Against Spiraling Violence, Urges Peace in the Middle East and Ukraine (BDG)

** Is This Buddhism? The Oneness of Spiritual Liberation and Social Justice (BDG)

*** Dharma and Politics (BDG)

See more

Pope’s Palm Sunday peace appeal backed by Dalai Lama amid escalation of war (OSV News)
Overturning the alms bowl (Insight Myanmar)
Myanmar generals threaten monks (Aljazeera)

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Lessons of the Principle of Dependent Arising for Politics and Investing
Responding to Politics with Equanimity