Jonang’s take on buddha-nature really turns heads because it paints ultimate reality in vibrant, affirmative strokes rather than blanking it out. Most Tibetan traditions lean on rangtong (“self-emptiness”), insisting that all phenomena—including buddhahood—are empty of any inherent essence. It’s a bit like saying “nothing’s really there,” and then focusing on that absence to dismantle clinging.

Jonang, by contrast, champions zhentong (“empty of other”), arguing that buddha-nature isn’t just a conceptual trick or a void but a shining, ever-present ground—luminous awareness that’s empty only of defilements, not of its own qualities. Picture a diamond in the rough: all the facets and brilliance are already inside, waiting to be polished. That gem isn’t fabricated; it simply needs dusting off.

This positive emphasis sets Jonang apart from, say, Gelug’s strict analysis or the Kagyu’s Mahamudra emphasis on non-conceptual clarity. While those approaches stress cutting through conceptual overlays, Jonang elevates what remains after the cut—ultimate compassion, wisdom, and freedom—as genuinely existent. Recent symposiums at the Mind & Life Institute have even spotlighted this perspective, noting its dialogue potential with scientific accounts of consciousness that seek an irreducible ground.

Interestingly, this school survived near-extinction after the 17th century, only to see a revival in parts of Amdo and beyond since the 1980s. Contemporary teachers are bridging Jonang’s bold stance with ecological activism, suggesting this ever-pure ground inspires a fresh sense of care for the planet. That fusion of ancient esoterica and modern urgency feels like a breath of fresh mountain air.

By refusing to reduce buddha-nature to mere emptiness, the Jonang lineage offers a unique, radiant outlook—inviting practitioners not only to strip away ignorance but also to recognize and embody the wakeful heart that’s been there from the get-go.