A royal edict from the 5th Dalai Lama in the 17th century dealt a heavy blow to Jonang monasteries, folding many into the dominant Gelug fold. Yet, like seeds buried under winter’s snow, Jonang teachings sprouted anew in Tibet’s more remote reaches. In Amdo and Golok, devoted lay families and a handful of hermitages carried on the shentong (“empty-of-other”) view in whispered chants and hidden manuscripts. Those secret caches of Jonang texts—stashed in cliff-side caves or tucked beneath yak hair tents—kept the flame alive.

When political winds shifted, a trickle of revival began. Tsangwa Monastery in Amdo re-emerged under the guidance of the 3rd Jamyang Zhepa, reassembling scattered scriptures and rebuilding a small sangha. Beyond Tibet’s borders, exiled practitioners in India—at places like the Taranatha Institute in Dolanji—converted diaspora enthusiasm into living practice. Western scholars and practitioners, drawn to Jonang’s emphasis on universal buddha-nature, translated core texts and organized study groups from Leiden to Los Angeles.

More recently, official recognition by cultural authorities in Qinghai has allowed several Jonang gompas to reopen, while a 2022 “Jonang Heritage Week” exhibit in Lhasa showcased ancient thangkas and rare commentaries. Researchers at Peking University’s Centre for Buddhist Studies even launched a meditation-neuroscience project last year, exploring how shentong practices affect the brain—proof that ancient insights still resonate with 21st-century minds.

Survival hinged on flexibility and quiet determination. By weathering suppression through remote retreats, clandestine teachings and alliances with sympathetic lineages, Jonang managed to keep its core alive. Today, its message—that every sentient being harbors an innate buddha-spark—finds fresh listeners in global mindfulness circles and modern-day pilgrims alike, turning what once seemed a dying embers into a gentle, enlivening glow.