Bound for the West: (Mis)Representations of Pure Land Buddhism in Christian Theology

Abstract

This paper builds on Tomoko Masuzawa’s influential critique in The Invention of World Religions by analyzing how colonial and theological frameworks shaped Western representations of Pure Land Buddhism. While Masuzawa exposed the Eurocentric foundations of religious studies, this study examines a specific dimension of that legacy: Christian theological interpretations of Pure Land Buddhism. Sixteenth-century Jesuit missionaries in Japan described Pure Land Buddhism through Protestant analogies, framing it as a distorted counterpart to Christianity. This characterization persisted into the twentieth century, notably in Joseph Dahlmann’s writings, which cast Pure Land Buddhism as counterfeit Christianity and an illegitimate form of Buddhism. Later, theologians Karl Barth and Henri de Lubac reinforced this comparative lens, arguing that although Pure Land Buddhism shares certain features with Protestantism, it ultimately falls short of Christian theological standards. By interrogating these misrepresentations and their impact on academic discourse, this paper demonstrates how Western scholars and theologians constructed narratives that misrepresented Pure Land Buddhism and shaped its reception in Western intellectual history.

1. Early Comparisons of Pure Land Buddhim and Christianity

Since Tomoko Masuzawa’s The Invention of World Religions redefined religious studies through a historiography of the early development of the field, religious studies scholars have wrestled with the reality that the enterprise of studying religion emerged out of the colonial project that asserted and protected the cultural supremacy of European cultures (now often acknowledged as the West) (Masuzawa 2005). I view this paper as an extension of Masuzawa’s important work. There is a need for a larger body of scholarship that identifies, reads, and analyses how Westerners have portrayed and discussed Pure Land Buddhism and on what and whom they have based those discussions. Although that larger overall project must consider a variety of sources, including early Jesuit reports from Japan, textbooks, books from academic and popular presses, and popular media representations, here I want to contribute a small part toward that effort by examining how a few notable Christian theologians—Joseph Dahlmann (1861–1930), Henri de Lubac (1896–1991), and Karl Barth (1886–1968)—have discussed (and misrepresented) Pure Land Buddhism.

In my research for other projects focusing on Pure Land Buddhism in medieval China, I have frequently encountered comparisons that Western authors make between Pure Land Buddhism and Christianity. Obviously, comparison is an evolutionary skill that is natural and allows humans to quickly process their environments. Problems arise, however, when these quick comparisons lead to entrenched hierarchies, categorizations, and worldviews. The noted similarities between Christianity and Pure Land Buddhism are apparent in the earliest documented encounters between Western Christians and Japanese Pure Land Buddhists. In early Jesuit records of their encounters with Pure Land Buddhism while missionizing in Japan, sixteenth-century missionaries relayed their confusion in describing Pure Land Buddhism as a kind of Protestant Buddhism. The Jesuits were almost immediately critical of Pure Land Buddhism. Alessandro Valignano (1539–1606), a powerful Jesuit priest who is credited for reforming the Japanese mission after its early failures, wrote that Pure Land Buddhists “hold precisely the doctrine which the devil, father of both, taught to Luther” (Elison 1988). There is no real way to construe such a statement as positive. Valignano judges that, because of its similarity to Protestantism, Pure Land Buddhism is just as much a threat and therefore the product of the devil, the ultimate evil. As we will see briefly, such direct and disparaging language would not be entirely out of place among Christians writing centuries later.

The tendency to immediately juxtapose Pure Land Buddhism with Christianity continues today, as I find that students in my classrooms learning about Pure Land Buddhism for the first time almost instinctually jump to make this comparison. Despite this inclination that has persisted now for centuries, there has been little academic reflection on this issue. Daniel B. Stevenson has suggested that this topic “holds considerable promise for future inquiry” (Stevenson 2008, p. 191). Gomez (2000) argued that this tendency has hurt the reception and understanding of Pure Land Buddhism because “so much energy is spent in distancing Pure Land from Buddhism, as well as from Christianity” (pp. 2–3). In other words, because there has been so much emphasis placed on what Pure Land Buddhism is not, there has been a lack in discussing what it is. Amstutz (1997), in his monograph about Western interpretations of Shin (the largest Japanese Pure Land sect) Buddhism, suggests that it has been marginalized in the West in comparison to other forms of popular Buddhism due to Shin’s “political nature” (Amstutz 1997). I agree with the analyses of Amstuz, Stevenson, and Gomez, yet, ironically, I recognise that engaging in this project furthers the tendency to discuss Pure Land Buddhism in conjunction with Christianity. Nevertheless, I believe this work is important to both studies of Pure Land Buddhism and overall religious studies because it continues the work of investigating their pasts.

As Masuzawa demonstrated in her research of the world religions paradigm, the initial core of that program was constructed around the idea of the superiority of European culture. Clearly, there is some overlap in the ways that Western observers of Pure Land Buddhism often dismiss it as a kind of quasi-Protestantism, neither authentic enough to be “true” Buddhism nor completely fulfilled as they deem Christianity. This comparison continued into the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, making it necessary to highlight the history from which this comparison has proceeded, as well as investigate the modern discourse around it. Simply put, I see this kind of necessary work as part of the larger effort to acknowledge the past of academic study of religion and continue the work to decolonise it. Some guiding questions for this larger project should be: Why do these individuals so often feel compelled to talk about Christianity when discussing Pure Land Buddhism? What does this tendency mean for representations and understandings of Pure Land Buddhism in the West? Lastly, what are the ramifications of these comparisons and representations? While some historiographies have focused on similar developments in early studies and representations of Buddhism (including Masuzawa), and Amstutz has contributed research that isolates Shin Buddhism in conversation with the West, scholars have yet to continue investigating the history of this dialogue between the West and Pure Land Buddhism, likely the most popular form of Buddhist practice across Asia, with an increasing presence in North America and Europe among the growing population of Asian origin groups. I call on colleagues to deeply investigate powerful voices from the past to ascertain what, perhaps, has been hidden beneath the language of comparison of Pure Land Buddhism and Christianity. I hope to offer this contribution as a small step toward that larger project.

First, however, allow me to spotlight the tricky terrain we occupy in a project such as this. This is especially necessary because our data for this particular article are Christian theologians; voices from the past who discussed Pure Land Buddhism trying to ultimately demonstrate the superiority of their own faith. Given their position, we should not be astonished by their conclusions. Moreover, I am nothing more than an amateur theologian, and therefore I do not intend to comment on the theology of the individuals below as I am not trained to do so. I merely want to present these cases as indicators that Christians (and to a greater degree, the West) have long seen a kind of strangely mirrored familiarity in Pure Land Buddhism, as if staring into a fun house mirror. For some, especially the earliest voices in this article, that reflection was immediately dismissed as counterfeit. Later theologians were far more willing to gaze into that mirror and consider how the reflection staring back at them was useful for better understanding themselves. However, in both these approaches, Pure Land Buddhism was only ever a reflection in a warped mirror. Simply put, I am intrigued by the people who looked in this mirror and how they described what they saw.

As highlighted above, the earliest Jesuit reports from the Japan mission dismissed Pure Land Buddhism as a lesser Protestant Christianity. While it would be nice to believe that the succeeding centuries changed the Jesuit perspective, history proves otherwise. Three centuries after Alessandro Valignano, Joseph Dahlmann was a highly educated German Jesuit missionary and scholar that significantly shaped the Catholic Church’s engagement with Asia, and Japan in particular. Dahlmann was a prolific scholar who published on Buddhism, Hinduism, Asian languages and philosophies, and the early Jesuit mission to Japan. Paul Carus (1852–1919), an instrumental academic in the effort to introduce Buddhism to the West, reviewed Dahlmann’s treatise on the Buddhist concept of nirvana in 1898. While Carus notes that “some creditable research” on ancient Indian literature has come from Dahlmann in the past, he questions Dahlmann’s dismissal and censure of Buddhism. Carus goes on to write that, “it would seem that [Dahlmann] is not sufficiently acquainted with its history and doctrines” (Carus 1898, p. 128). In an anonymous review from the same year of another of Dahlmann’s books on Buddhism, the reviewer expresses disappointment in the book before remarking, “His purpose is, not to throw light on the numerous historical problems connected with his subject which still require elucidation, but to explain how very objectionable, from his personal point of view, is the system of thought on which the Buddhist religion, and indeed all Indian thought, is founded” (Anonymous 1898, pp. 646–47). These two reviews, both featured in notable academic journals of that time, demonstrate that Dahlmann’s peers were not shy to point out what they viewed as unfair handling of Buddhist history and concepts. On the other hand, these scathing reviews did not prevent Dahlmann from continuing to publish books on Asian religions or receiving notable academic positions.

In the decade following those reviews, Dahlmann spent most of it traveling throughout Asia and continuing to publish books. His experiences were crucial to the Jesuits revitalization of their mission to Japan (Fuess 2005, pp. 86–90). Following the vision of Pope Pius X to establish an institution of higher education in Tokyo, the Jesuits sent Dahlmann along with Henri Boucher (1857–1939) and James Rockliff (1852–1926) to guide the formative process of the institution that officially opened in 1913 as Sophia University. Dahlmann greatly influenced the early curriculum and served as Professor of Indology and German Literature there until his death in 1930 (Nakai 2017, pp. 97–127).

During his tenure at Sophia, Dahlmann published a series of lectures entitled “Les Religions du Japon” in an edited collection on the history of religions. He surveys the histories of Shinto and Buddhism in Japan, arguing that Buddhism (in conjunction with Confucianism) succeeded because it provided the Japanese the clear ethical code that Shinto lacked. Dahlmann viewed the syncretic blending of Buddhism and Shinto as unfortunate and criticises the Japanese for the “almost childish lack of critical thinking,” that their religious eclecticism supports (Dahlmann 1927, pp. 306–7). This critique suggests that Dahlmann views “religious eclecticism” as dangerous, that instead religious systems should remain distinct. His concern is not altogether surprising given that the early Jesuit mission in Japan struggled to translate Christianity in a way that did not blend elements of Buddhism and Shinto.1 In sharing his opinion about how religious syncretism has hurt the development of Japan, Dahlmann—likely thinking about the past and future of Christianity in Japan—makes clear his preference for keeping traditions separate.

Given the noted similarity between Christianity and the Pure Land sects, Dahlmann, like Valignano centuries before, viewed Pure Land as a stumbling block for the Japanese. In his discussion of the Pure Land sects, he carefully outlines their features, at times noting how they eschew earlier (meaning “authentic” for Dahlmann) ascetic versions of Buddhism. For example, he frequently (and incorrectly) notes how Pure Land practitioners “turn away” from nirvana and instead aim for the Pure Land (Dahlmann 1927, p. 296). Dahlmann ends his analysis of the Shin Pure Land sect (Jōdo Shinshū) with a quote from contemporary Japanologist Basil Hall Chamberlain (1850–1935) that he labels as justifiable: “At first glance, one might imagine that the Shin sect is a counterfeit of Christianity rather than a development of Buddhism”.2 Dahlmann makes it clear that he does not completely agree with Chamberlain, as he continues after the quote stating: “We may more accurately call it a caricature of Christian redemption” (ibid.). His clarification seems to suggest that, while he recognises some aspects of Pure Land Buddhism resemble Christianity, the former does not measure up to the theological depth or “authenticity” of Christianity. In his clear attempt to demonstrate the superiority of Christianity, Dahlmann does indeed share a caricature, but it is of the Pure Land sects rather than Christianity.

Dahlmann died in Tokyo and does not appear to have changed his thoughts on the Jesuits mission in Japan. Just a few years before his death, he wrote Japan, Land of Fidelity in which he shares his admiration for the loyalty and dedication of the Japanese to their traditions. Yet, he once again ends his brief reflective piece with his hope that Japan will find “spiritual renewal” through a greater acceptance of Christianity (Dahlmann 1926). Despite his direct and at times caustic critiques of the religious landscape of Japan, Dahlmann is fondly remembered and celebrated as a founding father of Sophia University and an important figure in the revival of the Jesuit mission in Japan.

2. Pure Land Buddhism in Later Comparative Theological Approaches

Whereas the earliest Jesuits up to Dahlmann in the early twentieth century publicly shared their detest for Pure Land Buddhism, later Christian theologians using comparative approaches left them more appreciative about it. While later twentieth-century comparative discourse featured a markedly softer tone when discussing Pure Land Buddhism, Christian theologians inevitably found it lacking in comparison to Christianity nevertheless. Although the later theologians were more careful with their conclusions, one cannot entirely help but feel that the echoes of the early Jesuits are still discernible in the later critiques. Of course, like Valignano and Dahlmann, later theologians were working within an entirely Christian perspective, which meant that they were invested in showing the superiority of Christianity above all else; this was their prerogative. That is not to suggest that later voices were not genuinely interested in Pure Land Buddhism and found it remarkable. After all, these theologians were talking about Pure Land Buddhism during a time when it was being largely ignored by Buddhologists in the academy. I’ll briefly introduce the two theologians—Henri de Lubac and Karl Barth—who engaged in comparative dialogue with the Japanese Pure Land sects before an analysis of their work.

Henri de Lubac was a French Jesuit priest and one of the most influential Catholic theologians of the twentieth century. He served on the faculty of the Catholic University of Lyon for a tumultuous three decades (1929–1960), during which there were lengthy absences due to the Second World War and his expulsion from 1950–1958 due to his “new theology” affiliation. His fortunes changed greatly over the following decades with Pope John XXIII relying on de Lubac for the significant progressive changes established in the Second Vatican Council in the 1960s and Pope John Paul II naming him as a Cardinal in 1983 (Fredericks 2023). While teaching in Lyon, de Lubac was assigned to teach on world religions, which was the catalyst for his interest in Buddhism.

During his suspension from the university, de Lubac was not permitted to write Christian theology, so instead he focused his energies on writing about Buddhism. This resulted in his publishing of three works on Buddhism in the first half of the 1950s, including the final work, Amida, in 1955, in which he exclusively focuses on Pure Land Buddhism. Although de Lubac did not visit Japan or meet Pure Land Buddhists like his Jesuit predecessors, the subject clearly fascinated him. He writes fondly in his Theological Fragments about studying in the libraries of Paris and the Musée Guimet and notes how he grew to love Pure Land Buddhism (de Lubac 1989, p. 32). Decades after Dahlmann, de Lubac exchanges the former’s abrasive critique of Pure Land Buddhism for a more appreciative one.

Karl Barth was perhaps the most notable Christian theologian of the twentieth century. Although squarely situated in the Reformed Protestant tradition, many notable Catholic theologians came to appreciate and comment on his work. Barth is most famous for his writing of the Barmen Declaration in 1934 while he was a chair of Reformed theology at the University of Bonn. The strongly anti-Nazi document, signed by more than 200 Protestant leaders in Germany, denounced the effort to create new state churches and asserted the autonomy of churches over governments. Barth was subsequently deported from Germany and returned to his hometown of Basel, Switzerland, where he spent the remainder of his career working at the University of Basel.

Church Dogmatics, Barth’s systematic theology and his life’s work from 1932 to his death in 1968, includes a detailed note in which the theologian shares his observations of Pure Land Buddhism in relation to Christianity. Barth was by no means a specialist in Buddhism or any other Asian religion, nor is it apparent that he ever studied it in any significant capacity. Barth’s theology, which always and inevitably returns to the uniqueness and centrality of Jesus, did not leave room for truth in other religious systems, and other theologians have shared anecdotes relaying his dismissiveness of non-Christian religions (Niles 1969, p. 11). Thus, it is not particularly clear why he chose to include discussion of Pure Land Buddhism in his first volume of Church Dogmatics. Other than Barth’s citation of the German Japanologist Karl Florenz (1865–1939), there is not much known about his study of or interest in Pure Land Buddhism, though some have claimed that his relationship with his Japanese pupil and Buddhist–Christian theologian Katsumi Takizawa (1909–1984) was the likely catalyst (Barth 1960).

Despite Barth not having the same breadth of study as de Lubac during his time in exile, they come to similar conclusions in their shared appreciation but ultimate dismissal of Pure Land Buddhism. Both theologians clearly viewed Pure Land Buddhism as a gift that Christians should use to reflect on their own beliefs. As shared above, de Lubac came to love his study of Pure Land Buddhism. Barth wrote that Christians should be “grateful for the lesson” that it provides, and that the very existence of Pure Land Buddhism is a “providential disposition” (Barth 1960). In other words, both men saw the value of Pure Land Buddhism as a useful foil to strengthen their understanding of Christianity. In doing so, both were eager to highlight the similarities to such a degree that they seem unconcerned about representing Pure Land practices and beliefs fairly.

Of the two theologians, it is evident that de Lubac has a much greater understanding of Pure Land and Buddhism overall. This is clear in his publication of three books on Buddhism in the 1950s, all of which received far better reviews from academics than Dahlmann’s (Sanders 1956). Yet, despite his admirable efforts to share with his readers his research on Pure Land Buddhism, it is always and only ever in the service of communicating more about Christianity. For example, de Lubac seems to conflate the concepts of faith between the two traditions, when each tradition has rich histories in which faith is situated within specific contexts. In his survey of de Lubac’s work, Jérôme Ducor questions why, given de Lubac’s careful attention to various facets of Pure Land Buddhism, he does not spend more time detailing Pure Land approaches to faith (Ducor 2007, pp. 103–4). Instead, de Lubac only ever thinks about faith through his own Catholic perspective (Fredericks 2023, pp. 208–9). This misunderstanding makes faith central to the flawed individual who is seeking redemption. While these may make sense in the Christian perspective, it does not represent Pure Land perspectives correctly. Take the following quote in which de Lubac writes that faith is the “sentiment of a need for salvation based on a sense of sin increased by the recourse to Amida’s grace, without which it is impossible for man to be delivered from his sin” (de Lubac 1989, p. 365). Here, de Lubac wrestles with the vows of Amida as a kind of grace that emanate from him. De Lubac wants to emphasize grace because, in order to accept it, one must realise that they are guilty of sin. While this kind of theologizing using the case study of Pure Land Buddhism is helpful for de Lubac to think about his own Roman Catholicism, it is not entirely helpful for understanding Pure Land Buddhism. It instead decontextualises the historical development of Pure Land Buddhism within the Mahayana movement where compassion (not grace) motivates Buddhas and bodhisattvas to work with beings to achieve enlightenment. Moreover, what does it mean to reference sin in this context? In Christianity, sin is a turning away from God, not to mention the dizzying interpretations of sin as having a role in a cosmic battle of God against Satan, or humanity’s role in and inextricability from sin. These facile comparisons maybe helpful for one side but could also be just as harmful to the other side if and perhaps when one side is doing most of the comparing. Even when de Lubac’s comparisons are compelling, such as his effort to analyse the trikaya (three bodies) of Amida using the heretical Christian concept of Docetism, it is unclear who benefits from such an analysis (Fredericks 2023, pp. 212–14).

Given de Lubac’s historical context in which he wrote his Buddhist treatises during a period of exile from his position at Lyon only a decade following World War II, it makes sense that he spots in Pure Land Buddhism a sense of humility that he praises (Grumett and Plant 2012). Like many theologians of his day, he was concerned with the secularization of Europe. De Lubac viewed Pure Land belief and practice as an ally for pointing humans back toward the sacred. Whereas the modern individual may have felt empowered to take charge of their destiny, de Lubac warned that Christians needed more humility to rely on the divine grace offered (de Lubac 1989, p. 365).

Both Barth and de Lubac fail to avoid some telling hazards in their discussion of Pure Land Buddhism. While they never go quite as far as Dahlmann in his incorrect statement that Pure Land Buddhists “turn away” from nirvana in preference for the Pure Land, de Lubac and Barth both allude to it as a kind of purgatory (de Lubac 1955, p. 263; Barth 1960, p. 341). Both theologians acknowledge that the Pure Land is the penultimate step toward nirvana, or as Barth terms it, the “forecourt”. This is a particularly instructive example of why introducing a religion in comparison with another can be problematic. The Christian concept of Purgatory is limited to Catholic and Orthodox churches, and there are a diverse range of explanations of the concept throughout Christian history, though most view it as a place where suffering is still apparent as beings there wait for Heaven. While the Pure Land is ultimately a kind of intermediate transition to final enlightenment, all beings there exist in a state of absolute bliss. Even those beings gestating in lotus wombs for kalpas are exposed to the wondrous dharma of the Pure Land. Moreover, the comparison invites the further misconception of viewing ultimate enlightenment as another kind of heavenly location that awaits, which is not an accurate rendering of nirvana.

Like de Lubac, Barth too sees positives in Pure Land Buddhism, though in a much different capacity. For Barth really only see the “providential disposition” of Pure Land belief and practice in that it should remind Christians of their uniqueness. “[Pure Land Buddhism] cam certainly be compared without violence to the simple Christian ‘Protestantism’ which countless souls have thought of as the true Protestantism ever since the sixteenth century…” he writes (Barth 1960, p. 342). Thus, for Barth, it is not the system of religion that is unique. Those systems, be they Christian, Buddhist, Hindu, Muslim, etc., were all created and designed by humans, after all.

Only one thing is really decisive for the distinction of truth and error. And we call the existence of [Pure Land Buddhism] a providential disposition because with what is relatively the greatest possible force it makes it so clear that only one thing is decisive. That one thing is the name of Jesus Christ. Methodologically, it is to be recommended that in the face of [Pure Land Buddhism], and, at bottom, of all other religions, our first task is to concentrate wholly upon this distinction, provisionally setting aside whatever other deference we think we recognise.

(ibid., p. 243)

Thus, what sets apart Christianity is the validity and uniqueness of revelation in the person of Jesus. Revelation, for Barth, is what is real and divine, while religions are human attempts to understand and reconcile revelation. Pure Land Buddhism, in its similarity, reveals the contrast of Christianity and therefore (to Barth) its truth: the revelation of Jesus Christ. It is not objects and contents that generate truth for Barth, but the subject which for him will always and only be Jesus.

De Lubac, in the midst of wrestling with Pure Land Buddhism in his teaching for decades and in the writing of his books, comes to a similar conclusion as Barth: “There is nothing in Buddhism which really resembles this fact of Christ. It is a matter here of a unique fact, the most tangible of facts … in relation to which, in the Christian vision of the universe, everything is ordered, hierarchically arranged and, so to speak, valorized in taking its exact proportions” (de Lubac 1955). In his work, To Take Place, J.Z. Smith warns against mistaking the language of “unique” with “individual.” For when we do, “uniqueness denies the possibility of comparison and taxonomy; the individual requires comparative and classificatory endeavors. Uniqueness prevents science and cognition; the individual invites the same. To put this another way, absolute difference is not a category for thought but one that denies the possibility of thought” (Smith 1987, pp. 34–35). Both Barth and de Lubac, in asserting the uniqueness of Jesus against all else, impede true comparative discourse. They deny their audience and themselves a genuine knowledge of Pure Land Buddhism in favor of a taxonomy that places Christianity at the top. Again, I will note that this was obviously the very point of their professional and personal endeavors. That their outcomes did not necessarily accurately reflect Pure Land Buddhism was never their goal, and yet, that these notable voices chose it for a discussion partner means that all of their readers were encountering Pure Land alongside them, many for the first time. This was exacerbated by the paucity of academic scholarship on Pure Land Buddhism available during most of the twentieth century.

3. Conclusions

Centuries of history reveal that Christian theologians who encounter Pure Land Buddhism find it as fascinating as they do troubling. Perhaps Pure Land presents Christians with a kind of “uncanny valley effect” which leaves them uncomfortable and determined to demonstrate how it does not adequately mirror Christianity. As a result of these efforts, Pure Land Buddhism is often mispresented, even among later, esteemed theologians. This paper has briefly highlighted three very influential, well-known figures in Christian history who were occasionally if not completely dismissive of Pure Land Buddhism, even while expressing appreciation for it. While the gentler comparative approaches of de Lubac and Barth are welcome in comparison to Dahlmann’s (and the earlier Jesuits), they both nonetheless engage in the discussion to confirm the superiority of Christianity. Granted, this is not surprising given their affiliation. Still, in a way, the more appreciative tones of de Lubac and Barth could in a way be read as more damaging. For here are two acclaimed theologians still frequently referenced in their respective fields, who both conclude that, ultimately, the greatest benefit of Pure Land Buddhism is that it makes us realise that Christianity is better, and therefore nothing else can really measure up. While it is easy enough to write off Dahlmann as prejudiced, de Lubac and Barth go to great lengths to engage in what their audiences might see as genuine attempts at comparison. It is at the same time ironic that some of their comparative dialogue truly does get to genuinely interesting distinctions that align or differentiate the two traditions and are helpful for challenging the initial impulse to view Pure Land as nothing more than “Protestant Buddhism.” While these insights could be as notable as the imperfections that characterise these comparisons, in the end they are undermined by a dogmatic claim of superiority. Within the realm of theology, this makes sense. However, given that the general public has little bearing of theological work versus religious studies work—and the complicating factor that there was relatively little of the latter on Pure Land Buddhism in the twentieth century—this means that many were introduced to this style of Buddhism through a theological lens that likely produced some unfortunate results.

The ramifications of these theological encounters may not be entirely clear. On the one hand, Buddhist–Christian Studies—based off a comparative model pioneered by theologians like de Lubac—continues to grow in popularity that is evinced by the growth of hybrid religious communities and scholarship centered in the Buddhist-Christian Studies journal. On the other, Pure Land Buddhism is still largely unknown in the Western world, despite an increasing awareness of other Buddhist sects (especially Zen and Tibetan styles) and practices. Simply put, there does not seem to be the same enthusiasm for Pure Land in the West as there are for other styles of Buddhism. These case studies illuminate how its bid for relevance in the West has been challenged from its initial encounter.