[ESSAY] “Preserving the Path of Enlightenment at Borobudur and Not Just the Stones” by Daniel Gauss

Borobudur is an allegory of self awareness, growth and social engagement, rendered in volcanic stone. It was not built for veneration, but to be walked and experienced as a process of self transformation. Pilgrims once ascended its terraces level by level, learning the stages of Buddhist enlightenment while confronting sculptural narratives of the Buddha’s life and teachings that invited reflection on their own moral and spiritual development.

Unfortunately, current restrictive preservation practices have rendered Borobudur’s purpose hollow. Its terraces have been reduced to museum storage, its sculptures stripped of dialogue, and its ascent transformed from a lived allegory into a regulated, cliché ridden spectacle.

What was once a dynamic journey of reflection and transformation has been frozen into static heritage, guarded against genuine experience, emptied of meaning, and severed from the very engagement it was built to inspire.

Built in Java in the eighth century, Borobudur belongs to a moment in Mahayana Buddhism when enlightenment was believed to be attainable within a single lifetime. Teachers of that era offered tantras, or “manuals”, to help individuals understand themselves and move toward higher, more humane states of being. Borobudur itself can be read as such a manual, an education in stone guiding visitors through an embodied lesson in self discovery.

There is little doubt that the structure was meant to be experienced rather than worshipped. My preferred interpretation of Borobudur’s pedagogical layout is that the temple unfolds across three great levels, rising from the everyday to the transcendent.

The first level represents ordinary life, the world of habit, impulse and unexamined reaction. Here, sculptures depict people acting as they are conditioned to act, driven by fear, desire, expectation or custom rather than reflection. Frustration becomes anger, anger turns to violence, and violence is directed against those perceived as enemies. Dissolute and uncontrolled behaviour is also shown. Life is lived, but without peace, freedom of mind or meaningful self restraint.

The second level marks a turning point, recognition. Here, one begins to see the roots of one’s own behaviour, to ask whether things must remain as they are, and whether change is possible. This is where moral imagination awakens, the dawning sense that life might be lived with compassion, mercy, forgiveness and purpose, rather than according to the harmful examples modelled by others. It is the passage from mere existence to meaningful being.

The third level, at the summit where the stupas stand overlooking the jungle, represents liberation. This is freedom not only from suffering, but also from the moral striving that can itself become another form of bondage. Emerging into open air, surrounded by verdant life as far as the eye can see, one becomes receptive and still. Enlightenment is no longer something to be achieved, but something joyfully received.

Perhaps there is a fourth stage, unmarked by stone: the descent. Having glimpsed clarity at the summit, one returns to the world below to live, act and serve with greater understanding.

What sets Borobudur apart from other grandiose “religious” monuments is that it was not built by slave labour or under the direction of a self serving despot seeking personal glorification, as at Abu Simbel in Egypt or Angkor Wat in Cambodia. There was no Ozymandias behind the construction of Borobudur.

Researchers have established that the monarch most closely associated with Borobudur was Samaratungga of the Sailendra Dynasty, which ruled central Java in the eighth and ninth centuries. The temple was built between 780 and 830 CE. Samaratungga was a Mahayana Buddhist king devoted to spiritual rather than militaristic pursuits. Unlike many rulers who commissioned temples to glorify their power or deify themselves, his reign is remembered for peace, cultural flourishing and religious devotion rather than conquest.

No evidence of slave labour has been found in connection with Borobudur’s construction. Archaeological evidence and inscriptions suggest that it was built through a collective effort involving skilled artisans, local villagers and Buddhist devotees, coordinated as a religious and communal project. This aligns with Buddhist principles of dāna, or generosity, and karma, whereby contributing to such a monument earned spiritual merit.

As John N. Miksic observes in the third edition of Borobudur: Masterpiece in Stone (2025), his comprehensive archaeological and art historical study of the monument, even demons and malevolent figures are rendered with serenity, as if the sculptors themselves worked in a state of inner calm. They seem incapable of creating the horrific, which further suggests that Borobudur was conceived and executed as a genuine labour of love.

I have described one interpretation in which the temple unfolds across three stages, but this view is disputed by some scholars. Others argue that Borobudur represents ten levels corresponding to the ten steps required to become a bodhisattva, a being capable of transcending the world yet choosing to remain in order to enlighten and liberate others.

According to this view, the path toward becoming a bodhisattva was illustrated and laid out for every pilgrim to walk. Regardless of how the structure is divided, it is beyond doubt that Borobudur was intended to provide a beneficial experience. It was a benevolent gesture created through good will, guided by a ruler of humane intention and realised by believers, for the benefit of all who would come after.

Can one come to Borobudur and walk the same path as the pilgrims did during the brief period when it functioned as a place of spiritual transformation? No.

I learned of Borobudur when I was very young and, frankly, never imagined that I would one day see it, let alone experience it. Circumstances, however, brought me to Asia, and I suddenly realised that this remarkable place lay within my financial reach. I wanted to walk the path of the pilgrims. I wanted to experience the extraordinary sculptural reliefs along the different levels and draw inspiration for my own humane growth. I wanted to become part of this humane legacy. Borobudur is a unique monument offering a spiritual journey, and once that journey is removed, Borobudur itself is diminished.

Overtourism has, allegedly, put an end to this possibility. From what I understand, over the past two years new rules have been introduced to prevent modern day pilgrims from freely moving through the stone complex of levels and walkways. I could have cried when I learned that I would be placed in a group of fourteen people, led by a guide who would tell us what we were looking at. I would be granted one hour of access to Borobudur for 440,000 rupiah (28 dollars).

As a result, Borobudur now risks becoming little more than a backdrop for selfies rather than a setting for self reflection. Preservation is essential, but so too is the living experience the monument was designed to offer. What value is there in saving the form if we lose the function that once gave it meaning?

Would those who constructed this temple of spiritual education not have rejoiced to know that, more than one thousand years later, people still longed to walk the path of the pilgrims who once came here? Do we not owe it to them to preserve the experience itself? Have UNESCO and the Indonesian government truly struck the right balance? Certainly the structure must be protected, but the structure is also calling to be experienced.

Borobudur is a completely unique and revolutionary religious structure, created to be experienced. It was an act of benevolence meant to endure for the benefit of others.

A structure designed to educate has now been transformed into a purely touristic and selfie driven attraction, where visitors learn facts but are prevented from having the depth of experience that remains possible. The modern pilgrim passively follows a guide who is obliged to tailor commentary to the attention span and engagement level of the average tourist, rather than to those who understand the meaning of the structure and wish to experience it as it was intended.

So what can be done? I would like to see UNESCO and Indonesia recognise the unique meaning and function of Borobudur and make it possible once again for people to undertake the journey its builders envisioned.

I do not claim to know exactly how this should be achieved, but with goodwill and imagination, solutions can surely be found. Perhaps a pilgrim permit could be introduced. Perhaps the temple could be reopened as it was only a few years ago, with a strictly limited number of tickets sold online each day. Visitors could be required to wear protective sandals, as they already do, and warned that touching the stonework would result in removal.

Why not apply a protective layer to the stones that are walked upon? Creativity is required, and Borobudur deserves it. After all, the stones that pilgrims trod over a thousand years ago were apparently coated with paint. The entire monument was once covered in white plaster and richly coloured, meaning that the exposed grey andesite stone we see today was never intended to be visible.

If there are people who genuinely wish to experience the temple, they should be allowed to do so. Borobudur reduced to a tourist attraction rather than a spiritual experience is a disturbing development and, frankly, a disservice to the sanctity of the temple’s purpose and an affront to those who laboured to create a structure of enduring meaning and relevance.

If Borobudur was conceived as an education in stone, then its preservation must include the preservation of its purpose: to teach, to move and to awaken. It deserves not only to be seen, but to be walked.

^{How to cite: Gauss, Daniel. “Preserving the Path of Enlightenment at Borobudur and Not Just the Stones.” Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, 28 Dec. 2025, chajournal.com/2025/12/28/borobudur.}

Daniel Gauss was born in Chicago and studied at UW–Madison and Columbia University. He has worked in the field of education for over twenty years and has published non-fiction in 3 Quarks Daily, The Good Men Project, Daily Philosophy and E: The Environmental Magazine, among other platforms. He has also published fiction and poetry. Daniel currently lives and teaches in China. See his writing portfolio for more information. [All contributions by Daniel Gauss.]