The best books for making sense of religious history

Did you know that today’s “mindfulness” movement—which promises everything from greater corporate productivity to more passion in the bedroom—originated in nineteenth-century resistance to the British Empire?

After the conquest of Burma, meditation—previously something mostly the domain of wilderness hermits—became a technique everyone could use to strengthen Buddhist Burmese society against cultural imperialism. Burmese teachers brought this practice to America, and Americans came to Burma to learn it directly.

It was fascinating to follow meditation’s journey in these pages from a tool of resistance against globalization to a technique brought around the world by globalization today. This book helped me appreciate the strange history of mindfulness meditation.

Today, so many works on Indigenous history celebrate their subjects as heroes who appeal to our modern sensibilities, but Jackson lets the Mizo people of over a hundred years ago be themselves—not as ciphers for theory, but as actual humans with their own outlooks.

This is the first book that made an Indigenous worldview come alive for me... and still be Indigenous. I found myself fully immersed in a truly human world that makes sense on its own terms, thanks to the author’s careful research, engaging humour, and inspired and sympathetic interpretations. Discovery offered me an opportunity to confront my own assumptions.

The only work of fiction on this list, Motel of the Mysteries set me laughing, first at the book itself, then at historians more generally, and finally at myself.

Macaulay invites us to join a fictitious archaeological team from the future excavating a twentieth-century American motel that had been buried under a tsunami of junk mail. If this team is misunderstanding American culture so ridiculously and profoundly, how far have real historians missed the mark when writing about their subjects and their religions? If the Christians and Muslims of the fifteenth century read my Jesus book, would they be laughing at me?

This book makes me more cautious, more reflective, and more creative when I'm doing my own excavations of past religious cultures.

Ñāṇamoli’s anthology invites us into the world of the Pali Canon, the oldest sizable source for early Buddhism and my favourite collection of ancient texts. Although full of transcendent yet practical wisdom, with smatterings of an earthy humour, sometimes it gives me a headache—thousands of pages, endless repetition, words that have no real English equivalent.

Through genius-level editing, Bhikkhu Ñāṇamoli has woven together translated excerpts from the Canon to make something like a modern biography of the Buddha. Reading The Life of the Buddha, I know I’m immersed in the authentic texts, and yet I still want to turn the page to see what will happen next.

For a long time the ancient Chinese Daoist text known as the Zhuangzi didn’t make sense to me: He wrote long ago and far away, in a language I wasn’t born into, and perhaps was answering questions I didn’t know to ask.

The elegantly drawn lines of this illustrated version perfectly convey the grace of the Zhuangzi, and the translator’s conversational style perfectly conveys its down-to-earth, practical realism. As I became more comfortable with ancient China and my language skills improved enough to read the original, I still came back to C. C. Tsai and marveled at how well he and his translator captured the spirit of the Zhuangzi.