Worlds Within Worlds: The Layered Cosmos of the Mongolian Steppe

Step into the mind of a medieval Mongolian shaman, and the universe unravels into a living, breathing hierarchy. The cosmos is not a static map but a dynamic, multi-tiered reality—each layer teeming with spirits, omens, and invisible currents of power. Mongolian shamanic cosmology in the medieval era was a radical departure from the monolithic heavens of monotheism or the abstract order of Confucian thought. Here, the world is a negotiation, not a decree.

The Three Realms and the Axis of the World

At the heart of Mongolian cosmology lies a tripartite structure: the Upper World, the Middle World, and the Lower World. This is not a simple vertical stack but a living axis, the world tree or sacred mountain—the modun—that links the realms. Shamans, or böö, did not merely believe in these worlds; they traversed them.

• Upper World: The domain of Tengri, the sky god, and benevolent spirits. Here, fate is woven, and the winds of fortune originate.
• Middle World: The human realm, but also the haunt of restless ghosts, nature spirits, and the capricious ongon—ancestral presences.
• Lower World: A shadowy underworld, home to chthonic deities and the source of illness, misfortune, and the unresolved dead.

This cosmology is not unique in its layering, but what sets it apart is its permeability. The boundaries are porous, the worlds in constant negotiation. The shaman’s drum is not just an instrument; it is a vessel, a horse, a rocket—transporting its rider across these cosmic thresholds.

Ritual as Negotiation, Not Supplication

Contrary to the Western notion of ritual as prayer or sacrifice to appease distant gods, Mongolian shamanic rites are negotiations—sometimes outright confrontations. The shaman’s role is not that of a humble petitioner but of a skilled diplomat, a cosmic mediator. Rituals are transactional, often combative, and always improvisational.

Consider the tailgan, a communal rite to honor spirits of the land or ancestors. Here, the shaman might bargain with spirits, cajole them with offerings of milk, vodka, or mutton fat, or threaten them with banishment if they refuse to cooperate. The drumbeat is a coded language, the chant a contract. Failure is possible; spirits can be recalcitrant, deals can go awry. This is a cosmos of agency, not predestination.

The Drum, the Costume, and the Journey

Every element of the shaman’s ritual kit is saturated with cosmological meaning. The drum, often made from horsehide, is not a mere prop but a microcosm—a portable world. Its rim represents the horizon, its surface the sky, its handle the axis mundi. The shaman’s costume bristles with iron mirrors, antlers, and ribbons—each a talismanic technology, a tool for navigating the spirit world.

During trance, the shaman’s consciousness is said to leave the body, riding the drum’s rhythm into the other realms. This is not metaphorical. Eyewitness accounts from the 13th and 14th centuries describe shamans convulsing, speaking in other voices, even manifesting physical changes—hair standing on end, eyes rolling back, bodies contorting. The journey is perilous; the shaman may return with knowledge, healing, or, occasionally, not at all.

Power, Politics, and the Steppe

To imagine shamanic ritual as a private, mystical affair is to misunderstand its political heft. Medieval Mongolian khans—Genghis, Ögedei, and their successors—consulted shamans before campaigns, sought their blessings, and sometimes feared their curses. The line between spiritual and temporal power was blurred. A shaman who could command the weather or predict the outcome of battle wielded influence that rivaled any general.

Yet, this relationship was fraught. The rise of Buddhism in the 16th century, with its hierarchies and scriptures, threatened the improvisational, oral, and local authority of the shaman. But in the medieval period, shamanic cosmology was the lingua franca of power—fluid, adaptable, and fiercely local.

The Edge Cases: Madness, Prophecy, and the Trickster

Not every shaman was a community leader. Some were feared as much as revered—eccentric, unpredictable, even dangerous. There are tales of shamans who wandered the steppe alone, communing with wolves, or who returned from trance with cryptic prophecies or wild laughter. In Mongolian cosmology, madness and insight are close cousins. The trickster figure, embodied in some shamans, disrupts the cosmic order, questions authority, and reminds the community that the universe is not always as it seems.

Speculatively, one might argue that this embrace of ambiguity—this willingness to court chaos—was a survival strategy on the harsh, unpredictable steppe. Where the environment could not be controlled, the cosmology reflected and absorbed uncertainty.

Reimagining the Cosmos in a Fragmented World

In a world obsessed with certainty, efficiency, and fixed hierarchies, the medieval Mongolian shamanic cosmos offers a bracing alternative. Here, the universe is not a machine but a negotiation, a living system of relationships, bargains, and risks. The shaman’s journey is not a flight from reality but a confrontation with its deepest ambiguities.

What if we viewed our own world—its politics, its crises, its possibilities—not as a closed system, but as a layered, living negotiation? The Mongolian shaman’s cosmos is not a relic. It is a challenge, an invitation to embrace complexity, and a reminder that the boundaries between worlds are always more porous than we imagine.