So far in China, I have been to various temples, all Buddhist, that have given me starkly different views on Buddhism, especially considered in a modern Chinese context. I first visited Hangzhou’s LingYin Temple. It is relatively ancient; there were monks attending to some family’s religious service, people praying, lots of incense burning, and the atmosphere reflected what I perceived to be an attitude of reverence, if not for the religion—as there were Chinese tourists there—then at least for the history of the establishment.
When I went to another temple, in Dali, I was struck by the difference in feeling I got from the temple, especially from the people around it. The temple was essentially an addition to the three pagodas that are the main tourist attraction of Dali, and, I later found, was built, by the government, in 1997. Music came out of fake rocks around each building's corners, vendors hawked traditional clothing (and rentals, if you just wanted a picture), children raced up and down stairs, and old people played ma jiang on tables over cement sidewalks. There were still people praying, but it seemed to be almost a matter of convenience; since they were there, they seemed to feel they might as well kneel, give their offering that they picked up outside the gate, and pay their respects.
In opposition to the previous temple, where there had been fruit offerings left on altars, here were plastic apples and bananas, neatly stacked into the same piles but notably bereft of any individuality. Here, the offerings were part of the scenery, part of the experience, that magnified the sense that the temple was more a dedication to tourism than Buddhism.
I suppose that I can't complain that much about the experience. The temple is notably second to the pagodas as an attraction, and was built purely for tourists; the location is 4 km from the small town, and the entrance fee for the pagodas (121 yuan) was easily the highest that I have seen in China. Perhaps that was part of the problem, that everyday worship was discouraged by the price of the attraction that, in the end, made little claim to its ostensible purpose as a place of worship.
The modern temple was a sideshow; it existed purely to add scale to the park around the pagodas that otherwise was simply three vertical structures. This, to me, was what made it tolerable. If the signs had tried to convince me that the temple was ancient, holy, or even authentic, I would have been somewhat offended. However, the temple's acceptance of its place as a modern structure, as more of a park that presented religious heritage rather than actually being a part of the country's religious past, redeemed it in my eyes.
Still, in comparison with Hangzhou's temple, the second lacked depth and experience, but to me, it possessed more honesty. It was a part of modern China, of a culture that is embracing engineering rather than philosophy, growth rather than preservation, and money over all.
In opposition to the previous temple, where there had been fruit offerings left on altars, here were plastic apples and bananas, neatly stacked into the same piles but notably bereft of any individuality. Here, the offerings were part of the scenery, part of the experience, that magnified the sense that the temple was more a dedication to tourism than Buddhism.
I suppose that I can't complain that much about the experience. The temple is notably second to the pagodas as an attraction, and was built purely for tourists; the location is 4 km from the small town, and the entrance fee for the pagodas (121 yuan) was easily the highest that I have seen in China. Perhaps that was part of the problem, that everyday worship was discouraged by the price of the attraction that, in the end, made little claim to its ostensible purpose as a place of worship.
The modern temple was a sideshow; it existed purely to add scale to the park around the pagodas that otherwise was simply three vertical structures. This, to me, was what made it tolerable. If the signs had tried to convince me that the temple was ancient, holy, or even authentic, I would have been somewhat offended. However, the temple's acceptance of its place as a modern structure, as more of a park that presented religious heritage rather than actually being a part of the country's religious past, redeemed it in my eyes.
Still, in comparison with Hangzhou's temple, the second lacked depth and experience, but to me, it possessed more honesty. It was a part of modern China, of a culture that is embracing engineering rather than philosophy, growth rather than preservation, and money over all.
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