We went to the Grand Palace in Bangkok today. The tourist map says it’s the number one tourist attraction in the city. Built in the 1780s, it is a sprawling complex of pagodas, chapels, and government buildings, all ornately constructed for the glory of Buddha. At least that’s what the guide book says.
The architecture is striking, in the same way that Flava Flav’s absurdly oversized pendants dangling around his neck are striking. It was bling bling on overload.
That’s not a problem in and of itself. People can go bling if they want. I’m ok with bling sometimes. But bling on temples? I have a bit of a harder time with that one, and always have.
Walking through the Grand Palace, I felt like I feel when I visit the Vatican. The opulence is staggering but leaves me feeling spiritually hollow. I believe that temples should elevate one’s sense of spirituality, but grand structures like these instead anesthetize my deeper pinings. They lock the divine behind golden doors that visitors are not allowed to traverse. The hapless visitors, shuffled around like a herd, instead resort to snapping photo after photo, and dutifully check their glorious awe at the ticket counter.
To draw an analogy: I love weddings. I love the celebration of love, the joining of families. At the same time, I hate the posed photos that predictably occur right after the ceremony. To me, they break with the deep and real appreciation for love that is otherwise in every part of a wedding. We line up in order and smile fake smiles over and over again as the sweat drips down our backs, and we wait to smile real smiles again, like we did the whole ceremony, and will the whole rest of the reception.
The Grand Temple felt like the organized photos at a wedding. Sure, it looked nice, but it felt like a distraction from what is supposed to be the main event. And you spend almost the whole time worrying that you’re getting in someone else’s picture.
The visit wasn’t totally bereft of inspiration. We found a little corner of the grounds where a prayer service was occurring. A monk led a chant over a microphone, and countless old ladies (Thank God for the pious old ladies who pick up for our spiritual slack) chanted along while in lotus position. The official prayer area was sanctioned off from tourists by a rope. Most tourists buzzed through that area, “Nothing to see here.” We sat and observed the ceremony for about 20 minutes, and I loved it. The temple was being treated like a temple.
Having traveled a fair share in my life, I am struck by how consistently humankind seems to have gotten the fundamental message of religion wrong. When did Buddha ask to be draped in gold? Or Christ, for that matter? And yet throughout the world and throughout history, humans have invested countless hours and resources to do just that. To create what I would go so far as to call false idols. Not the golden calf exactly, but variations of it.
I found more of the divine in the dirt permanently wedged underneath Ketut’s fingernails than I did in the Golden Temple. I found it under a massive tree in the hills by Portibi Farms. I find it and rediscover it in the face of the friends we meet on the trip, the people who open their doors to us with grand smiles and generous hearts.
I think it was fitting to go to the Grand Temple on our last full day in Southeast Asia, because our next step is Kenya, to spend a month at the Daraja Academy. I have been to Daraja before, but it was an empty campus then, as school had yet to open. Truth is, when I visited, the financial future of the school was uncertain, but I still invested myself into the dream of the school.
On this visit, which starts tomorrow, we are going with the school in its third year of operation, and we will get to meet 78 amazing Kenya students who otherwise would not be afford high school. We will bond with our good friends Jason and Jenni, the founders of the school, whom we rarely get to see since having moved to Kenya. I will re-connect with the staff I fell in love with my first time around, and look forward to making new connections with the constantly expanding support staff. We will marvel in the majesty of Mt. Kenya as well explore the parched Laikipia Plateau.
And we will be utterly drenched with divinity, saturated to the core. Schools have a funny way of doing that…Daraja does in particular, a school sustained by miracles.
When we were leaving the Grand Palace, above the din of the chattery tourists and the ever-present click of cameras, I heard a slight chiming. Looking up, I realized that many of the buildings’ awnings were lined with simple bells, and with the escalating wind, a few were liberated to sneak out their high-pitched calls. The bells became my favorite architectural detail in the place, much more than the peeling gold paint splattered all over the building, and the colored mirrors that posed as jewels. The bells reminded me that enlightenment may be invisible, and hard to understand no matter how many times you’ve read the scientific explanation for what the hell causes wind, but it’s always there, simultaneously within and out of reach.
We will be hearing bells in Kenya. I know it.
P.S. Giulia had a much different impression of the Grand Palace, and will be sharing that here soon.
P.P.S. We will likely have much more limited internet access in Kenya, so don’t mind us if we slow down the pace of updates. We’ll still try our best to keep active. KThanksBye.
Where the Road Meets the Sun 
Right on to the nth degree.
By: Vanessa on February 28, 2011
at 12:21 am
The confusion between opulence and worship has always puzzled me. When does ornate detail transform into gaudy cliché? At what point does the commission of art to express devotion become a grotesque statement emphasizing the very materialism that the religion rejects?
It’s fairly simple to cross these two concepts. Throughout structural art history, you see this boundary blurred. But these structures were not simply built as places of religious worship. They were built to mesmerize – to be the best examples of devotional art – or otherwise – at their given point in history. In this particular case, it’s important to note that the Grand Palace was the official residence of the King of Thailand.
I’m not defending it, but these structures are supposed to impress. To some they do; to others they absolutely do not. And in that comes the purpose of such commissioned structures – the point isn’t whether you like it or don’t.
What matters is that history remembers it.
By: Alex Lop on February 28, 2011
at 6:52 am
Great post, Mark.
This si actually a topic that is fresh in my memory from a recent lecture from my History of Christianity course I am taking this semester… In the class we are learning about the historical Jesus, as in the carpenter that lived and died, not the Christ that was resurrected three days later, and the impact that over time people made from his teachings. In some sense I can appreciate the history of Christianity more because of this.
One thing my professor said was something along the lines of this:
“If the coming of Jesus was upon us, Jesus would not know what Christianity was, he lived Jewish, and died Jewish. Not only this, but his teaching did not reflect the churches and cathedrals that we have to honor the Lord, and his, presence on Earth.”
He never wished to have his story stuck in the many stained glass windows, or in the form of ornate pieces that line churches and homes alike. Somehow, we, as the human race, lost sight of this along the way, as we have with countless other ideas or beliefs.
This is only my opinion which I agree with. I am no follower of any religion really… I quote Tom Hanks in Angels & Demons, but “faith is a gift I have yet to receive”, more so Lance Armstrong:
“I asked myself what I believed. I had never prayed a lot. I hoped hard, I wished hard, but I didn’t pray. I had developed a certain distrust of organized religion growing up, but I felt I had the capacity to be a spiritual person, and to hold some fervent beliefs. Quite simply, I believed I had a responsibility to be a good person, and that meant fair, honest, hardworking, and honorable. If I did that, if I was good to my family, true to my friends, if I gave back to my community or to some cause, if I wasn’t a liar, a cheat, or a thief, then I believed that should be enough. At the end of the day, if there was indeed some Body or presence standing there to judge me, I hoped I would be judged on whether I had lived a true life, not on whether I believed in a certain book, or whether I’d been baptized. If there was indeed a God at the end of my days, I hoped he didn’t say, “But you were never a Christian, so you’re going the other way from heaven.” If so, I was going to reply, “You know what? You’re right. Fine.” ”
That’s just me, but I understand how your visit inspired this post.
All the best, enjoy the visit to the school!
-Christian
By: Christian on February 28, 2011
at 9:47 am