One of the things that makes Vietnam unfamiliar, even incomprehensible, to many Westerners, is the sheer density of religious practice here. I suspect that to most visitors, Vietnamese religious practice is mostly invisible, at least in part because it is ubiquitous. The Vietnamese have settled, to varying degrees, on a practical & syncretic combination of three traditions that they designate tam giáo, “triple religion,” which combines elements of Confucianism, Buddhism & Daoism, though the cement that binds them is the cult of the ancestors, which is fractal, reproducing itself at scales ranging from the family, the neighborhood / village, to whole regions & the nation itself.[1. Nguyen Ba Chung’s 1996 essay “Imagining the Nation” offers a useful introduction to the compelling synergy of Vietnamese religious practice.] The 11th of November was the 30th of the lunar month, so all the temples were open & busy. Families were burning votive paper on the curbs, sometimes in the small metal incinerators constructed for the purpose, sometimes right on the concrete. The city fills with the smoke at the new & the full moon. The Vietnamese make a distinction between a temple & a pagoda that may be lost on Western visitors. A temple is a place where spirits & deities of many different kinds can be addressed & petitioned; a pagoda, on the other hand, is a specifically Buddhist place of worship. The neighborhood temples--many of them founded when people from a particular village moved into the city in the 15th century--were open & people were bringing offerings of food & incense. One of the first things I remarked about Vietnam, twenty years ago now, was that the line between the sacred & the profane was not so sharply drawn as in the secular West. But it is more complicated than that, or perhaps less complicated. The sacred saturates the secular in Vietnam, but at the same time is taken so completely for granted that religious practice can seem casual, even desultory. The casual respect paid to household gods says a great deal about the depth of belief--belief doesn’t really enter into it, in fact, if belief indicates some sustained act of will that must be held in mind and applied like a tool in particular situations. In Vietnam, people approach the sacred, sometimes, from frankly mercenary directions. I’m not sure whether this contradicts what I just claimed about will. A Vietnamese friend, a scholar of languages & culture, speaks disdainfully of people who go to the local temple to pray for wealth, or children, or health. “They don’t know anything about what they’re doing,” he says. Though people do pray to different Buddhist Bodhisattvas, especially Quan Âm (Avalokitateshvara) or the historical Buddha (Thích), but most such prayers are addressed to Daoist gods & local deities in temples that, while they may include images of Buddha, are not strictly Buddhist. Related to these Daoist & local practices, the veneration of mother goddesses adds another layer of complexity to religious practice here. The roots of this practice are very old, but it has recently moved into new social space. There is a strong thread of divination practice in the goddess cults, though that alone does not set it apart from other religious practices--divination also flickers around the edges of Buddhism, with fortune-tellers taking up residence in some temples & pagodas. The visible & the invisible, the profane & the sacred, coexist in Vietnam, but the categories overlap in ways not common in the West, if that is not too broad--or too vague--a characterization.