No Burning Paper Money—Defending Our Modern Life
"The Nantong Civil Affairs Bureau's ban on the sale of paper money is unimpeachable in its intent."
Our modern life is built not only on a modern industrial system, but on a modern administrative governance system as well. Socialist modernization is, in fact, precisely the exploration of institutional modernization.
The Nantong Civil Affairs Bureau’s ban on the sale of paper money is unimpeachable in its intent. Government policymakers ought to stand on the side of people’s real interests—believing that air quality needs to be better managed—rather than taking a pathological stance and allowing the burning of paper, plastic, and metal. Consider the 2012 Nantong Qidong Prince Paper incident: the government was indeed wrong to approve the offshore discharge project, yet even amid public demonstrations, marches on the municipal government, and the beating of the party secretary, the government ultimately handled the matter with rationality and restraint.
At the level of concrete implementation, the Bureau’s methods were admittedly clumsy. The first thing that needed addressing was the question of those employed in the trade—even if their operations are light-asset and easy to relocate, the Bureau should at minimum have bought out their tools. Furthermore, the regulatory document itself was not properly drafted, handing critics an easy target. Still, those arguing the decision-making process was undemocratic are frankly amusing.
Speaking of which, the ban on burning crop stubble is a similar case. Satellite imagery is used to catch violators: first the fire is extinguished, then comes criticism and education—no fines involved, all the way until past 2 a.m. The real solution to the stubble problem came from technology entering the countryside—purchasing stubble for biofermentation, turning it into fertilizer or paper.
Questioning the legality is acceptable; opposing the ban on paper money sales is hard to accept but understandable. However, those invoking “state affairs consist only of warfare and sacrifice” not only betray a distrust of government, but also fail to recognize that the “sacrifice” referred to there is state sacrifice—it has nothing to do with private individuals. To sum it up: anyone who shields themselves behind so-called traditional folk customs or “the will of the people” is attacking our modern government and undermining our modern life.
On the subject of superstition: the number of earth deity shrines in Nantong has surged in recent years—torn down and rebuilt, rebuilt and torn down. I long looked down on the portly, prosperous great monks, but I have come to realize that these masters are actually quite benign, doing no more than telling fortunes and consecrating objects. Christianity, though it carries the risk of foreign interference in domestic affairs, at least has a relatively safe doctrine—one that teaches obedience to government and the exercise of reason—and operates under the State Administration for Religious Affairs, making it comparatively docile. Cracking down hard on underground churches is sufficient.
In ancient times, the so-called Son of Heaven naturally held power of life and death over all deities in the realm. Mazu of Fujian was deified under Emperor Gaozong of Song, and under the current system exists legally only within Putian City, Fujian Province as a local religion, under the so-called Sanyijiao umbrella. The farce of the Fujian parade floats—though it disturbs public order and sets a terrible precedent—is at least under control.
As for the odd assortment of folk beliefs: burning paper money, locally in Nantong called “burning scriptures,” uses yellow joss paper rather than hell banknotes—it is actually a Daoist memorial addressed to the Jade Emperor on behalf of the deceased. Under this theory, when a person dies and is reincarnated, greasing the palms of the Jade Emperor upon entry is what matters. But by the time your ancestor has cycled through who knows how many reincarnations, what’s the point of burning paper now? It is essentially an imitation of Daoist ritual—trying to paint a tiger and ending up with a dog.
Chinese society is so fragmented: for those of us born and raised in what is, in a true sense, a modern society, the observances of the old world—drinking toasts under compulsion, burning paper—are things we have never accepted and never will. For me, I know where my grandmother’s grave is, but beyond that I have no idea. Nantong, the city with the most severe aging problem in China, will see its population halved within thirty or forty years when the first baby-boom generation passes. By that time, even if burning were permitted again, there would probably be no one left to do it.