Glocal Chinese Buddhism in Italy: A Comparative Study of Two Private Buddhist Groups in Rome

Abstract

By examining two very different manifestations of Chinese Buddhism in Italy, this paper seeks to build upon and add a new dimension to Dessì’s “Glocal Buddhas” project and, more broadly, offer a rare insight into Chinese Buddhism in Italy. By offering a rare window into two private and non-official migrant Chinese Buddhist groups in Rome, this article will ultimately conclude that Chinese Buddhism can manifest in seemingly contrasting ways: by either embracing religious globalisation or, despite being a product of it, rejecting it. This paper also seeks to demonstrate that although official providers of Buddhism do exist in Italy, they by no means account for all Chinese Buddhists living in the country. As it is often private individuals that go unnoticed by larger studies or those who focus only on official institutions, this paper hopes to give voice to some of these somewhat hidden Buddhists.

1. Introduction

In 2022, Dessì stated that “To date, there are no dedicated scholarly contributions on the glocal dimension of Buddhism in Europe.” In essence, this paper seeks to aid Dessì in his endeavour to amend this. Indeed, this paper constitutes a small contribution to Dessì’s wider “Glocal Buddhas” project.1 More specifically, this paper seeks to shed light upon the glocal dimensions of two separate iterations of Chinese Buddhism in Italy. Bianchi was right in noting that the “study of the globalization of Chinese religions in the contemporary era is still a minor field of research within the broader study of the globalization of world religions…[and in the specific case of] Chinese Buddhism, more attention has been given to Taiwanese Buddhism (e.g., Foguang shan 佛光山 or the Buddhist Compassion Relief Tzu Chi Foundation 慈濟基金會) than to Mainland Chinese Buddhism” (Bianchi 2020, p. 174). This paper intends to, in a small way, amend this by providing insight into two private and non-official migrant Chinese Buddhist groups in Rome. Given the short fieldwork duration, this paper is best viewed within the broader context of Dessì’s wider “Glocal Buddhas” project. That said, I believe that the small insight into the understudied and nuanced world of Chinese Buddhism in Italy makes the fieldwork data valuable in its own right despite the preliminary nature of the short fieldwork duration.

2. Glocalization

It should be acknowledged that I seek to follow in Roudometof and Dessì’s (2022, p. 19) wake and focus on the “presentation of diverse perspectives from different regions of the globe and from different disciplines” as opposed to offering musings on what glocalization is or is not. However, for the sake of discussion (and expediency, for that matter), I will give something of a loose definition of glocalization. In short, glocalization refers to processes in which global cultural elements are recreated, reshaped, and made meaningful within local contexts through active interpretation and adaptation. It is an innately dynamic and locally negotiated process in which global cultural or religious forms actively resonate within specific local contexts, which subsequently transforms local structures through both cognitive and emotional engagement that are themselves mediated by both local agency and power relations.

This paper specifically seeks to build upon and add further context to the work carried out by Dessì. In his earlier work, Dessì framed the “glocalization of Japanese Buddhism” as something of a “global repositioning” (Dessì 2013, pp. 40–48; 2017, pp. 162–89). In his recent study of “Glocal Zen in Italy”, Dessì notes how the glocalization of Zen among Sardinian adherents “can be defined as a process consisting of the adoption and creative incorporation of zazen (or zazen-like) meditation in a specific part of individual religious worlds, that is, the structure of legitimation through which the nexus between super-empirical sources of authority and desired goods is envisioned, narrated, and performed” (Dessì 2022, p. 5). To this end, Dessì crucially developed three “constraints and incentives” that underlie the glocalization process and pertain to “features such as the local and global environment, shifts in individual and collective conscience, and strategies for survival and empowerment used by religious actors” (Ibid.):

1. “Availability”

Herein, Dessì writes that “the preliminary condition for any process of glocalization is that specific cultural objects circulating worldwide become available to local actors” (Ibid.). This essentially equates to how practitioners access Buddhism: “the practice of Zen has become accessible to many Sardinian practitioners through the complex working of the global cultural network” (Ibid., p. 6) influenced by both wider global phenomena such as Orientalist (and reverse Orientalist) views about Japan, Zen and Japan becoming symbols of style in the 1950s, and the emergence of spiritual seekers, and also more local factors such as Sardinia’s peripheral position.

2. “Global Consciousness”

Dessì’s interviews revealed that his interviewees shared something of an awareness of the world as a “single space” (Ibid.). Herein, Dessì notes how individual Zen practitioners in Sardinia related themselves to a variety of religious traditions.

3. “Resonance”

This pertains to the question of why some specific religious elements “resonate” better when compared to others and are therefore subsequently utilised for specific glocal practices. In his interviews, Dessì found that “Zen meditation can be meaningfully related to the shape of individual religious worlds, and to its perceived resonance with specific preexisting elements (e.g., a certain fascination with Japan or the ‘East,’ a longing for silence or essentiality)” (Ibid., p. 8). He is also careful to note that the intersection of ideas and practices currently possible due to globalisation is insufficient in enabling the process of glocalization. Instead, “creative” means are used to reshape religious worlds that was reportedly evidenced in the way in which interviewees connected Zen Buddhism with solutions to specific life problems.

This paper intends to test these constraints and incentives within the Chinese Buddhist context. It also plans to examine Chinese Buddhism in Rome through the lens of Dessì’s “four dimensions religious globalization.” Arguing that globalisation is a “process that should be disentangled from Western modernity and all other Eurocentric implications through a longue durée perspective acknowledging the role played by the ‘East’ and other centers (as well as semi- peripheries and peripheries) of globalization throughout history” (Ibid., p. 24), Dessì has identified four ways in which religions, in general, contribute to the dynamics of globalisation: “By acting as global carriers of culture through time and space; by providing opportunities for the interplay of the local with the global and the production of new hybrid religious cultures; by interacting with other religious traditions in the global arena; and by interacting with other global systems” (Ibid., pp. 24–25). Unifying the concepts under a single framework, Dessì argues that they essentially “refer to the reshaping of individual religious identities against the backdrop of global society, which I characterized elsewhere in terms of global repositioning” (Ibid., p. 31).

3. Buddhism(s) in the West

The past few decades have witnessed a rise in studies pertaining to various manifestations of Buddhism in either Europe or the United States. These studies often employ various typologies that distinguish between types of Buddhism, namely, Western and Asian; rational and devotional; modern and traditional; or convert and ethnic. Perhaps, the most popular of these typologies is the distinction between “ethnic” and “convert” Buddhists. This distinction has, rightly, come under recent criticism. Han (2017, pp. 1–2), for example, notes “discomfortingly easy to guess which group is more likely to be denigrated as ‘superstitious’ and which is more likely to be celebrated as ‘scientific’,” and is quick to claim that “Within this schema, we are told that ‘Western’ and ‘white’ Buddhists—two categories that are, unfortunately, frequently conflated—focus on meditation practice in keeping with their rational and modernist bent, while ‘Asian’ and ‘Asian American Buddhists’—again, two distinct labels that are often conflated—are said to prefer the more traditional and devotional rituals of chanting and bowing.” There has been a plethora of studies (see, for example, Nattier 1995; P. D. Numrich 1996; Prebish 1978; Tanaka 2007) that employ this distinction. Moreover, this distinction is not relegated to studies of the past and remains a mainstay in recent scholarship. Eddy (2012, p. 3), for example, distinguishes between Western “convert” Buddhists and Asian “ethnic” Buddhists, and readily claims that this distinction “highlights basic differences in the function of religious identity…[in that] [e]thnic Buddhism functions to maintain a stable identity through the maintenance of an ethnic group’s cohesive way of life and heritage, whereas convert Buddhism’s function is transformative, providing an alternative religious identity to the one provided by one’s primary religious socialization.” In an ironic twist, Tworkov, who readily distinguishes between an “American Buddhism” that is predominantly composed of white middle-class Americans and “Buddhism in America” practiced by the migrant Asian community, unwittingly finds a major flaw in this line of argument by also writing that “[t]here is no one way to be a Buddhist” (Tworkov 1991, p. 4). Indeed, this paper hopes to very much demonstrate that even within a specific ethnic community (namely, the Chinese Han living in Rome), there is no one way to be a Buddhist. To this end, this paper seeks to add further context to the recent work of Giordan et al. (2025). Giordan et al. build upon the work of Yang and McPhail (2023, p. 217) who identify a “multiple religious belonging, believing, and practicing” in which no confession-based or single measure of religious identity or practice can sufficiently measure religiosity among East Asian international students at a university in the US. Giordan et al. (2025, p. 20), specifically examining the context of the Italian Buddhist Union, found that the participants in their study exhibited clear patterns of multiple religious belonging as well as multiple religious practice (with the latter being even more prominent). They conclude that “In the Italian Catholic cultural context, characterized by societal conditions that foster pluralism, we found that both MRB [multiple religious belonging] and MRP [multiple religious practice] demonstrate elevated levels, while newly acquired religious belonging plays a crucial role in the religious practices of UBI members” (Ibid.).

4. Criticisms of the Convert and Ethnic Buddhist Typologies

This article hopes to be situated among and add a new dimension to the recent criticisms of the convert and ethnic distinction. The theory has already been criticised on various grounds. Buddhists of any racial background who happen to practice or believe a mix of both “types” are not accounted for, nor are “white” converts who practise “devotional” Buddhism or “Asian” converts who practise “rational” Buddhism, and it is in this way that the model “promotes double standards that exempt white Buddhists from being labeled ‘ethnic’ or being expected to practice a form of Buddhism that matches their ethnicity, and from always being identified by their immigrant status” (Han 2017, p. 2). Some scholars have found fault with Numrich’s assertion that “ethnic Asian in the West” do not convert to Buddhism but instead undergo a process of “revisioning their Buddhist heritage, even if that heritage has suffered hiatus for some time” (P. Numrich 2006, p. 223). Hickey (2010, p. 7), for example, writes that the theory “seems to me comparable to assuming that a person whose ancestry is American or British, and who emigrates to Thailand, is tacitly Christian.” Scholars (see, for example, Nelson 2017, p. 384) have also criticised the theory on the grounds that it fails to account for marriage and/or relationship patterns that fall outside of its limited typology.

Given the Chinese context of this paper, it perhaps makes the most sense to examine criticisms of the two Buddhism theories from the perspective of Chinese Buddhists living in the West. Hickey (2010, p. 13) has, for example, questioned whether the theory can be applied to the context of Mahāyāna Buddhist groups: “Some Chinese temples, for example, study texts, offer meditation, and conduct devotional activities.” Moreover, in Zheng’s (2022, p. 24) work, one finds the argument that “many Chinese practice Buddhism as a habit rather than a deliberate choice”, that brings into question the fundamental nature of Chinese Buddhism and whether it even makes sense applying a “Buddhist” label to a supposed Chinese “ethnic Buddhist.”

5. Buddhist Hybridity

This paper seeks to add a new glocal dimension to the recent criticisms of the two Buddhism theories. It is for this reason, especially when viewed in the light of Dessì’s (2022, p. 5) “constraints and incentives”, that I believe that special attention must be given to Buddhist hybridity. Yu (2014, p. 465) argues that on a theoretical level, “modern Buddhist conversion, in a concurrent rather than linear, fashion, involves deconversion from one’s existing belief system(s), syncretization of Buddhist teachings and social conditions of the given society, and possibly transference of the individually manifested but collectively patterned psychological issues.” Similarly, Wilson (2012, p. 122) specifically employs the term “hybridity” to demonstrate how Buddhists are perfectly capable of drawing upon two or more Buddhist traditions while simultaneously not perceiving these traditions to be “genetically” distinct: “they viewed these multiplicities as the conjoining of streams with a common source—the teachings of the Buddha— that over time had developed into different cultural forms in different parts of the world” (Ibid., p. 122). Wilson subsequently proposes seven factors that tend to increase the level of hybridity in Western Buddhist communities:

• The lack of resident leaders leads to considerable fluidity and is a major source of intra-Buddhist contact.
• The presence of pluralistic attitudes.
• Limited resources.
• Low membership.
• Sustained contact with other Buddhist lineages.
• The need to familiarise oneself with an unfamiliar religious practice.
• The devaluation of creedal formulas for religious identity.

However, it should be noted that there are also criticisms of hybridity. Particularly relevant to this paper is Amstutz’s examination of late nineteenth and early twentieth century Nikkei Pure Land Buddhism in the US. Herein, Amstutz (2014, p. 170) asserts that Shin in North America has historically displayed “glocalization, cultural flows, returning to native resources, resistance to homogenization, and certainly chauvinism.” Amstutz (Ibid., pp. 170–71) notes that Shin has possessed two kinds of exclusivism–intellectually denying the value of other religions as well as discrimination that grew out of the ‘racial’ interaction between nikkei ethno-chauvinism and American White racism– and “was always possessed by an irreducible schizoid quality of deadlock, since it could never fully discard either its alleged onto- epistemological universalism or its enacted fleshly chauvinism.”

6. Chinese Buddhism in Italy

The Chinese immigrant community in Italy, totalling approximately 309,110 in 2018, constitutes the third largest migrant community in the country2. The presence of Chinese Buddhism in Italy is not a recent phenomenon. Since 2005, Zhongtaishan 中台山 (a Taiwanese-based Buddhist group) has been represented by the Huayi si 華義寺 in Rome and a later subsidiary temple in Prato. Established in 2009, Shuilu si monastery 水陸寺 (in Wenzhou) is represented by the Puhua si 普華寺 in Prato. Longquan si 龙泉寺 has two temples in Naples and Florence, respectively. Finally, there are a number of Shaolin groups. Despite the apparent lack of scholarly studies, the number of Chinese migrants engaged in Buddhist practice in Italy is reportedly “rather high, and, apparently, increasing”, with most of the Chinese Buddhist institutions not being officially recognised by the state and therefore possessing the legal status of cultural associations (Bianchi 2020, pp. 175–76).3 Bianchi has previously noted that the Huayi si 華義寺 and the Puhua si 普華寺 “are obviously rivals, and, particularly during major holidays, they compete for the favor of the Chinese community in Italy” (Ibid., p. 177): the Huayi si 華義寺 is a temple with a strong affiliation to a Taiwanese monastery and mainly focuses on Chan 禪 Buddhism, whereas the Puhua si 普華寺 is managed by an exclusively non-monastic board and is primarily a Pure Land temple (albeit influenced by various other doctrines).

Given the stark comparison with the second group of this study, Berti and Pedone’s 2020 study is of particular relevance. They write that the Puhua si 普華寺 in Prato “represents a ‘piece’ of China in the foreign land, a place of recognition capable of providing safety in a context that at times can even be hostile” (Berti and Pedone 2020, p. 50). It is particularly interesting that they place emphasis on the often-hostile environment experienced by the Chinese community living in Italy: they explicitly note that “respondents have in fact stressed how they feel unsafe in Prato and how they live in constant fear of being victims of violence or criminality” (Ibid.). This very much reflects the findings of Zhang (2019, pp. 11–14) who identified an “Italian–Chinese migrant conflict” in which “the supposed or real organized crime originating from the Chinese migrant group was used as a metaphor for that entire migrant community.” Zhang thus finds a narrative of “victimhood” among the Chinese migrant community in Italy (Ibid., p. 11). This mirrors the experience of Bianchi who had to postpone a publication of a study pertaining to Puhua si 普華寺 by four years due to “its supposed sensitivity” (Bianchi 2020, p. 173). The temple thus acts as something of a “safe space” as well as a place of “serenity” away from busy jobs, and Berti and Pedone place great emphasis on the migration context: some of their respondents reported becoming interested in Buddhism only after migration; others placing emphasis on how their practice of Buddhism changed from a practice grounded in popular religion to one of rigorous study of Buddhist doctrine; others perceived Buddhism as something of a “strategy” as the religion is perceived as “the perfect faith for an entrepreneurial migratory project” whereby “if one does good deeds, s/he will receive good luck in return… which seems to be for the interviewees an effective investment also on the spiritual level, to gain better profits” (Berti and Pedone 2020, pp. 51–52). Berti and Pedone ultimately conclude that “Buddhist worship in the case of Prato, contrary to other “immigrant” religions, ends up facilitating relations with the native population of Prato” (Ibid., p. 54).

Between 2007 and 2008, Luigi Berzano, Carlo Genova, Massimo Introvigne, Roberta Ricucci and PierLuigi Zoccatelli carried out a research project regarding the Chinese community of Turin. They found that although 31.6 percent of the Chinese participants self-identified as Buddhist, only 22% stated that they believe in reincarnation: “the diffusion of the belief in reincarnation is curious, and demonstrates, if the question was correctly understood, how ‘Chinese religion’ is free of dogmas and how its fluidity, at least as a background, also influences people who identify themselves with an institutionalized religion” (Zoccatelli 2009, p. 4). Moreover, finding that of those who identified themselves as Buddhists, 50.6 percent reported belief in reincarnation and 50 percent stated that they have an image of the Buddha at home, but only 26.2 percent of those who self-identified as Buddhist (13.7 percent of the entire sample) reported both. Zoccatelli argues that “This 26.2% has what we might call a strong Buddhist identity, in the sense that not only do they claim to be Buddhist, but they also adhere to a system of beliefs and practices which seem to be typical of Buddhists…[while the] remaining 73.8% of self-identified ‘Buddhists’ may be more correctly regarded as part of a ‘Chinese religion’ ‘with a predominant inclination towards Buddhism’” (Ibid., p. 5).

7. Chinese Christianity in Italy

Given the presence of Catholicism in Italy, it is perhaps unsurprising to find that Italy is home to a somewhat large and established Chinese Christian community. Although this paper ostensibly pertains to Buddhism, a brief examination of the Christian context of the Chinese diaspora is necessary in contextualising the Chinese religious diaspora in Italy. Numbering between 30 and 40,000, there are currently over 80 Chinese Christian congregations across the country (Cao and Lin 2024, p. 2). Deng (2020, p. 6) found that Chinese Christian migrants are mainly affiliated with the Chinese immigrant churches in their respective cities of residence and asserts that “Family is at the core of both Chinese immigrant entrepreneurship and their religious ethics…Christianity and family values thus reinforce each other through everyday religious practices, and the latter provides an ethical framework for the religious subjects to negotiate moral ambivalence” (Ibid., p. 17).

Guglielmi (2020, p. 72) argues that “The Chinese Catholic communities in Italy do not seem to have developed in- depth paths of hybridisation with Italian society and Catholicism.” Guglielmi asserts that “differences at the linguistic and cultural levels” have herein played a crucial factor in the lack of “a rooting in the socio- cultural reality of the host country” (Ibid.). Guglielmi does, however, note that although this is the norm, “some major communities have developed different patterns of settlement… [as evidenced in] The Chinese Catholic community in Prato appears to be an evident example of this process, oriented towards forms of contamination and an encounter between the Chinese and Italian faithful” (Ibid.).

Cao and Lin (2024, p. 3) found that Chinese churches in Italy resemble Zhejiang churches in China in the aspects of their atmosphere and congregational model: the prominence of Zhejiang cuisine, the use of Mandarin, and the prominence of “Chinese elements” such as lanterns, oil-paper umbrellas, ancient fans, and traditional ethnic costumes are used in Christmas performance programmes. Cao and Lin assert that “These similarities intensify their place identity by constructing an imaginary homeland for these uprooted overseas Chinese Christians” (Ibid.). Cao also found that “Although some Chinese Christian youth in Italy are more fluent in Italian, they prefer using Mandarin in prayer, since Chinese churches, according to them, are a place where people use Mandarin to share God’s words, and Christian belief is narrated in Mandarin most of the time both in churches and families” (Ibid., p. 6).

8. Discussion of Fieldwork Findings

This section will be divided between the two individual groups. Each group exists independent of one another, and, to my knowledge, are not aware of the other’s presence.

8.1. Group 1: Non-Denominational Chinese Buddhism

This group comprised 13 young (aged between 20 and 31) members. 8 of these members were born in the PRC and moved to Italy at a young age and the remaining 5 were all born to first generation migrants. Although the group reportedly met frequently (usually once a week but sometimes every other week), there was no constant meeting place, day of the week, or time of day. Indeed, much of this group’s organisation was seemingly spontaneous. This is not to say, however, that the members were not engaged. All 13 interviewees were outwardly fond of the group and equally committed.

The genesis of this group, that was formed only one year ago in 2023, was to reconnect with a perceived aspect of the interviewee’s, namely Buddhism, that had somehow been lost. This process was described in various ways. For some, they were aware, usually vaguely, of family relatives in the PRC who self-define/d as Buddhist. Ren Xiao (female, late-twenties), the closest thing this group has to a founding member, told me:

My grandma died about a year ago. She was a Buddhist and I know that Buddhism was really important to her. After she died, I started to ask myself ‘why is Buddhism not important to me?’ I then started to wonder why I know nothing about Buddhism in general. I then saw a documentary about Chinese people in the USA who want to reconnect with their culture, and I thought it sounded like a really good thing to do. I told a couple of friends about it and we eventually started to meet regularly to talk about Buddhism. Next thing I knew, more people got interested, and now we feel like a proper group!

In a somewhat similar manner, Ou Tingting (female, early twenties) told me:

I have an okay relationship with most of my family but I realised last year that the only person in my family who seemed to be actually happy is my aunt in China. I actually decided to talk to her about this. I called her and she told me all about how Buddhism was the only reason. I was curious. When I met Ren Xiao, it almost felt like Buddhism was a part of me that I needed to discover.

Others described a more general interest in Buddhism that had no obvious catalyst such as the death of a Buddhist relative. Yu Yan (male, mid-twenties) told me:

I have been interested in Buddhism for a long time but I never actually did anything about it. I know that there are a couple of Buddhist temples in Italy but I never wanted to visit by myself. It just seemed to be, how to describe this? Too formal? Too big? This group is perfect for me because we can learn about Buddhism but it doesn’t need to be a big thing.

It is herein that the first of Dessì’s constraints and incentives—availability—was apparent. Buddhism was readily available to these 13 interviewees even before the group was formed. Moreover, once an interest had been sparked, the members were able to access information, be it direct contact with a Buddhist relative in the PRC or simply reading about Buddhism online. Kang Wei (male, mid-twenties) even described how his love of kung fu films had sparked an interest in Buddhism whereas Zheng Li (female, early thirties) was aware of “mindfulness and how it helps people stay calm.” The group sometimes comes together to watch Buddhist documentaries, read Buddhist-inspired fiction, and watch meditation tutorial videos. This is all entirely facilitated by availability.

Global consciousness was also very much reflected in this group. Their very practice of Buddhism seemed entirely to embrace the concept. Although all 13 interviewees were very interested in Buddhism and wanted to learn about it, “Buddhism” was something of a catch-all term. There was certainly no one school that the group adhered to. Moreover, even though Buddhism was perceived as being a means of reconnecting with China, I neither saw nor heard any favouring of Chinese Buddhism. Mao Honghan (male, late-twenties) told me:

I actually think it’s stupid when people say things like ‘my school is the true school of Buddhism’ or ‘you shouldn’t follow that school because of this and that.’ The Buddha talks about stream entry but it’s not like he says we need to go to this one specific stream. All streams are good.

This open mind-set did not apply only to Buddhism, but religion and spirituality in general. Three members even self-identified as Catholic but nevertheless wanted to incorporate Buddhism into their own practice, Feng Mian (female, early twenties) told me:

I am totally a Catholic. I don’t see why that should mean I can’t practice Buddhism as well. The Bible teaches us that we can worship other gods. I don’t worship any Buddhas. I just think that meditation is really really useful and that karma is a good way of looking at our actions.

Similarly, a couple self-identified as Buddhist but incorporated Catholicism into their practice. Ge Shu (male, early-twenties) joked about this:

I love being a Buddhist but sometimes you just need help from someone a bit more powerful. Buddhism is all about learning how to help yourself but sometimes I am not able to help myself! I know that I could have studied more for this exam but that knowledge doesn’t exactly help me the night before! That’s when I pray to God.

The group would even occasionally organise trips to Sunday Mass on top of weekly meditation. Indeed, several responses mirrored quotes from Dessì’s Zen interviewees: one Zen practitioner interviewed by Dessì reportedly sought to “adopt what is best in each religion” (Dessì 2022, p. 6), another, spoke of different religions and philosophies and stated that “all religions have a common source” (Ibid, p. 7), and another claimed that the world of spirituality is “one single whole.” Li Na (female, mid-twenties), for example, utilised a well-known Chinese phrase “huan tang bu huan yao”4 when describing her relationship with Buddhism and Catholicism. Similarly, Ren Xiao (female, late-twenties) told me:

When I was little, we used to sometimes visit my Grandma in China. She would always tell me about how important it is to remember our ancestors every day. I was very little and did not understand these things yet so one day I told her that I was learning about Christianity in school and my teacher told me that I should pray to God. I was worried that my Grandma would be upset with me but I felt like I needed to tell her. When I was eventually brave enough, I remember that she just laughed and told me that ‘things change ten thousand times but remain the same.’5 I don’t think I really understood what she meant at the time but now I know. It doesn’t matter if I meditate, pray, or even commemorate my ancestors, in reality, it’s all the same.

It should come as no surprise that the final of Dessì’s constraints and incentives—resonance—was also readily apparent in this group. The group would often meet once a week to meditate as well as discuss Buddhism. There was no one single practice of meditation that the group engaged in. Indeed, they would usually experiment with and try out new practices that they came across. While I was visiting, the group had decided to engage in meditations that focused on the recitation of Oṃ maṇi padme hūm̐: they used a YouTube video6 and followed along. Afterwards, the group openly discussed what they liked and disliked about the meditation and how it could be incorporated into their personal practices. Some practices resonated with some members more than others. Ying Yue (female, early-twenties), for example, described:

I absolutely loved mettā bhāvanā7 meditation but I know that some of us really did not. It makes sense. Not every single practice is going to work in the exact same way for different people. I really don’t understand what people see in walking meditations but a couple my friends love it.

It is also worth noting that the group, although ostensibly Buddhist, do not necessarily always discuss inherently Buddhist topics or practice inherently Buddhist practices. I have already alluded to the presence of Catholicism in the group, but this hybridity also extended to, for example, fengshui 风水.

One should acknowledge that the aforementioned theme of Chinese persecution in Italy was not noticeable in this group. Indeed, the group were proud of their dual Chinese–Italian identity and were happy with the lives that they had in Rome.

Unsurprisingly, the very existence of this group wholly contradicts the convert and ethnic Buddhist dichotomy. This conclusion, however, will come as little surprise to those even slightly familiar with Buddhism in the Chinese diaspora. What is interesting to note is how this group lines up with Wilson’s (2012) seven factors of hybridity:

• The lack of resident leaders leads to considerable fluidity and is a major source of intra- Buddhist contact. This could certainly be felt but it should be acknowledged that the group were aware of established Buddhist leaders in Italy. Instead of simply lacking leadership outright, this group made something of an active decision to remain private and casual, preferring to cherry pick what they like from established schools. I was therefore not surprised to learn that the group would sometimes visit Huayi si but I was admittedly rather surprised to learn that their formal relationship with the temple was borderline non-existent.
• The presence of pluralistic attitudes. This could be felt in abundance. The group practiced a plethora of practices both Buddhist and otherwise, and also possessed numerous varying beliefs.
• Limited resources. This was both true and untrue. The group was not a formal establishment and therefore saw no need to collect money or have a single meeting place. One could make the argument that the group’s liberal usage of the internet and resources available to them (such as those offered by formal religious institutions such as churches or Huayi si) meant that the group had many resources available to them. However, this said, the group was wholly self-funded.
• Low membership. This was indeed the case. However, most did not see this as a problem but instead liked the group being small enough to be able to facilitate discussions that involved everyone.
• Sustained contact with other Buddhist lineages. Although the group did have contact with other (many, in fact) Buddhist lineages, this fell apart at the word “sustained.”
• The need to familiarise oneself with an unfamiliar religious practice. This was at the very core of the group. The group’s very genesis was the desire to become familiar with the unfamiliar practices and beliefs of Buddhism. Moreover, the crux of every meeting held by the group focussed on the topic of exploring an unfamiliar practice or concept. Thus, the group were acutely aware of this.
• The devaluation of creedal formulas for religious identity. It should be noted that not everyone in this group self-identified as Buddhist. Two even claimed to not be religious at all. This said, creedal formulas were devalued but not necessarily at the cost of religious identity. Instead, they were devalued on the grounds of hybridity: any creed that seemed to claim exclusivity was readily devalued by the group.

To conclude, on top of Dessì’s constraints and incentives being overtly present, the four ways in which religions, in general, contribute to the dynamics of globalisation could also readily be seen. Buddhism was actively perceived as being a carrier of Chinese culture that many sought to connect with; the group in and of itself was a manifestation of hybrid culture, actively engaging with other religious traditions and even incorporating aspects of these religions into their own practice. The group seemed to embrace being part of a broader global society in which all religious paths lead to the same goal.

8.2. Group 2: Pure Land Buddhism

This group was composed of ten members, but one member has since left the group and withdrawn from this study. The group is made up of slightly older (mid-fifties to late sixties) members. With only two men, the group is made up of mostly women. Each member is a first-generation migrant.

From the outset, the contrast between the two groups was blatant. The groups unofficial name was jingtu zong 淨土宗 –namely Pure Land– and it was made very clear to me that this was the only form of Buddhism that was practiced by the group. For reasons that the members were unwilling to disclose (aside from throw-away remarks such as “they do not teach real Chinese Buddhism”), the members had an active dislike of the Huayi si. Some, however, spoke fondly of the Puhua si, but the members were quick to inform me that their group was in no way affiliated with the temple in Prato. Rather strangely, I was unable to receive any concrete answers pertaining to how the genesis of the group came about. I was informed that the group was roughly six years old, and the best answer I was given as to how the group was formed was “these things tend to just happen.” What was clear, however, is that this group does have a regular meeting place: the home of one of the members. The group meets once a week for sutra recitation. If not already apparent, it should be acknowledged that unlike the first group, the members of this group were exceedingly guarded. More than I have ever experienced before during fieldwork, the members were (and to a certain degree, remain) suspicious of me and my intentions. Indeed, this group wholly mirrors the aforementioned theme of victimhood. Every member I spoke to reported varying degrees of persecution. Wang Xiuying (female, mid-fifties) told me:

I never tell them [Italians] that I am a Buddhist. I know what Christianity teaches about other religions and I am always frightened that something will happen to me. I have experienced many bad things here and I know that every single Chinese person living in this country has experienced something bad at least a few times.

After conducting the fieldwork itself, the group even debated whether or not to withdraw from the study altogether. Each member wanted my full assurance of anonymity. They were, on the other hand, extremely proud of their group and wanted me to accurately demonstrate their devotion.

Although they requested that I keep it anonymous, the group does follow a specific jingtu zong 淨土宗 found in the PRC. Many of the groups’ meetings centre on this specific school and the group reportedly often attend online events. Herein, availability comes to the forefront. The ability to be able to be in frequent and direct contact with people on the other side of the world is a relatively recent phenomenon. One could make the argument that a fundamental component of this group is the availability of this technology. However, the broader aspect of availability cannot be found in this group. Indeed, the members were acutely aware of other Buddhist traditions and the availability of them but nevertheless demonstrated no interest in them.

This group also seemed to directly contradict global consciousness. In contrast to Dessì’s individual Zen practitioners in Sardinia related themselves to a variety of religious traditions, this jingtu zong 淨土宗 took great pains to make it abundantly clear to me that their practice of Buddhism was exclusively Chinese. Indeed, in a seemingly utter contrast to Dessì’s finding that “the most prominent pattern among Zen practitioners is that of pluralism, that is, the full acknowledgment of other religions’ claims of authority” (Dessì 2024, p. 33), the members of this group were, for the most part, exceptionally clear that Buddhism, specifically Chinese Buddhism, is the only true path. Nian Zhen (mid-sixties) told me:

China is the only place in the whole world where you can find true Buddhism. Buddhism is a Chinese religion and I do not see the point in studying any other kind of Buddhism.

None of the members described their beliefs or practices by referring to any other religion or tradition. Instead, their practice of Buddhism and their Buddhist identity was essentially viewed as a manifestation of their Chineseness. To this end, each member, for varying reasons, became Buddhist after migrating. To this end, it is certainly worth noting that each member self-identified as Buddhist and did so noticeably proudly. Ru Shi (early-sixties) told me:

Being a Buddhist definitely helps me to feels closer to China. Even though I did some Buddhist practices before moving here [to Italy], I certainly did not call myself a Buddhist. Today, I know that I am a Buddhist. Not everyone in China is a Buddhist, but I am a Buddhist because I am Chinese.

In this manner, the group has essentially created their own Buddhist conclave. Thus, the group lies firmly in line with Berti and Pedone’s (2020, pp. 50–51) identification of the Puhua si in Prato as a piece of China that constitutes a safe space for its members.

Resonance was also difficult to find within this group. As the group seemed to take active measures to keep their group wholly Chinese, the very notion of accepting anything perceivably non-Chinese was unthinkable. The majority of the members, although Buddhist, also engaged in various practices pertaining to Chinese popular religion such as ancestor commemoration and the observation of various festivals. The overtly Chinese nature of these practices meant that they were not seen as a problem. The only evidence of resonance I found within the group was with Hou Yachun (female, late-fifties) who, after my constant assurances that I would not disclose this to any other member(s)8 told me:

I actually go to church sometimes. I would never admit this to another Chinese person living here but it is true. When I first moved to Italy, I was curious. I visited the Vatican and I had to admit how impressive everything was. I could also feel something there. I knew that God must truly be powerful. I was very nervous, but I eventually visited a church one Sunday. I expected to be kicked out because I am Chinese but I was very surprised to find that everyone was actually very friendly and did not mind that I could not speak Italian well. I am still a Buddhist and this is the most important thing to me, but I do sometimes go to church. It is nice to pray to God sometimes and it also feels good to do something that makes me feel a little bit closer to my new home.

When I asked her to elaborate upon the specifically Italian context of her decision to visit a church, she told me:

I would never have visited a Christian church in China. I do not think the thought would have ever occurred to me. Chinese people are not Christians so why would I go to a Christian church? It was only because I was in Italy that I visited a church. I am very happy that I did. I think it made me like it here [in Italy] a lot more.

Although arguably an anomaly of the group, herein, one finds a definite example of glocalization. Hou Yachun has readily, albeit secretly, incorporated aspects of Christianity (namely prayer) into her own private practices. Although she still very much self-identifies as Buddhist and wholly adopts the group’s stance of Chinese Buddhism being true Buddhism, she also constitutes an example resonance: her initial visit of St. Peter’s specifically had a marked impact on her that eventually snowballed into her very belief system being altered.

The stark contrast between the two groups of this study is certainly evidence for their being not one way of practicing Buddhism. However, as with the first group, I believe it is fruitful to examine this second group in the light of Wilson’s (2012) seven factors of hybridity. Although the group, on the surface level, appears to adhere to a specific Pure Land school in China, in reality, the group utilises various practices from various schools of Chinese Buddhism as well as more general practices of Chinese popular religion. Therefore, in order:

• The lack of resident leaders leads to considerable fluidity and is a major source of intra- Buddhist contact. This group certainly does not have a leader. Moreover, each member has come from a very different Buddhist background and subsequently have their own beliefs and practices. Although they unite under the banner of Pure Land and are genuine in their belief that they are all dedicated followers of a specific Chinese school, individually the members all have their own specific interests and focusses. Some, for example, wholly focus on the figure of Amitābha whereas others reported devotion to several Buddhas and bodhisattvas.
• The presence of pluralistic attitudes. The very nature of Chinese popular religion meant that this was something of a given. Although each member self-identified as Buddhist, each also readily practiced and accepted a plethora of popular religious beliefs and practices.
• Limited resources. As they are not an official group, this is not perceived as a problem, but several of the members did bring up the fact that the group does indeed possess limited resources.
• Low membership. This was certainly the case.
• Sustained contact with other Buddhist lineages. This was the case but not in the plural. Although the group was in frequent contact with a single group operating in the PRC, they went as far as to avoid contact with other Buddhist groups.
• The need to familiarise oneself with an unfamiliar religious practice. The group seemed to want to make it clear to me that their practice of Buddhism was inherently familiar and this formed part of its appeal.
• The devaluation of creedal formulas for religious identity. Although the members would claim that they follow their Pure Land school to the letter, in practice, their beliefs and practice of Buddhism was more fluid than they would have me believe.

To conclude, I will examine this group in light of Dessì’s “four dimensions religious globalization.” Buddhism was very much perceived by this group to be a carrier of culture (specifically exclusively Chinese) through time and space. However, only one member seemed to demonstrate the culmination of a new hybrid (beyond that of Chinese popular religion) culture. Moreover, the group actively sought to avoid contact with other religious traditions and global systems. It would, of course, be too much to assert that this group wholly contrasts the first and is entirely against religious globalisation. They are, after all, themselves products of religious globalisation itself. However, a contrast with the first group is apparent and the very fact that this group seemingly did all in their power to isolate themselves is deeply significant as this in of itself is seemingly an overt rejection of glocalization.

9. Materials and Methods

This study is rooted in Harvey’s (2003, 2005, 2011, 2013) concept of “guesthood insofar as meetings with interviewees were “less like formal interviews with one-way exchange of information and more like mutually constituted relationships where knowledge is exchanged and discussed” (Arthur 2019, p. 16). Given the short duration of the fieldwork, I am reluctant to deem this an ethnographic study; however, I did ground my approach in ethnographic methodology. Moreover, as with my previous work (see for example Chadwin 2023; 2024), given that I am a white, male, British researcher, I did everything in my power to make it abundantly clear to my interviewees are the experts and it is their voice (as opposed to my own), their stories that I seek to convey. The fieldwork took place over a short period: 6–21 March 2024. This was followed by something of a prolonged online exchange that shall be elaborated upon with the second group. The fieldwork itself took place in Rome and specifically pertained to two distinct Chinese Buddhist groups. I had previously established contact with both groups on a previous stay in Rome. I established contact with the first group while conducting ethnographic research into Chinese childhood religion in Rome. An interviewee informed me that their sister was part of a Buddhist group and put me in touch with her. Contact with the second group was ascertained in a similar manner. The mother of one of the children I was interviewing happened to be a member of the second group and briefly told this to me during one of our conversations. However, unlike the first group, who were immediately happy to invite me to a meeting, it took a few months before I had established enough trust in the eyes of the second group to actually receive an invitation. Both groups were wholly private and not affiliated to any official group. It is for this exact reason that I selected them for this study. There have been aforementioned studies of institutional Chinese Buddhism in Italy but, to date, no examinations of unofficial manifestations of Chinese Buddhism. The interviews lasted, on average, an hour. Many of the interviewees originally came from Zhejiang, with also a few coming from larger cities in the PRC. However, some of the interviewees from the first group were born in Italy to Chinese migrants. All interviewees have been anonymised. I have given each interviewee a pseudonym that reflects the gender they identified as. I also provide a general age of each participant.

10. Conclusions

This paper has offered a small window into two different manifestations of non-institutional Chinese Buddhism in Italy. Although the main crux of this paper should be viewed under the broader umbrella of Dessì’s “Glocal Buddhas” project, it is my hope that given the fact that non-institutional Chinese Buddhism within the Chinese diaspora in Italy is a very understudied field, the data presented in this paper will, at least in a small way, serve as a step in the direction of filling this scholarly vacuum.

Not only did the first group seem to be a perfect example of religious glocalization in practice, they seemed to embrace it. From the group’s genesis to the manifestations of their weekly meetings, this group was defined and shaped by the international context: a dire to reconnect with China while simultaneously embracing the religious dimension of Italy (and beyond). Indeed, their belief, practice, and very existence lie comfortably in line with Giordan et al.’s (2025) “multiple Buddhism” theory: although ostensibly a Buddhist group, members would fluidly draw upon various traditions including, but not limited to, Catholicism. Moreover, this group adds an interesting dimension to Zoccatelli’s assertions pertaining to Buddhist identity: this was very much a Buddhist group, but it was a group that wholly embraced fluidity. Indeed, despite being an overtly Buddhist group, Buddhist identity itself was not a given among the members. I would therefore take issue with Zoccatelli’s (2009, p. 5) identification of “strong Buddhist identity” based upon a notion of adherence to “a system of beliefs and practices which seem to be typical of Buddhists.” Indeed, one could argue that the Buddhists of this group are wholly willing to be flexible, evolutionary even, in their Buddhist belief and identity. To say that this means they do not have “strong Buddhist identity” would, given their dedication and own sense of religious identity (at least for those who did self-identify as Buddhist), be unfair. As a final note, this group adds an interesting new dimension to the role of Christianity in the Chinese diaspora in Italy. Whereas Cao and Lin (2024) focused on the prominent role of specifically Chinese congregations in Italy that serve as something akin to cultural conclaves for the Chinese diaspora, the manner in which members of this group engaged with Christianity was different: instead of joining Chinese Christian congregations, members of this group engaged with congregations that did not have a large Chinese population. Thus, instead of acting as a cultural enclave for Chinese culture, they perceived Christian churches as part of their Italian identity. Herein, the importance of age is crucial: this was a group of young people who saw themselves as integrated into Italian society. They could speak Italian and did not need to rely on congregations that primarily utilise Mandarin. Although this by no means contradicts Cao and Lin’s findings, it does add something of a new dimension. Indeed, it presents a distinct example of Guglielmi’s (2020, p. 72) “contamination and an encounter between the Chinese and Italian faithful.”

On the other hand, the second group seemed to be something of a rejection of glocalization. Indeed, this group is a seeming contrast to Dessì’s Sardinian Zen practitioners for whom “the creative adoption of Zen elements by local actors (rather than conformity to Zen Buddhist orthodoxy) is under way in most cases” (Dessì 2024, p. 28). However, one could argue that matters become somewhat misty when examined in the light of Dessì’s four dimensions of religious globalisation. Herein, the initial two are of particular note. This group was ostensibly isolated, hidden even. They seemingly opposed globalisation on the grounds that they sought to actively reject all things Italian. However, they were nevertheless living in Rome. Not only were they living in Rome, they had also established a group that periodically attends online Buddhist events hosted in the PRC. They very much saw Buddhism as a carrier of their own culture, and it was their perceivable distance from their home country that ignited the desire to engage with it. Moreover, the manner in which this group rejected all things non-Chinese was, arguably, a conscious rejection of religious globalisation. As though members seemed threatened by the very notion of being “corrupted” by the Italian context in which they lived, members doubled down on their wholly Chinese Buddhist belief and practice. It is also worth remembering that the members of this group were older and seemingly more conservative than the first group. I do not seek to make the sweeping claim that these factors limited the group’s propensity for glocalization, but I do think that the age contrasts in groups is a factor to keep in mind. For example, one’s ability to speak Italian (in this Chinese diasporic case) should not be underestimated. Thus, one finds something of a contrast to Giordan et al.’s (2025, p. 38) theory of “co-joined belonging, emphasizing that practitioners do not draw rigid boundaries between religious traditions.” Indeed, this group seemed to actively work against any form of co-joined belonging, instead doubling down on a single identified Buddhism that is crucially Chinese. Herein, this study fits into the broader matter of integration. It has presented two groups that have seemingly opposite approaches to integration: the first embracing it and the second actively avoiding it. This is particularly interesting when viewed in the light of Amstutz’s (2014, p. 171) conclusion that “contradictory reactions to globalization may commonly coexist simultaneously within a religion, or even simultaneously within the mind of a single human being.”

It should, of course, be noted that these groups are extremely small. This paper has therefore not sought to offer any sweeping conclusions about Chinese Buddhism in Italy nor the Chinese Buddhist dimension of glocalization. It has, however, offered a small window into how diasporic Chinese Buddhism can manifest. There are official Chinese providers of Chinese Buddhism in Italy, but these by no means account for all Chinese Buddhists living in the country. Indeed, it is often private individuals that go unnoticed by larger studies or those who focus only on official institutions. To this end, it is certainly worth pointing out that only one of the second group’s members self-identifies as Buddhist on official forms. All the other members told me that they, despite being proud of their Buddhist identity, preferred to write that they are irreligious. This paper has hopefully given a small insight into these manifestations of Buddhism in Italy.