From sanctum to sustainability: The circular economy of Indian temples

Slavery destroys heritage: PM Modi’s big message after unveiling the sacred Buddha Piprahwa relics. Decolonising the Indian mind is very important for building the narrative architecture of the Hindu way of life, and that is precisely what Prime Minister Narendra Modi is doing by the building of the Ram Mandir or celebrating the 1,000 years of the destruction of the Somnath temple in January 1026 by a barbaric medieval invader Mahmud of Ghazni. It symbolised the continuity and resilience of the Indian spirit from ruins to resurgence. Their decline in public imagination is not accidental but a symptom of a more profound discomfort with acknowledging Hindu civilisation as intellectually productive. Because most Left-originated historical accounts treat temples as merely ritualistic. Understanding the temples on their own terms is, therefore, also an act of cultural recovery.

Besides their sheer magnificence, the temple architecture rested on highly technical, engineering-based rationality rather than blind faith. The widespread use of trabeated systems, such as pillars or lintels, extending through corbelling, has enabled stone structures to achieve height and durability without arches or modern reinforcements. The continued structural integrity of the Brihadeeswarar Temple, constructed entirely of granite over a millennium ago, is not a miracle but evidence of advanced material understanding and load management. And when juxtaposed with the civilisational narrative, they represent a confidence expressed through permanence, underscoring the fact that temples were built to last, not merely to impress.

Temples are not merely monuments, they are history in stone of our past, but also cosmological diagrams craved out in stone. The visual symmetry one sees in most temples today needs to be viewed through the lens of geometry that anchors their permanence and visual might. The Vastu Purusha Mandala imposed proportional discipline on temple layouts, regulating spatial hierarchy and movement. Often dismissed as metaphysical symbolism, this grid served as an organising logic that balanced density and orientation while providing practical benefits, such as ventilation. Alignment to cardinal directions was not incidental but was in sync with scientific principles, enabling light, airflow, and temperature to be regulated evenly. Such principles are now rebranded under “climate-responsive architecture,” yet their indigenous origins are rarely acknowledged.

Such erasure or ignorance partly explains contemporary unease. It appears that acknowledging the scientific intent behind ancient wisdom disrupts the inherited colonial narrative that survives only to typecast Hindu knowledge systems with superstition.

Another element that made temples unique was their ability and insistence to incorporate the environment into their persona. Through Bhu Pariksha, sites were evaluated for soil stability, water presence, and ecological resilience. Temple tanks, far from being ornamental, functioned as reservoirs, flood buffers, and groundwater recharge systems. The urban morphology of Madurai, for instance, evolved around the Meenakshi Amman Temple, whose concentric planning integrated markets, tanks, and residential zones. Recent studies on urban water stress in Tamil Nadu have noted that neglecting temple tanks after Independence directly weakened local water security. Hence, when we look beyond their religious significance, we can perceive the tangible ecological consequences of their neglect.

The applied knowledge that temple construction needs and, later, their sustenance are not often discussed. Copper plates beneath sanctums, multi-metal idols, or even alloyed bells were selected for physical properties as much as for their symbolic value. Bells cast from copper, tin, zinc, and trace metals produce layered harmonic frequencies that fill enclosed spaces. Modern scientific research has also recognised that frequencies can stabilise attention and reduce cognitive noise. In such a way, the temples embodied spirituality through tangible effects on the senses, not just abstract ideas.

But these architectural wonders are just the physical, tangible aspects of the temple. There were various intangible elements, especially the temple’s role as a centre of learning. Contrary to modern assumptions, education in Hindu civilisation was not confined to forest hermitages or elite institutions. Temples functioned as nodes in knowledge networks where mathematics, astronomy, grammar, music, medicine, and philosophy were taught in temple precincts or attached pathshalas. The temple towns were intellectual ecosystems with centres like Kashi Vishwanath Temple. The scholarly value of Kashi is hard to describe, given its popularity throughout India despite cultural and linguistic barriers. The temples were thus embedded in wider scholastic cultures in which debate, commentary, and the transmission of texts flourished. Knowledge was not divorced from society but sustained by patronage, ritual calendars, and community participation.

Postcolonial India inherited a framework in which asserting civilisational confidence was seen as regressive. At the same time, deracinated modernity was treated as progressive. As such, highlighting the role of temples in educational dissemination will be contrary to such assumptions about Hindu culture. Temples, once centres of learning and innovation, had been recast as obstacles to rationality. As a result, generations were trained to speak of Western universities with pride and reverence. Meanwhile, acknowledging indigenous institutions has been marked by hesitation and a sense of apology.

And while the educational role of temples may unsettle many contemporary intellectuals, the economic function of these sacred spaces often remains shrouded in silence. During dynasties such as the Chola, temples emerged as sophisticated financial institutions. As symbols of truthfulness and neutrality, temples often had inscriptions recording land grants, irrigation endowments, wage payments, and loan agreements administered by temple authorities. For example, the Chidambaram Temple offers epigraphic evidence of credit systems that financed agriculture and trade, with repayment schedules aligned to harvest cycles rather than abstract interest logic. This also followed the Employment generation. Temples sustained priests and administrators, but they also enabled sculptors, bronze casters, musicians, dancers, gardeners, guards, and agricultural labourers. Cultural labour was institutionally embedded, not some marginalised practice. Artistic traditions survived because they were economically anchored and sustained. It is true that later degeneration of some of these systems occurred, but it must not negate their original logic.

Where there are centres of learning and economic opportunity, trade naturally follows. This amplified the circularity. Temples located along trade routes converted pilgrimage into economic circulation. Markets flourished around temple towns, festivals created predictable demand cycles, and artisans found stable patronage. The temple thus functioned as an economic multiplier, integrating mobility, devotion, and production. This was not charity-driven subsistence but structured redistribution. Thus, the temple economy operated on circular principles: land produced grain that sustained people, who in turn sustained the temple. Meanwhile, the temple reinvested its surplus into welfare, learning, and infrastructure, which, in turn, attracted more people seeking opportunity. This loop contrasts sharply with modern extractive models that separate production from community and profit from responsibility.

Contemporary developments further substantiate these historical trends. The construction and consecration of the Ram Mandir by Prime Minister Narendra Modi have been widely discussed in political terms. Recent reports highlight a fascinating economic transformation in Ayodhya, driven by the temple’s construction. The reports detail increased employment opportunities, rising artisan demand, tourism-led urban renewal, and infrastructure expansion, supporting the idea that temples offer circular economic benefits. The key issue, then, is not just growth but ensuring it is aligned in the right direction. Historically, temple-centred growth was socially anchored. Whether modern revival replicates this redistributive logic or collapses into narrow commercialisation will determine its legitimacy. Thereby, the discomfort surrounding Hindu cultural revival stems less from evidence than from inherited intellectual habits. A civilisation confident enough to build enduring structures, sustain knowledge systems, and operate circular economies does not need external validation. Temples remind us that sustainability is not merely technological but institutional. They balanced physics with metaphysics, economy with ethics, and continuity with change. To reclaim this legacy is not to retreat into nostalgia or to overlook mistakes made along the way. It is to recognise that India possesses indigenous models of sustainability, learning, and governance rooted in lived history. Temples are and were civil society organizations showcasing our way of life, which was diverse, local and inclusive.

• Prof Santishree Dhulipudi Pandit is the Vice Chancellor of JNU.