FOOTNOTES:

AI-SHAN PASS AND TEMPLE(see p.385).

Temples and shrines to Lung Wang, the Dragon-king, can be seen in or near many villages, sometimes adjoining the shrine of the T'u Ti, and also on many headlands along the coast. The Dragon-king's mother is a favourite object of worship as well as the Dragon-king himself, and her image often occupies a neighbouring shrine. The dragon, as is well known, figures prominently in Chinese myth and legend and in Chinese art-conceptions. It is regarded as a kind of symbol of empire and of things imperial: the "dragon-body" is the emperor's person; the "dragon-seat" is the emperor's throne; the "dragon-pen" is the imperial autograph; the "dragon-flag" is the imperial standard. The myths connected with the dragon are vague and conflicting and no doubt they are of various origins, though Taoism, always an eclectic religion, has found room for them all in its capacious system. There are the dragons of the four quarters of the universe and a fifth for the centre; there are the four dragons of the seas (Hai lung wang), the dragon ofrain and clouds, the earth dragon (who is closely concerned withfêng-shui[383]), the dragon of hidden treasures, the heavenly dragon, and several protean dragons that can assume any shape and go anywhere they please. The Mother-dragon, judging from her clay image in the temples, seems to be quite an ordinary and rather benevolent old lady, who—one might think—should have been the last person in the world to give birth to an uncanny son; but even the Dragon himself is similarly privileged to be represented by the image of a man.

Serpent-worship, which was one origin of the dragon-mythology,[384]seems to have left several traces of its existence in China: large snakes—especially in localities where snakes are rare—are often supposed to be manifestations of the divine Dragon.[385]There is another superstition to the effect that certain evil demons can assume a serpent-like shape and drive men to death by haunting them and climbing on their backs.[386]Very recently (during the summer of 1909) a large snake was killed by lightning near a village close to the borders of the Weihaiwei Territory. Next morning (the thunderstorm having occurred at night) the villagers found the scorched body of the reptile and forthwith agreed among themselves that it was a devil-snake. Their only reasons for this surmise seem to have been its unusually great size[387]and the peculiar manner of its death. A devil-snake is supposed to be nearly as dangerous when dead as when alive, so the villagers deputed six of their number to carry it to the coast and carefully consign it to the ocean. There, no doubt, the sea-dragon could look after its own.

"The Chinese, the Mexicans and the Semitic nations," says Dr. Aston, "concur in associating water with the serpent."[388]

Perhaps it was the sinuosity of rivers viewed from a height that first suggested the connection, and this would also account for the Chinese dragon's association with mountains as well as with rivers. It should be remembered that when one meets cases of mountain-gods, river-gods, sea-gods, tree-gods, one finds one of two beliefs, or both inextricably mixed: there is the belief that the mountain, river, sea or tree is itself a god, and there is the belief that these natural objects are merely inhabited or presided over by a god or spirit, who may or may not be visible to mortal eyes. We know that in the case of sun-worship the earliest belief seems to have been that the visible sun is the god himself; later on the sun is regarded merely as the sun's chariot; and later still the god (Apollo) identifies himself with so many different activities and interests that we are apt altogether to forget or ignore his primary connection with the sun. The case of Zeus, who was originally the deified vault of heaven, is a similar one: and there are very many others.

The legend current in Weihaiwei regarding the origin of the Dragon-king (who may be compared with the Nāga-rāja of the Indian peninsula) runs somewhat as follows. His mother was an ordinary mortal, but gave birth to him in a manner that was not—to say the least—quite customary. Being in his dragon-shape the lusty infant immediately flew away on a journey of exploration, but returned periodically for the purpose of being fed. As he grew larger and more terrifying in aspect day by day his mother grew much alarmed, and confided her woes to her husband, the dragon's father. The father after due consideration decided there was no help for it but to cut off his preposterous son's head: so next day he waited behind a curtain, sword in hand, for the dragon's arrival. The great creature flew into the house in his usual unceremonious manner, curled his tail round a beam below the roof, and hung head downwards in such a way that by swaying himself gently he could reach his mother's breast. At this juncture his father came from behind the curtain, whirled his sword round his head, and brought it down on what ought to have been the dragon's neck. But whether it was that his hand shook, or he misjudged the distance, or his prey was too quick for him, the fact remains that the dragon's head remained where it was, and its owner merely emitted a strange gurgling sound that might have been meant for an expression of irritation or might on the other hand have been a draconic chuckle. Before the sword could be whirled a second time the dragon seized his father round the waist, untwisted his tail from the beam in the roof, and flew away to the eastern seas. The dragon's father was never seen again, but the dragon and his mother were elevated to a divine rank from which they have never since been displaced.

The reasons for the elevation to godhead are perhaps not quite apparent: but the popular saying that "thedragon's bounty is as profound as the ocean and the mother-dragon's virtue is as lofty as the hills" has a reference to their functions as controllers of the rains and clouds. Of other local legends about Lung Wang perhaps two will suffice.

In the Jung-ch'êng district, not far from the British frontier,[389]is a pool of water which though several miles from the sea is said to taste of sea-salt, to be fathomless, and to remain always at the same level. It is dedicated to the Dragon. One day an inquisitive villager tried to fathom its gloomy depths with hispien-tangor carrying-pole. Hardly had he immersed it in the water than it was grasped by a mysterious force and wrenched out of his hand. It was immediately drawn below, and after waiting in vain for its reappearance the villager went home. A few days later he was on the sea-coast, gathering seaweed for roof-thatch, when suddenly he beheld hispien-tangfloating in the water below the rocks on which he was standing. On the first available opportunity after this, he burned three sticks of incense in Lung Wang's temple as an offering to the deity that had given him so striking a demonstration of his miraculous power. The Lung Wang of the ocean, it may be mentioned, is said to have a great treasure-house under the sea in which he stores the wealth that comes to him from wrecked junks. Among his most precious possessions are the eyes of certain great fish, which are believed to be priceless gems. That is the reason, say the fisher-folk, why large dead fish, when cast up on shore, are always found to be eyeless: Lung Wang has picked out their eyes and put them among his treasures.

The annals of Weihaiwei also contain this story. In the year 1723 there was a very heavy shower of rain. In the sky, among the dark clouds, was espied a dragon. When the storm passed off a man named Chiang of the village of Ho Ch'ing or Huo Ch'ien picked up a Thing that was "as large as a sieve, round as the sun, thick as a coin, and lustrous as the finest jade. It reflected the sun's light and shone like a star, so that it dazzled the eyes." It was passed from hand to hand and minutely examined, but no one knew what it was. The village soothsayer was appealed to for a decision. A single glance at the strange object was enough for the man of wisdom. "This Thing," he said, "is a scale that has fallen from the body of the dragon." Chiang placed the treasure on his family-altar and preserved it as a precious heirloom, but whether it still exists no one seems to know, or those who know will not tell.

Among the greatest of the Taoist gods are Lao Chün,—Lao Tzŭ himself, who would have been more disgusted than most men to know of his future deification; P'an Ku, a kind of magnified Adam; and Yü Huang Shang Ti, the Jade-Imperial-God to whom is entrusted the supreme control of the world and mundane affairs. The functions of these deities are general rather than specific, so it is no wonder that they are rather neglected by the ordinary worshipper, who usually prays to the Taoist gods not for the sake of glorifying the divine personage addressed (which would be regarded as mere useless flattery) but with the direct and avowed object of obtaining some benefit for himself or his friends and relatives.

One hears little of Lao Chün and P'an Ku in Weihaiwei—probably most villagers know hardly anything of them—but there are several shrines dedicated to the Jade-Imperial-God. These are little stone buildings on the hill-tops. They are perhaps the most interesting, if among the most insignificant in size and appearance, of all the Taoist temples. Mountain-worship is one of the very oldest forms of religion in China. The most ancient historicalrecords which the country possesses tell us how those famous old emperors of the Golden Age—Yao, Shun and Yü—offered sacrifices on mountain-tops. The old records are so terse in expression that it is scarcely possible to say definitely whether the mountains were worshipped for their own sakes or whether they were merely regarded as altars for the worship of Shang Ti or T'ien, the One God or the Greatest of Gods. As the Emperor Shun (2255-05B.C.) and other rulers of that early time (presuming they are not altogether mythical) are said to have selected particular mountains for their acts of worship it seems probable that the mountains themselves, or the spirits they harboured, were the usual objects of worship; though it is possible and even probable that the imperial sacrifices to Shang Ti (still carried out annually on the Altar of Heaven at Peking) were also regularly offered up on the summits of lofty hills.

Primitive worshippers of the visible heavens naturally thought that the higher they climbed the nearer they would be to their god and the more acceptable to him would be their sacrifices. As time went on, four and subsequently five mountains in China were singled out as being specially sacred for their own sakes as well as for the imperial sacrifices, and those Five Mountains (Wu Yüeh) have been annually visited and worshipped by countless pilgrims through all the centuries down to the present day.[390]It does not appear, from the ancient records of theShu Ching, that Taoism had anything whatever to do with mountain-worship in its early days: but it was evidently the policy of the Taoists—as soon as they developed something like a priestcraft—to associate themselves and their cult with every form of worship in the country. Thus they soon established a priestly guardianship, which they still retain, over the Five Sacred Mountains. I have come across, in Chinese Buddhistic literature, evidence that the priests of these mountains were Taoist priests in the first century of the Christian era. No doubt it was natural enough that the sacred hills should fall under the priestly superintendence of the Taoists, for it was in the dark ravines and caves and on the rocky ledges of great mountains that the Taoist recluses were accustomed to make their solitary homes.

The impelling cause that first drove them to the hills was no doubt to find the magical herbs and roots that were necessary ingredients of the elixir of life, and to practise the self-control and purity of thought that were as essential to success as the mysterious draught itself. But the spell of the mountains soon became independent of drugs and philosophies. Men discovered—many centuries before the sterner aspects of hill and forest had begun to make their appeal to the poets and artists of Europe—that wild Nature was an enchantress who made willing slaves of all who had feelings responsive to beautiful sights and sounds. The time came when poets, scholars, dreamers—many of them Taoists only in name and some not even in name—sought the solitude of mountains not because they hoped to concoct medicines or acquire strange faculties and powers, but because they had fallen under the power of the great enchantress, because they found amid the sky-piercing crags and cloistered watercourses and dark pine-forests of the great mountains a companionship, a peace of mind, a pure and sometimes ecstatic happiness that they had never known and could never know in peopled plains or incrowded cities. If one may presume to alter a single word of a great poet's confession—

"The sounding cataractHaunted them like a passion: the tall rock,The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,Their colours and their forms, were then to themAn appetite."

Five mountains, it is hardly necessary to say, were too few to satisfy the Chinese longing for natural beauty. When the Buddhists came to China in the first century of our era they found Taoist recluses and priests in possession of the Five Sacred Mountains, but it was not long before they, too, fixed upon equally beautiful mountain-retreats of their own;[391]and no one who has visited a number of them can fail to be struck by the peculiarly keen sense of the loveliness of nature that must have guided the Buddhist recluses in their choice of romantic sites for hermitages and monasteries. It is hardly too much to say that there is not a beautiful mountain in all China that is not to-day or has not been in past time the resort of monks and hermits or laymen who have abandoned "the world."

People to whom wild Nature does not appeal with irresistible force, those whom she does not "haunt like a passion," are of course in the overwhelming majority in China as everywhere else, and it is just as well, perhaps, for the practical concerns of this workaday world that such is the case. Yet let not the hermits and Nature-worshippers be despised: for it is an intense imaginative love of natural beauty that has inspired the noblest pictorial art of China and has proved the well-spring of her greatest poetry, and it was amid the glory and wonder of the eternal hills that some of her greatest philosophers have pondered the problems of life and death.

The hills of Weihaiwei, in spite of some fine scenery, are of small account when compared with the glorious mountains of southern and far western China, but even Weihaiwei has its legends of saints and monks and "immortals" who made their homes amid the rocks and woods. There are no monasteries now in this district, but the ravines still contain both Taoist and Buddhist temples, each with its priest or two, and it is easy to see that the Buddhists have generally secured the most charming sites. The bitter coldness of the winter is sufficient excuse for the absence of residential temples on the hill-tops: though, as we have seen, there are many little stone-shrines dedicated to the Jade-Imperial-God, the Governor of the Taoist universe. This is the deity that has practically taken the place (so far as Taoism is concerned) of the exalted God of Heaven—T'ien or Shang Ti[392]—who was worshipped four or five thousand years ago by the rulers of the Chinese people. There are similar little Buddhist shrines on the hills, but these are comparatively few. Among the greater hills of the Territory there are several known locally as Yü Huang Ting (the Peak of the Jade-God) and at leasttwo known as Fo Erh Ting (the Peak of Buddha). Every hill also has its shrine—sometimes a mere heap of unhewn stones put together without mortar—dedicated to the Shan Shên or Spirit of the Hill, a divinity who belongs to the same order of beings as the Ta Ti or Great Gods of the Five Sacred Mountains. The hill-gods of Weihaiwei, though they are not visited by pilgrim-bands from afar, receive a limited amount of "worship" from herdsmen, silkworm-breeders and others. On many hill-slopes may also be seen shrines to the Niu Wang and the Ma Wang, divinities whose business it is to protect cattle and horses, and to Ch'ung Wang, the "king of locusts." Locusts, as we know, have at various times been a terrible scourge to the local farmers. It is supposed that by propitiating their king with prayers and offerings they can be banished to some locality where prayers and offerings are neglected. The Chinese of Weihaiwei say that in spite of the devastation that locusts can work among crops they are not really so much to be dreaded as many other insects whohave no kingand are therefore under no one's control and subject to no law. If monarchical government, it is thought, could be established among the more harmful flies and grubs, the happiness of labouring mankind would be materially augmented. The shrines to the mountain-spirit and the deities that preside over horses, cattle and locusts very often contain no images but merely small uncarved stones. The images of Yü Huang and other deities, when they exist, are usually squat, flat-faced, dwarf-like creatures with large heads and small bodies.[393]Of all these numerous mountain shrines the largest are only about eight feet high and six feet square, while the smallest are mere dolls' houses.

SHRINES TO THE MOUNTAIN-SPIRIT AND LUNG WANG(see p.396).

Photo by Ah Fong.WORSHIP AT THE ANCESTRAL TOMBS(see p.187).

The highest hill in the Territory is the central peak of the Macdonald Range, in the South District. The Chinese name of the hill is Chêng-ch'i or Cho-ch'i Shan. Here there are half a dozen or more shrines to the various deities mentioned, each containing small stone images and stone incense-burners. Just below the summit is an old stone slab with an almost illegible inscription relating to "Heaven and Earth," and close by is a shrine to the Mother-dragon. The images are all weather-worn and have an appearance of antiquity which is perhaps deceptive, though they are probably much older than their stone canopies, which—as is stated on several mural tablets—have been restored at various times during the present dynastic period, beginning in 1644. Besides the shrines there is also a small bell-house containing an iron bell dated Hsien Fêng X (1860), and close by are the unrecognisable remains of a theatrical stage where performances were at one time given in the middle of the seventh month. The principal shrine is theSan Shêng Miao, "The Temple of the Three Holy Ones" of Taoism.

AT THE VILLAGE OF YÜ-CHIA-K'UANG(see p.398).

A MOUNTAIN STREAM AND HAMLET(see p.395).

From this mountain can be seen practically the whole of the leased territory of Weihaiwei, laid out as it were like a map or—as the Chinese would say—like a chessboard. The summit is a ridge which slopes southward and northward to the two beautiful valleys of Yü-chia-k'uang and Chang-chia-shan. Once or twice a year a priest ascends the mountain from a temple far down on the western slope, and having reached the summit he burns a few sticks of incense and recites some Taoist prayers. Occasionally a villager climbs the mountain to return thanks to the Jade-Imperial-God or the spirit of the mountain for granting him success in some family matter or in business: but ordinarily the little group of gods on the hill-top are left in quietness and solitude. The Taoist devotee is not disturbed by uneasy feelings that he is neglecting his deities: loneliness and peace amid beautiful hills and valleys are or ought to be his own ideal, and the gods whom he has made in his own image can surely ask for nothing better.

Of Buddhism in Weihaiwei not a great deal need be said. Some of the beliefs and superstitions which have been dealt with in this book belong, indeed, as much to Buddhism as to Taoism, but the Buddhism is of a kind that would not be recognised in south-eastern Asia. There are some so-called Buddhist temples, each tenanted by a single priest and a pupil or two, and proofs are not wanting that many centuries ago the sites of some of these rather dilapidated buildings were occupied by flourishing little monasteries: but Buddhism has long been a decadent religion in Shantung, and, considering the corrupt state into which it has fallen in northern China, its disappearance as a power in the land is not to be regretted. Judging from the inscriptions on a few old stone tablets it appears that Buddhism in the Weihaiwei district reached its most flourishing state during the T'ang period (618-905A.D.). At that time, indeed, Buddhist activity throughout China was very great, for though the faith often underwent persecution or was treated with chilling neglect, it enjoyed from time to time the goodwill and patronage of the highest and most influential persons in the land.

It was during this period that many famous pilgrims travelled from China to India—the Holy Land of Buddhism—in search of books and relics, and some of them left accounts of their travels which are among the treasures of Chinese literature. This was, indeed, one of the most glorious epochs in Chinese history. It was a period during which the Empire, under a succession of several able and highly-cultured rulers, enjoyed a prosperity-political, social, literary, artistic—that it has never quite attained in any succeeding age. The prosperity seems as a rule to have affected every class of the people and every corner of the Empire: even the comparatively poor and bleak regions of eastern Shantung shared in the good fortune that radiated from the brilliant capital of an Empire which—though the fact was undreamed of by the young nations of Europe—was undoubtedly the mightiest and most highly civilised state then existing in the world.

The existence of large Buddhist monasteries generally indicates a fertile and populous tract of country, for a large assemblage of monks accustomed to live to a great extent on the free offerings of the people can hardly expect to be received with open arms in a region that is inhabited by a sparse and poor population. The monasteries of Weihaiwei, then, were always small—none probably harbouring more than six to twelve monks. But, like Buddhists elsewhere, the monks who came to this part of the Empire took care to select for their dwelling-places the most charming and picturesque sites available. The best or one of the best of these little establishments was known as Ku Shan Ssŭ—the Monastery of the Ku Hill. It was founded between the years 785 and 804, and part of it still exists as a small temple pleasantlysituated at the foot of the hill from which it takes its name. Close by is the famous Buddha-tree of which mention has been made.[394]Not far away from the temple, and immediately in front of the British District Officer's official quarters, there is a natural hot spring that bubbles out of the sandy bed of a shallow stream. One can imagine how, eleven hundred years ago, the little band of gowned monks, released for an hour from the contemplation of Nirvana or the service of the Lord Buddha, would wend their way in the twilight hour down to the edge of the ravine to lave their reverend limbs in those delicious waters. The spring is still a daily source of joy to hundreds of men and boys from the neighbouring villages, but the monks are all gone.

WÊN-CH'ÜAN-T'ANG.

In the temple there is a large image of the Buddha which, say the villagers, was not made but "just growed." There is a little story told of this image. A peasant-woman was in the habit of cutting firewood from the shrubs on the slopes of Ku Shan and one day she noticed a particularly thick and well-grown shrub which she immediately proceeded to cut down, leaving nothing in the ground but the roots. Next day she happened to pass that way again, and to her amazement found another shrub, equally thick and well grown, in precisely the same spot. Her surprise was great, but seeing no reason why she should neglect to avail herself of her good luck she treated the second shrub exactly as she had treated the first, and took it home. On the third day the same thing happened again. The woman possessed herself of the shrub as before, but having done so she could no longer keep the knowledge of these strange occurrences to herself and decided to let her neighbours into the secret.

Next day a large number of her incredulous fellow-villagers accompanied her to the spot she indicated, and there, sure enough, a lordly shrub had once more made its miraculous appearance. The wise man of the party explained that the locality was obviously haunted by a powerful spirit, and suggested the advisability of digging up the ground to see what might be underneath. This was accordingly done, and immediately below the roots of the shrub was discovered a colossal stone image of Sakyamuni Buddha. The village councillors then held a meeting to discuss the prodigy, and it was unanimously resolved, firstly, that the image had not been carved by the hands of man, and, secondly, that a suitable resting-place must be found for it as soon as possible in a well-conducted Buddhist temple. The temple finally decided on was the Huang K'o Ssŭ—a lonely building which still exists on a hillside overlooking the village of Fang Chi. Ropes and trestles were obtained, and dozens of willing hands volunteered to carry the sacred image to the temple selected: but the image would not move. A reinforcement of bearers was summoned, yet though they pulled and strained for over an hour not a single inch of progress was made. The wise man then announced that the Buddha had evidently taken a dislike to the Huang K'o Ssŭ: perhaps he wished to be taken to the Ku Shan temple instead. So the bearers began pulling in the opposite direction (for Huang K'o Ssŭ lies to the south, Ku Shan Ssŭ to the north), and to their astonishment hardly any effort on their part was required: the image almost went of its own accord. In a short space of time the party reached a brook which happened to have been swollen by heavy rains. Fearing that an accident might occur if an attempt were made to cross the brook at that time, the villagers decided to leave it on the bank until the flood-waters had gone down. At sunrise next day they all returned to the spot where the image had been left, but to their profound consternation it had disappeared. After a prolonged search it was accidentally discovered on thefurtherside of the brook: obviously it had goneacross of its own accord! By this time the villagers were thoroughly awed, and even the most irreligious of them impressively assured his companions that he had decided to devote the rest of his life to piety and good works. The wonderful image was duly installed in the temple of its choice, and there—amid picturesque if somewhat decayed surroundings—it still remains.

One of the largest Buddhist temples is that known as Tou Shan Ssŭ, situated on a hill overlooking the village of Tung Tou Shan. It contains nothing of much interest except a "temple of horrors," as Europeans usually designate such places, namely a roomful of clay images representing the tortures applied to sinners in the Buddhist "hells." The educated classes of China (including enlightened Buddhists) regard such things with good-natured contempt. A writer in theJung-ch'êng Chih, mentioning the so-called hells of Buddhism, remarks that "although this is not in accordance with the true worship of the gods it is useful as a means of warning and keeping in order the ignorant multitude."[395]Into the outside wall of this temple has been built a curious old stone representing the historical Buddha. The style of carving is Indian, such as may be seen in many old Buddhist temples in China. The traditional Indian styles of what may be called ecclesiastical architecture and decoration survived in Chinese Buddhistic art long after Indian and Chinese Buddhists had ceased to make pilgrimages to each other's countries. This stone was doubtless saved for the present buildings during one of the rather frequent restorations which this temple has undergone.

There is now very little that is distinctively Buddhistic in the religious ideas or ceremonies of the people, and apart from the priests it is very doubtful whether there is a single Chinese in the Territory who could give the date and place of the Buddha's birth,[396]much less give any account of the teachings of that wonderful man. The reincarnation of human souls is vaguely believed in after a fashion, though some belief of the kind would probably be found in China even though Buddhism had never existed. The theory of the "transmigration of souls," which is not Buddhistic except in a popular sense, has driven out of sight and memory the theory of the reincarnation of Karma, which is taught by canonical Buddhism. The doctrine of the Buddha on this and many other points is too profound to be grasped by the uncultivated peasant. The crude idea of "transmigration" has been held by numerous tribes and races never reached or affected by Buddhism—such as certain American Indians, Greenlanders, Australian aborigines, and African negroes: indeed it existed in Asia (and probably elsewhere) long before the days of the Buddha.

Dr. Tylor shows,[397]in the case of the Manichæans and Nestorians, that even within the range of Christian influence the idea of transmigration has widely flourished; indeed, to a limited extent it apparently exists to this day among certain Christians of eastern Europe. Thus when a Chinese litigant in Weihaiwei presents a petition in which he says, "if I am not telling the strict truth may I after death change into a donkey or a worm and never more appear in the form of a man," he is only expressing himself in the terms of a belief that is in reality independent of Buddhism, though now closely connected with it in the popular mind. I have before me a petition which concludes in words that may be translated thus: "If His Worship will take pity on his humble petitioner and come to his help in the present trouble, then the whole of his petitioner's family and all future generations of his family for a period of ten thousandkalpas(innumerable ages) will reverently raise their hands and repeat the name of Amitabha Buddha." This, of course, is a "patter" taken from the lips of the Buddhist priests; Amitabha[398]is the great Buddha-god of the fabled Western Heaven—that abode of bliss which in the Chinese Mahayana system has practically abolished (except for certain monkish schools) the Nirvana of primitive and orthodox Buddhism.

A few stories and legends survive in Weihaiwei to show that Buddhism was once a mightier power in this part of China than it is at present. Of a fisherman named Miao we are told that once upon a time when he was at sea he hooked what he thought was a great fish; but when he hauled in his line he found his "catch" was an image of Buddha. Being an irreligious man he took a stone and smashed the image to pieces. A few days afterwards he sickened and died. According to another story an image of Kuan Yin (the "Goddess of Mercy") in the tower of the south gate of Weihai city is of peculiar sanctity. About the year 1650 part of the city wall collapsed and the gate-tower fell in ruins: but the image, though it was only made of clay, was miraculously preserved and was found uninjured on the top of the pile of ruins. The people of Weihaiwei marvelled much at this incident and willingly subscribed for the restoration of the tower and the shrine. For the better protection of the goddess in future, an image of Wei To was set up within the shrine, and since then there have been no accidents.[399]

A more interesting story is told of Miss Ch'ên, who was a Buddhist nun celebrated for her virtue and austerity. Between the years 1628 and 1643 she left her nunnery near Weihai city and set out on a long journey for the purpose of collecting subscriptions for casting a new image of the Buddha. She wandered through Shantung and Chihli and finally reached Peking, and there—subscription book in hand—she stationed herself at the Ch'ien Mên (Great South Gate) in order to take toll from those who wished to lay up for themselves treasures in the Western Heaven. The first passer-by who took any notice of her was an amiable maniac. His dress was made of coloured shreds and patches and his general appearance was wild and uncouth. "Whither away, nun?" he asked. Miss Ch'ên explained that she was collecting subscriptions for the casting of a great image of Buddha and had come all the way from Shantung. "Throughout my life," remarked the madman, "I was ever a generous giver"; so taking the nun's subscription book he headed a page with his own name (in very large characters) and the amount subscribed. The amount in question was two "cash," equivalent to a small fraction of a farthing. He then handed over the two small coins and went on his way.

In course of time the nun returned to Weihaiwei with her subscriptions, and the work of casting the image was duly begun. When the time had come for the process of smelting, it was observed that the copper remained hard and intractable. Again and again the furnace was fed with fuel, but the shapeless mass of metal remained firm as a rock. The head workman, who was a man of wide experience, volunteered an explanation of the matter. "An offering of great value must be missing," he said. "Let the collection-book be examined so that it may be seen whose subscription has been withheld." The nun, who was standing by, immediately produced the madman'smoney, which on account of its minute value she had not taken the trouble to hand over. "There is one cash," she said, "and there is another. Certainly the offering of these must have been an act of the highest merit, and the giver must be a holy man who will some day attain Buddhahood."

As she said this she threw the two cash into the midst of the cauldron. The great bubbles rose and burst, the metal melted and ran like the sap from a tree, limpid as flowing water, and in a few moments the work was accomplished and the new Buddha successfully cast. This story has a pleasant and instructive little moral of its own, though perhaps the Western reader will be chiefly struck by the parallel between the madman's two cash and the Widow's two mites.[400]In each case the value of the gift lay not in the amount given but in the spirit of the giver.

A glance at the interior of a Buddhist temple at Weihaiwei shows that there is little or nothing left here of any form of Buddhism that is worthy of the name. A native from Burma, Siam and Ceylon (where comparatively pure forms of Buddhism are still to be found) would recognise the image of Sakyamuni, but otherwise he would see hardly anything to indicate that the Light of Asia had ever penetrated to this far corner of the continent. The people, as we have seen, know nothing of the life of the Buddha and next to nothing of his teachings, while the priests—temple caretakers would be a more fitting description for them—know not much more than the people. Here, as in the greater part of China, efforts have evidently been made to popularise the Buddhist temples by the introduction of the images of Taoist divinities—especially the various gods that bring material prosperity and heal diseases. A Buddhist temple therefore contains nearly as many images as a Taoist temple: if they were excluded the temple would be deserted, and the sole revenue—apart from the profits arising from a few cultivated fields—would probably be a small sum paid annually by laymen for the privilege of storing their unused coffins in the temple precincts.

Weihaiwei is not by any means unique in respect of the decayed state of Buddhism. It is hardly too much to say that Buddhism as a distinct religion only exists in China in certain famous monastic centres. The only true Buddhists are the monks of the great monasteries (to be found chiefly south of the Yangtse) and the people of certain localities where monastic influences happen to be strong. Elsewhere Buddhism has indeed tinged—sometimes very deeply—the religious life and customs of the people, especially in the beliefs and ceremonies relating to death and burial, but it can hardly be said to be a separate living faith.

Of other religions besides theSan Chiao—the "Three Doctrines" of Confucianism, Taoism and Buddhism—there is very little to be said so far as Weihaiwei is concerned. Mohammedanism exists in certain parts of the province—as in Chinan-fu and Ch'ing-chou-fu—but there is no trace of it in Weihaiwei or its neighbourhood. Both Catholic and Protestant Missions exist, and there are some converts to Christianity. At present—1910—there are reported to be about fifty baptized Catholics besides some catechumens preparing for baptism; there are also eighty-three Christians belonging to Protestant denominations. The Christians may thus be said to number less than one-tenth of one per cent. of the inhabitants of the Territory.

FOOTNOTES:[382]We need not jeer at Chinese simplicity in this matter unless we reserve some of our gibes for the good folk of Settrington, Yorkshire, where "it is considered prudent during a thunderstorm to leave the house door open in order to enable the lightning to get out if it should come in." (County Folk-lore, vol. ii.:North Riding of Yorkshire, pp. 43-4.)[383]See pp.119seq.[384]Serpent-worship was as we know common in Egypt, and also among the Hebrews up to the time of Hezekiah, and among certain Indian and other Asiatic races. As for "dragons," they existed even in Lincolnshire and Gloucestershire (seeCounty Folk-lore, vol. x. p. 33; andCounty Folk-lore: Gloucestershire, p. 23). It is unnecessary to remind the English reader of St. George and his feats. For further parallels see Dennys'sFolk-lore of China, pp. 92, 102seq., 107, 110.[385]Sir Robert Douglas mentions a case in point in hisConfucianism and Taouism(5th ed.), p. 277. He says of a certain great serpent that "Li Hung-chang, the viceroy of the province, came in person to pay reverence to it as the personification of the Dragon-king." For a discussion of snake-demons in China see De Groot'sReligious System of China, vol. v. pp. 626seq.See alsoJ.R.A.S. (China Branch), vol. xxxiv. p. 116. For a famous snake-demon legend that has been widely accepted in lands other than China, the reader need not look further than Genesis, chap. iii.[386]A belief of the kind exists in Japan. See Griffis,The Religions of Japan(4th ed.), p. 32. For China, see also De Groot,Religious System of China, vol. iv. pp. 214-19.[387]Large snakes are very rare in Shantung, though pythons are common enough in south China.[388]Shinto, p. 42.[389]Near the village of Hsing-lin ("Almond-Grove").[390]The Five Sacred Mountains are T'ai Shan in Shantung, Hêng Shan in Shansi (and a rival claimant of the same name in Chihli), Sung Shan in Honan, Hua Shan in Shensi, and the Nan Yüeh in Hunan. The Spirits of these Mountains are known as Ta Ti—"Great Gods." The most famous of them, so far as literature and tradition go, is T'ai Shan; the most popular (judging from my own observation of the number of worshippers during the pilgrim season) is the Nan Yüeh; the most beautiful, as well as the loftiest, is Hua Shan, which—when there is a railway from Honan-fu to Hsi-an-fu—will become a European tourists' Mecca. Seesupra, pp.71,73,74.[391]The so-called Four Famous Mountains (Ssŭ Ta Ming Shan) of Buddhism are Wu-t'ai Shan in Shansi, Omei Shan in Ssŭch'uan, Chiu Hua Shan in Anhui and Pootoo Shan off the coast of Chehkiang. After visits to all these hills I am inclined to give the palm of beauty to Omei Shan, though the others have great charms of their own, more especially the little fairyland of Pootoo, with its silver sands, its picturesque monasteries, its tree-clad slopes and the isle-studded deep-blue sea that laps its rock-fringed coast. But apart from the Five Sacred Mountains (still predominantly Taoist) and the Four Famous Hills (almost exclusively Buddhist) there are very many other beautiful and famous temple-studded hills in China. Wu-tang in Hupei, T'ai Pai in Shensi, T'ien-t'ai in Chehkiang, Huang Shan in Anhui, Shang-Fang near Peking, Wu-i and Ku Shan in Fuhkien, the Lo-fou hills near Canton, are only a few of those of which the fame has spread furthest.[392]Shang Tiis the term that the majority of Protestant missionaries in China have adopted to represent the word God.T'ien Chu(Lord of Heaven) is the name selected by the Roman Catholics. The Chinese know Protestantism asYe-su Chiao(the Jesus Doctrine) and Roman Catholicism asT'ien Chu Chiao(the Lord-of-Heaven Doctrine).[393]The simple uncarved stones seem to gain in interest when we go back in thought to the days of the early Greeks and the early Babylonians and Assyrians. Of the ancient Greeks Pausanias tells us that they worshipped the gods through the medium of images, and that these images were unwrought stones. Some of the T'u Ti and other images that one finds everywhere in Weihaiwei—with their short, squat, scarcely human bodies—suggest a transition from the mere unwrought stone to the carved and finished statue. Similarly in Greece we find first the absolutely rough, unhewn stone, such as that which represented Eros at Thespiæ, next the legless, angular, ugly images such as the well-known square Hermes—of which, one would have thought, both gods and men should be ashamed—and finally the exquisite statues of idealised boyhood and youth such as are still a source of the purest delight to all lovers of beauty and of art. Unfortunately the desire to make the gods appear different from ordinary mankind led the Chinese, as it led the Indian and other Eastern races, to what may be called the cultivation of the grotesque, so that there is very little that is grand or beautiful, as a rule, even in the best of their divine images. The finest statues, generally speaking, are undoubtedly those of Sakya Buddha. Tradition, in this respect, has been comparatively merciful to the memory of the great Indian philosopher and sage. Europeans often find fault with the Buddha-faces for their alleged insipidity: whereas what the artist has really aimed at is an ideal of passionless repose.[394]See p.381.[395]Cf. the remark of Diodorus Siculus (i. 2): "The myths that are told of affairs in Hades, though pure invention at bottom, contribute to make men pious and upright."[396]In any case they would be wrong, as the Chinese Buddhists antedate the Buddha's birth by several centuries.[397]Primitive Culture(4th ed.), vol. ii. pp. 2seq. and 14seq.[398]The Japanese Amida.[399]Wei To in Chinese Buddhism is a fabulous Bodhisatva whose special function it is to act as protector of Buddhist temples (Vihārapāla) and all their contents. His image is generally found in the front hall of such temples. He is often depicted on the last page of Buddhist books: this prevents them from destruction by fire and insects, and (it is confidently asserted) compels their borrower to return them to their owner. A private Wei To would perhaps be a most welcome addition to the furniture of many an Englishman's library.[400]Mark xii. 41-4, and Luke xxi. 1-4. Buddhism also has a story of a Widow who gave as an offering two pieces of copper. It occurs in a Chinese version of the Buddhacarita of Asvagosha.

[382]We need not jeer at Chinese simplicity in this matter unless we reserve some of our gibes for the good folk of Settrington, Yorkshire, where "it is considered prudent during a thunderstorm to leave the house door open in order to enable the lightning to get out if it should come in." (County Folk-lore, vol. ii.:North Riding of Yorkshire, pp. 43-4.)

[383]See pp.119seq.

[384]Serpent-worship was as we know common in Egypt, and also among the Hebrews up to the time of Hezekiah, and among certain Indian and other Asiatic races. As for "dragons," they existed even in Lincolnshire and Gloucestershire (seeCounty Folk-lore, vol. x. p. 33; andCounty Folk-lore: Gloucestershire, p. 23). It is unnecessary to remind the English reader of St. George and his feats. For further parallels see Dennys'sFolk-lore of China, pp. 92, 102seq., 107, 110.

[385]Sir Robert Douglas mentions a case in point in hisConfucianism and Taouism(5th ed.), p. 277. He says of a certain great serpent that "Li Hung-chang, the viceroy of the province, came in person to pay reverence to it as the personification of the Dragon-king." For a discussion of snake-demons in China see De Groot'sReligious System of China, vol. v. pp. 626seq.See alsoJ.R.A.S. (China Branch), vol. xxxiv. p. 116. For a famous snake-demon legend that has been widely accepted in lands other than China, the reader need not look further than Genesis, chap. iii.

[386]A belief of the kind exists in Japan. See Griffis,The Religions of Japan(4th ed.), p. 32. For China, see also De Groot,Religious System of China, vol. iv. pp. 214-19.

[387]Large snakes are very rare in Shantung, though pythons are common enough in south China.

[388]Shinto, p. 42.

[389]Near the village of Hsing-lin ("Almond-Grove").

[390]The Five Sacred Mountains are T'ai Shan in Shantung, Hêng Shan in Shansi (and a rival claimant of the same name in Chihli), Sung Shan in Honan, Hua Shan in Shensi, and the Nan Yüeh in Hunan. The Spirits of these Mountains are known as Ta Ti—"Great Gods." The most famous of them, so far as literature and tradition go, is T'ai Shan; the most popular (judging from my own observation of the number of worshippers during the pilgrim season) is the Nan Yüeh; the most beautiful, as well as the loftiest, is Hua Shan, which—when there is a railway from Honan-fu to Hsi-an-fu—will become a European tourists' Mecca. Seesupra, pp.71,73,74.

[391]The so-called Four Famous Mountains (Ssŭ Ta Ming Shan) of Buddhism are Wu-t'ai Shan in Shansi, Omei Shan in Ssŭch'uan, Chiu Hua Shan in Anhui and Pootoo Shan off the coast of Chehkiang. After visits to all these hills I am inclined to give the palm of beauty to Omei Shan, though the others have great charms of their own, more especially the little fairyland of Pootoo, with its silver sands, its picturesque monasteries, its tree-clad slopes and the isle-studded deep-blue sea that laps its rock-fringed coast. But apart from the Five Sacred Mountains (still predominantly Taoist) and the Four Famous Hills (almost exclusively Buddhist) there are very many other beautiful and famous temple-studded hills in China. Wu-tang in Hupei, T'ai Pai in Shensi, T'ien-t'ai in Chehkiang, Huang Shan in Anhui, Shang-Fang near Peking, Wu-i and Ku Shan in Fuhkien, the Lo-fou hills near Canton, are only a few of those of which the fame has spread furthest.

[392]Shang Tiis the term that the majority of Protestant missionaries in China have adopted to represent the word God.T'ien Chu(Lord of Heaven) is the name selected by the Roman Catholics. The Chinese know Protestantism asYe-su Chiao(the Jesus Doctrine) and Roman Catholicism asT'ien Chu Chiao(the Lord-of-Heaven Doctrine).

[393]The simple uncarved stones seem to gain in interest when we go back in thought to the days of the early Greeks and the early Babylonians and Assyrians. Of the ancient Greeks Pausanias tells us that they worshipped the gods through the medium of images, and that these images were unwrought stones. Some of the T'u Ti and other images that one finds everywhere in Weihaiwei—with their short, squat, scarcely human bodies—suggest a transition from the mere unwrought stone to the carved and finished statue. Similarly in Greece we find first the absolutely rough, unhewn stone, such as that which represented Eros at Thespiæ, next the legless, angular, ugly images such as the well-known square Hermes—of which, one would have thought, both gods and men should be ashamed—and finally the exquisite statues of idealised boyhood and youth such as are still a source of the purest delight to all lovers of beauty and of art. Unfortunately the desire to make the gods appear different from ordinary mankind led the Chinese, as it led the Indian and other Eastern races, to what may be called the cultivation of the grotesque, so that there is very little that is grand or beautiful, as a rule, even in the best of their divine images. The finest statues, generally speaking, are undoubtedly those of Sakya Buddha. Tradition, in this respect, has been comparatively merciful to the memory of the great Indian philosopher and sage. Europeans often find fault with the Buddha-faces for their alleged insipidity: whereas what the artist has really aimed at is an ideal of passionless repose.

[394]See p.381.

[395]Cf. the remark of Diodorus Siculus (i. 2): "The myths that are told of affairs in Hades, though pure invention at bottom, contribute to make men pious and upright."

[396]In any case they would be wrong, as the Chinese Buddhists antedate the Buddha's birth by several centuries.

[397]Primitive Culture(4th ed.), vol. ii. pp. 2seq. and 14seq.

[398]The Japanese Amida.

[399]Wei To in Chinese Buddhism is a fabulous Bodhisatva whose special function it is to act as protector of Buddhist temples (Vihārapāla) and all their contents. His image is generally found in the front hall of such temples. He is often depicted on the last page of Buddhist books: this prevents them from destruction by fire and insects, and (it is confidently asserted) compels their borrower to return them to their owner. A private Wei To would perhaps be a most welcome addition to the furniture of many an Englishman's library.

[400]Mark xii. 41-4, and Luke xxi. 1-4. Buddhism also has a story of a Widow who gave as an offering two pieces of copper. It occurs in a Chinese version of the Buddhacarita of Asvagosha.

We have now made a rough survey of the different religious systems that are to be found in China, and especially in that part of China with which these pages are chiefly concerned; and it is not improbable that the reader's verdict will be that Confucianism is an admirable if unemotional system of ethics, that Buddhism has decayed out of recognition, and that Taoism has degenerated into mere ritual, mythology and image-worship. But before we reproach the Chinese for the childish superstitions that seem to occupy so large a place in their outlook on life, let us remember that the Chinese are very far from believing all they are supposed to believe.

When writers on comparative mythology and religion declare that this or that race holds this or that strange belief they do not necessarily mean that such belief is present to the minds of the people in question in the definite and clear-cut fashion that a dogma of the Christian faith may be supposed to present itself to a devout Catholic. A so-called belief, when it comes to be closely examined, is often found to be nothing more than some quaint old fancy that has crystallised itself in the form of a quasi-religious ceremonial. Many a strange national or tribal custom that seems to presuppose a definite religious belief is carried on because it is traditional; the belief thatit represents may or may not be extinct: in some cases, indeed, it has obviously been invented to explain the existence of a ceremony the cause of which has long been forgotten. Sometimes the custom lingers on—like the children's masquerades in the first Chinese month at Weihaiwei[401]—not only after the ideas that originally prompted it have disappeared but in spite of the fact that no one has thought it worth while to evolve a new theory of origin.

If it were definitely proved that these children's dances sprang from prehistoric magical rites connected with the growth of the crops, we might soon hear from European writers on myth and religion that "the people of Weihaiwei hold certain dances in the first month of each year in the belief that they will conduce to good harvests." Yet this would be a misleading statement, for whatever the origin of the custom may have been the people of Weihaiwei at the present time are absolutely destitute of any such belief. When studying comparative religion in books it is very necessary to be on one's guard against obtaining quite erroneous impressions of the actual conditions of belief among the people treated of, for however careful and conscientious the writers may be, it is very difficult for them (writing very largely from travellers' and missionaries' notes) to distinguish between a belief that is an active religious force and a stereotyped custom which merely represents a belief that existed or is supposed to have existed in days gone by. The mistakes that arise are of course the natural result of studying books about men instead of studying the men themselves. Unfortunately all of us are obliged to rely on books to a great extent, as life is too short to enable each of us to make himself personally familiar with the customs and religious ideas of more than a very small number of different races. But this fact ought to make us particularly careful not to run the risk of misleading others by misunderstanding and therefore erroneously reporting the facts that have come under our own observation.

There are few of the minor superstitious practices of the Chinese which are regarded by their Western teachers as more ridiculous and contemptible than their strange fancy that they can send money, articles of furniture and clothing and written messages to the dead by the simple and economical expedient of burning paper images or representations of such things. Perhaps at a Chinese funeral one may be shocked to see a liberal-minded Chinese gentleman of one's own acquaintance joining the rest of the mourners in this foolish occupation. If, after having gained his confidence, one asks him whether he literally believes that paper money will turn into real money in the other world or that his dead ancestors actually require a supply of money to help them to keep up appearances among their brother ghosts, he will in all likelihood say that of course he believes in nothing of the kind, but that the paper-burning forms part of the customary rites and it is not for him to alter them. Perhaps he will say that the women and children believe, and that an attempt to disabuse them of their silly notions might unsettle their minds and cause trouble.

If he is a scholar he will perhaps say something like this: "In ancient times real valuables were thrown into the grave. Money, jewels, animals, even living men and women were once buried with the dead. When it was decided that this custom must be given up it was thought necessary to keep ignorant minds quiet by explaining that worthless imitations of the real articles would serve the purpose equally well; so clay and wood and paper began to be used at funerals, and their use still continues. It is a foolish custom, but we think it helps to convey a useful lesson to the average unthinking man and womanand makes them feel that they are bound to their dead ancestors by ties of love and reverence and gratitude. The more strongly their feelings are moved in this way the more likely will they be to rule their families well and to lead peaceful and orderly and industrious lives. They might show love and reverence for the dead in some better way than by burning heaps of paper? I grant you: but it happens to be our way, and when we ourselves or rather the superstitious masses begin to disbelieve in it and laugh at it then it will be time enough to make a change."

But why should we take the Chinese to task for a custom which we tolerate within a stone's throw of the Vatican itself? How puzzled our Chinese gentleman would be, after listening to our arguments on the folly of burning paper for the dead, to read such a paragraph as this: "In the Church of the Jesuit College at Rome lies buried St. Aloysius Gonzaga, on whose festival it is customary especially for the college students to write letters to him, which are placed on his gaily decorated and illuminated altar, and afterwards burned unopened. The miraculous answering of these letters is vouched for in an English book of 1870."[402]

It is well to remember that as regards the world beyond the grave and the nature of spirits the Chinese ideas—like those of the average European—are vague and inconsistent. The ordinary Christian seems able to reconcile in his own mind (perhaps by providing himself with separate thought-tight compartments) all kinds of heterogeneous beliefs and notions about heaven and hell and the Day of Judgment and the present lot of those who have "gone before." A Chinese who, knowing nothing of Western religious notions, began with an unbiassed mind to study many of our Church hymns, our old-fashioned epitaphs and obituary notices, our funeral sermons and a good deal of our serious poetry (such as Tennyson's magnificent "Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington") would probably account for obvious inconsistencies of doctrine by the supposition that the eschatological ideas of the West were rather like those of his own land, inasmuch as each dead man evidently possessed at least three souls—one that remained in the grave, another that hovered round the bereaved relatives, and a third that wore a crown in heaven. Yet the devout church-goer would doubtless be surprised to hear that his prayers and hymns contained any words which could give an outsider so false an impression of his real belief.

I have been asked this question: How is it that from all accounts the Chinese are such sensible and intelligent men and yet hold such puerile and idiotic views about nature and religion? The answer is that backwardness in scientific knowledge (especially in such knowledge as has been acquired very recently even by Western peoples) is accountable for many of their foolish imaginings, but that a very great number of the most childish superstitions and customs of the Chinese are not founded on any existing beliefs at all but are merely traditional forms. The "heathen" rites so harrowingly described by missionaries are very often much more harmless than one would suppose from their accounts. A careless Chinese traveller in England might after observing some of our English rites and customs tell tales which would make England appear hardly less grotesque than poor China appears in numberless books written by well-intentioned foreigners. If he visited an old-fashioned country-house in England and watched the yule-log blazing in the hall at Christmas time he might suppose (after learning the origin of the custom) that his host was knowingly practising an old heathen rite connected with the winter solstice.[403]

At dawn on May Morning it is the custom for the surpliced choristers of Magdalen College to ascend the Great Tower and there greet the rising sun with the sweet strains of a Latin hymn. Just as the full circle of the sun flushes with morning light the grey stone pinnacles the beautiful hymn comes to an end, and the tower—the "dawn-smitten Memnon of a happier hour"—trembles and sways as its eight mighty bells leap into glad music and awaken "the college of the lily" into joyous life. No one seems to know the certain origin of the ancient rite of which this is a survival, but some have said that it represents an old heathen ceremony connected with the worship of the sun. The rite (in a modern form) is very properly kept up because it is singularly beautiful—the most beautiful and impressive ceremony of its kind practised throughout the length and breadth of England. But would not Oxford be politely surprised and somewhat amused if our Chinese traveller were to inform his fellow-countrymen that sun-worship was still kept up at England's academic capital and that the President of Magdalen was an Egyptian initiate or a Druid?

The analogy between Chinese and English survivals is far from perfect. Heathen ceremonies in England have been Christianised; in China all ceremonies remain "heathen." But, after all, the difference ceases to oppress us by its magnitude if we regard Religion as One though creeds are many. What good do we do the cause of truth by heaping disagreeable epithets on faiths other than our own? Socrates was denounced as an atheist by his fellow-countrymen. Which of us now would not be proud to have been an atheist with Socrates? Christians themselves were at one time stigmatised as atheists by both Greeks and Romans. What good does the Vatican do to the cause of Christ by vituperating the Modernists because they are honest? What did Athanasius gain, either for himself or for "Orthodoxy," by applying to the Arians such ugly names as "devils, antichrists, maniacsleeches, beetles, gnats, chameleons, hydras" and other terms equally discourteous?[404]

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