CHINA
_Prefatory note._
For the transcription of Chinese words I use the modern Peking
pronunciation as represented in Giles's Dictionary. It may be justly
objected that of all dialects Pekingese is perhaps the furthest removed
from ancient Chinese and therefore unsuited for historical studies and
also that Wade's system of transcription employed by Giles is open to
serious criticism. But, on the other hand, I am not competent to write
according to the pronunciation of Nanking or Canton all the names which
appear in these chapters and, if I were, it would not be a convenience
to my readers. Almost all English works of reference about China use the
forms registered in Giles's Dictionary or near approximations to them,
and any variation would produce difficulty and confusion. French and
German methods of transcribing Chinese differ widely from Wade's and
unfortunately there seems to be no prospect of sinologues agreeing on
any international system.
INTRODUCTORY.
The study of Chinese Buddhism is interesting but difficult[557]. Here
more than in other Asiatic countries we feel that the words and
phrases natural to a European language fail to render justly the
elementary forms of thought, the simplest relationships. But Europeans
are prone to exaggerate the mysterious, topsy-turvy character of the
Chinese mind. Such epithets are based on the assumption that human
thought and conduct normally conform to reason and logic, and that
when such conformity is wanting the result must be strange and hardly
human, or at least such as no respectable European could expect or
approve. But the assumption is wrong. In no country with which I am
acquainted are logic and co-ordination of ideas more wanting than
in the British Isles. This is not altogether a fault, for human
systems are imperfect and the rigorous application of any one
imperfect system must end in disaster. But the student of Asiatic
psychology must begin his task by recognising that in the West and
East alike, the thoughts of nations, though not always of individuals,
are a confused mosaic where the pattern has been lost and a thousand
fancies esteemed at one time or another as pleasing, useful or
respectable are crowded into the available space. This is especially
true in the matter of religion. An observer fresh to the subject might
find it hard to formulate the relations to one another and to the
Crown of the various forms of Christianity prevalent in our Empire or
to understand how the English Church can be one body, when some
sections of it are hardly distinguishable from Roman Catholicism and
others from non-conformist sects. In the same way Chinese religion
offers startling combinations of incongruous rites and doctrines: the
attitude of the laity and of the government to the different churches
is not to be defined in ordinary European terms and yet if one
examines the practice of Europe, it will often throw light on the
oddities of China.
The difficulty of finding a satisfactory equivalent in Chinese for the
word God is well known and has caused much discussion among
missionaries. Confucius inherited and handed on a worship of Heaven
which inspired some noble sayings and may be admitted to be
monotheism. But it was a singularly impersonal monotheism and had
little to do with popular religion, being regarded as the prerogative
and special cult of the Emperor. The people selected their deities
from a numerous pantheon of spirits, falling into many classes among
which two stand out clearly, namely, nature spirits and spirits of
ancestors. All these deities, as we must call them for want of a
better word, present odd features, which have had some influence on
Chinese Buddhism. The boundary between the human and the spirit worlds
is slight. Deification and euhemerism are equally natural to the
Chinese. Not only are worthies of every sort made into gods[558], but
foreign deities are explained on the same principle. Thus Yen-lo
(Yama), the king of the dead, is said to have been a Chinese official
of the sixth century A.D. But there is little mythology. The deities
are like the figures on porcelain vases: all know their appearance and
some their names, but hardly anyone can give a coherent account of
them. A poly-dæmonism of this kind is even more fluid than Hinduism:
you may invent any god you like and neglect gods that don't concern
you. The habit of mind which produces sects in India, namely the
desire to exalt one's own deity above others and make him the All-God,
does not exist. No Chinese god inspires such feelings.
The deities of medieval and modern China, including the spirits
recognized by Chinese Buddhism, are curiously mixed and vague
personalities[559]. Nature worship is not absent, but it is nature as
seen by the fancy of the alchemist and astrologer. The powers that
control nature are also identified with ancient heroes, but they are
mostly heroes of the type of St. George and the Dragon of whom history
has little to say, and Chinese respect for the public service and
official rank takes the queer form of regarding these spirits as
celestial functionaries. Thus the gods have a Ministry of Thunder
which supervises the weather and a Board of Medicine which looks after
sickness and health.
The characteristic expression of Chinese popular religion is not
exactly myth or legend but religious romance. A writer starts from
some slender basis of fact and composes an edifying novel. Thus the
well-known story called Hsi-Yu-Chi[560] purports to be an account of
Hsüan Chuang's journey to India but, except that it represents the
hero as going there and returning with copies of the scriptures, it is
romance pure and simple, a fantastic Pilgrim's Progress, the scene
of which is sometimes on earth and sometimes in the heavens. The
traveller is accompanied by allegorical creatures such as a magic
monkey, a pig, and a dragon horse, who have each their own
significance and may be seen represented in Buddhist and Taoist
temples even to-day. So too another writer, starting from the
tradition that Avalokita (or Kuan-Yin) was once a benevolent human
being, set himself to write the life of Kuan-Yin, represented as a
princess endued with every virtue who cheerfully bears cruel
persecution for her devotion to Buddhism. It would be a mistake to
seek in this story any facts throwing light on the history of
Avalokita and his worship. It is a religious novel, important only
because it still finds numerous readers.
It is commonly said that the Chinese belong to three religions,
Confucianism, Buddhism and Taoism, and the saying is not altogether
inaccurate. Popular language speaks of the three creeds and an
ordinary person in the course of his life may take part in rites which
imply a belief in them all[561]. Indeed the fusion is so complete that
one may justly talk of Chinese religion, meaning the jumble of
ceremonies and beliefs accepted by the average man. Yet at the same
time it is possible to be an enthusiast for any one of the three
without becoming unconventional.
Of the three religions, Confucianism has a disputable claim to the
title. If the literary classes of China find it sufficient, they do so
only by rejecting the emotional and speculative sides of religion. The
Emperor Wan-li[562] made a just epigram when he said that Confucianism
and Buddhism are like the wings of a bird. Each requires the
co-operation of the other. Confucius was an ethical and political
philosopher, not a prophet, hierophant or church founder. As a
moralist he stands in the first rank, and I doubt if either the
Gospels or the Pitakas contain maxims for the life of a good citizen
equal to his sayings. But he ignored that unworldly morality which,
among Buddhists and Christians, is so much admired and so little
practised. In religion he claimed no originality, he brought no
revelation, but he accepted the current ideas of his age and time,
though perhaps he eliminated many popular superstitions. He commended
the worship of Heaven, which, if vague, still connected the deity with
the moral law, and he enjoined sacrifice to ancestors and spirits. But
all this apparently without any theory. His definition of wisdom is
well known: "to devote oneself to human duties and keep aloof from
spirits while still respecting them." This is not the utterance of a
sceptical statesman, equivalent to "remember the political importance
of religion but keep clear of it, so far as you can." The best
commentary is the statement in the _Analects_ that he seldom spoke
about the will of Heaven, yet such of his utterances about it as have
been preserved are full of awe and submission[563]. A certain delicacy
made him unwilling to define or discuss the things for which he felt
the highest reverence, and a similar detached but respectful attitude
is still a living constituent of Chinese society. The scholar and
gentleman will not engage in theological or metaphysical disputes, but
he respectfully takes part in ceremonies performed in honour of such
venerated names as Heaven, Earth and Confucius himself. Less
willingly, but still without remonstrance, he attends Buddhist or
Taoist celebrations.
If it is hard to define the religious element in Confucianism, it is
still harder to define Taoism, but for another reason, namely, that
the word has more than one meaning. In one sense it is the old popular
religion of China, of which Confucius selected the scholarly and
gentlemanly features. Taoism, on the contrary, rejected no godlings
and no legends however grotesque: it gave its approval to the most
extravagant and material superstitions, especially to the belief that
physical immortality could be insured by drinking an elixir, which
proved fatal to many illustrious dupes. As an organized body it owes
its origin to Chang-Ling _(c._ 130 A.D.) and his grandson
Chang-Lu[564]. The sect received its baptism of blood but made terms
with the Chinese Government, one condition being that a member of the
house of Chang should be recognized as its hereditary Patriarch or
Pope[565]. Rivalry with Buddhism also contributed to give Taoism
something of that consistency in doctrine and discipline which we
associate with the word religion, for in their desire to show that
they were as good as their opponents the Taoists copied them in
numerous and important particulars, for instance triads of deities,
sacred books and monastic institutions.
The power of inventive imitation is characteristic of Taoism[566]. In
most countries great gods are children of the popular mind. After long
gestation and infancy they emerge as deities bound to humanity by a
thousand ties of blood and place. But the Taoists, whenever they
thought a new deity needful or ornamental, simply invented him, often
with the sanction of an Imperial Edict. Thus Yü-Ti[567], the precious
or jade Emperor, who is esteemed the supreme ruler of the world, was
created or at least brought into notice about 1012 A.D. by the Emperor
Chên Tsung[568] who pretended to have correspondence with him. He is
probably an adaptation of Indra and is also identified with a prince
of ancient China, but cannot be called a popular hero like Rama or
Krishna, and has not the same hold on the affections of the people.
But Taoism is also the name commonly given not only to this fanciful
church but also to the philosophic ideas expounded in the Tao-tê-ching
and in the works of Chuang-tzŭ. The Taoist priesthood claim this
philosophy, but the two have no necessary connection. Taoism as
philosophy represents a current of thought opposed to Confucianism,
compared with which it is ascetic, mystic and pantheistic, though
except in comparison it does not deserve such epithets. My use of
pantheistic in particular may raise objection, but it seems to me that
Tao, however hard to define, is analogous to Brahman, the impersonal
Spirit of Hindu philosophy. The universe is the expression of Tao and
in conforming to Tao man finds happiness. For Confucianism, as for
Europe, man is the pivot and centre of things, but less so for
Taoism and Buddhism. Philosophic Taoism, being somewhat abstruse and
unpractical, might seem to have little chance of becoming a popular
superstition. But from early times it was opposed to Confucianism, and
as Confucianism became more and more the hall-mark of the official and
learned classes, Taoism tended to become popular, at the expense of
degrading itself. From early times too it dallied with such
fascinating notions as the acquisition of miraculous powers and
longevity. But, as an appeal to the emotional and spiritual sides of
humanity, it was, if superior to Confucianism, inferior to Buddhism.
Buddhism, unlike Confucianism and Taoism, entered China as a foreign
religion, but, in using this phrase, we must ask how far any system of
belief prevalent there is accepted as what we call a religion. Even in
Ceylon and Burma people follow the observances of two religions or at
least of a religion and a superstition, but they would undoubtedly
call themselves Buddhists. In China the laity use no such designations
and have no sense of exclusive membership. For them a religion is
comparable to a club, which they use for special purposes. You may
frequent both Buddhist and Taoist temples just as you may belong to
both the Geographical and Zoological Societies. Perhaps the position
of spiritualism in England offers the nearest analogy to a Chinese
religion. There are, I believe, some few persons for whom spiritualism
is a definite, sufficient and exclusive creed. These may be compared
to the Buddhist clergy with a small minority of the laity. But the
majority of those who are interested or even believe in spiritualism,
do not identify themselves with it in this way. They attend séances as
their curiosity or affections may prompt, but these beliefs and
practices do not prevent them from also belonging to a Christian
denomination. Imagine spiritualism to be better organized as an
institution and you will have a fairly accurate picture of the average
Chinaman's attitude to Buddhism and Taoism. One may also compare the
way in which English poets use classical mythology. _Lycidas_, for
instance, is an astounding compound of classical and biblical ideas,
and Milton does not hesitate to call the Supreme Being Jove in a
serious passage. Yet Milton's Christianity has never, so far as I
know, been called in question.
There is an obvious historical parallel between the religions of
the Chinese and early Roman Empires. In both, the imperial and
official worship was political and indifferent to dogma without being
hostile, provided no sectary refused to call the Emperor Son of Heaven
or sacrifice to his image. In both, ample provision was made outside
the state cult for allaying the fears of superstition, as well as for
satisfying the soul's thirst for knowledge and emotion. A Roman
magistrate of the second century A.D. may have offered official
sacrifices, propitiated local genii, and attended the mysteries of
Mithra, in the same impartial way as Chinese magistrates took part a
few years ago in the ceremonies of Confucianism, Taoism and Buddhism.
In both cases there was entire liberty to combine with the official
religious routine private beliefs and observances incongruous with it
and often with one another: in both there was the same essential
feature that no deity demanded exclusive allegiance. The popular
polytheism of China is indeed closely analogous to the paganism of the
ancient world[569]. Hinduism contains too much personal religion and
real spiritual feeling to make the resemblance perfect, but in dealing
with Apollo, Mars and Venus a Roman of the early Empire seems to have
shown the mixture of respect and scepticism which is characteristic of
China.
This attitude implies not only a certain want of conviction but also a
utilitarian view of religion. The Chinese visit a temple much as they
visit a shop or doctor, for definite material purposes, and if it be
asked whether they are a religious people in the better sense of the
word, I am afraid the answer must be in the negative. It is with
regret that I express this opinion and I by no means imply that there
are not many deeply religious persons in China, but whereas in India
the obvious manifestations of superstition are a superficial disease
and the heart of the people is keenly sensitive to questions of
personal salvation and speculative theology, this cannot be said of
the masses in China, where religion, as seen, consists of
superstitious rites and the substratum of thought and feeling is
small.
This struck me forcibly when visiting Siam some years ago. In
Bangkok there is a large Chinese population and several Buddhist
temples have been made over to them. The temples frequented by Siamese
are not unlike catholic churches in Europe: the decoration is roughly
similar, the standard of decorum much the same. The visitors come to
worship, meditate or hear sermons. But in the temples used by the
Chinese, a lower standard is painfully obvious and the atmosphere is
different. Visitors are there in plenty, but their object is to "get
luck," and the business of religion has become transformed into
divination and spiritual gambling. The worshipper, on entering, goes
to a counter where he buys tapers and incense-sticks, together with
some implements of superstition such as rods or inscribed cards. After
burning incense he draws a card or throws the rods up into the air and
takes an augury from the result. Though the contrast presented in Siam
makes the degradation more glaring, yet these temples in Bangkok are
not worse than many which I have seen in China. I gladly set on the
other side of the account some beautiful and reverent halls of worship
in the larger monasteries, but I fear that the ordinary Chinese
temple, whether Taoist or Buddhist, is a ghostly shop where, in return
for ceremonies which involve neither moral nor intellectual effort,
the customer is promised good luck, offspring, and other material
blessings.
It can hardly be denied that the populace in China are grossly
superstitious. Superstition is a common failing and were statistics
available to show the number and status of Europeans who believe in
fortune-telling and luck, the result might be startling. But in most
civilized countries such things are furtive and apologetic. In China
the strangest forms of magic and divination enjoy public esteem. The
ideas which underlie popular practice and ritual are worthy of African
savages: there has been a monstrous advance in systematization, yet
the ethics and intellect of China, brilliant as are their
achievements, have not leavened the lump. The average Chinese, though
an excellent citizen, full of common sense and shrewd in business, is
in religious matters a victim of fatuous superstition and completely
divorced from the moral and intellectual standards which he otherwise
employs.
Conspicuous among these superstitions is Fêng Shui or
Geomancy[570], a pseudo-science which is treated as seriously as
law or surveying. It is based on the idea that localities have a sort
of spiritual climate which brings prosperity or the reverse and
depends on the influences of stars and nature spirits, such as the
azure dragon and white tiger. But since these agencies find expression
in the contours of a locality, they can be affected if its features
are modified by artificial means, for instance, the construction of
walls and towers. Buddhism did not disdain to patronize these notions.
The principal hall of a monastery is usually erected on a specially
auspicious site and the appeals issued for the repair of sacred
buildings often point out the danger impending if edifices essential
to the good Fêng Shui of a district are allowed to decay. The
scepticism and laughter of the educated does not clear the air, for
superstition can flourish when neither respected nor believed. The
worst feature of religion in China is that the decently educated
public ridicules its external observances, but continues to practise
them, because they are connected with occasions of good fellowship or
because their omission might be a sign of disrespect to departed
relatives or simply because in dealing with uncanny things it is
better to be on the safe side. This is the sum of China's composite
religion as visible in public and private rites. Its ethical value is
far higher than might be supposed, for its most absurd superstitions
also recommend love and respect in family life and a high standard of
civic duty. But China has never admitted that public or private
morality requires the support of a religious creed.
As might be expected, life and animation are more apparent in sects
than in conventional religion. Since the recent revolution it is no
longer necessary to confute the idea that the Chinese are a stationary
and unemotional race, but its inaccuracy was demonstrated by many
previous movements especially the T'ai-p'ing rebellion, which had at
first a religious tinge. Yet in China such movements, though they may
kindle enthusiasm and provoke persecution, rarely have the religious
value attaching to a sect in Christian, Hindu and Mohammedan
countries. Viewed as an ecclesiastical or spiritual movement, the
T́ai-p'ing is insignificant: it was a secret society permitted by
circumstances to become a formidable rising and in its important
phases the political element was paramount. The same is true of many
sects which have not achieved such notoriety. They are secret
societies which adopt a creed, but it is not in the creed that their
real vitality lies.
If it is difficult to say how far the Buddhism of China is a religion,
it is equally difficult to define its relation to the State. Students
well acquainted with the literature as well as with the actual
condition of China have expressed diametrically opposite views as to
the religious attitude of the Imperial Government[571], one stating
roundly that it was "the most intolerant, the most persecuting of all
earthly Governments," and another that it "at no period refused
hospitality and consideration to any religion recommended as
such[572]."
In considering such questions I would again emphasize the fact that
Chinese terms have often not the same extension as their apparent
synonyms in European languages, which, of course, means that the
provinces of human life and thought have also different boundaries.
For most countries the word clergy has a definite meaning and, in
spite of great diversities, may be applied to Christian clerics,
Mollahs and Brahmans without serious error. It means a class of men
who are the superintendents of religion, but also more. On the one
side, though they may have serious political differences with the
Government, they are usually in touch with it: on the other, though
they may dislike reformers and movements from below, they patronize
and minister to popular sentiment. They are closely connected with
education and learning and sometimes with the law. But in China there
is no class which unites all these features. Learning, law and
education are represented by the Confucian scholars or literati.
Though no one would think of calling them priests, yet they may offer
official sacrifices, like Roman magistrates. Though they are
contemptuous of popular superstition, yet they embody the popular
ideal. It is the pride of a village to produce a scholar. But the
scholarship of the literati is purely Confucian: Buddhist and Taoist
learning have no part in it.
The priest, whether Buddhist or Taoist, is not in the mind of the
people the repository of learning and law. He is not in religious
matters the counterpart of the secular arm, but rather a private
practitioner, duly licensed but of no particular standing. But he is
skilful in his own profession: he has access to the powers who help,
pity and console, and even the sceptic seeks his assistance when
confronted with the dangers of this world and the next.
The student of Chinese history may object that at many periods,
notably under the Yüan dynasty, the Buddhist clergy were officially
recognized as an educational body and even received the title of
Kuo-shih or teacher of the people. This is true. Such recognition by
no means annihilated the literati, but it illustrates the decisive
influence exercised by the Emperor and the court. We have, on the one
side, a learned official class, custodians of the best national ideals
but inclined to reject emotion and speculation as well as
superstition: on the other, two priesthoods, prone to superstition but
legitimately strong in so far as they satisfied the emotional and
speculative instincts. The literati held persistently, though
respectfully, to the view that the Emperor should be a Confucianist
pure and simple, but Buddhism and Taoism had such strong popular
support that it was always safe and often politic for an Emperor to
patronize them. Hence an Emperor of personal convictions was able to
turn the balance, and it must be added that Buddhism often flourished
in the courts of weak and dissolute Emperors who were in the hands of
women and eunuchs. Some of these latter were among its most
distinguished devotees.
All Chinese religions agreed in accepting the Emperor as head of the
Church, not merely titular but active. He exercised a strange
prerogative of creating, promoting and degrading deities. Even within
the Buddhist sphere he regulated the incarnations of Bodhisattvas in
the persons of Lamas and from time to time re-edited the canon[573] or
added new works to it. This extreme Erastianism had its roots in
Indian as well as Chinese ideas. The Confucianist, while reminding the
Emperor that he should imitate the sages and rulers of antiquity,
gladly admitted his right to control the worship of all spirits[574]
and the popular conscience, while probably unable to define what was
meant by the title _Son of Heaven_[575], felt that it gave him a
viceregal right to keep the gods in order, so long as he did not
provoke famine or other national calamities by mismanagement. The
Buddhists, though tenacious of freedom in the spiritual life, had no
objection to the patronage of princes. Asoka permitted himself to
regulate the affairs of the Church and the success of Buddhists as
missionaries was due in no small measure to their tact in allowing
other sovereigns to follow his example.
That Buddhism should have obtained in China a favourable reception and
a permanent status is indeed remarkable, for in two ways it was
repugnant to the sentiments of the governing classes to say nothing of
the differences in temper and outlook which divide Hindus and Chinese.
Firstly, its ideal was asceticism and celibacy; it gave family life
the lower place and ignored the popular Chinese view that to have a
son is not only a duty, but also essential for those sacrifices
without which the departed spirit cannot have peace. Secondly, it was
not merely a doctrine but an ecclesiastical organization, a
congregation of persons who were neither citizens nor subjects, not
exactly an _imperium in imperio_ nor a secret society, but
dangerously capable of becoming either. Such bodies have always
incurred the suspicion and persecution of the Chinese Government. Even
in the fifth century Buddhist monasteries were accused of organizing
armed conspiracies and many later sects suffered from the panic which
they inspired in official bosoms. But both difficulties were overcome
by the suppleness of the clergy. If they outraged family sentiment
they managed to make themselves indispensable at funeral
ceremonies[576]. If they had a dangerous resemblance to an _imperium
in imperio_, they minimized it by their obvious desire to exercise
influence through the Emperor. Though it is true that the majority of
anti-dynastic political sects had a Buddhist colour, the most
prominent and influential Buddhists never failed in loyalty. To this
adroitness must be added a solid psychological advantage. The success
of Buddhism in China was due to the fact that it presented religious
emotion and speculation in the best form known there, and when it
began to spread the intellectual soil was not unpropitious. The higher
Taoist philosophy had made familiar the ideas of quietism and the
contemplative life: the age was unsettled, harassed alike by foreign
invasion and civil strife. In such times when even active natures tire
of unsuccessful struggles, the asylum of a monastery has attractions
for many.
We have now some idea of the double position of Buddhism in China and
can understand how it sometimes appears as almost the established
church and sometimes as a persecuted sect. The reader will do well to
remember that in Europe the relations of politics to religion have not
always been simple: many Catholic sovereigns have quarrelled with
Popes and monks. The French Government supports the claims of Catholic
missions in China but does not favour the Church in France. The fact
that Huxley was made a Privy Councillor does not imply that Queen
Victoria approved of his religious views. In China the repeated
restrictive edicts concerning monasteries should not be regarded as
acts of persecution. Every politician can see the loss to the state if
able-bodied men become monks by the thousand. In periods of literary
and missionary zeal, large congregations of such monks may have a
sufficient sphere of activity but in sleepy, decadent periods they are
apt to become a moral or political danger. A devout Buddhist or
Catholic may reasonably hold that though the monastic life is the best
for the elect, yet for the unworthy it is more dangerous than the
temptations of the world. Thus the founder of the Ming dynasty had
himself been a bonze, yet he limited the number and age of those
who might become monks[577]. On the other hand, he attended Buddhist
services and published an edition of the Tripitaka. In this and in the
conduct of most Emperors there is little that is inconsistent or
mysterious: they regarded religion not in our fashion as a system
deserving either allegiance or rejection, but as a modern Colonial
Governor might regard education. Some Governors are enthusiastic for
education: others mistrust it as a stimulus of disquieting ideas: most
accept it as worthy of occasional patronage, like hospitals and races.
In the same way some Emperors, like Wu-Ti[578], were enthusiasts for
Buddhism and made it practically the state religion: a few others were
definitely hostile either from conviction or political circumstances,
but probably most sovereigns regarded it as the average British
official regards education, as something that one can't help having,
that one must belaud on certain public occasions, that may now and
then be useful, but still emphatically something to be kept within
limits.
Outbursts against Buddhism are easy to understand. I have pointed out
its un-Chinese features and the persistent opposition of the literati.
These were sufficient reasons for repressive measures whenever the
Emperor was unbuddhist in his sympathies, especially if the
monasteries had enjoyed a period of prosperity and become crowded and
wealthy. What is harder to understand is the occasional favour shown
by apparently anti-Buddhist Emperors.
The Sacred Edict of the great K'ang Hsi forbids heterodoxy (i tuan) in
which the official explanation clearly includes Buddhism[579]. It was
published in his extreme youth, but had his mature approval, and until
recently was read in every prefecture twice a month. But the same
Emperor gave many gifts to monasteries, and in 1705 he issued a
decree to the monks of P'uto in which he said, "we since our boyhood
have been earnest students of Confucian lore and have had no time to
become minutely acquainted with the sacred books of Buddhism, but we
are satisfied that Virtue is the one word which indicates what is
essential in both systems. Let us pray to the compassionate Kuan-yin
that she may of her grace send down upon our people the spiritual rain
and sweet dew of the good Law: that she may grant them bounteous
harvests, seasonable winds and the blessings of peace, harmony and
long life and finally that she may lead them to the salvation which
she offers to all beings in the Universe[580]." The two edicts are not
consistent but such inconsistency is no reproach to a statesman nor
wholly illogical. The Emperor reprimands extravagance in doctrine and
ceremonial and commends Confucianism to his subjects as all that is
necessary for good life and good government, but when he finds that
Buddhism conduces to the same end he accords his patronage and
politely admits the existence and power of Kuan-yin.
But I must pass on to another question, the relation of Chinese to
Indian Buddhism. Chinese Buddhism is often spoken of as a strange and
corrupt degeneration, a commixture of Indian and foreign ideas. Now if
such phrases mean that the pulse of life is feeble and the old lights
dim, we must regretfully admit their truth, but still little is to be
found in Chinese Buddhism except the successive phases of later Indian
Buddhism, introduced into China from the first century A.D. onwards.
In Japan there arose new sects, but in China, when importation ceased,
no period of invention supervened. The T'ien-t'ai school has some
originality, and native and foreign ideas were combined by the
followers of Bodhidharma. But the remaining schools were all founded
by members of Indian sects or by Chinese who aimed at scrupulous
imitation of Indian models. Until the eighth century, when the
formative period came to an end, we have an alternation of Indian or
Central Asian teachers arriving in China to meet with respect and
acceptance, and of Chinese enquirers who visited India in order to
discover the true doctrine and practice and were honoured on their
return in proportion as they were believed to have found it. There is
this distinction between China and such countries as Java, Camboja and
Champa, that whereas in them we find a mixture of Hinduism and
Buddhism, in China the traces of Hinduism are slight. The imported
ideas, however corrupt, were those of Indian Buddhist scholars, not
the mixed ideas of the Indian layman[581].
Of course Buddhist theory and practice felt the influence of their new
surroundings. The ornaments and embroidery of the faith are Chinese
and sometimes hide the original material. Thus Kuan-yin, considered
historically, has grown out of the Indian deity Avalokita, but the
goddess worshipped by the populace is the heroine of the Chinese
romance mentioned above. And, since many Chinese are only half
Buddhists, tales about gods and saints are taken only half-seriously;
the Buddha periodically invites the immortals to dine with him in
Heaven and the Eighteen Lohan are described as converted brigands.
In every monastery the buildings, images and monks obviously bear the
stamp of the country. Yet nearly all the doctrines and most of the
usages have Indian parallels. The ritual has its counterpart in what
I-Ching describes as seen by himself in his Indian travels. China has
added the idea of _fêng-shui_, and has modified architectural forms.
For instance the many-storeyed pagoda is an elongation of the
stupa[582]. So, too, in ceremonial, the great prominence given to
funeral rites and many superstitious details are Chinese, yet, as I
have often mentioned in this work, rites on behalf of the dead were
tolerated by early Buddhism. The curious mingling of religious
services with theatrical pagents which Hsüan Chuang witnessed at
Allahabad in the reign of Harsha, has its modest parallel to-day in
many popular festivals.
The numerous images which crowd a Chinese temple, the four kings,
Arhats and Bodhisattvas, though of unfamiliar appearance to the Indian
student, are Indian in origin. A few Taoist deities may have side
chapels, but they are not among the principal objects of worship. The
greater part of the Chinese Tripitaka is a translation from the
Sanskrit and the Chinese works (only 194 against 1467 translations)
are chiefly exegetical. Thus, though Chinese bonzes countenance native
superstitions and gladly undertake to deal with all the gods and
devils of the land, yet in its doctrine, literature, and even in many
externals their Buddhism remains an Indian importation. If we seek in
it for anything truly Chinese, it is to be found not in the
constituents, but in the atmosphere, which, like a breeze from a
mountain monastery sometimes freshens the gilded shrines and libraries
of verbose sutras. It is the native spirit of the Far East which finds
expression in the hill-side hermit's sense of freedom and in dark
sayings such as _Buddhism is the oak-tree in my garden_. Every free
and pure heart can become a Buddha, but also is one with the life of
birds and flowers. Both the love of nature[583] and the belief that
men can become divine can easily be paralleled in Indian texts, but
they were not, I think, imported into China, and joy in natural beauty
and sympathy with wild life are much more prominent in Chinese than in
Indian art.
Is then Buddhist doctrine, as opposed to the superstitions tolerated
by Buddhism, something exotic and without influence on the national
life? That also is not true. The reader will perceive from what has
gone before that if he asks for statistics of Buddhism in China, the
answer must be, in the Buddha's own phrase, that the question is not
properly put. It is incorrect to describe China as a Buddhist country.
We may say that it contains so many million Mohammedans or Christians,
because these creeds are definite and exclusive. We cannot quote
similar figures for Buddhism or Confucianism. Yet assuredly Buddhism
has been a great power in China, as great perhaps as Christianity in
Europe, if we remember how much is owed by European art, literature,
law and science to non-Christian sources. The Chinese language is full
of Buddhist phraseology[584], not only in literature but in
popular songs and proverbs and an inspection of such entries in a
Chinese dictionary as _Fo_ (Buddha), _Kuan Yin_, _Ho Shang_
(monk)[585] will show how large and not altogether flattering a part
they play in popular speech.
Popular literature bears the same testimony. It is true that in what
are esteemed the higher walks of letters Buddhism has little place.
The quotations and allusions which play there so prominent a part are
taken from the classics and Confucianism can claim as its own the
historical, lexicographical and critical[586] works which are the
solid and somewhat heavy glory of Chinese literature. But its lighter
and less cultivated blossoms, such as novels, fairy stories and
poetry, are predominantly Buddhist or Taoist in inspiration. This may
be easily verified by a perusal of such works as the _Dream of the Red
Chamber_, _Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio_, and Wieger's _Folk
Lore Chinois Moderne_. The same is true in general of the great
Chinese poets, many of whom did not conceal that (in a poetic and
unascetic fashion) they were attached to Buddhism.
It may be asked if the inspiration is not Taoist in the main rather
than Buddhist. Side by side with ethics and ceremony, a native stream
of bold and weird imagination has never ceased to flow in China and
there was no need to import tales of the Genii, immortal saints and
vampire beauties. But when any coherency unites these ideas of the
supernatural, that I think is the work of Buddhism and so far as
Taoism itself has any coherency it is an imitation of Buddhism. Thus
the idea of metempsychosis as one of many passing fancies may be
indigenous to China but its prevalence in popular thought and language
is undoubtedly due to Buddhism, for Taoism and Confucianism have
nothing definite to say as to the state of the dead.
Much the same story of Buddhist influence is told by Chinese art,
especially painting and sculpture. Here too Taoism is by no means
excluded: it may be said to represent the artistic side of the
Chinese mind, as Confucianism represents the political. But it is
impossible to mistake the significance of chronology. As soon as
Buddhism was well established in China, art entered on a new phase
which culminated in the masterpieces of the T'ang and Sung[587].
Buddhism did not introduce painting into China or even perfect a
rudimentary art. The celebrated roll of Ku K'ai-chih[588] shows no
trace of Indian influence and presupposes a long artistic tradition.
But Mahayanist Buddhism brought across Central Asia new shapes and
motives. Some of its imports were of doubtful artistic value, such as
figures with many limbs and eyes, but with them came ideas which
enriched Chinese art with new dramatic power, passion and solemnity.
Taoism dealt with other worlds but they were gardens of the
Hesperides, inhabited by immortal wizards and fairy queens, not those
disquieting regions where the soul receives the reward of its deeds.
But now the art of Central Asia showed Chinese painters something new;
saints preaching the law with a gesture of authority and deities of
infinite compassion inviting suppliants to approach their thrones. And
with them came the dramatic story of Gotama's life and all the legends
of the Jatakas.
This clearly is not Taoism, but when the era of great art and
literature begins, any distinction between the two creeds, except for
theological purposes, becomes artificial, for Taoism borrowed many
externals of Buddhism, and Buddhism, while not abandoning its austere
and emaciated saints, also accepted the Taoist ideal of the careless
wandering hermit, friend of mountain pines and deer. Wei Hsieh[589]
who lived under the Chin dynasty, when the strength of Buddhism was
beginning to be felt, is considered by Chinese critics as the earliest
of the great painters and is said to have excelled in both Buddhist
and Taoist subjects. The same may be said of the most eminent names,
such as Ku K'ai-chih and Wu Tao-tzŭ[590], and we may also remember
that Italian artists painted the birth of Venus and the origin of the
milky way as well as Annunciations and Assumptions, without any
hint that one incident was less true than another. Buddhism not only
provided subjects like the death of the Buddha and Kuan Yin, the
Goddess of Mercy, which hold in Chinese art the same place as the
Crucifixion and the Madonna in Europe, and generation after generation
have stimulated the noblest efforts of the best painters. It also
offered a creed and ideals suited to the artistic temperament: peace
and beauty reigned in its monasteries: its doctrine that life is one
and continuous is reflected in that love of nature, that sympathetic
understanding of plants and animals, that intimate union of sentiment
with landscape which marks the best Chinese pictures.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 557: For Chinese Buddhism see especially Johnston, _Chinese
Buddhism_, 1913 (cited as Johnston). Much information about the
popular side of Buddhism and Taoism nay be found in _Recherches sur
les superstitions en Chine_ par le Père Henri Doré, 10 vols.
1911-1916, Shanghai (cited as Doré).]
[Footnote 558: A curious instance of deification is mentioned in
_Muséon_, 1914, p. 61. It appears that several deceased Jesuits have
been deified. For a recent instance of deification in 1913 see Doré,
X. p. 753.]
[Footnote 559: The spirits called San Kuan [Chinese: ] or San Yüan
[Chinese: ] are a good instance of Chinese deities. The words mean
Three Agents or Principles who strictly speaking have no names: (_a_)
Originally they appear to represent Heaven, Earth and Water. (_b_)
Then they stand for three periods of the year and the astrological
influences which rule each, (_c_) As Agents, and more or less
analogous to human personalities, Heaven gives happiness, Earth
pardons sins and Water delivers from misfortune. _(d)_They are
identified with the ancient Emperors Yao, Shun, Yü. (_e_) They are
also identified with three Censors under the Emperor Li-Wang, B.C.
878-841.]
[Footnote 560: [Chinese: ] Hsüan Chuang's own account of his travels
bears the slightly different title of Hsi-Yü-Chi. [Chinese: ] The
work noticed here is attributed to Chiu Ch'ang Ch'un, a Taoist priest
of the thirteenth century. It is said to be the Buddhist book most
widely read in Korea where it is printed in the popular script. An
abridged English translation has been published by T. Richard under
the title of _A Mission to Heaven_.]
[Footnote 561: I am writing immediately after the abolition of the
Imperial Government (1912), and what I say naturally refers to a state
of things which is passing away. But it is too soon to say how the new
regime will affect religion. There is an old saying that China is
supported by the three religions as a tripod by three legs.]
[Footnote 562: [Chinese: ] strictly speaking the title of his reign
1573-1620.]
[Footnote 563: Compare _Anal_. IX. 1 and xiv. 38. 2. See also
_Doctrine of the Mean_, chap, xvi, for more positive views about
spirits.]
[Footnote 564: [Chinese: ] and [Chinese: ] See De Groot, "Origins of
the Taoist Church" in _Trans. Third Congress Hist. Relig_. 1908.]
[Footnote 565: Chang Yüan-hsü, who held office in 1912, was deprived
of his titles by the Republican Government. In 1914 petitions were
presented for their restoration, but I do not know with what result.
See _Peking Daily News_, September 5th, 1914.]
[Footnote 566: Something similar may be seen in Mormonism where
angels and legends have been invented by individual fancy without any
background of tradition.]
[Footnote 567: [Chinese: ]]
[Footnote 568: [Chinese: ]]
[Footnote 569: The sixth Æneid would seem to a Chinese quite a natural
description of the next world. In it we have Elysium, Tartarus,
transmigration of souls, souls who can find no resting place because
their bodies are unburied, and phantoms showing still the wounds which
their bodies received in life. Nor is there any attempt to harmonize
these discordant ideas.]
[Footnote 570: [Chinese: ] A somewhat similar pseudo-science called
vatthu-vijjâ is condemned in the Pali scriptures. _E.g._ Digha N. I.
21. Astrology also has been a great force in Chinese politics. See
Bland and Backhouse, _Ann. and Memoirs, passim_. The favour shown at
different times to Buddhist, Manichæan and Catholic priests was often
due to their supposed knowledge of astrology.]
[Footnote 571: I may again remind the reader that I am not speaking of
the Chinese Republic but of the Empire. The long history of its
relations to Buddhism, Taoism and Confucianism, though it concerns the
past, is of great interest.]
[Footnote 572: De Groot and Parker. For an elaboration of the first
thesis see especially De Groot's _Sectarianism and Religious
Persecution in China_.]
[Footnote 573: But it must be remembered that the Chinese canon is not
entirely analogous to the collections of the scriptures current in
India, Ceylon or Europe.]
[Footnote 574: The Emperor is the Lord of all spirits and has the
right to sacrifice to all spirits, whereas others should sacrifice
only to such spirits as concern them. For the Emperor's title "Lord of
Spirits," see Shu Ching IV., VI. 2-3, and Shih Ching, III., II. 8, 3.]
[Footnote 575: The title is undoubtedly very ancient and means Son of
Heaven or Son of God. See Hirth, _Ancient History of China_, pp.
95-96. But the precise force of _Son_ is not clear. The Emperor was
Viceregent of Heaven, high priest and responsible for natural
phenomena, but he could not in historical times be regarded as sprung
(like the Emperor of Japan) from a family of divine descent, because
the dynasties, and with them the imperial family, were subject to
frequent change.]
[Footnote 576: Similarly it is a popular tenet that if a man becomes a
monk all his ancestors go to Heaven. See _Paraphrase of sacred Edict_,
VII.]
[Footnote 577: Japanese Emperors did the same, _e.g._ Kwammū
Tennō in 793.]
[Footnote 578: [Chinese: ]
[Footnote 579: K'ang Hsi is responsible only for the text of the Edict
which merely forbids heterodoxy. But his son Yung Chêng who published
the explanation and paraphrase repaired the Buddhist temples at P'uto
and the Taoist temple at Lung-hu-shan.]
[Footnote 580: See Johnston, p. 352. I have not seen the Chinese text
of this edict. In Laufer and Francke's _Epigraphische Denkmäler aus
China_ is a long inscription of Kang Hsi's giving the history both
legendary and recent of the celebrated sandal-wood image of the
Buddha.]
[Footnote 581: This indicates that the fusion of Buddhism and Hinduism
was less complete than some scholars suppose. Where there was a
general immigration of Hindus, the mixture is found, but the Indian
visitors to China were mostly professional teachers and their teaching
was definitely Buddhist. There are, however, two non-Buddhist books in
the Chinese Tripitaka. Nanjio Cat. Nos. 1295 and 1300.]
[Footnote 582: It has been pointed out by Fergusson and others that
there were high towers in China before the Buddhist period. Still, the
numerous specimens extant date from Buddhist times, many were built
over relics, and the accounts of both Fa-hsien and Hsüan Chuang show
that the Stupa built by Kanishka at Peshawar had attracted the
attention of the Chinese.
I regret that de Groot's interesting work _Der Thüpa: das heiligste
Heiligtum des Buddhismus in China_, 1919, reached me too late for me
to make use of it.]
[Footnote 583: The love of nature shown in the Pali Pitakas
(particularly the Thera and Therî Gâthâ) has often been noticed, but
it is also strong in Mahâyânist literature. _E.g._ Bodhicaryâvatâra
VIII. 26-39 and 86-88.]
[Footnote 584: See especially Watters, _Essays on the Chinese
Language_, chaps, VIII and IX, and Clementi, _Cantonese Love Songs in
English_, pp. 9 to 12]
[Footnote 585: [Chinese: ]]
[Footnote 586: I cannot refrain from calling attention to the
difference between the Chinese and most other Asiatic peoples
(especially the Hindus) as exhibited in their literature. Quite apart
from European influence the Chinese produced several centuries ago
catalogues of museums and descriptive lists of inscriptions, works
which have no parallel in Hindu India.]
[Footnote 587: There are said to have been four great schools of
Buddhist painting under the T'ang. See Kokka 294 and 295.]
[Footnote 588: Preserved in the British Museum and published.]
[Footnote 589: [Chinese: ] of the [Chinese: ] dynasty.]
[Footnote 590: [Chinese: ]