TAOISM, LOCAL DEITIES, TREE-WORSHIP
It is not only Confucianism, with its grand ethical system, its
acquiescence in Nature-worship and its cult of ancestors, that has
built up the curiously unsymmetrical edifice of Chinese religion.
Taoism and Buddhism must also be taken into account; and if one can
find for them but few words of praise it is only fair to remember
that the Taoism of to-day has very little in common with the lofty
if sometimes rather misty speculations enshrined in that remarkable
old classic the _Tao Tê Ching_, and that Buddhism--as now practised
in north-eastern Shantung and indeed in the greater part of China
(excluding certain famous monastic centres)--is perhaps irrevocably
degenerate and corrupt. The _Tao Tê Ching_, the sacred book of Taoism,
is generally supposed, probably on insufficient grounds,[334] to have
been written by a philosopher known as Lao Tzŭ, said to have been an
elder contemporary of Confucius, in the sixth century B.C.
The Taoist philosophy, as set forth in that book, may or may not have
been indigenous to China; some writers insist that it was wholly a
product of Chinese speculation,[335] while others trace it to early
Indian philosophy[336] and even connect it with Buddhism.[337] Though
its doctrines are metaphysical as well as ethical, Taoism is to some
extent comparable with Confucianism, in which the ethical element is
predominant. Indeed most writers have admitted that in enunciating
the noble doctrine "Return good for evil," Lao Tzŭ rose to a height
never quite attained by Confucius, though the latter also anticipated
Christianity by formulating a version of the Golden Rule. One of the
best outline comparisons ever attempted between the two systems of
Taoism and Confucianism is that recently made by a sympathetic American
writer,[338] who concludes with the carefully-weighed and highly
important utterance that the two codes combined "furnished at once the
foundation and superstructure of as pure, high, and at the same time
practical system of ethics as the world has ever seen. It need fear
comparison with none. Even that laid down in the Bible, if carefully
separated from the religious element here and there intermingled with
it, can do no more for man than this ancient system of the Far East can
do. And why should it be otherwise, since the two are similar almost to
identity, and are, as has been claimed, the necessary outgrowth of the
same human spirit."
There is no better augury for future good relations between the
thinkers and scholars (if not the Governments and peoples) of East
and West than the recent growth of a tolerant and generous spirit on
the part of European students of oriental ethic and religion. One
still hears constantly of "heathen" and "pagan"--words which, however
inoffensive in their original meaning, have come to be regarded as
somewhat opprobrious epithets; but that there is a very decided change
for the better coming over missionary enterprise in China can be proved
very simply by a comparison between the sympathetic appreciation shown
in the passage from which the above statement is quoted (written, be
it noted, by one who is keenly interested in missionary work in China)
and the almost inconceivable bigotry and narrow-mindedness shown by
many missionary writers only a few years ago. Even Dr. Legge, the
laborious and conscientious translator of the Chinese classics, allowed
his Christian prepossessions, as we have already seen, to obscure
his judgment and stultify his conclusions. "Their sages, _falsely so
called_," is how he refers to some of the greatest ethical teachers the
world has seen.[339] "In January, 1882," writes a doctor of divinity,
"a distinguished missionary in China attacked Max Müller as a foe to
missions and as a heathen because he had instituted the series of
translations of the Sacred Books of the East. The translation itself
was an offence; but the use of the title _Sacred_ definitely fixed
Müller's status. Moreover, at even a later date, some missionaries in
answer to the query from Chinamen 'Where now is Confucius?' were prompt
to reply 'In hell.'"[340]
The missionaries of to-day (let us hope against hope that there are no
exceptions) have abandoned their old savage belief that the "heathen"
as such are destined for eternal damnation. This change of belief is of
itself sufficient to revolutionise the attitude of Christian peoples
towards those who are not Christians, and surely it makes the need of
proselytising the "heathen" infinitely less urgent than it seemed to be
when that theory still held sway. "If God be father of all," writes a
missionary of fourteen years' standing in China, "it is as impossible
to believe in the Bible as the sole written depository of the Spirit
of God as in the condemnation of the heathen which once we were
constrained to believe it taught."[341]
It is perhaps more necessary to lay emphasis on the value of pure
Taoism as an ethical system than on that of the Confucian code, for
one is apt--especially if one lives among the Chinese--to condemn
Taoism almost unheard on account of the gross superstitions that
characterise it at the present day. Popular Taoism is and for many
centuries has been a compound of jugglery and fraud, of pseudo-religion
and pseudo-philosophy. With all this Lao Tzŭ had nothing to do. That
great man and his brilliant successor Chuang Tzŭ--who has been styled
the St. Paul of Taoism--founded their theory of life and conduct on
a mysterious entity called _Tao_, a word which has been variously
translated Reason, Realisation, the Norm, the Word (λόγος), the Way,
the First Cause, Nature, the Idea of the Good (in the Platonic sense),
the Creative Principle, Truth, the Metaphysical Absolute, Virtue,
Wisdom, God. This is no place for a discussion of the philosophical
principles of pure Taoism, which has no visible existence among the
farmers of Weihaiwei. All that need be said here is that to understand
Tao and to regulate one's life according to Tao was to be a _chên-jên_,
a true man, a Taoist.
As time went on Taoism became ninety-nine parts "ism" to one part
Tao: it dabbled in alchemy, fortune-telling and astrology, and its
votaries (who included several Chinese emperors) gave themselves up to
a search for the elixir of immortality and the elusive secret of the
transmutation of metals. The torch of a lofty philosophy passed into
the hands of men who, instead of using the light to aid them in the
search for the sublime _Tao_, soon quenched it in the stagnant waters
of witchcraft and demonology. Some writers seem to have assumed that
Lao Tzŭ, in spite of the acknowledged fact of his intellectual and
moral greatness, was in some mysterious way the unwitting cause of the
later corruptions: but, as has been said, a clear distinction must be
drawn between popular Taoism (which has little or nothing to say of
_Tao_) and the philosophic Taoism which has made a noble and permanent
contribution to the ethical consciousness of the Chinese people.[342]
Popular Taoism probably existed, in some form or other, long before
the time of the compiler of the _Tao Tê Ching_. The astrology and
alchemy and demonology that give the former many of its characteristic
features may have existed in China from a very remote age. The extreme
antiquity of superstitions of this kind in other parts of Asia is an
undeniable fact: the records of the early civilisation of Chaldæa give
us statements concerning the sorcerers and astrologers of that country
that might be applied almost without alteration to the charm-mongerers
and adepts of Chinese Taoism.[343] The philosophy of Lao Tzŭ may be
compared with a pure sparkling stream that bubbled up amid the crags
of a lofty range of mountains; when it had flowed down the hillside
and began to meander through the fields and villages below, its limpid
waters became ever more and more defiled by the foulness and refuse of
the plains. Perhaps it would be equally true to say that the source
of the river of popular Taoism lies among the mists and marshes of
some trackless and pestilential jungle; that its waters throughout the
whole of its visible course are muddy and impure; and that the clear
mountain stream that flowed from the doctrines of Lao Tzŭ and his
interpreters and successors was only a tributary stream whose crystal
waters were soon lost in the turbid flood of the main river. It was a
clear perception of the fundamental difference between the philosophy
of Lao Tzŭ and popular Taoism that induced a recent Japanese writer,
Kakasu Okakura, to confer upon the former the name of Laoism, after its
founder, and to relinquish to the latter the barren glory of the name
of Taoism;[344] thus in contemplating the unattractive mythology and
crude rituals of the Taoism of the temples we must beware of laying
any of the responsibility for such follies on the grand though shadowy
figure of "the Old Philosopher," in spite of the fact that his image
has taken its place in the Taoist Trinity of gods who are supposed to
reign (though not to rule) over the phenomenal Universe.
If it can be confidently asserted that the people of Weihaiwei know
little or nothing of Laoism, it must be admitted that they still cling
with apparent fondness to the puerile imaginings of Taoism. In respect
of Confucianism they perform (with zeal and sincerity) the traditional
rites of ancestor-worship, and with respect to Buddhism they support
(with less zeal and less sincerity) a few priests to burn incense for
them on stated days before the image of the Buddha or some favourite
_p'u-sa_ such as the "Goddess of Mercy": but in other respects Taoism
may be said to be the religion that monopolises the largest share of
their attention. The greater number of temples in the Territory are
Taoist--excluding the Ancestral Temples (_Chia Miao_), which are not
open to the public. Most of these Taoist edifices are poor in outward
appearance and their interiors are often dirty and evil-smelling; while
the images of the numerous Taoist deities are of cheap manufacture and
tawdry in ornament. A casual visitor might suppose the gods were left
entirely to themselves; for he may go through a dozen temples and not
find a single worshipper or a single priest. But if he scrutinises
the altars he will find, amid the dust and cobwebs, the ashes of
incense-sticks and sometimes the remains of little offerings in the
shape of cakes or sweetmeats,--just enough to show that the gods are
not quite forgotten. It is only the largest temples that have resident
priests; the smaller ones are either in charge of apprentices or
pupil-priests or are visited from time to time (as on occasions of
annual festivals or theatrical shows) by priests who exercise spiritual
superintendence over a group of temples scattered over a considerable
area.
The Taoist priests as a class are neither well-educated nor zealous in
discharge of their simple duties, but it would be a mistake to suppose
that they are all abjectly lazy or energetic only in vice and crime.
The Weihaiwei priests are as a rule fairly respectable in private life;
one of them has done and is doing really good work by inducing people
to cure themselves of the opium habit. A Taoist temple is generally
the property of a group of villages and the "living" is in their gift.
When a vacancy occurs in a "living," a new priest is selected by the
_hui-shou_ or committee of elders who transact most of the public
business of the villages concerned, and the appointment is absolutely
within their discretion. But once a priest has been appointed it is
(or was) as difficult to turn him out as it is to remove a clergyman
from his benefice in England. In Weihaiwei the usual procedure for
getting rid of a disreputable priest (whether Taoist or Buddhist) is to
present a petition to the magistrate, setting forth the reasons why the
priest's continued residence in the locality is considered undesirable.
The British Government, needless to say, makes no difficulty about
his prompt expulsion as soon as satisfactory evidence against him is
forthcoming.
Some of the priests of Weihaiwei are office-bearers in the _Tsai Li_
Sect--a "total abstinence" society (in some places semi-political
in character) which has claimed a large membership in the Weihaiwei
district ever since the days of the military colonists. There are
gradations of rank among the Taoist priests, but as a rule each is
practically independent of the rest. The Taoist "Pope" himself--the
dispenser of amulets and charms who resides in the Dragon-Tiger
Mountains (Lung-hu Shan) of southern Kiangsi--has no direct authority
over the priests of eastern Shantung, or if such authority exists in
theory it is not exercised in practice. The official duties of the
priests consist in very little more than looking after the temple
buildings, seeing to the repair of the images when their clay arms
and legs fall off (this is a duty they often shirk), and calling the
attention of the deities to the presence of lay visitors who have
brought offerings and desire to offer up prayers. Their services as
magicians and retailers of charms are also invoked from time to time by
private persons.
Men and women (especially women) pay occasional visits to the temples
when they wish to implore the aid of a favourite deity in connection
with some family matter such as the approaching birth of a child, or
some hazardous business venture, or the illness of a relative; and in
such cases they often make vows to the effect that if their prayers
are granted they will make certain additional offerings of money and
incense.
Apart from these visits the temples are usually deserted except on one
or two annual occasions such as the celebration of a local festival.
The temple then becomes one of the centres of attraction--indeed in all
probability it is a god's birthday that is being celebrated--and its
precincts are thronged from morning to night by crowds of well-dressed
men and women and children, eager to register their vows or make
their petitions. The worshippers knock their heads on the ground as
an acknowledgment of humility and powerlessness, while the priest
strikes a tinkling bronze bowl with a view to awaking the god from
his slumbers. In front of every image stand jars containing sticks of
burning incense, sending up clouds of fragrant smoke. The courtyard
resounds with fire-crackers and bombs which are supposed to frighten
away any wandering spirits of evil. Dense fumes arise from heaps of
burning paper representing money, prayers and charms, all of which,
through the spiritualisation wrought by fire, are expected to reach the
immaterial region of the unseen spirits.
In front of the temple stands the open-air stage where a group of
masked or painted actors, clad in robes resplendent with colour and
gleaming with gold embroidery, strive by means of extravagant gestures
and high-pitched voices to interpret, for the benefit of a dense crowd
of eager sightseers, their conception of some fantastic old-world
legend or some tragic episode in the bygone history of China.
To enumerate all the gods and goddesses, great and small, that crowd
the Taoist pantheon would be tedious. Popular Taoism provides deities
or spiritual patrons for all the forces of nature, diseases (from
devil-possession to toothache), wealth and rank and happiness, war,
old age, death, childbirth, towns and villages, trades, mountains and
rivers and seas, lakes and canals, heaven and hell, sun, moon and
stars, roads and places where there are no roads, clouds and thunder,
every separate part and organ of the human body, and indeed for almost
everything that is cognisable by the senses and a great deal that is
not. It need hardly be said that no Taoist temple in existence contains
images of all these spiritual personages, or a hundredth part of them.
Each locality possesses its own favourites.
The _Ts'ai Shên_ or God of Wealth is popular in Weihaiwei no less than
elsewhere. He has become so important a deity to the Chinese that
though he belongs to Taoism the Buddhists have been compelled to find
room for him in their temples in order to attract worshippers who might
otherwise go elsewhere. China's guests from the Western hemisphere have
sometimes selected the "god of wealth" as a mark for special scorn and
ridicule, though why they should do so is not quite apparent, inasmuch
as the devotion to money-getting is quite as strong and prevalent
among Englishmen and Germans and Americans as it is among the Chinese.
Moreover, after a careful consideration of the kind of prayers that are
addressed to the god of wealth and the popular attitude towards him and
his gifts, I am satisfied that he is merely regarded as the dispenser
in moderate quantities of the ordinary good things of life. The farmer
who prays to Ts'ai Shên in the local temple does so in the hope that
the god will enable him to sell his crops for fair prices so that he
may continue to bring up his family amid modest prosperity. It is very
much as if he were to say "Give us this day our daily bread": in fact
he sometimes uses almost those very words.
The tradesman who burns incense daily in front of a strip of paper
inscribed with the name of the god of wealth does so because of "old
custom," or from a vague idea that "it cannot possibly do harm and may
bring some good luck," or from a more definite religious idea that
without some support from the unseen powers--of which Ts'ai Shên is
taken as a representative--his business will not prosper. The people of
Weihaiwei have a very humble idea of what constitutes wealth. A man was
described to me in an official petition as a "lord of wealth"--a common
expression for a rich man. I had occasion to make enquiries into the
state of this person's finances, and found that his total possessions
amounted in value to about two thousand dollars Mexican--less than two
hundred pounds. This was all the wealth he was "lord" of. The Chinese
Buddhists--in spite of the admission of the Taoist god of wealth into
their temples--have always, in their tracts and sermons, sternly
discouraged the pursuit of wealth for its own sake. There is a saying
which one meets with constantly in a certain class of Buddhistic work:
The mean-minded man devotes his bodily powers to the heaping-up of
money (that is, he regards money as an end in itself); the gentleman
uses what money he has to develop his character (that is, he regards
money as a means to an end).
Among other popular Taoist deities in Weihaiwei are the _San Kuan_
or Three Mandarins, who are supposed to have a kind of ghostly
superintendence over sky, earth and water. The three together form
a trinity-in-unity, and as such are known as the _San Kuan Ta
Ti_--literally, the Three-Officials-Great-God.
Several villages contain little tower-shaped shrines harbouring the
image of the God of Literature, or rather of Literary Composition,
who is supposed to reside in a constellation of six stars called
Wên-ch'ang, forming part of Ursa Major. This deity, who takes his name
from the constellation, receives the homage of literary men who aim at
an official career, and is supposed to have appeared in several human
incarnations, beginning with one Chang Chung in the Chou dynasty.
Like many other gods of China he is thus nothing more nor less than a
deified man.
Kuan Ti, the God of War, is also a conspicuous figure in many temples,
and he is officially "worshipped" in the cities in the second months
of spring and autumn. He is one of the mightiest of all the Taoist
gods, though his career as a deity has been quite a short one. He
also (in the second century A.D.) was an ordinary mortal--a great
soldier and hero named Kuan Yü, who performed many acts of valour
at a time when China was given up to internecine strife. Long after
his death he was canonised, but it was not till near the end of the
sixteenth century that one of the Ming emperors raised him to what may
be called divine rank. His position in China is equivalent to that of
the Japanese Hachiman, who is also a deified human being. Honours have
been heaped upon Kuan Ti by the present dynasty, and he has been raised
to a theoretical equality with Confucius. Had the Boxers succeeded in
driving all foreigners out of China it is possible that he (or the
deified Empress-Dowager herself) might have been raised to a position
of something approaching pre-eminence among the gods of China.
The walled city of Weihaiwei has, of course, its Kuan Ti temple, as
we have seen in connection with the story of the great fishbone found
by one of the Liu family.[345] In this temple there is a very large
and heavy weapon which might be described as a kind of sword or spear.
Weapons of this type are common enough in China, though when of such
great size and weight as that in the Kuan Ti temple they are intended
more for show than for use, and accordingly find a more appropriate
position in a temple or an official yamên than on a field of battle.
The Weihaiwei sword--if such it may be called--is of sufficient fame
to be specially mentioned in the local Annals. It is there described,
accurately enough, as being more than a _chang_ in length (say about
twelve English feet) and one hundred catties in weight (say one
hundred and thirty-three English pounds). The blade is made of iron,
and there is much skilful and delicate ornamentation in copper. "No
other temple," says the Chronicle, "has anything like it. Old folks
have handed down the tradition that it came out of the sea with a deep
rolling sound (something like the lowing of cattle). The people of
the neighbourhood heard the sound and went near the strange object.
When they lifted it up and examined it, lo! it was a great sword. So
they carried it off and presented it reverentially to the spirit of
Kuan Ti." The god of war, obviously, was the proper person to possess
a weapon which no human arm was strong enough to wield. The written
account gives us no clear statement of how this Chinese Excalibur came
out of the sea: but the present warden of the temple tells a somewhat
prosaic story to the effect that it was found along with sundry other
articles, including some arrows and two copper bells, in an open boat
that was cast ashore in the Weihaiwei harbour. The arrows are still
in the Kuan Ti temple; the bells are said to have been sent off to
Wên-têng city, where presumably they still remain.
[Illustration: IMAGE OF KUAN TI, WEIHAIWEI.]
The Kuan Ti temple is said to have been the scene of at least one
miracle. Once upon a time a Taoist priest, named Wu K'ao-yü, who was
in charge of the temple, went out for an evening stroll. Darkness came
on before he returned, and he then remembered that he had forgotten to
light the altar lamps. He hunted about for some means of striking a
light, but found none; so he decided to go to one of his neighbours and
borrow a candle. He was grumbling at himself for his carelessness when
suddenly, in his presence, the altar was illuminated by four brilliant
lights. When he observed that they neither flickered nor went out he
prostrated himself in reverence and repeated part of the liturgy.
If the god could provide lights for himself, he argued, there was
obviously no necessity for troubling the neighbours, so he went to bed
like a sensible man, leaving the lamps to look after themselves.
The question arises, did he ever take the trouble to light the lamps
again? To this the chronicler gives no reply. The priest was possibly
gifted with powers which in these days might be termed mediumistic,
for this was not his only remarkable experience of the kind. On one
occasion he beheld, in a midnight vision, three elaborately dressed
men, lively and active in manner and of handsome appearance. They
looked at the priest and all cried out together, "Come quickly and save
us!" This remark was twice repeated, and the speakers then vanished.
The priest immediately arose, and without choosing his path allowed
himself to be led by unseen influences down to the sea-beach. There he
saw, lying at the edge of the surf, three copper images. Recognising
them at once as images of the Three Prefects of the Sea-King's Palace,
he picked them up reverently and deposited them in the principal hall
of the temple. Rumours of the strange discovery soon spread far and
wide, and crowds of worshippers came to the Kuan Ti temple to see the
images for themselves and--incidentally--to make suitable offerings to
the highly-favoured priest.
A much smaller deity than Kuan Ti but of greater importance to the
people in their everyday life is the City-god--the _Ch'êng Huang_.
Every walled city in China has a Ch'êng Huang Lao-yeh (His Worship the
City-god) who acts as its guardian deity. On certain fixed days, such
as the first and fifteenth of every month and on occasions of special
dangers or disasters, the local officials visit the temple dedicated to
this deity and burn incense in front of his image, which is generally
clad in real robes and is of full human size. A similar ceremonious
visit also takes place when a new magistrate arrives in the city and
takes over the seals of office.
In many countries there was once a barbarous custom whereby human
beings were sacrificed at the building of the gates or towers of a city
wall and buried below the foundations.[346] Human blood was believed
to add strength and stability to the wall, and the sacrificed human
being was supposed to become its spiritual guardian. Sacrifices of
this kind are believed to have taken place as recently as 1857, at the
foundation of the Burmese city of Mandalay. Not only city-walls but
bridges, temples, river-dykes, and indeed all buildings of importance
were supposed to be enormously strengthened by the blood and bones of
specially-slain human victims. In some cases, apparently, the wretched
victims were buried alive. There is some reason for believing that
human sacrifices occurred at the construction of the Great Wall of
China in the third century B.C.
In some parts of the Empire there is still a curiously-prevalent belief
to the effect that Governments and officials are in the habit of
taking a toll of human life when they have any great engineering work
on hand, and bad characters or misguided patriots who wished to bring
odium upon foreigners have been known to circulate stories that Chinese
children were being kidnapped by Western barbarians for the purpose of
burying them under a railway or a fort or a dock or some great public
building. There was a scare of the kind among a section of the poorer
classes of Hongkong about eight or nine years ago, and in the little
village known to Europeans as Aberdeen, on the Hongkong island, there
was, in consequence, a small panic. A white ship, said the people,
had been seen coming by night into Aberdeen harbour, the object of
those on board being to kidnap Chinese boys and girls for purposes of
foundation-sacrifices. Yet the people of that village had been under
direct British rule for about sixty years! It would be interesting to
know whether the Ch'êng Huang or City-god was originally a sacrificed
human-being, but the Chinese will not admit such to be the case and it
is difficult to procure evidence.
The Chinese of to-day profess to think that no such barbarous custom
can ever have taken place in their country, but they are unquestionably
wrong in this belief: indeed there is some reason to believe that
the custom is not yet extinct in China.[347] As for the barbarity of
the practice, the Chinese admit that the custom of slaughtering men
and women at funerals, and even burying them alive in the tombs of
kings and high officials, became extinct only in modern times.[348]
Whatever may be the truth with regard to the origin of the Ch'êng
Huang, the popular belief is that he is a kind of ghostly magistrate,
and in modern times he is generally regarded as the spirit of a former
magistrate who on account of his blameless life or devotion to the
interests of the people died "in the odour of sanctity."
Changes and promotions sometimes take place among the city-gods just
as among the living members of the Chinese civil service. The world of
the dead is supposed to be a reduplication of the world of men. One
might almost imagine that some rather dull-witted Chinese philosopher
had heard, and grievously failed to understand, the Platonic doctrine
of Ideas, and had then applied his new learning to the solution, by
Chinese methods, of the mystery of the land from which no traveller
returns. Provinces, cities, villages, officials and yamên-runners,
houses and fields and cattle, and indeed all material things were and
are vaguely supposed to have their immaterial counterparts in the
world of shades. It is necessary to emphasise the word "vaguely," for
no well-educated and very few illiterate Chinese seem to hold this
belief with dogmatic definiteness, and indeed they are usually ready to
join Europeans in criticising or deriding it. But it is a theory that
certainly colours the traditional Chinese views of death and the beyond.
The city-god takes rank according to the status of the living
magistrate: a prefectural city is superior to that of a
district-magistracy, hence the city-god of the former takes precedence
of the city-god of the latter. The deity that presides over the
destinies of Weihaiwei city is thus very humbly placed among the
hundreds and thousands of deities of his class, for Weihaiwei
is only the seat of a _hsün-chien_[349]--the mere deputy of a
district-magistrate. It is probable, too, that just as the Weihaiwei
_hsün-chien_ has become an even less important person than formerly,
since the establishment of British rule over the territory that was
once under his supervision, so his ghostly counterpart has been obliged
to assume a humbler position than before in the ranks of the minor
deities. Yet if local legends are to be credited the Weihai city-god
was once quite competent to assert his authority and defend his
reputation. It is generally supposed that a deity of this class has
control only over the people of his own city and its subject territory:
beyond those limits his powers do not extend. But that the Weihai god
insisted at one time on respectful treatment even from strangers is
proved by the following incident. In the seventeenth century a certain
man named Chao, a native of the P'êng-lai district in the prefecture
of Têng-chou, had come to Weihaiwei to transact business. The weather
being hot he went into the Ch'êng Huang miao (temple of the city-god)
for an afternoon nap, and sat down with his back to the god's image. A
bystander, who was a local man, hastened to point out that his attitude
was disrespectful. "It is not proper," he said, "to sit with your
back to the god. Wouldn't it be wiser to turn sideways?" Chao smiled
scornfully. "I am a P'êng-lai man; your god has no power over me. I
propose to stay where I am."
Soon afterwards he fell asleep. He slumbered long and deeply, and in
the middle of the night he suddenly woke up and to his horror found
himself bound hand and foot to one of the rafters of the roof, and
there unseen hands proceeded to subject him to an unmerciful beating.
The more he howled the faster and heavier came the blows. When he had
suffered excruciating pain for what seemed to him a long time, the
thongs that bound him were mysteriously loosened by ghostly fingers and
he was lowered to the floor. Then the flogging began again, and the
wretched Chao was driven screaming out of the temple precincts. Outside
the gates he fell unconscious to the ground. When he came to himself
he was hardly able to move; his body was still bruised and scarred,
and when he tried to drag one leg after the other he writhed in agony.
After many weary days the pains left him, but his contempt for alien
gods was a thing of the past: he had become a grave and religious man.
Before leaving the city on his return journey he took care to prove his
remorse by presenting the outraged deity with a beautiful paper horse,
which was of course despatched to the spirit-world through the usual
agency of fire.
[Illustration: THE BUDDHA OF KU SHAN TEMPLE
(see p. 402).]
[Illustration: _Photo by Ah Fong, Weihaiwei._
THE CITY-GOD OF WEIHAIWEI (see p. 368).]
There is a quainter and more touching story told of the city-god of
the neighbouring district-city of Jung-ch'êng. The Chinese, as we have
seen,[350] regard three days in the year as specially consecrated to
the spirits of the dead, just as there are three special holidays
for the living. On each of the spirit-festivals the Ch'êng Huang
is expected to hold a formal inspection of his city. His image is
accordingly brought out of the dingy temple in which it usually
reposes, placed in an official chair, and carried in a noisy and not
very solemn procession through the principal streets of the town. The
story goes that during one of these periodical excursions a young girl,
a member of a well-known local family, was watching the procession with
the keenest interest. As the god's palanquin passed the spot where she
was standing, she saw the image--or believed she saw it--deliberately
turn its face in her direction and smile at her with a look of friendly
interest. Full of excitement the girl went home and poured out her tale
in the ear of her mother. The good lady treated the story as a kind
of joke and laughed gaily at her daughter's fancy. "It is clear," she
said, "that Ch'êng Huang Lao-yeh wants you for his wife: so off you go
to him."
A few days passed by and the girl became seriously ill. A doctor
was called in, but all he did was to look wise, give her a charm to
hang over her door, and make her swallow some disagreeable medicine.
In less than a month after the meeting with the city-god the girl
was dead. During the night following her death her mother had a
strange dream. She was visited by the spirit of her dead daughter,
who told her that she was now well and happy, for she had become the
bride of the Ch'êng Huang. Needless to say the dream soon became
the common talk of the neighbours, through whom it reached the ears
of the district-magistrate. After evidence had been given and duly
corroborated it was officially decided that the Ch'êng Huang's will
had manifested itself in an unmistakable manner and that to thwart it
would bring certain disaster on the city. The girl's body was therefore
buried with much pomp and ceremony within the temple grounds, her
image, robed in real silks, was installed in the central pavilion
beside that of the god himself, and she received formal recognition as
the Ch'êng Huang's consort.
As time went on the dead girl began to acquire some local fame as a
healer of various diseases, and persons who believed she had cured
their ailments took to buying little votive offerings such as tiny
pairs of shoes, hair-combs, ear-rings, and other trinkets such as
Chinese ladies love. These were all stored up in the temple, where
many of them may still be seen. The citizens of Jung-ch'êng who tell
the story to strangers and fear it will not be believed are in the
habit of mentioning a prosaic little fact which, they think, must
banish all doubt. Every morning, they say, a basin of clean water is
taken by the priest into the inner room which is supposed to serve as
the sleeping-chamber of the Ch'êng Huang and his wife. Having put the
basin on its stand the priest discreetly withdraws. In half an hour
he returns and takes the basin away: and lo! the water is clean no
longer. This realistic touch is rather characteristic of Chinese tales
of wonder. Whatever the real origin of the legend may be there is no
doubt that the city-god of Jung-ch'êng does share the honours of local
worship with a female spirit whose image rests beside his own; and if
any one questions whether she was ever a living human being he may ask
for an introduction to the descendants of the very family to which she
belonged,--for their name is Ts'ai and their home is in one of the city
suburbs, where they flourish to this day.[351]
Just as every town has its Ch'êng Huang Lao-yeh, so every village has
its T'u Ti Lao-yeh or Old Father T'u Ti. He is of course inferior in
rank to a Ch'êng Huang, and instead of possessing an ornate temple
and being represented by a full-sized robed and bearded image he has
no better resting-place, as a rule, than a little stone shrine three
or four feet high. In the case of the Weihaiwei villages this shrine
is generally situated on the roadside close by the village to which
it belongs. The ordinary villager's ceremonial visits to the local
T'u Ti miao or temple of the village-god are not very frequent. If
he or any member of his family is sick he will beseech the T'u Ti to
grant a restoration to health, and on such occasions, or after a cure
has been effected, he will very often hang little flags of scarlet
cloth--they are often mere rags--on a stick or pole in front of the
shrine. The popular T'u Ti of a large village sometimes possesses a
dozen of these simple offerings at one time. The death of a villager
must be formally announced to the T'u Ti, whose duty it is to act as
a kind of guide to the dead man when he finds himself for the first
time in the bewildering world of ghosts. It is a common sight and a
somewhat pathetic one to see a long row of wailing mourners, clad in
loose and unhemmed sackcloth and with hair dishevelled, wending their
way along the village street in the direction of the shrine of the T'u
Ti to report the death of a relative or fellow-villager. The T'u Ti is,
in fact, a kind of registrar of deaths: the unseen record kept by him
in the underworld and the family record kept by the people in their
homes or in their ancestral temples, are sufficient to satisfy all
Chinese requirements in the matter of death-registration.[352] Births
are not reported to the T'u Ti, who, being concerned chiefly with the
world of spirits, is not supposed to take any special interest in the
multiplication of living men. It is to the ancestors that a child's
birth (if the child be a boy) is naturally supposed to bring joy and
consolation.
Beings like the Ch'êng Huang and T'u Ti and Hearth-god[353] and many
other popular deities may be all regarded as included in the list of
Taoist gods, but as far as ceremony or ritual goes they are really
independent of Taoism: that is to say, no priestly intervention is
necessary between the god and the person who prays. If the rites of
Taoism and the major Taoist gods were expelled from the land, minor
deities such as those mentioned might continue to attract just as
much or just as little reverence as they do at present; similarly
ancestor-worship would not necessarily be affected by the official
abolition of the cult of Confucius.
[Illustration: SHRINE TO THE GOD OF LITERATURE (see p. 361).]
[Illustration: A T'U TI SHRINE (see p. 372).]
The fact that the T'u Ti is supposed to interest himself in such
matters as the death of individuals seems to suggest that he must have
been in origin an ancestral god: but I cannot find any trustworthy
evidence that this is so, though it seems that in some cases at least
he (like the Ch'êng Huang) was a human being posthumously raised to
quasi-divine rank. It is noteworthy as bearing on this point that no
village in Weihaiwei, or elsewhere so far as I am aware, possesses
more than one T'u Ti, though there may be two or more "surnames" or
clans represented in the village; moreover, when a man migrates from
one village to another he changes his T'u Ti, although his connection
with his old village in respect of ancestral worship and such matters
remains unimpaired. The T'u Ti, in fact, appears to be a local divinity
who holds his position irrespective of the movements of families and
changes of surnames. It may be that he is regarded as representing in
some mysterious way the first settler in the locality concerned, or
the first builder of the village. The Chinese T'u Ti seems to bear a
considerable resemblance to the Uji-gami of Japan. As the name _Uji_
implies, this deity was evidently at one time regarded as a clan-deity
or tribal ancestor. But as a Japanese authority has told us, "the word
_Uji-gami_ or clan-god is now used in another sense, namely in the
sense of the local tutelary god or the patron-god of a man's birthplace
or domicile."[354] Dr. Aston says that the Uji-gami having originally
been the patron-gods of particular families "became simply the local
deities of the district where one was born."[355] It seems at least
possible that the history of the T'u Ti has been similar to that of the
Uji-Gami.
Perhaps Greek and Roman religion may help in throwing some light on
the subject. Just as we find the ancestral cult forming a prominent
element in the religion of Greece and Rome, so we find traces of the
existence of something like a T'u Ti. Every family had its own altar
and its own gods (namely its deceased ancestors), and every phratria
or group of families "had a common altar erected in honour of a common
deity who was supposed to be more powerful than the deities of the
households taken separately."[356]
Like the Ch'êng Huang of the city of Jung-ch'êng, the T'u Ti of the
Weihaiwei district are very often if not almost invariably provided
with wives, who are known as T'u Ti P'o. The T'u Ti and his lady are
represented by rough stone effigies, about a foot in height, which
are placed side by side within the little stone shrine; or sometimes
the lady has a separate shrine, of smaller size, beside that of her
husband. Some T'u Ti are attended by two T'u Ti Po. On making inquiries
into the reason for this at a village where the T'u Ti was thus
distinguished, I was informed that the lady on his left (the place
of honour) was his wife and the lady on his right his concubine. It
was pointed out that the concubine's image was only about half the
size of that of the wife, which was quite as it should be in view of
her inferior status. Two explanations were offered as to why this
particular T'u Ti had been allowed to increase his household in this
manner: one was that he had won the lady on his right by gambling for
her, the other was that the T'u Ti had appeared to one of the villagers
in a dream and begged him to provide him with a concubine as he had
grown tired of his wife. The villager called on the local image-maker
the very next morning, the image-maker went to the shrine and took
measurements, and in a few days a nice new concubine was placed by the
T'u Ti's side. Whether the dreamer's material position underwent any
marked improvement about this time is not recorded.
It has been mentioned that little red flags are often hung on a stick
or pole close by the T'u Ti's shrine on behalf of persons whose
ailments the T'u Ti is supposed to have cured. At first sight one might
suppose that the flags were intended as thank-offerings to the T'u Ti,
but though they certainly are regarded as such at the present day, I am
strongly inclined to believe that they have a quite different origin.
Similar customs in other parts of the world irresistibly suggest the
idea that the piece of cloth was originally regarded as the vehicle of
the disease which was supposed to have been expelled from the human
subject.
Dr. Tylor refers to "that well-known conception of a disease or evil
influence as an individual being, which may be not merely conveyed by
an infected object (though this of course may have much to do with the
idea) but may be removed by actual transfer from the patient into some
other animal or object."[357] He goes on to consider many examples of
the practical working of this conception, and draws special attention
to the belief common to many parts of the world (though China is not
mentioned) that disease can be banished by driving it into a rag and
hanging it on a tree:--"In Thuringia it is considered that a string of
rowan-berries, a rag, or any small article, touched by a sick person
and then hung on a bush beside some forest path, imparts the malady
to any person who may touch this article in passing, and frees the
sick person from the disease. This gives great probability to Captain
Burton's suggestion that the rags, locks of hair, and what not, hung
on trees near sacred places by the superstitious from Mexico to India
and from Ethiopia to Ireland, are deposited there as actual receptacles
of disease; the African 'devil's trees' and the sacred trees of
Sindh, hung with rags through which votaries have transferred their
complaints, being typical cases of a practice surviving in lands of
higher culture."[358]
There are traces of a belief of this kind in Japan, and I have
observed many proofs of it also in the border country between China and
Tibet. There is good reason, I think, to believe that the custom of
hanging rags in front of the T'u Ti's shrine has a similar origin. The
fact that the rags are usually hung up after the patient has already
recovered merely goes to show that the primitive meaning of the act has
become obscured.
It is probable that the T'u Ti originally had nothing to do with the
matter. Of what possible use to him could be a number of small pieces
of ragged cloth, unless indeed he wished to make himself a patchwork
quilt? But as soon as the significance of the suspended rag had been
forgotten, the idea may very naturally have grown up that the practice
was essentially a religious one and ought to be associated with some
god: and what god so suitable as the local guardian-spirit--the T'u
Ti--whose shrine was always conveniently close at hand, and who was
supposed to take a personal interest in every villager? As soon as
the rag came to be regarded as a votive-offering the Chinese would
naturally select red--the colour of joy and good luck--as most
acceptable to the god and most likely to win his favour. This theory
will perhaps gain in reasonableness if it is explained that the
uneducated Chinese of the north--including Weihaiwei--do actually
believe to this day in the possibility of transferring certain diseases
from a human being to an inanimate object. They declare that if a sick
person rubs a piece of cloth over the part of his body in which he
feels pain, and then throws the cloth away at a cross-road,[359] he
will feel the pain no more. Wayfarers who see such cloths lying on the
road will on no account touch them, as they are supposed to harbour
the disease that has been expelled from the human patient.[360] There
are similar beliefs in Korea[361] and elsewhere in Asia, and also in
several countries of Europe.[362]
[Illustration: YÜAN DYNASTY GRAVES (see p. 257)]
[Illustration: A T'U TI SHRINE, SHOWING RAG-POLES AND TREE
(see p. 377).]
To confine ourselves to Weihaiwei, it should be mentioned that the
sticks or poles in front of the T'u Ti's shrine to which the rags are
fastened are inserted perpendicularly in the ground in front or at the
side of the shrine, and are often made to represent, on a miniature
scale, the well-known mast-like poles that stand outside the gates
of official yamêns and the houses and family temples of the literary
"aristocracy." But sometimes the shrine is shaded by the branches of
a tree, and in such cases the rags may occasionally be seen hanging
on the tree itself. It is possible that here we have something like a
blending of three old beliefs or superstitions: the cult of the local
tutelary god, faith in the magical expulsion of sickness, and the
worship of sacred trees.
Tree-worship is one of the bypaths of Chinese religion. It is not
connected, except as it were accidentally, with Confucianism, Taoism
or Buddhism. But the bypath is worth exploring if only because it
leads to a region of folk-lore and myth that is common to both China
and Europe. The idea that certain trees are animated by more or less
powerful spirits, or the distinct and still earlier view that certain
trees are themselves the bodies of living divinities, is a belief
that can be traced to almost every part of the world. It existed in
ancient Rome,[363] where the sacred fig-tree of Romulus was an object
of popular devotion; it existed among the ancient Jews at Hebron,
Shechem, Ophrah and at Beersheba;[364] it existed in Pelasgian Attica
and neighbouring regions thousands of years B.C.;[365] it existed in
India in pre-Buddhistic and post-Buddhistic times--witness the history
of the famous Bo-tree of Anuradhapura in Ceylon, to which pilgrims
still flock in their thousands; it flourishes to this day in all the
countries of Indo-China; it is to be found in Korea and in many islands
of the Pacific; indeed traces of it exist in every part of the world,
including western Europe and the American continent. No wonder Dr.
Tylor says of "direct and absolute tree-worship" that it may lie "very
wide and deep in the early history of religion."[366] Its extraordinary
vitality in Europe may be estimated by the fact that though the early
Christian missionaries on the Continent and in Britain anathematised it
as idolatrous and endeavoured to stamp it out--sometimes adopting the
method of cutting down a sacred grove and using the timber for building
a Christian chapel[367]--traces of the belief in sacred trees actually
survive in popular traditions and local customs up to the present time
right across the Euro-Asiatic continent from England and Sweden to
China, Malaya and the islands of Japan.[368] Folk-lore has much to tell
us about talking trees, and trees that could plead for their own lives
when the wood-cutter approached them with his axe. In 1606 Lincolnshire
was reported to possess "an ash-tree that sighed and groaned."[369]
Apart from all consideration of the origin of maypoles, some faint
traces of a surviving belief in holy trees have been found in recent
years in Yorkshire.[370] In Switzerland it is a common belief of the
people that walnut-trees are tenanted by spirits.[371] Dr. Frazer tells
us that "down to 1859 there stood a sacred larch-tree at Nauders in
the Tyrol which was thought to bleed whenever it was cut.... So sacred
was the tree that no one would gather fuel or cut timber near it; and
to curse, scold or quarrel in its neighbourhood was regarded as a
crying sin which would be supernaturally punished on the spot. Angry
disputants were often hushed with the whisper, 'Don't, the sacred tree
is here.'"[372] The belief in trees animated by some kind of divinity
or inhabited by spirits is parallel with many other ancient animistic
beliefs. Just as the sea has its mermaids and nymphs and the streams
have their naiads and water-kelpies and the mountains their gnomes and
elves, so groves and single trees have their haunting spirits, dryads
or gods. At the present day the popular faith in the existence of
tree-spirits is exceedingly strong in such countries as Burma, the Shan
States and Siam; indeed Buddhism was obliged to compromise with the
pre-Buddhistic animism of those lands to the extent of finding a place
for tree-nats or tree-spirits--as well as water-nats and numerous other
fairy-like beings--in its general scheme of the cosmos.
In view of the almost universal prevalence of tree-worship of some
kind or other it would be strange indeed if no trace of it could be
found in China. It has been said by a writer on the subject that
"there is very little evidence of the existence of tree-worship among
Chinese,"[373] but as a matter of fact the evidence for its existence
(though perhaps it is not to be found to any great extent in books) is
abundant and conclusive. I have myself seen "sacred trees" in at least
seven provinces of China--Chihli, Shansi, Honan, Shensi, Ssŭch'uan,
Fuhkien and Shantung--and I have good reason to believe they are to be
found in other provinces as well.[374] The trees are generally seen
in the neighbourhood of a village or sometimes in the middle of a
village-street; their branches are usually hung with votive-offerings
and lettered scrolls, and below them are sometimes placed little altars
with incense-burners and small dishes of sacrificial food. Such trees
are regarded with veneration, and their decay or accidental destruction
is looked upon as a public calamity. In north China the sacred tree
seems generally though not always to be a _Sophora_ tree, known by the
Chinese as _huai_.[375] But any one who wishes to be convinced that
tree-worship is still a living faith in China need not travel so far as
the inland provinces: it is unnecessary to go further than Weihaiwei.
Close to the picturesque village of Lin-chia-yüan (The Garden of
the Lin Family) is a fine old specimen of the Ginkgo or Maidenhair
tree,[376] known by the Chinese as the _pai kuo_ or "white-fruit tree."
It is believed in the neighbourhood to be inhabited by the spirit of a
Buddha or Bodhisatva.
[Illustration: THE HAUNTED TREE OF LIN-CHIA-YÜAN (see p. 381).]
Here we have an interesting example of how Buddhism utilised local
legends for its own purposes and for the advancement of its own
interests. Close by the tree stands an old Buddhist temple that
dates from the T'ang dynasty. Had there been no priests to mould the
religious ideas of the neighbouring villages into a Buddhistic form
the tree would still have been regarded as the abode of a spirit, but
no one would have thought of suggesting that the spirit was that of a
Buddha. The devout Christian need not jeer at the harmless wiles of the
Buddhist priests in this little matter, for the European monks of the
Middle Ages were equally ready to seize upon local superstitions and
give them a Christian interpretation. "The peasant folk-lore of Europe
still knows," says Dr. Tylor, "of that old tree on the Heinzenberg near
Zell, which uttered its complaint when the woodman cut it down, for in
it was Our Lady, whose chapel now stands upon the spot."[377] Exactly
the same procedure was adopted, as is well known, with regard to the
sacred wells and springs of our European forefathers. It was found a
simpler matter to substitute the name of a Christian saint for that of
a heathen divinity than to crush the popular superstitions altogether.
"With a varnish of Christianity and sometimes the substitution of
a saint's name," says the writer just quoted,[378] "water-worship
has held its own to this day. The Bohemians will go to pray on the
river-bank where a man has been drowned, and there they will cast in an
offering, a loaf of new bread and a pair of wax candles." The bread,
no doubt, represented the old heathen offering to the water-spirit,
the candles represented the compromise with Christianity. But let us
refrain from ridiculing the superstitions of "the heathen Chinee" so
long as we possess such obvious relics of heathendom in our own quarter
of the globe.
Signs are not wanting that the old belief in _shên shu_
("spirit-trees"), as they are called by the Chinese, is more or
less rapidly decaying in this district. Certain villages, such as
Chang-chia-shan, Wên-ch'üan-chai, Ho-hsi-chuang, Pao-hsin and others,
possess fine old trees which, according to tradition, were once
"worshipped," but are now only familiar and much-loved landmarks which
the villagers would on no account allow to be removed. I do not refer
only to the temple-groves and the little woods that shade the ancestral
burial-grounds, for they, as we have seen,[379] derive their sanctity
from causes not necessarily connected with tree-worship. I refer rather
to the large isolated trees that one sometimes sees in or close to a
village or overhanging the T'u Ti shrine. In the latter case it would
be interesting to know whether it was the tree or the shrine that first
possessed the site. Sometimes the little shrine is almost hidden by
the low-hanging foliage of a group of trees--such trees having in all
probability sprung from a parent-stem. Of the Khond tribes in British
India it is said that when they settle in a new village "the sacred
cotton-tree must be planted with solemn rites, and beneath it is placed
the stone which enshrines the village-deity."[380] Whatever may have
been the practice in Weihaiwei, it seems not improbable that similar
rites once attended the planting of sacred trees in some parts of China.
[Illustration: A VILLAGE]
[Illustration: AT CHANG-CHIA-SHAN.]
The proximity of an ancient Buddhist temple is sufficient to explain
how it is that the sacred tree of Lin-chia-yüan is supposed to be
inhabited by a Buddhist spirit: but no one seems to have thought it
worth while to proselytise the spirit of the most famous tree in the
Territory, the _sophora_ of the village of Mang-tao, which enjoys a
celebrity extending far beyond the limits of the surrounding villages.
Only a year or two ago a serious calamity befell the villagers of
Mang-tao. During one night of dismal memory their famous tree caught
fire and was destroyed. Their consternation was great, for the disaster
seemed irremediable; but the local sages rose to the occasion, for they
declared that the tree-spirit had grown tired of the old tree and had
moved into a smaller one a few yards further up the village-street.
As for the fire, it was explained as being _t'ien huo_--fire from
heaven--sent purposely at the instigation of the migrated tree-spirit
in order to prevent people from worshipping the wrong tree. A
circumstantial story has already been invented in the village to this
effect. A villager came with incense to pay his respects to the old
tree which--unknown to him--was now untenanted. The tree-spirit from
his new perch saw what was going on, and was much disgusted to perceive
that the old tree, though he had abandoned it, was still the recipient
of offerings. Grinding his branches with rage and jealousy at the
vexatious spectacle, he persuaded heaven to send a mysterious wind that
fanned the villager's lighted sticks of incense into a mighty flame,
which speedily stripped the poor old tree of bark and foliage. Whatever
the true cause of the fire may have been, the fact is indisputable
that the tree was completely destroyed. Its blackened trunk has been
removed by the villagers, so that not a trace of the tree now remains;
while its proud successor is now decorated with the rags and other
offerings that once hung upon its venerable branches.
The Mang-tao tree is prayed to for many things, but especially for
recovery from illness, and the rags are chiefly the offerings of
grateful worshippers whose prayers have met with favourable response.
It is very possible that the rags were originally regarded as the mere
vehicles of expelled diseases in accordance with the old superstition
already described, but there is no doubt that the tree or the
tree-spirit is looked upon as the power through which the diseases
are driven out. The Mang-tao tree is often adorned with more than
mere rags: cloth scrolls on which are inscribed mottoes and sentences
expressive of gratitude and reverence are also to be seen on its
branches. Grant Allen remarks that "Christianity has not extinguished
the veneration for sacred trees in Syria, where they are still prayed
to in sickness and hung with rags."[381] It is interesting to find in a
remote Weihaiwei village--probably never visited by any European other
than an occasional Englishman on official duty--a superstition that
still flourishes in the very birthplace of Christianity.
FOOTNOTES:
[334] Prof. H. A. Giles holds that the _Tao Tê Ching_ is a compilation
and was not written by Lao Tzŭ himself though it probably enshrines
some of his sayings. He gives strong reasons for believing that it must
have been compiled after the appearance of the works of Chuang Tzŭ
(fourth century B.C.), Han Fei Tzŭ (third century B.C.) and Huai Nan
Tzŭ (second century B.C.). As for Lao Tzŭ himself, Dr. Giles rejects
the slender evidence that makes him a contemporary of Confucius, and
assigns him to "some unknown period in remote antiquity." (_China and
the Chinese_, pp. 145, 148 _seq._)
[335] Cf. Dr. W. A. P. Martin in his _Lore of Cathay_, and many other
authorities.
[336] Cf. Sir Robert Douglas, _Confucianism and Taouism_ (5th ed.),
p. 191. Max Müller rejected the theory that Tao was a Vedic idea
transferred from India to China: but he mentioned a Sanskrit word and
concept which in its historical development ran parallel with that of
_Tao_. This word was _Rita_--the Way, the Path, the κινοῦν ἀκίνητον or
_primum mobile_. (_Last Essays_, Second Series, pp. 290 _seq._)
[337] Mr. T. W. Kingsmill (_The Taoteh King_) calls it "one of the few
remains existing of primitive Buddhism." He points out that as there is
no intimation of any intercourse between China and India before the Han
period, the compilation of the _Tao Tê Ching_ must be assigned to that
age,--several hundred years after the supposed date of Lao Tzŭ.
[338] Mr. Chester Holcombe in the _International Journal of Ethics_,
January 1908, pp. 168 _seq._ The whole article deserves careful
attention.
[339] _The Chinese Classics_, vol. iii. pt. i. p. 200.
[340] Prof. G. W. Knox, D.D., LL.D., in _The American Journal of
Theology_, October 1907, p. 569.
[341] Rev. W. K. McKibben in _The American Journal of Theology_,
October 1907, p. 584.
[342] "Pure Taoism has never ceased to affect the cultured Chinese
mind, just as pure Shinto-Taoism has never ceased, or did not for long
cease, to affect the cultured Japanese Court."--PROF. E. H. PARKER,
_China and Religion_, p. 258.
[343] See Maspero's _Dawn of Civilisation_, edited by A. H. Sayce,
translated by M. L. McClure (4th ed., 1901).
[344] _The Ideals of the Far East_ (John Murray: 1903).
[345] See pp. 26-7.
[346] This detestable custom was practised in many European countries
as well as in Africa, Polynesia, Borneo, Japan, Indo-China and India.
[See Tylor's _Primitive Culture_ (4th ed.), vol. i. pp. 104 _seq._;
Lyall's _Asiatic Studies_ (2nd ed.), First Series, p. 25, Second
Series, pp. 312-13; Grant Allen, _The Evolution of the Idea of God_, p.
265 (see footnote).] Prof. S. R. Driver in one of his Schweich Lectures
(delivered before the British Academy on April 2, 1908) described some
recent archæological discoveries of great interest in Palestine and the
neighbouring countries. Some of these discoveries clearly prove that
foundation-sacrifices existed in those regions. At Gezer, Taanach and
Megiddo were actually discovered the skeletons of numbers of miserable
people who had been buried under the corners of walls or under towers.
That the custom of sacrificing boys and girls was practised in ancient
Persia we know from Herodotus (Book vii. 114). It is not so generally
known that it was apparently practised in the British Isles not merely
in savage times but after the introduction of Christianity and even in
connection with the foundation of ecclesiastical buildings. According
to a legend which may be founded on fact, Oran, the companion of St.
Columba, was buried under the foundations of the great monastery of
Iona. For this and many other cases see G. Laurence Gomme's _Folk-lore
Relics of Early Village Life_, pp. 24-58.
[347] The Rev. Ernest Box, writing on "Shanghai Folk-lore" in the
_Journal of the China Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society_ (vol. xxxv.
1901-2, p. 123), mentions that human sacrifices are said to have taken
place in the building of one of the silk-filatures at Soochow. "I
am also informed," he says, "that in the potteries in Kiangsi a new
furnace is secretly consecrated by the shedding of a child's blood, as
a sacrifice to ward off evil influences or accidents." Mr. Box seems
to be inclined to ascribe the custom to the desire of propitiating the
spirits of the earth.
[348] See pp. 225, 274.
[349] See pp. 53-4.
[350] See p. 192.
[351] It is probable that similar stories are told of other city-gods,
for the Rev. Ernest Box (_J.R.A.S._ (_China Branch_), vol. xxxiv. p.
109) mentions a case in connection with Lutien, a place a few miles
north-west of Shanghai.
[352] As the functions of the T'u Ti are, on a reduced scale, similar
to those of the Ch'êng Huang, it follows that in walled towns it is the
Ch'êng Huang who receives reports of death.
[353] See p. 193.
[354] _Ancestor Worship and Japanese Law_, by Mr. Nobushige Hozumi, p.
25.
[355] _Shinto_, p. 10.
[356] Rev. Sir G. W. Cox, "Religion of the Ancient Greek and Latin
Tribes," in _Religious Systems of the World_ (8th ed.), p. 224.
[357] _Primitive Culture_ (4th ed.), vol. ii. pp. 148-9. See also
Frazer's _Golden Bough_ (2nd ed.), vol. iii. pp. 26 _seq._, and W. G.
Black's _Folk Medicine_, pp. 34 _seq._
[358] _Primitive Culture_ (4th ed.), vol. ii. p. 150.
[359] Quite an interesting chapter might be written about various
beliefs connected with cross-roads. See, for example, the superstition
referred to in Plato's _Laws_, quoted by Dr. Frazer in _The Golden
Bough_ (2nd ed.), vol. iii. p. 20; and the Bohemian prescription for
fever: "Take an empty pot, go with it to a cross-road, throw it down,
and run away. The first person who kicks against the pot will catch
your fever and you will be cured." (_Op. cit._, p. 22.) Again, of the
Dyaks we are told that they "fasten rags of their clothes on trees at
cross-roads, fearing for their health if they neglect the custom."
(Tylor's _Primitive Culture_ (4th ed.), vol. ii. p. 223.) Still more
remarkable is it to find a similar belief in England. "Lancashire wise
men tell us, 'for warts, rub them with a cinder, and this, tied up in
paper and dropped where four roads meet, will transfer the warts to
whoever opens the parcel.'" (W. G. Black's _Folk Medicine_, p. 41. This
author mentions the existence of the same superstition in Germany.)
[360] For superstitions of the kind in the Shanghai district, see Rev.
E. Box's "Shanghai Folk-lore" in _J.R.A.S._ (_China Branch_), vol.
xxxiv. pp. 124-5. For a Chinese cross-road superstition see the same
article, p. 130; and see Dennys's _Folk-lore of China_, p. 22.
[361] See Mrs. Bishop's _Korea and Her Neighbours_, vol. ii. pp. 143
_seq._, and _Folk-lore_, September 1900, p. 329.
[362] See Frazer's _Golden Bough_ (2nd ed.), vol. iii. p. 21.
[363] See T. R. Glover's _Conflict of Religions in the Early Roman
Empire_ (Methuen & Co., 1909), p. 13.
[364] See the Rev. A. W. Oxford's "Ancient Judaism" in _Religious
Systems of the World_ (8th ed.), p. 55. He remarks that the sacred
trees at these places "were always evergreen trees as being the best
symbols of life; 'green' is the constant adjective applied to them
by the prophets. The name used for them--_ela_ or _elon_--shows that
they were considered to be divine beings." As regards the choice of
_evergreen_ trees, see above, pp. 262-4.
[365] See also Mr. A. B. Cook's articles on "Zeus, Apollo and the Oak"
in _The Classical Review_ for 1903 and 1904.
[366] _Primitive Culture_ (4th ed.), vol. ii. p. 221. The whole subject
is discussed pp. 214-29.
[367] _Op. cit._ p. 228.
[368] "Trees of great size and age are worshipped in almost every
village in Japan. They are girt with honorary cinctures of straw-rope
and have tiny shrines erected before them."--DR. ASTON'S _Shinto_, p.
45. See also W. W. Skeat's _Malay Magic_, p. 67.
[369] _County Folk-lore_, vol. v.: _Lincolnshire_ (David Nutt, 1908).
[370] _County Folk-lore_, vol. ii.: _North Riding of Yorkshire_, p. 54.
[371] _Folk-lore Journal_, vol. i. (1883), p. 377. For tree-worship in
Tuscany see Dr. J. G. Frazer's article in _Folk-lore_, Dec. 1901.
[372] Frazer's _Golden Bough_ (2nd ed.), vol. i. pp. 173-4. For Dr.
Frazer's admirable discussion of the whole subject see especially vol.
i. pp. 166-232, and vol. iii. pp. 26 _seq._ See also Grant Allen's
_Evolution of the Idea of God_, pp. 138 _seq._; Philpot's _The Sacred
Tree_, _passim_; Maspero's _Dawn of Civilisation_ (4th ed.), pp. 121-2;
H. M. Bower's _The Elevation and Procession of the Ceri at Gubbio_
(David Nutt, 1897), pp. 61, 70 _seq._, 85 _seq._, 93 and _passim_;
Griffis's _The Religions of Japan_ (4th ed.), pp. 30 _seq._; Ferguson's
_Tree and Serpent Worship_, _passim_; W. W. Skeat's _Malay Magic_, pp.
52 _seq._, 63 _seq._, 193 _seq._, 203 _seq._; Reinach's _Orpheus_ (Eng.
tr. 1909), pp. 114, 129.
[373] Philpot's _The Sacred Tree_ (Macmillan & Co., 1897), p. 15.
[374] As for example in Kansu. For Kiangsu see _J.R.A.S._ (_China
Branch_), vol. xxxiv. (1901-2), p. 116. For observations on Chinese
tree-spirits see De Groot's _Religious System of China_, vol. iv. pp.
272 _seq._ and vol. v. pp. 653-63; and see _Folk-lore_, June 1906, p.
190; and Dennys's _Folk-lore of China_, p. 47.
[375] The _Sophora japonica_.
[376] _Salisburia adiantifolia._ See p. 168.
[377] _Primitive Culture_ (4th ed.), vol. ii. p. 221.
[378] _Op. cit._ vol. ii. p. 213.
[379] See pp. 261 _seq._
[380] Tylor's _Primitive Culture_ (4th ed.), vol. ii. p. 225.
[381] _The Evolution of the Idea of God_, p. 150.