THE DRAGON, MOUNTAIN-WORSHIP, BUDDHISM
A district like Weihaiwei, which is agricultural and which also
possesses an extensive coast-line, naturally pays special reverence to
the gods that preside over the weather and the sea. Two of the most
popular of the Weihaiwei deities are Lung Wang--the Dragon-king--who
possesses the power of manipulating rainfalls and is therefore appealed
to in seasons of drought, and T'ien Hou--the Queen of Heaven, also
known as Shêng Mu, the Holy Mother--a goddess who is in many respects
the Taoist counterpart of the Buddhist Kuan Yin (the "Goddess of
Mercy") and is regarded as a protecting deity of sailors and fishermen.
The Holy Mother has many shrines along the coast, besides a quaint old
temple at Port Edward and a locally-famous one called Ai-shan Miao on a
mountain-pass a short distance to the north-west of the market-village
of Yang-t'ing. The last-named temple, which recently has been
undergoing a partial restoration, is, owing to its position, exposed to
the fierce north winds of winter and the equally boisterous south winds
of early summer, and after its erection about the end of the fifteenth
century it was more than once blown down. The priests and other wise
men of the time deliberated on the question of how to prevent such
catastrophes in future, and finally decided that the best way would be
to dig a tunnel through the hill from north to south _underneath_ the
temple, so as to give the wind a means of crossing the pass comfortably
without hurting the building. The tunnel was duly made and exists
to this day. It is over six feet in height, four feet in breadth,
and perhaps thirty yards in length. No self-respecting wind, it was
supposed, would play havoc with the walls and roof of the temple when
a nice channel had been specially constructed for its private use, and
indeed for many years, it is said, the temple enjoyed complete immunity
from storms. But the priest now in charge has informed me regretfully
that the tempests of these latter days are not so amenable to reason
and discipline as were those of the good old times.[382]
Temples and shrines to Lung Wang, the Dragon-king, can be seen in or
near many villages, sometimes adjoining the shrine of the T'u Ti,
and also on many headlands along the coast. The Dragon-king's mother
is a favourite object of worship as well as the Dragon-king himself,
and her image often occupies a neighbouring shrine. The dragon, as
is well known, figures prominently in Chinese myth and legend and in
Chinese art-conceptions. It is regarded as a kind of symbol of empire
and of things imperial: the "dragon-body" is the emperor's person; the
"dragon-seat" is the emperor's throne; the "dragon-pen" is the imperial
autograph; the "dragon-flag" is the imperial standard. The myths
connected with the dragon are vague and conflicting and no doubt they
are of various origins, though Taoism, always an eclectic religion, has
found room for them all in its capacious system. There are the dragons
of the four quarters of the universe and a fifth for the centre;
there are the four dragons of the seas (_Hai lung wang_), the dragon
of rain and clouds, the earth dragon (who is closely concerned with
_fêng-shui_[383]), the dragon of hidden treasures, the heavenly dragon,
and several protean dragons that can assume any shape and go anywhere
they please. The Mother-dragon, judging from her clay image in the
temples, seems to be quite an ordinary and rather benevolent old lady,
who--one might think--should have been the last person in the world to
give birth to an uncanny son; but even the Dragon himself is similarly
privileged to be represented by the image of a man.
[Illustration: AI-SHAN PASS AND TEMPLE (see p. 385).]
Serpent-worship, which was one origin of the dragon-mythology,[384]
seems to have left several traces of its existence in China: large
snakes--especially in localities where snakes are rare--are often
supposed to be manifestations of the divine Dragon.[385] There is
another superstition to the effect that certain evil demons can
assume a serpent-like shape and drive men to death by haunting them
and climbing on their backs.[386] Very recently (during the summer of
1909) a large snake was killed by lightning near a village close to
the borders of the Weihaiwei Territory. Next morning (the thunderstorm
having occurred at night) the villagers found the scorched body of
the reptile and forthwith agreed among themselves that it was a
devil-snake. Their only reasons for this surmise seem to have been
its unusually great size[387] and the peculiar manner of its death. A
devil-snake is supposed to be nearly as dangerous when dead as when
alive, so the villagers deputed six of their number to carry it to
the coast and carefully consign it to the ocean. There, no doubt, the
sea-dragon could look after its own.
"The Chinese, the Mexicans and the Semitic nations," says Dr. Aston,
"concur in associating water with the serpent."[388]
Perhaps it was the sinuosity of rivers viewed from a height that first
suggested the connection, and this would also account for the Chinese
dragon's association with mountains as well as with rivers. It should
be remembered that when one meets cases of mountain-gods, river-gods,
sea-gods, tree-gods, one finds one of two beliefs, or both inextricably
mixed: there is the belief that the mountain, river, sea or tree is
itself a god, and there is the belief that these natural objects are
merely inhabited or presided over by a god or spirit, who may or may
not be visible to mortal eyes. We know that in the case of sun-worship
the earliest belief seems to have been that the visible sun is the god
himself; later on the sun is regarded merely as the sun's chariot; and
later still the god (Apollo) identifies himself with so many different
activities and interests that we are apt altogether to forget or
ignore his primary connection with the sun. The case of Zeus, who was
originally the deified vault of heaven, is a similar one: and there are
very many others.
The legend current in Weihaiwei regarding the origin of the Dragon-king
(who may be compared with the Nāga-rāja of the Indian peninsula) runs
somewhat as follows. His mother was an ordinary mortal, but gave birth
to him in a manner that was not--to say the least--quite customary.
Being in his dragon-shape the lusty infant immediately flew away on a
journey of exploration, but returned periodically for the purpose of
being fed. As he grew larger and more terrifying in aspect day by day
his mother grew much alarmed, and confided her woes to her husband, the
dragon's father. The father after due consideration decided there was
no help for it but to cut off his preposterous son's head: so next day
he waited behind a curtain, sword in hand, for the dragon's arrival.
The great creature flew into the house in his usual unceremonious
manner, curled his tail round a beam below the roof, and hung head
downwards in such a way that by swaying himself gently he could reach
his mother's breast. At this juncture his father came from behind the
curtain, whirled his sword round his head, and brought it down on what
ought to have been the dragon's neck. But whether it was that his
hand shook, or he misjudged the distance, or his prey was too quick
for him, the fact remains that the dragon's head remained where it
was, and its owner merely emitted a strange gurgling sound that might
have been meant for an expression of irritation or might on the other
hand have been a draconic chuckle. Before the sword could be whirled
a second time the dragon seized his father round the waist, untwisted
his tail from the beam in the roof, and flew away to the eastern seas.
The dragon's father was never seen again, but the dragon and his mother
were elevated to a divine rank from which they have never since been
displaced.
The reasons for the elevation to godhead are perhaps not quite
apparent: but the popular saying that "the dragon's bounty is as
profound as the ocean and the mother-dragon's virtue is as lofty as the
hills" has a reference to their functions as controllers of the rains
and clouds. Of other local legends about Lung Wang perhaps two will
suffice.
In the Jung-ch'êng district, not far from the British frontier,[389]
is a pool of water which though several miles from the sea is said
to taste of sea-salt, to be fathomless, and to remain always at the
same level. It is dedicated to the Dragon. One day an inquisitive
villager tried to fathom its gloomy depths with his _pien-tang_
or carrying-pole. Hardly had he immersed it in the water than it
was grasped by a mysterious force and wrenched out of his hand.
It was immediately drawn below, and after waiting in vain for its
reappearance the villager went home. A few days later he was on the
sea-coast, gathering seaweed for roof-thatch, when suddenly he beheld
his _pien-tang_ floating in the water below the rocks on which he was
standing. On the first available opportunity after this, he burned
three sticks of incense in Lung Wang's temple as an offering to the
deity that had given him so striking a demonstration of his miraculous
power. The Lung Wang of the ocean, it may be mentioned, is said to have
a great treasure-house under the sea in which he stores the wealth that
comes to him from wrecked junks. Among his most precious possessions
are the eyes of certain great fish, which are believed to be priceless
gems. That is the reason, say the fisher-folk, why large dead fish,
when cast up on shore, are always found to be eyeless: Lung Wang has
picked out their eyes and put them among his treasures.
The annals of Weihaiwei also contain this story. In the year 1723 there
was a very heavy shower of rain. In the sky, among the dark clouds,
was espied a dragon. When the storm passed off a man named Chiang of
the village of Ho Ch'ing or Huo Ch'ien picked up a Thing that was "as
large as a sieve, round as the sun, thick as a coin, and lustrous as
the finest jade. It reflected the sun's light and shone like a star, so
that it dazzled the eyes." It was passed from hand to hand and minutely
examined, but no one knew what it was. The village soothsayer was
appealed to for a decision. A single glance at the strange object was
enough for the man of wisdom. "This Thing," he said, "is a scale that
has fallen from the body of the dragon." Chiang placed the treasure on
his family-altar and preserved it as a precious heirloom, but whether
it still exists no one seems to know, or those who know will not tell.
Among the greatest of the Taoist gods are Lao Chün,--Lao Tzŭ himself,
who would have been more disgusted than most men to know of his future
deification; P'an Ku, a kind of magnified Adam; and Yü Huang Shang Ti,
the Jade-Imperial-God to whom is entrusted the supreme control of the
world and mundane affairs. The functions of these deities are general
rather than specific, so it is no wonder that they are rather neglected
by the ordinary worshipper, who usually prays to the Taoist gods not
for the sake of glorifying the divine personage addressed (which
would be regarded as mere useless flattery) but with the direct and
avowed object of obtaining some benefit for himself or his friends and
relatives.
One hears little of Lao Chün and P'an Ku in Weihaiwei--probably most
villagers know hardly anything of them--but there are several shrines
dedicated to the Jade-Imperial-God. These are little stone buildings
on the hill-tops. They are perhaps the most interesting, if among the
most insignificant in size and appearance, of all the Taoist temples.
Mountain-worship is one of the very oldest forms of religion in China.
The most ancient historical records which the country possesses tell
us how those famous old emperors of the Golden Age--Yao, Shun and
Yü--offered sacrifices on mountain-tops. The old records are so terse
in expression that it is scarcely possible to say definitely whether
the mountains were worshipped for their own sakes or whether they were
merely regarded as altars for the worship of Shang Ti or T'ien, the
One God or the Greatest of Gods. As the Emperor Shun (2255-05 B.C.)
and other rulers of that early time (presuming they are not altogether
mythical) are said to have selected particular mountains for their acts
of worship it seems probable that the mountains themselves, or the
spirits they harboured, were the usual objects of worship; though it
is possible and even probable that the imperial sacrifices to Shang Ti
(still carried out annually on the Altar of Heaven at Peking) were also
regularly offered up on the summits of lofty hills.
Primitive worshippers of the visible heavens naturally thought that
the higher they climbed the nearer they would be to their god and
the more acceptable to him would be their sacrifices. As time went
on, four and subsequently five mountains in China were singled out
as being specially sacred for their own sakes as well as for the
imperial sacrifices, and those Five Mountains (_Wu Yüeh_) have been
annually visited and worshipped by countless pilgrims through all the
centuries down to the present day.[390] It does not appear, from the
ancient records of the _Shu Ching_, that Taoism had anything whatever
to do with mountain-worship in its early days: but it was evidently
the policy of the Taoists--as soon as they developed something like a
priestcraft--to associate themselves and their cult with every form
of worship in the country. Thus they soon established a priestly
guardianship, which they still retain, over the Five Sacred Mountains.
I have come across, in Chinese Buddhistic literature, evidence that the
priests of these mountains were Taoist priests in the first century
of the Christian era. No doubt it was natural enough that the sacred
hills should fall under the priestly superintendence of the Taoists,
for it was in the dark ravines and caves and on the rocky ledges of
great mountains that the Taoist recluses were accustomed to make their
solitary homes.
The impelling cause that first drove them to the hills was no doubt
to find the magical herbs and roots that were necessary ingredients
of the elixir of life, and to practise the self-control and purity of
thought that were as essential to success as the mysterious draught
itself. But the spell of the mountains soon became independent of drugs
and philosophies. Men discovered--many centuries before the sterner
aspects of hill and forest had begun to make their appeal to the
poets and artists of Europe--that wild Nature was an enchantress who
made willing slaves of all who had feelings responsive to beautiful
sights and sounds. The time came when poets, scholars, dreamers--many
of them Taoists only in name and some not even in name--sought the
solitude of mountains not because they hoped to concoct medicines or
acquire strange faculties and powers, but because they had fallen
under the power of the great enchantress, because they found amid the
sky-piercing crags and cloistered watercourses and dark pine-forests
of the great mountains a companionship, a peace of mind, a pure and
sometimes ecstatic happiness that they had never known and could never
know in peopled plains or in crowded cities. If one may presume to
alter a single word of a great poet's confession--
"The sounding cataract
Haunted them like a passion: the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to them
An appetite."
Five mountains, it is hardly necessary to say, were too few to satisfy
the Chinese longing for natural beauty. When the Buddhists came to
China in the first century of our era they found Taoist recluses and
priests in possession of the Five Sacred Mountains, but it was not long
before they, too, fixed upon equally beautiful mountain-retreats of
their own;[391] and no one who has visited a number of them can fail
to be struck by the peculiarly keen sense of the loveliness of nature
that must have guided the Buddhist recluses in their choice of romantic
sites for hermitages and monasteries. It is hardly too much to say that
there is not a beautiful mountain in all China that is not to-day or
has not been in past time the resort of monks and hermits or laymen who
have abandoned "the world."
People to whom wild Nature does not appeal with irresistible force,
those whom she does not "haunt like a passion," are of course in the
overwhelming majority in China as everywhere else, and it is just as
well, perhaps, for the practical concerns of this workaday world that
such is the case. Yet let not the hermits and Nature-worshippers be
despised: for it is an intense imaginative love of natural beauty
that has inspired the noblest pictorial art of China and has proved
the well-spring of her greatest poetry, and it was amid the glory and
wonder of the eternal hills that some of her greatest philosophers have
pondered the problems of life and death.
The hills of Weihaiwei, in spite of some fine scenery, are of small
account when compared with the glorious mountains of southern and
far western China, but even Weihaiwei has its legends of saints and
monks and "immortals" who made their homes amid the rocks and woods.
There are no monasteries now in this district, but the ravines still
contain both Taoist and Buddhist temples, each with its priest or two,
and it is easy to see that the Buddhists have generally secured the
most charming sites. The bitter coldness of the winter is sufficient
excuse for the absence of residential temples on the hill-tops: though,
as we have seen, there are many little stone-shrines dedicated to
the Jade-Imperial-God, the Governor of the Taoist universe. This is
the deity that has practically taken the place (so far as Taoism is
concerned) of the exalted God of Heaven--T'ien or Shang Ti[392]--who
was worshipped four or five thousand years ago by the rulers of the
Chinese people. There are similar little Buddhist shrines on the
hills, but these are comparatively few. Among the greater hills of
the Territory there are several known locally as Yü Huang Ting (the
Peak of the Jade-God) and at least two known as Fo Erh Ting (the Peak
of Buddha). Every hill also has its shrine--sometimes a mere heap of
unhewn stones put together without mortar--dedicated to the Shan Shên
or Spirit of the Hill, a divinity who belongs to the same order of
beings as the Ta Ti or Great Gods of the Five Sacred Mountains. The
hill-gods of Weihaiwei, though they are not visited by pilgrim-bands
from afar, receive a limited amount of "worship" from herdsmen,
silkworm-breeders and others. On many hill-slopes may also be seen
shrines to the Niu Wang and the Ma Wang, divinities whose business
it is to protect cattle and horses, and to Ch'ung Wang, the "king of
locusts." Locusts, as we know, have at various times been a terrible
scourge to the local farmers. It is supposed that by propitiating
their king with prayers and offerings they can be banished to some
locality where prayers and offerings are neglected. The Chinese of
Weihaiwei say that in spite of the devastation that locusts can work
among crops they are not really so much to be dreaded as many other
insects who _have no king_ and are therefore under no one's control
and subject to no law. If monarchical government, it is thought, could
be established among the more harmful flies and grubs, the happiness
of labouring mankind would be materially augmented. The shrines to the
mountain-spirit and the deities that preside over horses, cattle and
locusts very often contain no images but merely small uncarved stones.
The images of Yü Huang and other deities, when they exist, are usually
squat, flat-faced, dwarf-like creatures with large heads and small
bodies.[393] Of all these numerous mountain shrines the largest are
only about eight feet high and six feet square, while the smallest are
mere dolls' houses.
[Illustration: SHRINES TO THE MOUNTAIN-SPIRIT AND LUNG WANG (see p.
396).]
[Illustration: _Photo by Ah Fong._
WORSHIP AT THE ANCESTRAL TOMBS (see p. 187).]
The highest hill in the Territory is the central peak of the
Macdonald Range, in the South District. The Chinese name of the hill
is Chêng-ch'i or Cho-ch'i Shan. Here there are half a dozen or more
shrines to the various deities mentioned, each containing small stone
images and stone incense-burners. Just below the summit is an old
stone slab with an almost illegible inscription relating to "Heaven
and Earth," and close by is a shrine to the Mother-dragon. The images
are all weather-worn and have an appearance of antiquity which is
perhaps deceptive, though they are probably much older than their
stone canopies, which--as is stated on several mural tablets--have
been restored at various times during the present dynastic period,
beginning in 1644. Besides the shrines there is also a small bell-house
containing an iron bell dated Hsien Fêng X (1860), and close by are the
unrecognisable remains of a theatrical stage where performances were at
one time given in the middle of the seventh month. The principal shrine
is the _San Shêng Miao_, "The Temple of the Three Holy Ones" of Taoism.
From this mountain can be seen practically the whole of the leased
territory of Weihaiwei, laid out as it were like a map or--as the
Chinese would say--like a chessboard. The summit is a ridge which
slopes southward and northward to the two beautiful valleys of
Yü-chia-k'uang and Chang-chia-shan. Once or twice a year a priest
ascends the mountain from a temple far down on the western slope, and
having reached the summit he burns a few sticks of incense and recites
some Taoist prayers. Occasionally a villager climbs the mountain to
return thanks to the Jade-Imperial-God or the spirit of the mountain
for granting him success in some family matter or in business: but
ordinarily the little group of gods on the hill-top are left in
quietness and solitude. The Taoist devotee is not disturbed by uneasy
feelings that he is neglecting his deities: loneliness and peace amid
beautiful hills and valleys are or ought to be his own ideal, and the
gods whom he has made in his own image can surely ask for nothing
better.
Of Buddhism in Weihaiwei not a great deal need be said. Some of the
beliefs and superstitions which have been dealt with in this book
belong, indeed, as much to Buddhism as to Taoism, but the Buddhism is
of a kind that would not be recognised in south-eastern Asia. There are
some so-called Buddhist temples, each tenanted by a single priest and
a pupil or two, and proofs are not wanting that many centuries ago the
sites of some of these rather dilapidated buildings were occupied by
flourishing little monasteries: but Buddhism has long been a decadent
religion in Shantung, and, considering the corrupt state into which
it has fallen in northern China, its disappearance as a power in the
land is not to be regretted. Judging from the inscriptions on a few
old stone tablets it appears that Buddhism in the Weihaiwei district
reached its most flourishing state during the T'ang period (618-905
A.D.). At that time, indeed, Buddhist activity throughout China was
very great, for though the faith often underwent persecution or was
treated with chilling neglect, it enjoyed from time to time the
goodwill and patronage of the highest and most influential persons in
the land.
[Illustration: AT THE VILLAGE OF YÜ-CHIA-K'UANG (see p. 398).]
[Illustration: A MOUNTAIN STREAM AND HAMLET (see p. 395).]
It was during this period that many famous pilgrims travelled from
China to India--the Holy Land of Buddhism--in search of books and
relics, and some of them left accounts of their travels which are among
the treasures of Chinese literature. This was, indeed, one of the most
glorious epochs in Chinese history. It was a period during which the
Empire, under a succession of several able and highly-cultured rulers,
enjoyed a prosperity-political, social, literary, artistic--that it has
never quite attained in any succeeding age. The prosperity seems as a
rule to have affected every class of the people and every corner of
the Empire: even the comparatively poor and bleak regions of eastern
Shantung shared in the good fortune that radiated from the brilliant
capital of an Empire which--though the fact was undreamed of by the
young nations of Europe--was undoubtedly the mightiest and most highly
civilised state then existing in the world.
The existence of large Buddhist monasteries generally indicates a
fertile and populous tract of country, for a large assemblage of monks
accustomed to live to a great extent on the free offerings of the
people can hardly expect to be received with open arms in a region
that is inhabited by a sparse and poor population. The monasteries
of Weihaiwei, then, were always small--none probably harbouring more
than six to twelve monks. But, like Buddhists elsewhere, the monks
who came to this part of the Empire took care to select for their
dwelling-places the most charming and picturesque sites available.
The best or one of the best of these little establishments was known
as Ku Shan Ssŭ--the Monastery of the Ku Hill. It was founded between
the years 785 and 804, and part of it still exists as a small temple
pleasantly situated at the foot of the hill from which it takes its
name. Close by is the famous Buddha-tree of which mention has been
made.[394] Not far away from the temple, and immediately in front of
the British District Officer's official quarters, there is a natural
hot spring that bubbles out of the sandy bed of a shallow stream. One
can imagine how, eleven hundred years ago, the little band of gowned
monks, released for an hour from the contemplation of Nirvana or the
service of the Lord Buddha, would wend their way in the twilight hour
down to the edge of the ravine to lave their reverend limbs in those
delicious waters. The spring is still a daily source of joy to hundreds
of men and boys from the neighbouring villages, but the monks are all
gone.
In the temple there is a large image of the Buddha which, say the
villagers, was not made but "just growed." There is a little story told
of this image. A peasant-woman was in the habit of cutting firewood
from the shrubs on the slopes of Ku Shan and one day she noticed a
particularly thick and well-grown shrub which she immediately proceeded
to cut down, leaving nothing in the ground but the roots. Next day she
happened to pass that way again, and to her amazement found another
shrub, equally thick and well grown, in precisely the same spot. Her
surprise was great, but seeing no reason why she should neglect to
avail herself of her good luck she treated the second shrub exactly
as she had treated the first, and took it home. On the third day the
same thing happened again. The woman possessed herself of the shrub as
before, but having done so she could no longer keep the knowledge of
these strange occurrences to herself and decided to let her neighbours
into the secret.
[Illustration: WÊN-CH'ÜAN-T'ANG.]
Next day a large number of her incredulous fellow-villagers accompanied
her to the spot she indicated, and there, sure enough, a lordly shrub
had once more made its miraculous appearance. The wise man of the
party explained that the locality was obviously haunted by a powerful
spirit, and suggested the advisability of digging up the ground to see
what might be underneath. This was accordingly done, and immediately
below the roots of the shrub was discovered a colossal stone image
of Sakyamuni Buddha. The village councillors then held a meeting to
discuss the prodigy, and it was unanimously resolved, firstly, that
the image had not been carved by the hands of man, and, secondly, that
a suitable resting-place must be found for it as soon as possible in
a well-conducted Buddhist temple. The temple finally decided on was
the Huang K'o Ssŭ--a lonely building which still exists on a hillside
overlooking the village of Fang Chi. Ropes and trestles were obtained,
and dozens of willing hands volunteered to carry the sacred image to
the temple selected: but the image would not move. A reinforcement of
bearers was summoned, yet though they pulled and strained for over
an hour not a single inch of progress was made. The wise man then
announced that the Buddha had evidently taken a dislike to the Huang
K'o Ssŭ: perhaps he wished to be taken to the Ku Shan temple instead.
So the bearers began pulling in the opposite direction (for Huang
K'o Ssŭ lies to the south, Ku Shan Ssŭ to the north), and to their
astonishment hardly any effort on their part was required: the image
almost went of its own accord. In a short space of time the party
reached a brook which happened to have been swollen by heavy rains.
Fearing that an accident might occur if an attempt were made to cross
the brook at that time, the villagers decided to leave it on the
bank until the flood-waters had gone down. At sunrise next day they
all returned to the spot where the image had been left, but to their
profound consternation it had disappeared. After a prolonged search
it was accidentally discovered on the _further_ side of the brook:
obviously it had gone across of its own accord! By this time the
villagers were thoroughly awed, and even the most irreligious of them
impressively assured his companions that he had decided to devote the
rest of his life to piety and good works. The wonderful image was duly
installed in the temple of its choice, and there--amid picturesque if
somewhat decayed surroundings--it still remains.
One of the largest Buddhist temples is that known as Tou Shan Ssŭ,
situated on a hill overlooking the village of Tung Tou Shan. It
contains nothing of much interest except a "temple of horrors," as
Europeans usually designate such places, namely a roomful of clay
images representing the tortures applied to sinners in the Buddhist
"hells." The educated classes of China (including enlightened
Buddhists) regard such things with good-natured contempt. A writer in
the _Jung-ch'êng Chih_, mentioning the so-called hells of Buddhism,
remarks that "although this is not in accordance with the true worship
of the gods it is useful as a means of warning and keeping in order
the ignorant multitude."[395] Into the outside wall of this temple has
been built a curious old stone representing the historical Buddha.
The style of carving is Indian, such as may be seen in many old
Buddhist temples in China. The traditional Indian styles of what may be
called ecclesiastical architecture and decoration survived in Chinese
Buddhistic art long after Indian and Chinese Buddhists had ceased to
make pilgrimages to each other's countries. This stone was doubtless
saved for the present buildings during one of the rather frequent
restorations which this temple has undergone.
There is now very little that is distinctively Buddhistic in the
religious ideas or ceremonies of the people, and apart from the priests
it is very doubtful whether there is a single Chinese in the Territory
who could give the date and place of the Buddha's birth,[396] much
less give any account of the teachings of that wonderful man. The
reincarnation of human souls is vaguely believed in after a fashion,
though some belief of the kind would probably be found in China even
though Buddhism had never existed. The theory of the "transmigration of
souls," which is not Buddhistic except in a popular sense, has driven
out of sight and memory the theory of the reincarnation of Karma, which
is taught by canonical Buddhism. The doctrine of the Buddha on this and
many other points is too profound to be grasped by the uncultivated
peasant. The crude idea of "transmigration" has been held by numerous
tribes and races never reached or affected by Buddhism--such as certain
American Indians, Greenlanders, Australian aborigines, and African
negroes: indeed it existed in Asia (and probably elsewhere) long before
the days of the Buddha.
Dr. Tylor shows,[397] in the case of the Manichæans and Nestorians,
that even within the range of Christian influence the idea of
transmigration has widely flourished; indeed, to a limited extent it
apparently exists to this day among certain Christians of eastern
Europe. Thus when a Chinese litigant in Weihaiwei presents a petition
in which he says, "if I am not telling the strict truth may I after
death change into a donkey or a worm and never more appear in the
form of a man," he is only expressing himself in the terms of a
belief that is in reality independent of Buddhism, though now closely
connected with it in the popular mind. I have before me a petition
which concludes in words that may be translated thus: "If His Worship
will take pity on his humble petitioner and come to his help in the
present trouble, then the whole of his petitioner's family and all
future generations of his family for a period of ten thousand _kalpas_
(innumerable ages) will reverently raise their hands and repeat the
name of Amitabha Buddha." This, of course, is a "patter" taken from the
lips of the Buddhist priests; Amitabha[398] is the great Buddha-god of
the fabled Western Heaven--that abode of bliss which in the Chinese
Mahayana system has practically abolished (except for certain monkish
schools) the Nirvana of primitive and orthodox Buddhism.
A few stories and legends survive in Weihaiwei to show that Buddhism
was once a mightier power in this part of China than it is at present.
Of a fisherman named Miao we are told that once upon a time when he
was at sea he hooked what he thought was a great fish; but when he
hauled in his line he found his "catch" was an image of Buddha. Being
an irreligious man he took a stone and smashed the image to pieces. A
few days afterwards he sickened and died. According to another story an
image of Kuan Yin (the "Goddess of Mercy") in the tower of the south
gate of Weihai city is of peculiar sanctity. About the year 1650 part
of the city wall collapsed and the gate-tower fell in ruins: but the
image, though it was only made of clay, was miraculously preserved and
was found uninjured on the top of the pile of ruins. The people of
Weihaiwei marvelled much at this incident and willingly subscribed for
the restoration of the tower and the shrine. For the better protection
of the goddess in future, an image of Wei To was set up within the
shrine, and since then there have been no accidents.[399]
A more interesting story is told of Miss Ch'ên, who was a Buddhist
nun celebrated for her virtue and austerity. Between the years 1628
and 1643 she left her nunnery near Weihai city and set out on a long
journey for the purpose of collecting subscriptions for casting a new
image of the Buddha. She wandered through Shantung and Chihli and
finally reached Peking, and there--subscription book in hand--she
stationed herself at the Ch'ien Mên (Great South Gate) in order to take
toll from those who wished to lay up for themselves treasures in the
Western Heaven. The first passer-by who took any notice of her was an
amiable maniac. His dress was made of coloured shreds and patches and
his general appearance was wild and uncouth. "Whither away, nun?" he
asked. Miss Ch'ên explained that she was collecting subscriptions for
the casting of a great image of Buddha and had come all the way from
Shantung. "Throughout my life," remarked the madman, "I was ever a
generous giver"; so taking the nun's subscription book he headed a page
with his own name (in very large characters) and the amount subscribed.
The amount in question was two "cash," equivalent to a small fraction
of a farthing. He then handed over the two small coins and went on his
way.
In course of time the nun returned to Weihaiwei with her subscriptions,
and the work of casting the image was duly begun. When the time had
come for the process of smelting, it was observed that the copper
remained hard and intractable. Again and again the furnace was fed with
fuel, but the shapeless mass of metal remained firm as a rock. The head
workman, who was a man of wide experience, volunteered an explanation
of the matter. "An offering of great value must be missing," he
said. "Let the collection-book be examined so that it may be seen
whose subscription has been withheld." The nun, who was standing by,
immediately produced the madman's money, which on account of its
minute value she had not taken the trouble to hand over. "There is one
cash," she said, "and there is another. Certainly the offering of these
must have been an act of the highest merit, and the giver must be a
holy man who will some day attain Buddhahood."
As she said this she threw the two cash into the midst of the cauldron.
The great bubbles rose and burst, the metal melted and ran like the
sap from a tree, limpid as flowing water, and in a few moments the
work was accomplished and the new Buddha successfully cast. This story
has a pleasant and instructive little moral of its own, though perhaps
the Western reader will be chiefly struck by the parallel between the
madman's two cash and the Widow's two mites.[400] In each case the
value of the gift lay not in the amount given but in the spirit of the
giver.
A glance at the interior of a Buddhist temple at Weihaiwei shows that
there is little or nothing left here of any form of Buddhism that
is worthy of the name. A native from Burma, Siam and Ceylon (where
comparatively pure forms of Buddhism are still to be found) would
recognise the image of Sakyamuni, but otherwise he would see hardly
anything to indicate that the Light of Asia had ever penetrated to this
far corner of the continent. The people, as we have seen, know nothing
of the life of the Buddha and next to nothing of his teachings, while
the priests--temple caretakers would be a more fitting description
for them--know not much more than the people. Here, as in the greater
part of China, efforts have evidently been made to popularise
the Buddhist temples by the introduction of the images of Taoist
divinities--especially the various gods that bring material prosperity
and heal diseases. A Buddhist temple therefore contains nearly as many
images as a Taoist temple: if they were excluded the temple would be
deserted, and the sole revenue--apart from the profits arising from a
few cultivated fields--would probably be a small sum paid annually by
laymen for the privilege of storing their unused coffins in the temple
precincts.
Weihaiwei is not by any means unique in respect of the decayed state
of Buddhism. It is hardly too much to say that Buddhism as a distinct
religion only exists in China in certain famous monastic centres. The
only true Buddhists are the monks of the great monasteries (to be found
chiefly south of the Yangtse) and the people of certain localities
where monastic influences happen to be strong. Elsewhere Buddhism has
indeed tinged--sometimes very deeply--the religious life and customs of
the people, especially in the beliefs and ceremonies relating to death
and burial, but it can hardly be said to be a separate living faith.
Of other religions besides the _San Chiao_--the "Three Doctrines" of
Confucianism, Taoism and Buddhism--there is very little to be said so
far as Weihaiwei is concerned. Mohammedanism exists in certain parts
of the province--as in Chinan-fu and Ch'ing-chou-fu--but there is
no trace of it in Weihaiwei or its neighbourhood. Both Catholic and
Protestant Missions exist, and there are some converts to Christianity.
At present--1910--there are reported to be about fifty baptized
Catholics besides some catechumens preparing for baptism; there are
also eighty-three Christians belonging to Protestant denominations. The
Christians may thus be said to number less than one-tenth of one per
cent. of the inhabitants of the Territory.
FOOTNOTES:
[382] We need not jeer at Chinese simplicity in this matter unless we
reserve some of our gibes for the good folk of Settrington, Yorkshire,
where "it is considered prudent during a thunderstorm to leave the
house door open in order to enable the lightning to get out if it
should come in." (_County Folk-lore_, vol. ii.: _North Riding of
Yorkshire_, pp. 43-4.)
[383] See pp. 119 _seq._
[384] Serpent-worship was as we know common in Egypt, and also among
the Hebrews up to the time of Hezekiah, and among certain Indian
and other Asiatic races. As for "dragons," they existed even in
Lincolnshire and Gloucestershire (see _County Folk-lore_, vol. x. p.
33; and _County Folk-lore: Gloucestershire_, p. 23). It is unnecessary
to remind the English reader of St. George and his feats. For further
parallels see Dennys's _Folk-lore of China_, pp. 92, 102 _seq._, 107,
110.
[385] Sir Robert Douglas mentions a case in point in his _Confucianism
and Taouism_ (5th ed.), p. 277. He says of a certain great serpent
that "Li Hung-chang, the viceroy of the province, came in person to
pay reverence to it as the personification of the Dragon-king." For a
discussion of snake-demons in China see De Groot's _Religious System of
China_, vol. v. pp. 626 _seq._ See also _J.R.A.S. (China Branch)_, vol.
xxxiv. p. 116. For a famous snake-demon legend that has been widely
accepted in lands other than China, the reader need not look further
than Genesis, chap. iii.
[386] A belief of the kind exists in Japan. See Griffis, _The Religions
of Japan_ (4th ed.), p. 32. For China, see also De Groot, _Religious
System of China_, vol. iv. pp. 214-19.
[387] Large snakes are very rare in Shantung, though pythons are common
enough in south China.
[388] _Shinto_, p. 42.
[389] Near the village of Hsing-lin ("Almond-Grove").
[390] The Five Sacred Mountains are T'ai Shan in Shantung, Hêng Shan
in Shansi (and a rival claimant of the same name in Chihli), Sung Shan
in Honan, Hua Shan in Shensi, and the Nan Yüeh in Hunan. The Spirits
of these Mountains are known as Ta Ti--"Great Gods." The most famous
of them, so far as literature and tradition go, is T'ai Shan; the most
popular (judging from my own observation of the number of worshippers
during the pilgrim season) is the Nan Yüeh; the most beautiful, as
well as the loftiest, is Hua Shan, which--when there is a railway from
Honan-fu to Hsi-an-fu--will become a European tourists' Mecca. See
_supra_, pp. 71, 73, 74.
[391] The so-called Four Famous Mountains (_Ssŭ Ta Ming Shan_) of
Buddhism are Wu-t'ai Shan in Shansi, Omei Shan in Ssŭch'uan, Chiu
Hua Shan in Anhui and Pootoo Shan off the coast of Chehkiang. After
visits to all these hills I am inclined to give the palm of beauty
to Omei Shan, though the others have great charms of their own, more
especially the little fairyland of Pootoo, with its silver sands, its
picturesque monasteries, its tree-clad slopes and the isle-studded
deep-blue sea that laps its rock-fringed coast. But apart from the Five
Sacred Mountains (still predominantly Taoist) and the Four Famous Hills
(almost exclusively Buddhist) there are very many other beautiful and
famous temple-studded hills in China. Wu-tang in Hupei, T'ai Pai in
Shensi, T'ien-t'ai in Chehkiang, Huang Shan in Anhui, Shang-Fang near
Peking, Wu-i and Ku Shan in Fuhkien, the Lo-fou hills near Canton, are
only a few of those of which the fame has spread furthest.
[392] _Shang Ti_ is the term that the majority of Protestant
missionaries in China have adopted to represent the word God. _T'ien
Chu_ (Lord of Heaven) is the name selected by the Roman Catholics. The
Chinese know Protestantism as _Ye-su Chiao_ (the Jesus Doctrine) and
Roman Catholicism as _T'ien Chu Chiao_ (the Lord-of-Heaven Doctrine).
[393] The simple uncarved stones seem to gain in interest when we
go back in thought to the days of the early Greeks and the early
Babylonians and Assyrians. Of the ancient Greeks Pausanias tells us
that they worshipped the gods through the medium of images, and that
these images were unwrought stones. Some of the T'u Ti and other
images that one finds everywhere in Weihaiwei--with their short,
squat, scarcely human bodies--suggest a transition from the mere
unwrought stone to the carved and finished statue. Similarly in Greece
we find first the absolutely rough, unhewn stone, such as that which
represented Eros at Thespiæ, next the legless, angular, ugly images
such as the well-known square Hermes--of which, one would have thought,
both gods and men should be ashamed--and finally the exquisite statues
of idealised boyhood and youth such as are still a source of the purest
delight to all lovers of beauty and of art. Unfortunately the desire to
make the gods appear different from ordinary mankind led the Chinese,
as it led the Indian and other Eastern races, to what may be called
the cultivation of the grotesque, so that there is very little that is
grand or beautiful, as a rule, even in the best of their divine images.
The finest statues, generally speaking, are undoubtedly those of Sakya
Buddha. Tradition, in this respect, has been comparatively merciful to
the memory of the great Indian philosopher and sage. Europeans often
find fault with the Buddha-faces for their alleged insipidity: whereas
what the artist has really aimed at is an ideal of passionless repose.
[394] See p. 381.
[395] Cf. the remark of Diodorus Siculus (i. 2): "The myths that are
told of affairs in Hades, though pure invention at bottom, contribute
to make men pious and upright."
[396] In any case they would be wrong, as the Chinese Buddhists
antedate the Buddha's birth by several centuries.
[397] _Primitive Culture_ (4th ed.), vol. ii. pp. 2 _seq_. and 14 _seq_.
[398] The Japanese Amida.
[399] Wei To in Chinese Buddhism is a fabulous Bodhisatva whose special
function it is to act as protector of Buddhist temples (_Vihārapāla_)
and all their contents. His image is generally found in the front hall
of such temples. He is often depicted on the last page of Buddhist
books: this prevents them from destruction by fire and insects, and (it
is confidently asserted) compels their borrower to return them to their
owner. A private Wei To would perhaps be a most welcome addition to the
furniture of many an Englishman's library.
[400] Mark xii. 41-4, and Luke xxi. 1-4. Buddhism also has a story of
a Widow who gave as an offering two pieces of copper. It occurs in a
Chinese version of the Buddhacarita of Asvagosha.