RELIGIONS OF ANCIENT CHINA
by Herbert A. Giles
Professor of Chinese at the University of Cambridge,
Author of
“Historic China,” “A History of Chinese
Literature,” “China and the
Chinese,” etc., etc.
Contents
SELECTED WORKS BEARING ON THE RELIGIONS OF CHINA
First Published 1906 by Constable and Company Ltd., London.
RELIGIONS OF ANCIENT CHINA
CHAPTER I — THE ANCIENT FAITH
Philosophical Theory of the Universe.—The problem of the universe
has never offered the slightest difficulty to Chinese philosophers. Before
the beginning of all things, there was Nothing. In the lapse of ages
Nothing coalesced into Unity, the Great Monad. After more ages, the Great
Monad separated into Duality, the Male and Female Principles in nature;
and then, by a process of biogenesis, the visible universe was produced.
Popular Cosmogeny.—An addition, however, to this simple system had
to be made, in deference to, and on a plane with, the intelligence of the
masses. According to this, the Male and Female Principles were each
subdivided into Greater and Lesser, and then from the interaction of these
four agencies a being, named P’an Ku, came into existence. He seems to
have come into life endowed with perfect knowledge, and his function was
to set the economy of the universe in order. He is often depicted as
wielding a huge adze, and engaged in constructing the world. With his
death the details of creation began. His breath became the wind; his
voice, the thunder; his left eye, the sun; his right eye, the moon; his
blood flowed in rivers; his hair grew into trees and plants; his flesh
became the soil; his sweat descended as rain; while the parasites which
infested his body were the origin of the human race.
Recognition and Worship of Spirits.—Early Chinese writers tell us
that Fu Hsi, B.C. 2953-2838, was the first Emperor to organize sacrifices
to, and worship of, spirits. In this he was followed by the Yellow
Emperor, B.C. 2698-2598, who built a temple for the worship of God, in
which incense was used, and first sacrificed to the Mountains and Rivers.
He is also said to have established the worship of the sun, moon, and five
planets, and to have elaborated the ceremonial of ancestral worship.
God the Father, Earth the Mother.—The Yellow Emperor was followed by
the Emperor Shao Hao, B.C. 2598-2514, “who instituted the music of the
Great Abyss in order to bring spirits and men into harmony.” Then came the
Emperor Chuan Hsu, B.C. 2514-2436, of whom it is said that he appointed an
officer “to preside over the worship of God and Earth, in order to form a
link between the spirits and man,” and also “caused music to be played for
the enjoyment of God.” Music, by the way, is said to have been introduced
into worship in imitation of thunder, and was therefore supposed to be
pleasing to the Almighty. After him followed the Emperor Ti K’u, B.C.
2436-2366, who dabbled in astronomy, and “came to a knowledge of spiritual
beings, which he respectfully worshipped.” The Emperor Yao, B.C.
2357-2255, built a temple for the worship of God, and also caused dances
to be performed for the enjoyment of God on occasions of special sacrifice
and communication with the spiritual world. After him, we reach the
Emperor Shun, B.C. 2255-2205, in whose favour Yao abdicated.
Additional Deities.—Before, however, Shun ventured to mount the
throne, he consulted the stars, in order to find out if the unseen Powers
were favourable to his elevation; and on receiving a satisfactory reply,
“he proceeded to sacrifice to God, to the Six Honoured Ones (unknown), to
the Mountains and Rivers, and to Spirits in general. . . . In the second
month of the year, he made a tour of inspection eastwards, as far as Mount
T’ai (in modern Shantung), where he presented a burnt offering to God, and
sacrificed to the Mountains and Rivers.”
God punishes the wicked and rewards the good.—The Great Yu, who
drained the empire, and came to the throne in B.C. 2205 as first Emperor
of the Hsia dynasty, followed in the lines of his pious predecessors. But
the Emperor K’ung Chia, B.C. 1879-1848, who at first had treated the
Spirits with all due reverence, fell into evil ways, and was abandoned by
God. This was the beginning of the end. In B.C. 1766 T’ang the Completer,
founder of the Shang dynasty, set to work to overthrow Chieh Kuei, the
last ruler of the Hsia dynasty. He began by sacrificing to Almighty God,
and asked for a blessing on his undertaking. And in his subsequent
proclamation to the empire, he spoke of that God as follows: “God has
given to every man a conscience; and if all men acted in accordance with
its dictates, they would not stray from the right path. . . . The way of
God is to bless the good and punish the bad. He has sent down calamities
on the House of Hsia, to make manifest its crimes.”
God manifests displeasure.—In B.C. 1637 the Emperor T’ai Mou
succeeded. His reign was marked by the supernatural appearance in the
palace of two mulberry-trees, which in a single night grew to such a size
that they could hardly be spanned by two hands. The Emperor was terrified;
whereupon a Minister said, “No prodigy is a match for virtue. Your
Majesty’s government is no doubt at fault, and some reform of conduct is
necessary.” Accordingly, the Emperor began to act more circumspectly;
after which the mulberry-trees soon withered and died.
Revelation in a dream.—The Emperor Wu Ting, B.C. 1324-1264, began
his reign by not speaking for three years, leaving all State affairs to be
decided by his Prime Minister, while he himself gained experience. Later
on, the features of a sage were revealed to him in a dream; and on waking,
he caused a portrait of the apparition to be prepared and circulated
throughout the empire. The sage was found, and for a long time aided the
Emperor in the right administration of government. On the occasion of a
sacrifice, a pheasant perched upon the handle of the great sacrificial
tripod, and crowed, at which the Emperor was much alarmed. “Be not
afraid,” cried a Minister; “but begin by reforming your government. God
looks down upon mortals, and in accordance with their deserts grants them
many years or few. God does not shorten men’s lives; they do that
themselves. Some are wanting in virtue, and will not acknowledge their
transgressions; only when God chastens them do they cry, What are we to
do?”
Anthropomorphism and Fetishism.—One of the last Emperors of the
Shang dynasty, Wu I, who reigned B.C. 1198-1194, even went so far as “to
make an image in human form, which he called God. With this image he used
to play at dice, causing some one to throw for the image; and if ‘God’
lost, he would overwhelm the image with insult. He also made a bag of
leather, which he filled with blood and hung up. Then he would shoot at
it, saying that he was shooting God. By and by, when he was out hunting,
he was struck down by a violent thunderclap, and killed.”
God indignant.—Finally, when the Shang dynasty sank into the lowest
depths of moral abasement, King Wu, who charged himself with its
overthrow, and who subsequently became the first sovereign of the Chou
dynasty, offered sacrifices to Almighty God, and also to Mother Earth.
“The King of Shang,” he said in his address to the high officers who
collected around him, “does not reverence God above, and inflicts
calamities on the people below. Almighty God is moved with indignation.”
On the day of the final battle he declared that he was acting in the
matter of punishment merely as the instrument of God; and after his great
victory and the establishment of his own line, it was to God that he
rendered thanks.
No Devil, No Hell.—In this primitive monotheism, of which only
scanty, but no doubt genuine, records remain, no place was found for any
being such as the Buddhist Mara or the Devil of the Old and New
Testaments. God inflicted His own punishments by visiting calamities on
mankind, just as He bestowed His own rewards by sending bounteous harvests
in due season. Evil spirits were a later invention, and their operations
were even then confined chiefly to tearing people’s hearts out, and so
forth, for their own particular pleasure; we certainly meet no cases of
evil spirits wishing to undermine man’s allegiance to God, or desiring to
make people wicked in order to secure their everlasting punishment. The
vision of Purgatory, with all its horrid tortures, was introduced into
China by Buddhism, and was subsequently annexed by the Taoists, some time
between the third and sixth centuries A.D.
Chinese Terms for God.—Before passing to the firmer ground,
historically speaking, of the Chou dynasty, it may be as well to state
here that there are two terms in ancient Chinese literature which seem to
be used indiscriminately for God. One is T’ien, which has come to
include the material heavens, the sky; and the other is Shang Ti,
which has come to include the spirits of deceased Emperors. These two
terms appear simultaneously, so to speak, in the earliest documents which
have come down to us, dating back to something like the twentieth century
before Christ. Priority, however, belongs beyond all doubt to T’ien,
which it would have been more natural to find meaning, first the visible
heavens, and secondly the Deity, whose existence beyond the sky would be
inferred from such phenomena as lightning, thunder, wind, and rain. But
the process appears to have been the other way, so far at any rate as the
written language is concerned. The Chinese script, when it first came into
existence, was purely pictorial, and confined to visible objects which
were comparatively easy to depict. There does not seem to have been any
attempt to draw a picture of the sky. On the other hand, the character T’ien
was just such a representation of a human being as would be expected from
the hand of a prehistoric artist; and under this unmistakable shape the
character appears on bells and tripods, as seen in collections of
inscriptions, so late as the sixth and seventh centuries B.C., after which
the head is flattered to a line, and the arms are raised until they form
another line parallel to that of the head.
Distinction between T’ien and Shang Ti.—The term Shang Ti
means literally Supreme Ruler. It is not quite so vague as T’ien,
which seems to be more of an abstraction, while Shang Ti is a
genuinely personal God. Reference to T’ien is usually associated
with fate or destiny, calamities, blessings, prayers for help, etc. The
commandments of T’ien are hard to obey; He is compassionate, to be
feared, unjust, and cruel. Shang Ti lives in heaven, walks, leaves
tracks on the ground, enjoys the sweet savour of sacrifice, approves or
disapproves of conduct, deals with rewards and punishments in a more
particular way, and comes more actually into touch with the human race.
Thus Shang Ti would be the God who walked in the garden in the cool
of the day, the God who smelled the sweet savour of Noah’s sacrifice, and
the God who allowed Moses to see His back. T’ien would be the God
of Gods of the Psalms, whose mercy endureth for ever; the everlasting God
of Isaiah, who fainteth not, neither is weary.
Roman Catholic Dissensions.—These two, in fact, were the very terms
favoured by the early Jesuit missionaries to China, though not with the
limitations above suggested, as fit the proper renderings for God; and of
the two terms the great Manchu Emperor K’ang Hsi chose T’ien. It
has been thought that the conversion of China to Christianity under the
guiding influence of the Jesuits would soon have become an accomplished
fact, but for the ignorant opposition to the use of these terms by the
Franciscans and Dominicans, who referred this question, among others, to
the Pope. In 1704 Clement XI published a bull declaring that the Chinese
equivalent for God was T’ien Chu=Lord of Heaven; and such it has
continued to be ever since, so far as the Roman Catholic church is
concerned, in spite of the fact that T’ien Chu was a name given at
the close of the third century B.C. to one of the Eight Spirits.
The two Terms are One.—That the two terms refer in Chinese thought
to one and the same Being, though possibly with differing attributes, even
down to modern times, may be seen from the account of a dream by the
Emperor Yung Lo, A.D. 1403-1425, in which His Majesty relates that an
angel appeared to him, with a message from Shang Ti; upon which the
Emperor remarked, “Is not this a command from T’ien?” A comparison
might perhaps be instituted with the use of “God” and “Jehovah” in the
Bible. At the same time it must be noted that this view was not suggested
by the Emperor K’ang Hsi, who fixed upon T’ien as the appropriate
term. It is probable that, vigorous Confucianist as he was, he was anxious
to appear on the side rather of an abstract than of a personal Deity, and
that he was repelled by the overwrought anthropomorphism of the Christian
God. His conversion was said to have been very near at times; we read,
however, that, when hard pressed by the missionaries to accept baptism,
“he always excused himself by saying that he worshipped the same God as
the Christians.”
God in the “Odes.”—The Chou dynasty lasted from B.C. 1122 to B.C.
255. It was China’s feudal age, when the empire, then included between
latitude 34-40 and longitude 109-118, was split up into a number of vassal
States, which owned allegiance to a suzerain State. And it is to the
earlier centuries of the Chou dynasty that must be attributed the
composition of a large number of ballads of various kinds, ultimately
collected and edited by Confucius, and now known as the Odes. From
these Odes it is abundantly clear that the Chinese people continued
to hold, more clearly and more firmly than ever, a deep-seated belief in
the existence of an anthropomorphic and personal God, whose one care was
the welfare of the human race:—
He reigns in glory.—The soul of King Wen, father of the King Wu
below, and posthumously raised by his son to royal rank, is represented as
enjoying happiness in a state beyond the grave:—
He is a Spirit.—Sometimes in the Odes there is a hint that
God, in spite of His anthropomorphic semblance, is a spirit:—
Spiritual Beings.—Spirits were certainly supposed to move freely
among mortals:—
The God of Battle.—In the hour of battle the God of ancient China
was as much a participator in the fight as the God of Israel in the Old
Testament:—
was the cry which stimulated King Wu to break down the opposing ranks of
Shang. To King Wu’s father, and others, direct communications had
previously been made from heaven, with a view to the regeneration of the
empire:—
God sends Famine.—The Ode from which the following extract is
taken carries us back to the ninth century B.C., at the time of a
prolonged and disastrous drought:—
The Confucian Criterion.—The keystone of the Confucian philosophy,
that man is born good, will be found in the following lines:—
God, however, is not held responsible for the sufferings of mankind. King
Wen, in an address to the last tyrant of the House of Shang, says plainly,
The Associate of God.—Worshipped on certain occasions as the
Associate of God, and often summoned to aid in hours of distress or
danger, was a personage known as Hou Chi, said to have been the original
ancestor of the House of Chou. His story, sufficiently told in the Odes,
is curious for several reasons, and especially for an instance in Chinese
literature, which, in the absence of any known husband, comes near
suggesting the much-vexed question of parthenogenesis:—
Apotheosis of Hou Chi.—And so he grew to man’s estate, and taught
the people husbandry, with a success that has never been rivalled.
Consequently, he was deified, and during several centuries of the Chou
dynasty was united in worship with God:—
Other Deities.—During the long period covered by the Chou dynasty,
various other deities, of more or less importance, were called into
existence.
The patriarchal Emperor Shen Nung, B.C. 2838-2698, who had taught his
people to till the ground and eat of the fruits of their labour, was
deified as the tutelary genius of agriculture:—
There were also sacrifices to the Father of War, whoever he may have been;
to the Spirits of Wind, Rain, and Fire; and even to a deity who watched
over the welfare of silkworms. Since those days, the number of spiritual
beings who receive worship from the Chinese, some in one part of the
empire, some in another, has increased enormously. A single work,
published in 1640, gives notices of no fewer than eight hundred
divinities.
Superstitions.—During the period under consideration, all kinds of
superstition prevailed; among others, that of referring to the rainbow.
The rainbow was believed by the vulgar to be an emanation from an enormous
oyster away in the great ocean which surrounded the world, i.e. China.
Philosophers held it to be the result of undue proportions in the mixture
of the two cosmogonical principles which when properly blended produce the
harmony of nature. By both parties it was considered to be an inauspicious
manifestation, and merely to point at it would produce a sore on the hand.
Supernatural Manifestations.—Several events of a supernatural
character are recorded as having taken place under the Chou dynasty. In
B.C. 756, one of the feudal Dukes saw a vision of a yellow serpent which
descended from heaven and laid its head on the slope of a mountain. The
Duke spoke of this to his astrologer, who said, “It is a manifestation of
God; sacrifice to it.”
In B.C. 747, another Duke found on a mountain a being in the semblance of
a stone. Sacrifices were at once offered, and the stone was deified, and
received regular worship from that time forward.
In B.C. 659, a third Duke was in a trance for five days, when he saw a
vision of God, and received from Him instructions as to matters then
pressing. For many generations afterwards the story ran that the Duke had
been up to Heaven. This became a favourite theme for romancers. It is
stated in the biography of a certain Feng Po that “one night he saw the
gate of heaven open, and beheld exceeding glory within, which shone into
his courtyard.”
The following story is told by Huai-nan Tzu (d. B.C. 122):—”Once
when the Duke of Lu-yang was at war with the Han State, and sunset drew
near while a battle was still fiercely raging, the Duke held up his spear
and shook it at the sun, which forthwith went back three zodiacal signs.”
Only the Emperor worships God and Earth.—From the records of this
period we can also see how jealously the worship of God and Earth was
reserved for the Emperor alone.
In B.C. 651, Duke Huan of the Ch’i State, one of the feudal nobles to be
mentioned later on, wished to signalise his accession to the post of doyen
or leader of the vassal States by offering the great sacrifices to God and
to Earth. He was, however, dissuaded from this by a wise Minister, who
pointed out that only those could perform these ceremonies who had
personally received the Imperial mandate from God.
This same Minister is said to be responsible for the following utterance:—
“Duke Huan asked Kuan Chang, saying, To what should a prince attach the
highest importance? To God, replied the Minister; at which Duke Huan gazed
upwards to the sky. The God I mean, continued Kuan Chung, is not the
illimitable blue above. A true prince makes the people his God.”
Sacrifices.—Much has been recorded by the Chinese on the subject of
sacrifice,—more indeed than can be easily condensed into a small
compass. First of all, there were the great sacrifices to God and to
Earth, at the winter and summer solstices respectively, which were
reserved for the Son of Heaven alone. Besides what may be called private
sacrifices, the Emperor sacrificed also to the four quarters, and to the
mountains and rivers of the empire; while the feudal nobles sacrificed
each to his own quarter, and to the mountains and rivers of his own
domain. The victim offered by the Emperor on a blazing pile of wood was an
ox of one colour, always a young animal; a feudal noble would use any
fatted ox; and a petty official a sheep or a pig. When sacrificing to the
spirits of the land and of grain, the Son of Heaven used a bull, a ram,
and a boar; the feudal nobles only a ram and a boar; and the common
people, scallions and eggs in spring, wheat and fish in summer, millet and
a sucking-pig in autumn, and unhulled rice and a goose in winter. If there
was anything infelicitous about the victim intended for God, it was used
for Hou Chi. The victim intended for God required to be kept in a clean
stall for three months; that for Hou Chi simply required to be perfect in
its parts. This was the way in which they distinguished between heavenly
and earthly spirits.
In primeval times, we are told, sacrifices consisted of meat and drink,
the latter being the “mysterious liquid,” water, for which wine was
substituted later on. The ancients roasted millet and pieces of pork; they
made a hole in the ground and scooped the water from it with their two
hands, beating upon an earthen drum with a clay drumstick. Thus they
expressed their reverence for spiritual beings.
“Sacrifices,” according to the Book of Rites (Legge’s translation),
“should not be frequently repeated. Such frequency is an indication of
importunateness; and importunateness is inconsistent with reverence. Nor
should they be at distant intervals. Such infrequency is indicative of
indifference; and indifference leads to forgetting them altogether.
Therefore the superior man, in harmony with the course of Nature, offers
the sacrifices of spring and autumn. When he treads on the dew which has
descended as hoar-frost he cannot help a feeling of sadness, which arises
in his mind, and which cannot be ascribed to the cold. In spring, when he
treads on the ground, wet with the rains and dews that have fallen
heavily, he cannot avoid being moved by a feeling as if he were seeing his
departed friends. We meet the approach of our friends with music, and
escort them away with sadness, and hence at the sacrifice in spring we use
music, but not at the sacrifice in autumn.”
“Sacrifice is not a thing coming to a man from without; it issues from
within him, and has its birth in his heart. When the heart is deeply
moved, expression is given to it by ceremonies; and hence, only men of
ability and virtue can give complete exhibition to the idea of sacrifice.”
It was in this sense that Confucius warned his followers not to sacrifice
to spirits which did not belong to them, i.e. to other than those of their
own immediate ancestors. To do otherwise would raise a suspicion of
ulterior motives.
Ancestral Worship.—For the purpose of ancestral worship, which had
been practised from the earliest ages, the Emperor had seven shrines, each
with its altar representing various forefathers; and at all of these a
sacrifice was offered every month. Feudal nobles could have only five sets
of these, and the various officials three or fewer, on a descending scale
in proportion to their rank. Petty officers and the people generally had
no ancestral shrine, but worshipped the shades of their forefathers as
best they could in their houses and cottages.
For three days before sacrificing to ancestors, a strict vigil and
purification was maintained, and by the end of that time, from sheer
concentration of thought, the mourner was able to see the spirits of the
departed; and at the sacrifice next day seemed to hear their very
movements, and even the murmur of their sighs.
The object of the ceremony was to bring down the spirits from above,
together with the shades of ancestors, and thus to secure the blessing of
God; at the same time to please the souls of the departed, and to create a
link between the living and the dead.
“The object in sacrifices is not to pray; the time should not be hastened
on; a great apparatus is not required; ornamental details are not to be
approved; the victims need not be fat and large (cf. Horace, Od. III, 23;
Immunis aram, etc.); a profusion of the other offerings is not to
be admired.” There must, however, be no parsimony. A high official, well
able to afford better things, was justly blamed for having sacrificed to
the manes of his father a sucking-pig which did not fill the dish.
Religious Dances.—”The various dances displayed the gravity of the
performers, but did not awaken the emotion of delight. The ancestral
temple produced the impression of majesty, but did not dispose one to rest
on it. Its vessels might be employed, but could not be conveniently used
for any other purpose. The idea which leads to intercourse with spiritual
Beings is not interchangeable with that which finds its realisation in
rest and pleasure.”
Priestcraft.—From the ceremonial of ancestor worship the thin end of
the wedge of priestcraft was rigorously excluded. “For the words of prayer
and blessing and those of benediction to be kept hidden away by the
officers of prayer of the ancestral temple, and by the sorcerers and
recorders, is a violation of the rules of propriety. This may be called
keeping in a state of darkness.”
Confucius sums up the value of sacrifices in the following words. “By
their great sacrificial ceremonies the ancients served God; by their
ceremonies in the ancestral temple they worshipped their forefathers. He
who should understand the great sacrificial ceremonies, and the meaning of
the ceremonies in the ancestral temple, would find it as easy to govern
the empire as to look upon the palm of his hand.”
Filial Piety.—Intimately connected with ancestral worship is the
practice of filial piety; it is in fact on filial piety that ancestral
worship is dependent for its existence. In early ages, sons sacrificed to
the manes of their parents and ancestors generally, in order to afford
some mysterious pleasure to the disembodied spirits. There was then no
idea of propitiation, of benefits to ensue. In later times, the character
of the sacrifice underwent a change, until a sentiment of do ut des
became the real mainspring of the ceremony. Meanwhile, Confucius had
complained that the filial piety of his day only meant the support of
parents. “But,” argued the Sage, “we support our dogs and our horses;
without reverence, what is there to distinguish one from the other?” He
affirmed that children who would be accounted filial should give their
parents no cause of anxiety beyond such anxiety as might be occasioned by
ill-health. Filial piety, he said again, did not consist in relieving the
parents of toil, or in setting before them wine and food; it did consist
in serving them while alive according to the established rules, in burying
them when dead according to the established rules, and in sacrificing to
them after death, also according to the established rules. In another
passage Confucius declared that filial piety consists in carrying on the
aims of our forefathers, which really amounts to serving the dead as they
would have been served if alive.
Divination.—Divination seems to have been practised in China from
the earliest ages. The implements used were the shell of the tortoise,
spiritualised by the long life of its occupant, and the stalks of a kind
of grass, to which also spiritual powers had for some reason or other been
attributed. These were the methods, we are told, by which the ancient
Kings made their people revere spirits, obey the law, and settle all their
doubts. God gave these spiritual boons to mankind, and the sages took
advantage of them. “To explore what is complex, to search out what is
hidden, to hook up what lies deep, and to reach to what is distant,
thereby determining the issues for good or ill of all events under the
sky, and making all men full of strenuous endeavour, there are no agencies
greater than those of the stalks and the tortoise shell.”
In B.C. 2224, when the Emperor Shun wished to associate the Great Yu with
him in the government, the latter begged that recourse might be had to
divination, in order to discover the most suitable among the Ministers for
this exalted position. The Emperor refused, saying that his choice had
already been confirmed by the body of Ministers. “The spirits too have
signified their assent, the tortoise and grass having both concurred.
Divination, when fortunate, may not be repeated.”
Sincerity, on which Confucius lays such especial stress, is closely
associated with success in divination. “Sincerity is of God; cultivation
of sincerity is of man. He who is naturally sincere is he who hits his
mark without effort, and without thinking apprehends. He easily keeps to
the golden mean; he is inspired. He who cultivates sincerity is he who
chooses what is good and holds fast to it.
“It is characteristic of the most entire sincerity to be able to foreknow.
When a State or a family is about to flourish, there are sure to be happy
omens; and when it is about to perish, there are sure to be unpropitious
omens. The events portended are set forth by the divining-grass and the
tortoise. When calamity or good fortune may be about to come, the evil or
the good will be foreknown by the perfectly sincere man, who may therefore
be compared with a spirit.”
The tortoise and the grass have long since disappeared as instruments of
divination, which is now carried on by means of lots drawn from a vase,
with answers attached; by planchette; and by the chiao. The last
consists of two pieces of wood, anciently of stone, in the shape of the
two halves of a kidney bean. These are thrown into the air before the
altar in a temple,—Buddhist or Taoist, it matters nothing,—with
the following results. Two convex sides uppermost mean a response
indifferently good; two flat sides mean negative and bad; one convex and
one flat side mean that the prayer will be granted. This form of
divination, though widely practised at the present day, is by no means of
recent date. It was common in the Ch’u State, which was destroyed B.C.
300, after four hundred and twenty years of existence.
CHAPTER II — CONFUCIANISM
Attitude of Confucius.—Under the influence of Confucius, B.C.
551-479, the old order of things began to undergo a change. The Sage’s
attitude of mind towards religion was one of a benevolent agnosticism, as
summed up in his famous utterance, “Respect the spirits, but keep them at
a distance.” That he fully recognised the existence of a spirit world,
though admitting that he knew nothing about it, is manifest from the
following remarks of his:—
“How abundantly do spiritual beings display the powers that belong to
them! We look for, but do not see them; we listen for, but do not hear
them; yet they enter into all things, and there is nothing without them.
They cause all the people in the empire to fast and purify themselves, and
array themselves in their richest dresses, in order to attend at their
sacrifices. Then, like overflowing water, they seem to be over the heads,
and on the right and left, of their worshippers.”
He believed that he himself was, at any rate to some extent, a prophet of
God, as witness his remarks when in danger from the people of K’uang:—
“After the death of King Wen, was not wisdom lodged in me? If God were to
destroy this wisdom, future generations could not possess it. So long as
God does not destroy this wisdom, what can the people of K’uang do to me?”
Again, when Confucius cried, “Alas! there is no one that knows me,” and a
disciple asked what was meant, he replied, “I do not murmur against God. I
do not mumble against man. My studies lie low, and my penetration lies
high. But there is God; He knows me.”
We know that Confucius fasted, and we know that “he sacrificed to the
spirits as though the spirits were present;” it is even stated that “when
a friend sent him a present, though it might be a carriage and horses,
unless it were flesh which had been used in sacrifice, he did not bow.” He
declared that for a person in mourning food and music were without flavour
and charm; and whenever he saw anyone approaching who was in mourning
dress, even though younger than himself, he would immediately rise from
his seat. He believed in destiny; he was superstitious, changing colour at
a squall or at a clap of thunder; and he even countenanced the ceremonies
performed by villagers when driving out evil spirits from their dwellings.
He protested against any attempt to impose on God. He said that “he who
offends against God has none to whom he can pray;” and when in an hour of
sickness a disciple asked to be allowed to pray for him, he replied, “My
praying has been for a long time.” Yet he declined to speak to his
disciples of God, of spiritual beings or even of death and a hereafter,
holding that life and its problems were alone sufficient to tax the
energies of the human race. While not altogether ignoring man’s duty
towards God, he subordinated it in every way to man’s duty towards his
neighbour. He also did much towards weakening the personality of God, for
whom he invariably used T’ien, never Shang Ti, regarding Him
evidently more as an abstraction than as a living sentient Being, with the
physical attributes of man. Confucianism is therefore entirely a system of
morality, and not a religion.
It is also a curious fact that throughout the Spring and Autumn, or
Annals of the State of Lu, which extend from B.C. 722 to B.C. 484, there
is no allusion of any kind to the interposition of God in human affairs,
although a variety of natural phenomena are recorded, such as have always
been regarded by primitive peoples as the direct acts of an angered or
benevolent Deity. Lu was the State in which Confucius was born, and its
annals were compiled by the Sage himself; and throughout these Annals the
term God is never used except in connection with the word “King,” where it
always has the sense of “by the grace of God,” and once where the suzerain
is spoken of as “the Son of God,” or, as we usually phrase it, “the Son of
Heaven.”
How to bring rain.—In the famous Commentary by Tso-ch’iu Ming on the
Spring and Autumn, which imparts a human interest to the bald
entries set against each year of these annals, there are several allusions
to the Supreme Being. For instance, at a time of great drought the Duke of
Lu wished, in accordance with custom, to burn a witch and a person in the
last stage of consumption; the latter being sometimes exposed in the sun
so as to excite the compassion of God, who would then cause rain to fall.
A Minister vigorously protested against this superstition, pointing out
that the proper way to meet a drought would be to reduce the quantity of
food consumed, and to practise rigid economy in all things. “What have
these creatures to do with the matter?” he asked. “If God had wished to
put them to death, He had better not have given them life. If they can
really produce drought, to burn them will only increase the calamity.” The
Duke accordingly desisted; and although there was a famine, it is said to
have been less severe than usual.
In B.C. 523 there was a comet. A Minister said, “This broom-star sweeps
away the old, and brings in the new. The doings of God are constantly
attended by such appearances.”
Under B.C. 532 we have the record of a stone speaking. The Marquis of Lu
enquired of his chief musician if this was a fact, and received the
following answer: “Stones cannot speak. Perhaps this one was possessed by
a spirit. If not, the people must have heard wrong. And yet it is said
that when things are done out of season, and discontents and complaints
are stirring among the people, then speechless things do speak.”
Human Sacrifices.—Human sacrifices appear to have been not
altogether unknown. The Commentary tells us that in B.C. 637, in
consequence of a failure to appear and enter into a covenant, the Viscount
of Tseng was immolated by the people of the Chu State, to appease the wild
tribes of the east. The Minister of War protested: “In ancient times the
six domestic animals were not offered promiscuously in sacrifice; and for
small matters, the regular sacrificial animals were not used. How then
should we dare to offer up a man? Sacrifices are performed for the benefit
of men, who thus as it were entertain the spirits. But if men sacrifice
men, who will enjoy the offering?”
Again, in B.C. 529, the ruler of the Ch’u State destroyed the Ts’ai State,
and offered up the heir apparent as a victim. An officer said, “This is
inauspicious. If the five sacrificial animals may not be used
promiscuously, how much less can a feudal prince be offered up?”
The custom of burying live persons with the dead was first practised in
China in B.C. 580. It is said to have been suggested by an earlier and
more harmless custom of placing straw and wooden effigies in the mausolea
of the great. When the “First Emperor” died in B.C. 210, all those among
his wives who had borne no children were buried alive with him.
Praying for Rain.—From another Commentary on the Spring and
Autumn, by Ku-liang Shu, fourth century B.C., we have the following
note on Prayers for Rain, which are still offered up on occasions of
drought, but now generally through the medium of Taoist and Buddhist
priests:—
“Prayers for rain should be offered up in spring and summer only; not in
autumn and winter. Why not in autumn and winter? Perhaps the moisture of
growing things is not then exhausted; neither has man reached the limit of
his skill. Why in spring and summer? Because time is pressing and man’s
skill is of no further avail. How so? Because without rain just then
nothing could be made to grow; the crops would fail, and famine ensue. But
why wait until time is pressing, and man’s skill of no further avail?
Because to pray for rain is the same thing as asking a favour, and the
ancients did not lightly ask favours. Why so? Because they held it more
blessed to give than to receive; and as the latter excludes the former,
the main object of man’s life is taken away. How is praying for rain
asking a favour? It is a request that God will do something for us. The
divine men of old who had any request to make to God were careful to
prefer it in due season. At the head of all his high officers of State,
the prince would proceed in person to offer up his prayer. He could not
ask any one else to go as his proxy.”
Posthumous Honours for Confucius.—Before leaving Confucius, it is
necessary to add that now for many centuries he has been the central
figure and object of a cult as sincere as ever offered by man to any
being, human or divine. The ruler of Confucius’ native State of Lu was
profoundly distressed by the Sage’s death, and is said to have built a
shrine to commemorate his great worth, at which sacrifices were offered at
the four seasons. By the time however that the Chou dynasty was drawing to
its close (third century B.C.), it would be safe to say that, owing to
civil war and the great political upheaval generally, the worship of
Confucius was altogether discontinued. It certainly did not flourish under
the “First Emperor” (see post), and was only revived in B.C. 195 by
the first Emperor of the Han dynasty, who visited the grave of Confucius
in Shantung and sacrificed to his spirit a pig, a sheep, and an ox. Fifty
years later a temple was built to Confucius at his native place; and in
A.D. 72 his seventy-two disciples were admitted to share in the worship,
music being shortly afterwards added to the ceremonial. Gradually, the
people came to look upon Confucius as a god, and women used to pray to him
for children, until the practice was stopped by Edict in A.D. 472. In 505,
which some consider to be the date of the first genuine Confucian Temple,
wooden images of the Sage were introduced; in 1530 these were abolished,
and inscribed tablets of wood, in use at the present day, were
substituted. In 555 temples were placed in all prefectural cities; and
later on, in all the important cities and towns of the empire. In the
second and eighth months of each year, before dawn, sacrifices to
Confucius are still celebrated with considerable solemnity and pomp,
including music and dances by bands of either thirty-six or sixty-four
performers.
Mencius and Confucianism.—Mencius, who lived B.C. 372-289, and
devoted himself to the task of spreading and consolidating the Confucian
teachings, made no attempt to lead back the Chinese people towards their
early beliefs in a personal God and in a spiritual world beyond the ken of
mortals. He observes in a general way that “those who obey God are saved,
while those who rebel against Him perish,” but his reference is to this
life, and not to a future one. He also says that those whom God destines
for some great part, He first chastens by suffering and toil. But perhaps
his most original contribution will be found in the following paragraph:—
“By exerting his mental powers to the full, man comes to understand his
own nature. When he understands his own nature, he understands God.”
In all the above instances the term used for God is T’ien. Only in
one single passage does Mencius use Shang Ti:—”Though a man
be wicked, if he duly prepares himself by fasting and abstinence and
purification by water, he may sacrifice to God.”
Ch’u Yuan.—The statesman-poet Ch’u Yuan, B.C. 332-295, who drowned
himself in despair at his country’s outlook, and whose body is still
searched for annually at the Dragon-Boat festival, frequently alludes to a
Supreme Being:—
One of his poems is entitled “God Questions,” and consists of a number of
questions on various mysteries in the universe. The meaning of the title
would be better expressed by “Questions put to God,” but we are told that
such a phrase was impossible on account of the holiness of God and the
irreverence of questioning Him. One question was, “Who has handed down to
us an account of the beginning of all things, and how do we know anything
about the time when heaven and earth were without form?” Another question
was, “As Nu-ch’i had no husband, how could she bear nine sons?” The Commentary
tells us that Nu-ch’i was a “divine maiden,” but nothing more seems to be
known about her.
The following prose passage is taken from Ch’u Yuan’s biography:—
“Man came originally from God, just as the individual comes from his
parents. When his span is at an end, he goes back to that from which he
sprang. Thus it is that in the hour of bitter trial and exhaustion, there
is no man but calls to God, just as in his hours of sickness and sorrow
every one of us will turn to his parents.”
The great sacrifices to God and to Earth, as performed by the early rulers
of China, had been traditionally associated with Mount T’ai, in the modern
province of Shantung, one of China’s five sacred mountains. Accordingly,
in B.C. 219, the self-styled “First Emperor,” desirous of restoring the
old custom, which had already fallen into desuetude, proceeded to the
summit of Mount T’ai, where he is said to have carried out his purpose,
though what actually took place was always kept a profound secret. The
literati, however, whom the First Emperor had persecuted by forbidding any
further study of the Confucian Canon, and burning all the copies he could
lay hands on, gave out that he had been prevented from performing the
sacrifices by a violent storm of rain, alleging as a reason that he was
altogether deficient in the virtue required for such a ceremony.
It may be added that in B.C. 110 the then reigning Emperor proceeded to
the summit of Mount T’ai, and performed the great sacrifice to God,
following this up by sacrificing to Earth on a hill at the foot of the
mountain. At the ceremony he was dressed in yellow robes, and was
accompanied by music. During the night there was light, and a white cloud
hung over the altar. The Emperor himself declared that he saw a dazzling
glory, and heard a voice speaking to him. The truthful historian—the
Herodotus of China—who has left an account of these proceedings,
accompanied the Emperor on this and other occasions; he was also present
at the sacrifices offered before the departure of the mission, and has
left it on record that he himself actually heard the voices of spirits.
CHAPTER III — TAOISM
Lao Tzu.—Meanwhile, other influences had been helping to divert the
attention of the Chinese people from the simple worship of God and of the
powers of nature. The philosophy associated with the name of Lao Tzu, who
lived nobody knows when,—probably about B.C. 600—which is
popularly known as Taoism, from Tao, the omnipresent, omnipotent, and
unthinkable principle on which it is based, operated with Confucianism,
though in an opposite direction, in dislimning the old faith while putting
nothing satisfactory in its place. Confucianism, with its shadowy
monotheistic background, was at any rate a practical system for everyday
use, and it may be said to contain all the great ethical truths to be
found in the teachings of Christ. Lao Tzu harped upon a doctrine of
Inaction, by virtue of which all things were to be accomplished,—a
perpetual accommodation of self to one’s surroundings, with the minimum of
effort, all progress being spontaneous and in the line of least
resistance. Such a system was naturally far better fitted for the study,
where in fact it has always remained, than for use in ordinary life.
In one of the few genuine utterances of Lao Tzu which have survived the
wreck of time, we find an allusion to a spiritual world. Unfortunately, it
is impossible to say exactly what the passage means. According to Han Fei
(died B.C. 233), who wrote several chapters to elucidate the sayings of
Lao Tzu, the following is the correct interpretation:—
“Govern a great nation as you would cook a small fish (i.e. do not overdo
it).
“If the empire is governed according to Tao, evil spirits will not be
worshipped as good ones.
“If evil spirits are not worshipped as good ones, good ones will do no
injury. Neither will the Sages injure the people. Each will not injure the
other. And if neither injures the other, then there will be mutual
profit.”
The latter portion is explained by another commentator as follows:—
“Spirits do not hurt the natural. If people are natural, spirits have no
means of manifesting themselves; and if spirits do not manifest
themselves, we are not conscious of their existence as such. Likewise, if
we are not conscious of the existence of spirits as such, we must be
equally unconscious of the existence of inspired teachers as such; and to
be unconscious of the existence of spirits and of inspired teachers is the
very essence of Tao.”
Adumbrations of Heracleitus.—In the hands of Lao Tzu’s more
immediate followers, Tao became the Absolute, the First Cause, and finally
One in whose obliterating unity all seemingly opposed conditions of time
and space were indistinguishably blended. This One, the source of human
life, was placed beyond the limits of our visible universe; and in order
for human life to return thither at death and to enjoy immortality, it was
only necessary to refine away corporeal grossness according to the
doctrines of Lao Tzu. Later on, this One came to be regarded as a fixed
point of dazzling luminosity, in remote ether, around which circled for
ever and ever, in the supremest glory of motion, the souls of those who
had successfully passed through the ordeal of life, and who had left the
slough of humanity behind them.
The final state is best described by a poet of the ninth century A.D.:—
Debased Taoism.—This view naturally suggested the prolongation of
earthly life by artificial means; hence the search for an elixir, carried
on through many centuries by degenerate disciples of Taoism. But here we
must pass on to consider some of the speculations on God, life, death, and
immortality, indulged in by Taoist philosophers and others, who were not
fettered, as the Confucianists were, by traditional reticence on the
subject of spirits and an unseen universe.
Spirits must exist.—Mo Tzu, a philosopher of the fourth and fifth
centuries B.C., was arguing one day for the existence of spirits with a
disbelieving opponent. “All you have to do,” he said, “is to go into any
village and make enquiries. From of old until now the people have
constantly seen and heard spiritual beings; how then can you say they do
not exist? If they had never seen nor heard them, could people say that
they existed?” “Of course,” replied the disbeliever, “many people have
seen and heard spirits; but is there any instance of a properly verified
appearance?” Mo Tzu then told a long story of how King Hsuan, B.C.
827-781, unjustly put to death a Minister, and how the latter had said to
the King, “If there is no consciousness after death, this matter will be
at an end; but if there is, then within three years you will hear from
me.” Three years later, at a grand durbar, the Minister descended from
heaven on a white horse, and shot the King dead before the eyes of all.
Traces of Mysticism.—Chuang Tzu, the famous philosopher of the third
and fourth centuries B.C., and exponent of the Tao of Lao Tzu, has the
following allusions to God, of course as seen through Taoist glasses:—
“God is a principle which exists by virtue of its own intrinsicality, and
operates spontaneously without self-manifestation.
“He who knows what God is, and what Man is, has attained. Knowing what God
is, he knows that he himself proceeded therefrom. Knowing what Man is, he
rests in the knowledge of the known, waiting for the knowledge of the
unknown.
“The ultimate end is God. He is manifested in the laws of nature. He is
the hidden spring. At the beginning of all things, He was.”
Taoism, however, does not seem to have succeeded altogether, any more than
Confucianism, in altogether estranging the Chinese people from their
traditions of a God, more or less personal, whose power was the real
determining factor in human events. The great general Hsiang Yu, B.C.
233-202, said to his charioteer at the battle which proved fatal to his
fortunes, “I have fought no fewer than seventy fights, and have gained
dominion over the empire. That I am now brought to this pass is because
God has deserted me.”
CHAPTER IV — MATERIALISM
Yang Hsiung.—Yang Hsiung was a philosopher who flourished B.C. 53 –
A.D. 18. He taught that the nature of man at birth is neither good nor
evil, but a mixture of both, and that development in either direction
depends wholly upon environment. To one who asked about God, he replied,
“What have I to do with God? Watch how without doing anything He does all
things.” To another who said, “Surely it is God who fashions and adorns
all earthly forms,” he replied, “Not so; if God in an earthly sense were
to fashion and adorn all things, His strength would not be adequate to the
task.”
Wang Ch’ung.—Wang Ch’ung, A.D. 27-97, denies that men after death
live again as spiritual beings on earth. “Animals,” he argues, “do not
become spirits after death; why should man alone undergo this change? . .
. That which informs man at birth is vitality, and at death this vitality
is extinguished. Vitality is produced by the pulsations of the blood; when
these cease, vitality is extinguished, the body decays, and becomes dust.
How can it become a spirit? . . . When a man dies, his soul ascends to
heaven, and his bones return (kuei) to earth; therefore he is
spoken of as a disembodied spirit (kuei), the latter word really
meaning that which has returned. . . . Vitality becomes humanity, just as
water becomes ice. The ice melts and is water again; man dies and reverts
to spirituality. . . . The spirits which people see are invariably in the
form of human beings, and that very fact is enough of itself to prove that
these apparitions cannot be the souls of dead men. If a sack is filled
with grain, it will stand up, and is obviously a sack of grain; but if the
sack is burst and the grain falls out, then it collapses and disappears
from view. Now, man’s soul is enfolded in his body as grain in a sack.
When he dies his body decays and his vitality is dissipated; and if when
the grain is taken away the sack loses its form, why, when the vitality is
gone, should the body obtain a new shape in which to appear again in the
world? . . . The number of persons who have died since the world began,
old, middle-aged, and young, must run into thousands of millions, far
exceeding the number of persons alive at the present day. If every one of
these has become a disembodied spirit, there must be at least one to every
yard as we walk along the road; and those who die must now suddenly find
themselves face to face with vast crowds of spirits, filling every house
and street. . . . People say that spirits are the souls of dead men. That
being the case, spirits should always appear naked, for surely it is not
contended that clothes have souls as well as men. . . . It can further be
shown not only that dead men never become spirits, but also that they are
without consciousness, by the fact that before birth they are without
consciousness. Before birth man rests in the First Cause; when he dies he
goes back to the First Cause. The First Cause is vague and without form,
and man’s soul is there in a state of unconsciousness. At death the soul
reverts to its original state: how then can it possess consciousness? . .
. As a matter of fact, the universe is full of disembodied spirits, but
these are not the souls of dead men. They are beings only of the mind,
conjured up for the most part in sickness, when the patient is especially
subject to fear. For sickness induces fear of spirits; fear of spirits
causes the mind to dwell upon them; and thus apparitions are produced.”
Another writer enlarges on the view that kuei “disembodied spirit”
is the same as kuei “to return.” “At death, man’s soul returns to
heaven, his flesh to earth, his blood to water, his blood-vessels to
marshes, his voice to thunder, his motion to the wind, his sleep to the
sun and moon, his bones to trees, his muscles to hills, his teeth to
stones, his fat to dew, his hair to grass, while his breath returns to
man.”
Attributes of God.—There was a certain philosopher, named Ch’in Mi
(died A.D. 226), whose services were much required by the King of Wu, who
sent an envoy to fetch him. The envoy took upon himself to catechise the
philosopher, with the following result:—
“You are engaged in study, are you not?” asked the envoy.
“Any slip of a boy may be that,” replied Ch’in; “why not I?”
“Has God a head?” said the envoy.
“He has,” was the reply.
“Where is He?” was the next question.
“In the West. The Odes say,
From which it may be inferred that his head was in the West.”
“Has God got ears?”
“God sits on high,” replied Ch’in, “but hears the lowly. The Odes
say,
If He had not ears, how could He hear it?”
“Has God feet?” asked the envoy.
“He has,” replied Ch’in. “The Odes say,
If He had no feet, how could He step?”
“Has God a surname?” enquired the envoy. “And if so, what is it?”
“He has a surname,” said Ch’in, “and it is Liu.”
“How do you know that?” rejoined the other.
“The surname of the Emperor, who is the Son of Heaven, is Liu,” replied
Ch’in; “and that is how I know it.”
These answers, we are told, came as quickly as echo after sound. A writer
of the ninth century A.D., when reverence for the one God of ancient China
had been to a great extent weakened by the multiplication of inferior
deities, tells a story how this God, whose name was Liu, had been
displaced by another God whose name was Chang.
The Hsing ying tsa lu has the following story. There was once a
very poor scholar, who made it his nightly practice to burn incense and
pray to God. One evening he heard a voice from above, saying, “God has
been touched by your earnestness, and has sent me to ask what you
require.” “I wish,” replied the scholar, “for clothes and food, coarse if
you will, sufficient for my necessities in this life, and to be able to
roam, free from care, among the mountains and streams, until I complete my
allotted span; that is all.” “All!” cried the voice, amid peals of
laughter from the clouds. “Why, that is the happiness enjoyed by the
spirits in heaven; you can’t have that. Ask rather for wealth and rank.”
Good and Evil.—It has already been stated that the Chinese
imagination has never conceived of an Evil One, deliverance from whom
might be secured by prayer. The existence of evil in the abstract has
however received some attention.
Wei Tao Tzu asked Yu Li Tzu, saying, “Is it true that God loves good and
hates evil?”
“It is,” replied Yu.
“In that case,” rejoined Wei, “goodness should abound in the Empire and
evil should be scarce. Yet among birds, kites and falcons outnumber
phoenixes; among beasts, wolves are many and unicorns are few; among
growing plants, thorns are many and cereals are few; among those who eat
cooked food and stand erect, the wicked are many and the virtuous are few;
and in none of these cases can you say that the latter are evil and the
former good. Can it be possible that what man regards as evil, God regards
as good, and vice versa? Is it that God is unable to determine the
characteristics of each, and lets each follow its own bent and develop
good or evil accordingly? If He allows good men to be put upon, and evil
men to be a source of fear, is not this to admit that God has His likes
and dislikes? From of old until now, times of misgovernment have always
exceeded times of right government; and when men of principle have
contended with the ignoble, the latter have usually won. Where then is
God’s love of good and hatred of evil?”
Yu Li Tzu had no answer to make.
The Tan yen tsa lu says, “If the people are contented and happy,
God is at peace in His mind. When God is at peace in His mind, the two
great motive Powers act in harmony.”
Where is God?—The Pi ch’ou says, “The empyrean above you is
not God; it is but His outward manifestation. That which remains ever
fixed in man’s heart and which rules over all things without cease, that
is God. Alas, you earnestly seek God in the blue sky, while forgetting Him
altogether in your hearts. Can you expect your prayers to be answered?”
This view—”For behold, the kingdom of God is within you,” St. Luke
xvii. 21,—has been brought out by the philosopher Shao Yung, A.D.
1011-1077, in the following lines:—
Conflict of Faiths.—Han Wen-kung, A.D. 768-824, the eminent
philosopher, poet, and statesman, who suffered banishment for his
opposition to the Buddhist religion, complains that, “of old there was but
one faith; now there are three,”—meaning Confucianism, Buddhism, and
Taoism. He thus pictures the simplicity of China’s ancient kings:—
“Their clothes were of cloth or of silk. They dwelt in palaces or in
ordinary houses. They ate grain and vegetables and fruit and fish and
flesh. Their method was easy of comprehension: their doctrines were easily
carried into practice. Hence their lives passed pleasantly away, a source
of satisfaction to themselves, a source of benefit to mankind. At peace
within their own hearts, they readily adapted themselves to the
necessities of the family and of the State. Happy in life, they were
remembered after death. Their sacrifices were grateful to the God of
Heaven, and the spirits of the departed rejoiced in the honours of
ancestral worship.”
His mind seems to have been open on the subject of a future state. In a
lamentation on the death of a favourite nephew, he writes,
“If there is knowledge after death, this separation will be but for a
little while. If there is no knowledge after death, so will this sorrow be
but for a little while, and then no more sorrow for ever.”
His views as to the existence of spirits on this earth are not very
logical:—
“If there is whistling among the rafters, and I take a light but fail to
see anything,—is that a spirit? It is not; for spirits are
soundless. If there is something in the room, and I look for it but cannot
see it,—is that a spirit? It is not; spirits are formless. If
something brushes against me, and I grab at, but do not seize it,—is
that a spirit? It is not; for if spirits are soundless and formless, how
can they have substance?
“If then spirits have neither sound nor form nor substance, are they
consequently non-existent? Things which have form without sound exist in
nature; for instance, earth, and stones. Things which have sound without
form exist in nature; for instance, wind, and thunder. Things which have
both sound and form exist in nature; for instance, men, and animals. And
things which have neither sound nor form also exist in nature; for
instance, disembodied spirits and angels.”
For his own poetical spirit, according to the funeral elegy written some
two hundred and fifty years after his death, a great honour was reserved:—
His friend and contemporary, Liu Tsung-yuan, a poet and philosopher like
himself, was tempted into the following reflections by the contemplation
of a beautiful landscape which he discovered far from the beaten track:—
“Now, I have always had my doubts about the existence of a God; but this
scene made me think He really must exist. At the same time, however, I
began to wonder why He did not place it in some worthy centre of
civilisation, rather than in this out-of-the-way barbarous region, where
for centuries there has been no one to enjoy its beauty. And so, on the
other hand, such waste of labour and incongruity of position disposed me
to think that there could not be a God after all.”
Letter from God.—In A.D. 1008 there was a pretended revelation from
God in the form of a letter, recalling the letter from Christ on the
neglect of the Sabbath mentioned by Roger of Wendover and Hoveden,
contemporary chroniclers. The Emperor and his Court regarded this
communication with profound awe; but a high official of the day said, “I
have learnt (from the Confucian Discourses) that God does not even speak;
how then should He write a letter?”
Modern Materialism.—The philosopher and commentator, Chu Hsi, A.D.
1130-1200, whose interpretations of the Confucian Canon are the only ones
now officially recognised, has done more than any one since Confucius
himself to disseminate a rigid materialism among his fellow-countrymen.
The “God” of the Canon is explained away as an “Eternal Principle;” the
phenomena of the universe are attributed to Nature, with its absurd
personification so commonly met with in Western writers; and spirits
generally are associated with the perfervid imaginations of sick persons
and enthusiasts.
“Is consciousness dispersed after death, or does it still exist?” said an
enquirer.
“It is not dispersed,” replied Chu Hsi; “it is at an end. When vitality
comes to an end, consciousness comes to an end with it.”
He got into more trouble over the verse quoted earlier,
“If it is asserted,” he argued, “that King Wen was really in the presence
of God, and that there really is such a Being as God, He certainly cannot
have the form in which He is represented by the clay or wooden images in
vogue. Still, as these statements were made by the Prophets of old, there
must have been some foundation for them.”
There is, however, a certain amount of inconsistency in his writings on
the supernatural, for in another passage he says,
“When God is about to send down calamities upon us, He first raises up the
hero whose genius shall finally prevail against those calamities.”
Sometimes he seems to be addressing the educated Confucianist; at other
times, the common herd whose weaknesses have to be taken into account.
CHAPTER V — BUDDHISM AND OTHER RELIGIONS
So early as the third century B.C., Buddhism seems to have appeared in
China, though it was not until the latter part of the first century A.D.
that a regular propaganda was established, and not until a century or two
later still that this religion began to take a firm hold of the Chinese
people. It was bitterly opposed by the Taoists, and only after the lapse
of many centuries were the two doctrines able to exist side by side in
peace. Each religion began early to borrow from the other. In the words of
the philosopher Chu Hsi, of the twelfth century, “Buddhism stole the best
features of Taoism; Taoism stole the worst features of Buddhism. It is as
though one took a jewel from the other, and the loser recouped the loss
with a stone.”
From Buddhism the Taoists borrowed their whole scheme of temples, priests,
nuns, and ritual. They drew up liturgies to resemble the Buddhist Sutras,
and also prayers for the dead. They adopted the idea of a Trinity,
consisting of Lao Tzu, P’an Ku, and the Ruler of the Universe; and they
further appropriated the Buddhist Purgatory with all its frightful terrors
and tortures after death.
Nowadays it takes an expert to distinguish between the temples and priests
of the two religions, and members of both hierarchies are often
simultaneously summoned by persons needing religious consolation or
ceremonial of any kind.
Doubts.—In a chapter on “Doubts,” by the Taoist philosopher Mou Tzu,
we read,
“Some one said to Mou, The Buddhist doctrine teaches that when men die
they are born again. I cannot believe this.
“When a man is at the point of death, replied Mou, his family mount upon
the house-top and call to him to stay. If he is already dead, to whom do
they call?
“They call his soul, said the other.
“If the soul comes back, the man lives, answered Mou; but if it does not,
whither does it go?
“It becomes a disembodied spirit, was the reply.
“Precisely so, said Mou. The soul is imperishable; only the body decays,
just as the stalks of corn perish, while the grain continues for ever and
ever. Did not Lao Tzu say, ‘The reason why I suffer so much is because I
have a body’?
“But all men die whether they have found the truth or not, urged the
questioner; what then is the difference between them?
“That, replied Mou, is like considering your reward before you have put in
right conduct for a single day. If a man has found the truth, even though
he dies, his spirit will go to heaven; if he has led an evil life his
spirit will suffer everlastingly. A fool knows when a thing is done, but a
wise man knows beforehand. To have found the truth and not to have found
it are as unlike as gold and leather; good and evil, as black and white.
How then can you ask what is the difference?”
Buddhism, which forbids the slaughter of any living creature, has wisely
abstained from denouncing the sacrifice of victims at the Temple of Heaven
and at the Confucian Temple. But backed by Confucianism it denounces the
slaughter for food of the ox which tills the soil. Some lines of doggerel
to this effect, based upon the Buddhist doctrine of the transmigration of
souls and put into the mouth of an ox, have been rendered as follows:—
Fire Worshippers.—Mazdeism, the religion of Zoroaster, based upon
the worship of fire, and in that sense not altogether unfamiliar to the
Chinese, reached China some time in the seventh century A.D. The first
temple was built at Ch’ang-an, the capital, in 621, ten years after which
came the famous missionary, Ho Lu the Magus. But the lease of life enjoyed
by this religion was of short duration.
Islamism.—Mahometans first settled in China in the year of the
Mission, A.D. 628, under Wahb-Abi-Kabcha, a maternal uncle of Mahomet, who
was sent with presents to the Emperor. The first mosque was built at
Canton, where, after several restorations, it still exists. There is at
present a very large Mahometan community in China, chiefly in the province
of Yunnan. These people carry on their worship unmolested, on the sole
condition that in each mosque there shall be exhibited a small tablet with
an inscription, the purport of which is recognition of allegiance to the
reigning Emperor.
Nestorians.—In A.D. 631 the Nestorian Church introduced Christianity
into China, under the title of “The Luminous Doctrine;” and in 636
Nestorian missionaries were allowed to settle at the capital. In 781 the
famous Nestorian Tablet, with a bilingual inscription in Chinese and
Syriac, was set up at Si-ngan Fu, where it still remains, and where it was
discovered in 1625 by Father Semedo, long after Nestorianism had
altogether disappeared, leaving not a rack behind.
Manichaeans.—In A.D. 719 an ambassador from Tokharestan arrived at
the capital. He was accompanied by one Ta-mou-she, who is said to have
taught the religion of the Chaldean Mani, or Manes, who died about A.D.
274. In 807 the Manichaean sect made formal application to be allowed to
have recognised places of meeting; shortly after which they too disappear
from history.
Judaism.—The Jews, known to the Chinese as those who “take out the
sinew,” from their peculiar method of preparing meat, are said by some to
have reached China, and to have founded a colony in Honan, shortly after
the Captivity, carrying the Pentateuch with them. Three inscriptions on
stone tablets are still extant, dated 1489, 1512, and 1663, respectively.
The first says the Jews came to China during the Sung dynasty; the second,
during the Han dynasty; and the third, during the Chou dynasty. The first
is probably the correct account. We know that the Jews built a synagogue
at K’ai-feng Fu in A.D. 1164, where they were discovered by Ricci in the
seventeenth century, and where, in 1850, there were still to be found
traces of the old faith, now said to be completely effaced.
Christianity.—With the advent of the Jesuit Fathers in the sixteenth
century, and of the Protestant missionaries, Marshman and Morrison, in
1799 and 1807 respectively, we pass gradually down to the present day,
where we may well pause and look around to see what remains to the modern
Chinese of their ancient faiths. It is scarcely too much to say that all
idea of the early God of their forefathers has long since ceased to vivify
their religious instincts, though the sacrifices to God and to Earth are
still annually performed by the Emperor. Ancestor-worship, and the cult of
Confucius, are probably very much what they were many hundreds of years
ago; while Taoism, once a pure philosophy, is now a corrupt religion. As
to alien faiths, the Buddhism of China would certainly not be recognised
by the Founder of Buddhism in India; Mahometanism is fairly flourishing;
Christianity is still bitterly opposed.
CHRONOLOGICAL SYLLABUS
Legendary Period (Twenty-ninth Century to Tenth Century B.C.)—P’an
Ku and Creation—First Worship of Spirits—Worship of God, with
incense—Sacrifices to Mountains and Rivers—Worship of Sun,
Moon, and Stars—Institution of Ancestral Worship—God enjoys
music, dancing, and burnt offerings—God resents bad government—Revelation
in a Dream—Anthropomorphism—Fetishism—No Devil—No
Hell—Terms for God—The Character for “God” is a picture of a
Man—God and Jehovah—God in the Odes—Hou Chi and
Parthenogenesis—Superstitions and Supernatural Manifestations—Sacrifice—Ancestral
Worship—Filial Piety.
Feudal Age (Tenth Century to Third Century B.C.)—The Influence of
Confucianism—His Agnosticism—Weakening of Supernatural Beliefs—Consolidation
of Confucianism—Human Sacrifices—Prayers for Rain—The
Philosophy of Taoism—A Rival to Confucianism—But uniting to
weaken the old Monotheistic Faith—Its Theory of Spirits—Modifications
of Taoism—The Elixir of Life—Evidences of a Spiritual World—Mysticism.
The Empire (Third Century B.C. to modern times)—Arguments against a
Spiritual World—Attributes of God—Good and Evil—Buddhism
appears—Conflict of Faiths—Struggle between Buddhism and
Taoism—Taoism borrows from Buddhism and becomes a Religion—Mazdeism
appears—Followed closely by Mahometanism, Nestorian Christianity,
and Manichaeism—Mahometanism alone survived—Jews arrived about
Eleventh Century A.D.—Chu Hsi materialised the Confucian Canon—Henceforward
Agnosticism the rule for literati—Buddhism and Taoism (both
debased) for the Masses—The Jesuits arrive in the Sixteenth Century—Protestant
Missionaries date from 1799.
SELECTED WORKS BEARING ON THE RELIGIONS OF CHINA
Religion in China. Joseph Edkins, D.D.
The Religions of China. James Legge, D.D.
The Dragon, Image and Demon, or the three Religions of China. Rev. H. C.
du Bose.
Les Religions de la Chine. C. de Harbez.
The Religious System of China: Its ancient forms, evolution, history, etc.
J. J. de Groot, Ph.D.
The Sacred Books of China. James Legge, D.D.
Chinese Buddhism. Joseph Edkins, D.D.
Le Shinntoisme. Michel Revon.