Northern Wei and Ch' in Dynasties, and produced a change of emphasis from textual
commentaries to the inner philosophic meaning (yili}. In the Sung Dynasty there
arose directly under its influence a new Confucian school, or several schools, which
called themselves lihsiieh, or "philosophy." The preoccupation was still with moral
problems, but terms like hsing (nature), li (reason), ming (predestination), hsin (mind),
wu (matter), and chih (knowledge) were brought into the foreground. There was a
reawakened interest in the Confucian Tiking (Book of Changes), which studies the
mutations of human events. These Sung Confucianists, one and all, especially the
Ch'eng brothers, had delved deep into Buddhism and came back to Confucianism with
a newlywon perspective. The realization of truth was spoken of, as by Lu Chiuyen, as
an "awakening" in the Buddhistic sense, following a long meditation. Buddhism did
not convert these scholars, but it changed the tenor of Confucianism itself.
Equally great was its influence over writers like Su Tungp'o, who were in an armed
camp against these scholars, but who played with Buddhism in their own light,
dilettante way. Su Tungp'o styled himself a chussu, which means a Confucian scholar
living in Buddhistic retirement without becoming a monk, a most peculiarly Chinese
invention which allowed a follower of Buddhism to live in married life and become a
vegetarian for periods at leisure. One of Su's best friends was a learned monk, Foyin,
and the difference between these two friends was only a difference of degree of
conversion. This was the time when Buddhism prospered under imperial protection,
with a Government Bureau for the translation of Buddhist classics, and counting at
one time almost half a million monks and nuns. Since Su TungpVs time, and largely
due to his great literary influence, many a scholar of high standing has played with
Buddhism and become a chussu of Su's type, if not actually entering a monastery as a
monk. In times of national disorder, as during the change of dynasties, a great number
of scholars shaved their heads and took monastic orders, as much for personal
protection as out of feeling for the helpless chaos of the world.
There is justification enough in a chaotic country for the popularity of a religion
which declares the vanity of the world and offers a refuge from the pains and
vicissitudes of this earthly life. We have to-day an extant copy of the life of Lu
Licbing by his daughter. Lu Liching, at the end of the Ming Dynasty and the
beginning of the Manchu Dynasty, disappeared from the world in his old age, and
after long years of separation from his wife and children, once entered the city of
Hangchow to cure the sickness of his brother, but refused to see his own family living
next door. What disillusionment a man must have perceived of the phenomena of this
life to do such a thing!
And yet it is not impossible to understand it after reading his daughter's Life. The
depth of disillusionment was equal only to the depth of his personal sufferings.
Accused of having a hand in the publication of a work by another author, which was
considered disrespectful to the new Manchu regime, this man, after bidding farewell
to his ancestors in a sacrificial prayer, started out with his whole family to Peking, in
chains and under guard, with the constant expectation that his wife and children and
close relatives would be slaughtered wholesale. He had said in his prayer that if he
came back alive he would become a monk, and he did. In this sense Buddhism was an
unconscious gesture of man in his battle with life, a form of revenge somewhat
similar in psychology to suicide, when life proved too cruelly superior. Many
beautiful and talented girls at the end of the Ming Dynasty took the monastic vow
through disappointment in love caused by those catastrophic changes, and the first
emperor of the Manchu Dynasty became a monk for the same reason*
But apart from this negative protest against life, there is an aspect of Buddhism which
has an evangelical influence on the common people, and works for general kindness.
The most vivid and direct influence it exercises over the people is through its doctrine
of transmigration. Buddhism has not taught the Chinese to befriend the animals, but it
has largely restrained the consumption of beef. The Chinese Doctrine of the Golden
Mean has encouraged the people in the consumption of pork as an inevitable evil and
on the plea that the pig is a less useful animal than the cow except as food. But it has
driven home to the Chinese consciousness the idea that butchery is inhuman and
displeasing to the gods. During the flood in 1933 the Hankow local government
forbade butchery for three days as an atonement toward the river god, and this
practice is practically universal whenever there is a drought or famine. Vegetarianism
can hardly be defended on biologic grounds, since man is born with natural
carnivorous, as well as herbivorous, teeth, but it can be defended on humane grounds.
Mencius was conscious of this cruelty, but being unwilling to forgo meat entirely, he
fought his way out by giving the formula that "a gentleman kept away from the
kitchen." The fact that one does not see what happens in the kitchen eases the
Confucian conscience. This solution of the dietetic difficulty was typical of the
Doctrine of the Golden Mean. Many a Chinese grandmother, wishing to please
Buddha and not willing to forgo meat entirely, would apply the Doctrine of the Golden Mean in a different fashion by turning vegetarian for a definite period from a
single day to three years.
But, on the whole, Buddhism forces the Chinese people to admit butchery as an
inhuman act. This is but one consequence of the doctrine of transmigration, which
works for general humaneness toward animals and one's fellow-beings. For the
consequent doctrine of retribution and the possible soul survival in the form of a
sore-ridden beggar or a flearidden dog may be a more effective object-lesson for good
behaviour than a hell of pointed knives learned by hearsay. Actually, the true Buddhist
follower is a kinder person, more pacific, more patient, and more philanthropic, than
others. His philanthropy may not be ethically worth much, since every cent given and
every cup of tea offered to the passing stranger is an investment in personal future
happiness, and therefore essentially selfish, but what religion does not use the same
bait? William James has wisely said that religion is the most colossa l chapter in the
history of human selfishness. Man, outside the sincere humanist, seems to need this
selfish bait. Nevertheless, Buddhism has given rise to the great institution of
well -to-do families providing big earthen jars of cold tea for passing wayfarers on hot
summer days. It is, in common phraseology, a good thing, irrespective of motive.
Many Chinese novels, like the tales of Boccaccio, have accused the monks and nuns
of immorality. This is based on the universal human delight taken in exposing all
forms of hypocrisy. It is natural and easy therefore to make Casanovas of Chinese
monks, provided with witchcraft and secret aphrodisiacs. There are actually cases, in
certain parts of Chekiang, for example, where a nunnery is but a house of prostitution.
But on the whole, the charge is unfair, and most monks are good, retiring, polite and
well -behaved people, and any Don Juan exploits are limited to transgressing
individuals, and are grossly exaggerated in novels for effect. From my personal
observation, most monks are underfed, anaemic and incapable of such exploits.
Besides, this misjudgment is due to the failure to see the connection between sex and
religion in China. The monks have a greater chance to see beautifully dressed women
than any other class of people in China. The practice of their religion, whether in
private homes or in their temples, brings them in daily contact with women who are
otherwise shut away from the public. Thanks to the Confucian seclusion of women,
the only unimpeachable pretext for women to appear in public is to go to the temples
and "burn incense." On the first and fifteenth of every month, and on every festive
occasion, the Buddhist temple is the rendezvous of all the local beauties, married or
otherwise, dressed in their "Sunday best." If any monk eats pork on the sly, he may
also be expected to indulge in occasional irregularities. Add to this the fact that many
monasteries are exceptionally well endowed, and many monks have plenty of money
to spend, which is the cause of mischief in many cases that have come to light in
recent years. In 1934 a nun actually had the audacity to sue a monk for infidelity in a
Shanghai court. Anything may happen in China.
I give here a refined example of the literary handling of the sexual problems of the monks. The poem is called a "Young Nun's Worldly Desires," which is a favourite
topic and has many versions. It is taken from a popular Chinese drama, The White
Fur-Coat^ and in Chinese is incidentally first-class poetry, in the form of the young
nun's soliloquy.
A young nun am I, sixteen years of age;
My head is shaven in my young maidenhood.
For my father, he loves the Buddhist sutras,
And my mother, she loves the Buddhist priests.
Morning and night, morning and night,
I burn incense and I pray. For I
Was born a sickly child, full of ills.
So they decided to send me here
Into this monastery.
Amitabha! Amitabha!
Unceasingly I pray.
Oh, tired am I of the humming of the drums and the
tinkling of the bells;
Tired am I of the droning of the prayers and the crooning of the priors;
The chatter and the clatter of unintelligible charms,
The clamour and the clangour of interminable chants,
The mumbling and the murmuring of monotonous psalms,
Panjnaparamita, Mayura-sutra,
Saddharamapundarika?
Oh, how I hate them all!
While I say mitabha,
I sigh for my beau.
While I chant saparah,
My heart cries, "Ohl"
While I sing tarata,
My heart palpitates so!
Ah, let me take a little stroll,
Let me take a little stroll.
(She comes to the Hall of the Five Hundred Lohan, which are
known for their distinctive facial expressions.)
Ah, here are the Lohan,
What a bunch of silly, amorous souls!
Every one a bearded man!
How each his eyes at me rolls!
Look at the one hugging his knees!
His lips are mumbling my name so!
And the one with his cheek in his hand.
As though thinking of me so!
That one has a pair of dreamy eyes,
Dreaming dreams of me so!
But the Lohan in sackcloth! What is he after.
With his hellish, heathenish laughter?
With his roaring, rollicking laughter,
Laughing at me so!
-----Laughing at me, for
When beauty is past and youth is lost,
Who will marry an old crone?
When beauty is faded and youth is jaded,
Who will marry an old, shrivelled cocoon?
The one holding a dragon,
He is cynical;
The one riding a tiger,
He looks quizzical;
And that long-browed handsome giant,
He seems pitiful,
For what will become of me when my beauty is gone?
These candles of the altar,
They are not for my bridal chamber.
These long incense-containers,
They are not for my bridal parlour.
And the straw prayer cushions,
They cannot serve as quilt or cover*
Oh, God!
Whence conies this burning, suffocating ardour?
Whence comes this strange, infernal, unearthly ardour?
I' ll tear these monkish robes!
I' ll bury all the Buddhist sutras;
I' ll drown the wooden fish,
And leave all the monastic putras!
I' ll leave the drums,
I' ll leave the bells,
And the chants,
And the yells,
And all the interminable, exasperating, religious chatter!
I' ll go downhill, and find me a young and handsome lover?
Let him scold me, beat me!
Kick or ill - treat me!
I will not become a buddha!
I will not mumble mita, panjra, para!
This brings us to the topic of the actual service of the Buddhistic religion as an
emotional outlet for the Chinese people. First, it makes the seclusion of women not so
complete and more endurable. The desire of women to go to the temple, as against the
lesser desire of men to do the same, is as much due to their emotional need for going
outdoors as to the usual greater "religiosity" of women. The first and fifteenth days of
a month and the festive occasions are days actually anticipated for weeks ahead by
women in their secluded chambers.
Secondly, its spring pilgrimages provide legitimate outlet for the very much atrophied
Chinese Wanderlust. These pilgrimages come in early spring, and coincide with Easter.
Those who cannot go far away at least may go to weep on the relatives' graves on
cKingming day, which has the same emotional basis. Those who can, put on sandals
or go in sedan chairs to the famous temples. Some people in Amoy still persist in
sailing about five hundred miles on old sailing junks to the Pootoo Islands off the
coast of Ningpo every spring. In the North, the annual pilgrimage to Miaofengshan is
still a prevailing custom. Thousands of pilgrims, old and young, men and women,
