CHINESE AND JAPANESE RELIGION
It is much to be wished that Western influence on China may not be exerted in the wrong way, i.e. by an indiscriminate destruction of religious tradition. Hitherto the three religions of China—Confucianism, Taoism, and Buddhism—have been regarded as forming one organism, and as equally necessary to the national culture. Now, however, there is a danger that this hereditary union may cease, and that, in their disunited state, the three cults may be destined in course of time to disappear and perish. Shall they give place to dogmatic Christianity or, among the most cultured class, to agnosticism? Would it not be better to work for the retention at any rate of Buddhism and Confucianism in a purified form? My own wish would be that the religious-ethical principles of Buddhism should be applied to the details of civic righteousness. The work could only be done by a school, but by the co-operation of young and old it could be done.
Taoism, however, is doomed, unless some scientifically trained scholar (perhaps a Buddhist) will take the trouble to sift the grain from the chaff. As Mr. Johnston tells us, [Footnote: Buddhist China, p. 12.] the opening of every new school synchronizes with the closing of a Taoist temple, and the priests of the cult are not only despised by others, but are coming to despise themselves. Lao-Tze, however, has still his students, and accretions can hardly be altogether avoided. Chinese Buddhism, too, has accretions, both philosophic and religious, and unless cleared of these, we cannot hope that Buddhism will take its right place in the China of the future. Suzuki, however, in his admirable Outlines of Mahāyāna Buddhism, has recognized and expounded (as I at least think) the truest Buddhism, and it is upon him I chiefly rely in my statements in the present work.
There is no accretion, however, in the next point which I shall mention. The noble altruism of the Buddhism of China and Japan must at no price be rejected from the future religion of those countries, but rather be adopted as a model by us Western Christians. Now there are three respects in which (among others) the Chinese and Japanese may set us an example. Firstly, their freedom from self, and even from pre-occupying thoughts of personal salvation. Secondly, the perception that in the Divine Manifestation there must be a feminine element (das ewig-weibliche). And thirdly, the possibility of vicarious moral action. On the first, I need only remark that one of those legends of Sakya Muni, which are so full of moral meaning, is beautified by this selflessness. On the second, that Kuan-yin or Kwannon, though formerly a god, [Footnote: 'God' and 'Goddess' are of course unsuitable. Read pusa.] the son of the Buddha Amitâbha, is now regarded as a goddess, 'the All-compassionate, Uncreated Saviour, the Royal Bodhisat, who (like the Madonna) hears the cries of the world.' [Footnote: Johnston, Buddhist China, pp. 101, 273.]
But it is the third point which chiefly concerns us here because of the great spiritual comfort which it conveys. It is the possibility of doing good in the name of some beloved friend or relative and to 'turn over' (parimarta) one's karma to this friend. The extent to which this idea is pressed may, to some, be bewildering. Even the bliss of Nirvana is to be rejected that the moral and physical sufferings of the multitude may be relieved. This is one of the many ways in which the Living Presence is manifested.