The regularity of convent life is broken by many festivals. The year is divided into two periods of wandering, two of meditation and one of repose corresponding to the old Vassa. Though this division has become somewhat theoretical, it is usual for monks to set out on excursions in the spring and autumn. In each month there are six fasts, including the two uposatha days. On these latter the 250 rules of the Prâtimoksha are recited in a refectory or side hall and subsequently the fifty-eight rules of the Fan-wang-ching are recited with greater ceremony in the main temple.
Another class of holy days includes the birthdays[889] not only of Sâkya-muni, but of other Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, the anniversaries of events in Sâkya-muni's life and the deaths of Bodhidharma and other Saints, among whom the founder or patron of each monastery has a prominent place. Another important and popular festival is called Yü-lan-pên or All Souls' day, which is an adaptation of Buddhist usages to Chinese ancestral worship. Of many other festivals it may be said that they are purely Chinese but countenanced by Buddhism: such are the days which mark the changes of the seasons, those sacred to Kuan-ti and other native deities, and (before the revolution) imperial birthdays.
The daily services are primarily for the monks, but the laity may attend them, if they please. More frequently they pay their devotions at other hours, light a few tapers and too often have recourse to some form of divination before the images. Sometimes they defray the cost of more elaborate ceremonies to expiate sins or ensure prosperity. But the lay attendance in temples is specially large at seasons of pilgrimage. For an account of this interesting side of Chinese religious life I cannot do better than refer the reader to Mr. Johnston's volume already cited.
Though the services of the priesthood may be invoked at every crisis of life, they are most in requisition for funeral ceremonies. A detailed description of these as practised at Amoy has been given by De Groot[890] which is probably true in essentials for all parts of China. These rites unite in incongruous confusion several orders of ideas. Pre-Buddhist Chinese notions of the life after death seem not to have included the idea of hell. The disembodied soul is honoured and comforted but without any clear definition of its status. Some representative—a person, figure, or tablet—is thought capable of giving it a temporary residence and at funeral ceremonies offerings are made to such a representative and plays performed before it. Though Buddhist language may be introduced into this ritual, its spirit is alien to even the most corrupt Buddhism.
Buddhism familiarized China with the idea that the average man stands in danger of purgatory and this doctrine cannot be described as late or Mahayanist[891]. Those epithets are, however, merited by the subsidiary doctrine that such punishment can be abridged by vicarious acts of worship which may take the form of simple prayer addressed to benevolent beings who can release the tortured soul. More often the idea underlying it is that the recitation of certain formulæ acquires merit for the reciter who can then divert this merit to any purpose[892]. This is really a theological refinement of the ancient and widespread notion that words have magic force. Equally ancient and unBuddhist in origin is the theory of sympathetic magic. Just as by sticking pins into a wax figure you may kill the person represented, so by imitating physical operations of rescue, you may deliver a soul from the furnaces and morasses of hell. Thus a paper model of hades is made which is knocked to pieces and finally burnt: the spirit is escorted with music and other precautions over a mock bridge, and, most singular of all, the priests place over a receptacle of water a special machine consisting of a cylinder containing a revolving apparatus which might help a creature immersed in the fluid to climb up. This strange mummery is supposed to release those souls who are condemned to sojourn in a pool of blood[893]. This, too, is a superstition countenanced only by Chinese Buddhism, for the punishment is incurred not so much by sinners as by those dying of illnesses which defile with blood. Many other rites are based on the notion that objects—or their paper images—ceremonially burnt are transmitted to the other world for the use of the dead. Thus representations in paper of servants, clothes, furniture, money and all manner of things are burned together with the effigy of the deceased and sometimes also certificates and passports giving him a clean bill of health for the Kingdom of Heaven.
As in funeral rites, so in matters of daily life, Buddhism gives its countenance and help to popular superstition, to every kind of charm for reading the future, securing happiness and driving away evil spirits. In its praise may be said that this patronage, though far too easy going, is not extended to cruel or immoral customs. But the reader will ask, is there no brighter side? I believe that there is, but it is not conspicuous and, as in India, public worship and temple ritual display the lower aspects of religion. But in China a devout Buddhist is generally a good man and the objects of Buddhist associations are praiseworthy and philanthropic. They often include vegetarianism and abstinence from alcohol and drugs. The weakness of the religion to-day is no doubt the want of intelligence and energy among the clergy. There are not a few learned and devout monks, but even devotion is not a characteristic of the majority. On the other hand, those of the laity who take their religion seriously generally attain a high standard of piety and there have been attempts to reform Buddhism, to connect it with education and to spread a knowledge of the more authentic scriptures[894].
When one begins to study Buddhism in China, one fears it may be typified by the neglected temples on the outskirts of Peking, sullen and mouldering memorials of dynasties that have passed away. But later one learns not only that there are great and nourishing monasteries in the south, but that even in Peking one may often step through an archway into courtyards of which the prosaic streets outside give no hint and find there refreshment for the eye and soul, flower gardens and well-kept shrines tended by pious and learned guardians.
FOOTNOTES:
