Lion and Dragon in Northern China

by Sir Reginald Fleming Johnston

The tradesman who burns incense daily in front of a strip of paper inscribed with the name of the god of wealth does so because of "old custom," or from a vague idea that "it cannot possibly do harm and may bring some good luck," or from a more definite religious idea that without some support from the unseen powers—of which Ts'ai Shên is taken as a representative—his business will not prosper. The people of Weihaiwei have a very humble idea of what constitutes wealth. A man was described to me in an official petition as a "lord of wealth"—a common expression for a rich man. I had occasion to make enquiries into the state of this person's finances, and found that his total possessions amounted in value to about two thousand dollars Mexican—less than two hundred pounds. This was all the wealth he was "lord" of. The Chinese Buddhists—in spite of the admission of the Taoist god of wealth into their temples—have always, in their tracts and sermons, sternly discouraged the pursuit of wealth for its own sake. There is a saying which one meets with constantly in a certain class of Buddhistic work: The mean-minded man devotes his bodily powers to the heaping-up of money (that is, he regards money as an end in itself); the gentleman uses what money he has to develop his character (that is, he regards money as a means to an end).

Among other popular Taoist deities in Weihaiwei are the San Kuan or Three Mandarins, who are supposed to have a kind of ghostly superintendence over sky, earth and water. The three together form a trinity-in-unity, and as such are known as the San Kuan Ta Ti—literally, the Three-Officials-Great-God.

Several villages contain little tower-shaped shrines harbouring the image of the God of Literature, or rather of Literary Composition, who is supposed to reside in a constellation of six stars called Wên-ch'ang, forming part of Ursa Major. This deity, who takes his name from the constellation, receives the homage of literary men who aim at an official career, and is supposed to have appeared in several human incarnations, beginning with one Chang Chung in the Chou dynasty. Like many other gods of China he is thus nothing more nor less than a deified man.

IMAGE OF KUAN TI, WEIHAIWEI.

Kuan Ti, the God of War, is also a conspicuous figure in many temples, and he is officially "worshipped" in the cities in the second months of spring and autumn. He is one of the mightiest of all the Taoist gods, though his career as a deity has been quite a short one. He also (in the second century A.D.) was an ordinary mortal—a great soldier and hero named Kuan Yü, who performed many acts of valour at a time when China was given up to internecine strife. Long after his death he was canonised, but it was not till near the end of the sixteenth century that one of the Ming emperors raised him to what may be called divine rank. His position in China is equivalent to that of the Japanese Hachiman, who is also a deified human being. Honours have been heaped upon Kuan Ti by the present dynasty, and he has been raised to a theoretical equality with Confucius. Had the Boxers succeeded in driving all foreigners out of China it is possible that he (or the deified Empress-Dowager herself) might have been raised to a position of something approaching pre-eminence among the gods of China.

The walled city of Weihaiwei has, of course, its Kuan Ti temple, as we have seen in connection with the story of the great fishbone found by one of the Liu family.[345] In this temple there is a very large and heavy weapon which might be described as a kind of sword or spear. Weapons of this type are common enough in China, though when of such great size and weight as that in the Kuan Ti temple they are intended more for show than for use, and accordingly find a more appropriate position in a temple or an official yamên than on a field of battle. The Weihaiwei sword—if such it may be called—is of sufficient fame to be specially mentioned in the local Annals. It is there described, accurately enough, as being more than a chang in length (say about twelve English feet) and one hundred catties in weight (say one hundred and thirty-three English pounds). The blade is made of iron, and there is much skilful and delicate ornamentation in copper. "No other temple," says the Chronicle, "has anything like it. Old folks have handed down the tradition that it came out of the sea with a deep rolling sound (something like the lowing of cattle). The people of the neighbourhood heard the sound and went near the strange object. When they lifted it up and examined it, lo! it was a great sword. So they carried it off and presented it reverentially to the spirit of Kuan Ti." The god of war, obviously, was the proper person to possess a weapon which no human arm was strong enough to wield. The written account gives us no clear statement of how this Chinese Excalibur came out of the sea: but the present warden of the temple tells a somewhat prosaic story to the effect that it was found along with sundry other articles, including some arrows and two copper bells, in an open boat that was cast ashore in the Weihaiwei harbour. The arrows are still in the Kuan Ti temple; the bells are said to have been sent off to Wên-têng city, where presumably they still remain.

The Kuan Ti temple is said to have been the scene of at least one miracle. Once upon a time a Taoist priest, named Wu K'ao-yü, who was in charge of the temple, went out for an evening stroll. Darkness came on before he returned, and he then remembered that he had forgotten to light the altar lamps. He hunted about for some means of striking a light, but found none; so he decided to go to one of his neighbours and borrow a candle. He was grumbling at himself for his carelessness when suddenly, in his presence, the altar was illuminated by four brilliant lights. When he observed that they neither flickered nor went out he prostrated himself in reverence and repeated part of the liturgy. If the god could provide lights for himself, he argued, there was obviously no necessity for troubling the neighbours, so he went to bed like a sensible man, leaving the lamps to look after themselves.

The question arises, did he ever take the trouble to light the lamps again? To this the chronicler gives no reply. The priest was possibly gifted with powers which in these days might be termed mediumistic, for this was not his only remarkable experience of the kind. On one occasion he beheld, in a midnight vision, three elaborately dressed men, lively and active in manner and of handsome appearance. They looked at the priest and all cried out together, "Come quickly and save us!" This remark was twice repeated, and the speakers then vanished. The priest immediately arose, and without choosing his path allowed himself to be led by unseen influences down to the sea-beach. There he saw, lying at the edge of the surf, three copper images. Recognising them at once as images of the Three Prefects of the Sea-King's Palace, he picked them up reverently and deposited them in the principal hall of the temple. Rumours of the strange discovery soon spread far and wide, and crowds of worshippers came to the Kuan Ti temple to see the images for themselves and—incidentally—to make suitable offerings to the highly-favoured priest.

A much smaller deity than Kuan Ti but of greater importance to the people in their everyday life is the City-god—the Ch'êng Huang. Every walled city in China has a Ch'êng Huang Lao-yeh (His Worship the City-god) who acts as its guardian deity. On certain fixed days, such as the first and fifteenth of every month and on occasions of special dangers or disasters, the local officials visit the temple dedicated to this deity and burn incense in front of his image, which is generally clad in real robes and is of full human size. A similar ceremonious visit also takes place when a new magistrate arrives in the city and takes over the seals of office.