A more interesting story is told of Miss Ch'ên, who was a Buddhist nun celebrated for her virtue and austerity. Between the years 1628 and 1643 she left her nunnery near Weihai city and set out on a long journey for the purpose of collecting subscriptions for casting a new image of the Buddha. She wandered through Shantung and Chihli and finally reached Peking, and there—subscription book in hand—she stationed herself at the Ch'ien Mên (Great South Gate) in order to take toll from those who wished to lay up for themselves treasures in the Western Heaven. The first passer-by who took any notice of her was an amiable maniac. His dress was made of coloured shreds and patches and his general appearance was wild and uncouth. "Whither away, nun?" he asked. Miss Ch'ên explained that she was collecting subscriptions for the casting of a great image of Buddha and had come all the way from Shantung. "Throughout my life," remarked the madman, "I was ever a generous giver"; so taking the nun's subscription book he headed a page with his own name (in very large characters) and the amount subscribed. The amount in question was two "cash," equivalent to a small fraction of a farthing. He then handed over the two small coins and went on his way.
In course of time the nun returned to Weihaiwei with her subscriptions, and the work of casting the image was duly begun. When the time had come for the process of smelting, it was observed that the copper remained hard and intractable. Again and again the furnace was fed with fuel, but the shapeless mass of metal remained firm as a rock. The head workman, who was a man of wide experience, volunteered an explanation of the matter. "An offering of great value must be missing," he said. "Let the collection-book be examined so that it may be seen whose subscription has been withheld." The nun, who was standing by, immediately produced the madman's money, which on account of its minute value she had not taken the trouble to hand over. "There is one cash," she said, "and there is another. Certainly the offering of these must have been an act of the highest merit, and the giver must be a holy man who will some day attain Buddhahood."
As she said this she threw the two cash into the midst of the cauldron. The great bubbles rose and burst, the metal melted and ran like the sap from a tree, limpid as flowing water, and in a few moments the work was accomplished and the new Buddha successfully cast. This story has a pleasant and instructive little moral of its own, though perhaps the Western reader will be chiefly struck by the parallel between the madman's two cash and the Widow's two mites.[400] In each case the value of the gift lay not in the amount given but in the spirit of the giver.
A glance at the interior of a Buddhist temple at Weihaiwei shows that there is little or nothing left here of any form of Buddhism that is worthy of the name. A native from Burma, Siam and Ceylon (where comparatively pure forms of Buddhism are still to be found) would recognise the image of Sakyamuni, but otherwise he would see hardly anything to indicate that the Light of Asia had ever penetrated to this far corner of the continent. The people, as we have seen, know nothing of the life of the Buddha and next to nothing of his teachings, while the priests—temple caretakers would be a more fitting description for them—know not much more than the people. Here, as in the greater part of China, efforts have evidently been made to popularise the Buddhist temples by the introduction of the images of Taoist divinities—especially the various gods that bring material prosperity and heal diseases. A Buddhist temple therefore contains nearly as many images as a Taoist temple: if they were excluded the temple would be deserted, and the sole revenue—apart from the profits arising from a few cultivated fields—would probably be a small sum paid annually by laymen for the privilege of storing their unused coffins in the temple precincts.
Weihaiwei is not by any means unique in respect of the decayed state of Buddhism. It is hardly too much to say that Buddhism as a distinct religion only exists in China in certain famous monastic centres. The only true Buddhists are the monks of the great monasteries (to be found chiefly south of the Yangtse) and the people of certain localities where monastic influences happen to be strong. Elsewhere Buddhism has indeed tinged—sometimes very deeply—the religious life and customs of the people, especially in the beliefs and ceremonies relating to death and burial, but it can hardly be said to be a separate living faith.
Of other religions besides the San Chiao—the "Three Doctrines" of Confucianism, Taoism and Buddhism—there is very little to be said so far as Weihaiwei is concerned. Mohammedanism exists in certain parts of the province—as in Chinan-fu and Ch'ing-chou-fu—but there is no trace of it in Weihaiwei or its neighbourhood. Both Catholic and Protestant Missions exist, and there are some converts to Christianity. At present—1910—there are reported to be about fifty baptized Catholics besides some catechumens preparing for baptism; there are also eighty-three Christians belonging to Protestant denominations. The Christians may thus be said to number less than one-tenth of one per cent. of the inhabitants of the Territory.
FOOTNOTES:
[382] We need not jeer at Chinese simplicity in this matter unless we reserve some of our gibes for the good folk of Settrington, Yorkshire, where "it is considered prudent during a thunderstorm to leave the house door open in order to enable the lightning to get out if it should come in." (County Folk-lore, vol. ii.: North Riding of Yorkshire, pp. 43-4.)