Concepts and Methods for the Study of Chinese Religions III: Key Concepts in Practice 3110546914, 9783110546910

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Concepts and Methods for the Study of Chinese Religions III

Religion and Society

Edited by Gustavo Benavides, Frank J. Korom, Karen Ruffle and Kocku von Stuckrad

Volume 79

Concepts and Methods for the Study of Chinese Religions III Key Concepts in Practice Edited by Paul R. Katz and Stefania Travagnin

ISBN 978-3-11-054645-3 e-ISBN (PDF) 978-3-11-054784-9 e-ISBN (EPUB) 978-3-11-054691-0 ISSN 1437-5370 Library of Congress Control Number: 2019930470 Bibliografic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliografic data are available on the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2019 Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston Typesetting: Integra Software Services Pvt. Ltd. Printing and binding: CPI books GmbH, Leck www.degruyter.com

Preface Religion in the late Imperial and twentieth-century China has been object of a large number of publications in the past few decades. These studies had used archive and ethnographic research, but had also relied upon an earlier generation of scholarship that had opened the field and created its methodological and theoretical foundations. Part of this early scholarship did not result from the work of traditional academics, but from explorers or photographers, and thus enriched the discourse of religion in modern China with different and less academic perspectives. Parallel to this publishing production, the organization of conferences, the establishment of research centers and the creation of international research networks on this theme have multiplied steadily. This flood of new research reflects the fact that the study of religions in modern China has emerged as a new and challenging field in both Asian and Western academia. Within this emerging rich field of study, however, there is still an ongoing debate regarding what methods and theories are appropriate to be employed in this new field. The three-volume publication Concepts and Methods for the Study of Chinese Religions contributes to this debate. It reviews the past history of the field, highlights challenges that the scholars in this field have encountered, reconsiders then the present state of analytical and methodological theories, and finally opens a new chapter in the history of concepts and methods for the field itself. These three volumes explore religion in the so-called greater China, which includes mainland China, Hong Kong and Taiwan. Among the authors, some have been trained and published in the fields of anthropology and sociology; some others are historians, textual scholars, area studies scholars, and political scientists. The three volumes then present the results of a constructive dialogue and mutual integration of various disciplines of humanities and social sciences. This publication also aims to contribute to a discussion on analytical and theoretical concepts that could potentially be applied to the study of religion in other contexts, including in Western societies. In other words, China is seen not as an exotic outlier, but as a global player in the overall academic study of religion. Such framework responds to the current call for interdisciplinary and cross-tradition debates on a trans-regional horizon and globalization, and therefore methodologies for the study of East Asian religions should be engaged with Western voices in a more active and constructive manner. The first volume, Concepts and Methods for the Study of Chinese Religions I: State of the Field and Disciplinary Approaches, starts with an assessment of the major earliest works and individuals who initiated the study of religion in modern China. Those individuals include Western and Chinese religious practitioners, https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110547849-201

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academic figures, explorers and photographers. The earliest works are predominantly textual, historical and ethnographic studies: these form the foundation of the field. Questions addressed include: Who are the pioneers in the study of religion in modern China and Taiwan? What were the first disciplinary approaches, conceptual categories, and objects of research? How did those selections shape the beginning of the field as well as the academic output of today? What were their contributions and their limitations, and how can we work to overcome those shortcomings? The second part of the first volume discusses methodological and disciplinary approaches that are currently used in the study of religion in modern China and Taiwan, with constructive conclusions on potential changes in research trajectories, and thus works toward an overdue improvement of research methods. The chapters address methodological disciplines such as anthropology, sociology, political science and history, in their own micro-contexts as well as in the ways they relate to macro-fields. The second and third volumes shift the focus from methodological concerns to critical reflections on analytical concepts, and include the re-evaluation of concepts and practices that inform the religious sphere and scholarship in the field. These two volumes look at endogenous Chinese concepts and exogenous ideas from the West and Japan that are foundational in thinking about the Chinese religious landscape. Some chapters address the introduction of new concepts or the reshaping of traditional ones in light of the intellectual, political and social atmosphere of late nineteenth century and the early Republican period in China, while others assess ideas that continue to permeate the religious sphere of China and Taiwan today. These key concepts are all interconnected because they participate in the same debates on traditional dichotomies and recent paradigm shifts. Concepts and Methods for the Study of Chinese Religions II: Intellectual History of Key Concepts analyzes key concepts in their intellectual history and development: these are concepts that have become core terms in Chinese religions but which each have their own history of formation and use. Concepts and Methods for the Study of Chinese Religions III: Key Concepts in Practice analyzes another set of concepts that form the foundations of the Chinese religious sphere. Adopting an approach that differs from that of the second volume, these concepts are studied through their praxis in lived religions. This project developed from the conference Framing the Study of Religion in Modern China and Taiwan: Concepts, Methods and New Research Paths, which was sponsored by the Chiang Ching-kuo Foundation for International Scholarly Exchange and the KNAW (Koninklijke Nederlandse Akademie van Wetenschappen), and was held at the University of Groningen in December 2015.

Acknowledgments Preliminary drafts of the chapters by Weishan Huang, Paul R. Katz, Yen-zen Tsai, and Elena Valussi were presented at the international conference Framing the Study of Religion in Modern China and Taiwan: Concepts, Methods and New Research Paths, held at the University of Groningen on December 9–12, 2015. We would like to express our heartfelt gratitude to the Chiang Ching-Kuo Foundation for International Scholarly Exchange and the KNAW (Koninklijke Nederlandse Akademie van Wetenschappen) for their sponsorship, which helped make our meeting possible. The discussions that took place during the conference were essential for authors as they revised their chapters, and also sparked the idea to produce an edited volume for analyzing critical concepts in the context of religious practice. Each author offered specific acknowledgments in their own chapters. Here the volume editors would like to express their indebtedness to the anonymous reviewers of the manuscript, who offered significant and constructive feedback that helped all of the contributors enhance their studies. Last but not least, we are deeply thankful to the editors of the book series Religion and Society at De Gruyter for the unstinting guidance and support they provided for our project.

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Contents Preface

V

Acknowledgments

VII

List of Figures and Tables List of Contributors

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Note on Chinese Names, Terms and Transliteration

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Paul R. Katz and Stefania Travagnin Introduction 1 Paul R. Katz On the Judicial Continuum and the Study of Chinese Legal Culture

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Nikolas Broy Moral Integration or Social Segregation? Vegetarianism and Vegetarian Religious Communities in Chinese Religious Life 37 Yen-zen Tsai Food Fellowship and the Making of a Chinese Church: Cases from Contemporary China and Taiwan 65 Shuk-wah Poon Buddhist Activism and Animal Protection in Republican China

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Francesca Tarocco Charismatic Communications: The Intimate Publics of Chinese Buddhism 113 Elena Valussi Gender as a Useful Category of Analysis in Chinese Religions – With Two Case Studies from the Republican Period 133

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Ya-ning Kao Ritual Practices and Networks of Zhuang Shamans

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Junliang Pan Actors, Spaces, and Norms in Chinese Transnational Religious Networks: A Case Study of Wenzhou Migrants in France 209 Weishan Huang Globalization as a Tactic – Legal Campaigns of the Falun Gong Diaspora 233 Index

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List of Figures and Tables Figures Chapter 4 Figure 1 Figure 2

Chapter 5 Figure 1 Figure 2 Chapter 6 Figure 1 Figure 2 Figure 3

Chapter 8 Figure 1

Dining area at Endian Church 73 Fan (steamed rice) and cai (vegetable and meat dishes) prepared for the guests at Endian Church 75

Feng Zikai’s “Begging for Life” 105 Feng Zikai’s “Farmer and Milkmaid” 105

Buddhist practitioners peruse a large selection of DVDs 118 Electronic Hong Kong made sutra recitation machine Nianfoji 119 Monks and technicians deploy professional equipment to film, record and broadcast Zhanran’s dharma lectures 124

Memoed Mother Bei

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Tables Chapter 4 Table 1 Table 2

Food expenditures of three churches in Taiwan (2005–2014) 79 Space allotments of chapels, dining halls, and kitchens of two churches in Taiwan 80

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List of Contributors Nikolas Broy is a Postdoctoral Research Fellow in the East Asia Department and the Collaborative Research Centre ‘Processes of Specialization under the Global Condition’ (SFB 1199) at Leipzig University. He obtained his doctoral degree from Leipzig University with a thesis about Zhaijiao (“Vegetarian Sects”) in 2014. He has worked at the universities of Leipzig, Göttingen, and Hefei (PR China), and he has been a visiting scholar at the Institute of Ethnology at Academia Sinica in 2010 and 2017. His research explores the social history of Chinese religions, particularly Buddhism and popular religious sects, but also deals with method and theory in the study of religion. His current project analyzes the global spread and transcultural proselytization of Yiguandao. His earlier publications include “Martial Monks in Medieval Chinese Buddhism” (2012), “Syncretic Sects and Redemptive Societies: Toward a New Understanding of ‘Sectarianism’ in the Study of Chinese Religions” (2015), and “Modern Buddhism Without Modernity? Zhaijiao (‘Vegetarian Sects’) and the Hidden Genealogy of ‘Humanistic Buddhism’ in Late Imperial China” (2016). Weishan Huang is an Assistant Professor in the Department of Cultural and Religious Studies. She has received her Ph.D. in Sociology at the New School for Social Research. Her work mainly focuses on religion and migration, religion and public sphere, and religion and urbanization. She is the co-editor of the book, Ecology of Faith in the New York City (Indiana University Press, 2013). Her current research is to propose a study of the reconfiguration of two significant state-planned social phenomena, urbanization and religious revival, and its impacts on Mahayana Buddhist communities in contemporary Shanghai. Ya-ning Kao (Ph.D., University of Melbourne) is an Associate Professor in the Department of Ethnology, National Chengchi University in Taiwan. She has been carrying out fieldwork in Tai-speaking villages along Sino-Vietnamese border since the late 1990s. Her research focuses on Zhuang religion with special attention to shamanism, ritual performance, and religious language. Her doctoral thesis is titled Singing a hero in ritual: Nong Zhigao and its representation among the Zhuang people in China (2010). She has also published a Chinese language monograph on Zhuang female shaman’s ritual performances in 2002. Since 2012, she has conducted multi-sited ethnography of Nong Zhigao cults in communities in southwest China and northern Vietnam. Her most recent English papers are “Chief, God, or National Hero? Representing Nong Zhigao in Chinese Ethnic Minority Society” (2013) and “Religious Revival among the Zhuang People in China: Practicing ‘Superstition’ and Standardizing a Zhuang Religion” (2014). Paul R. Katz received his B.A. from Yale in 1984 and his Ph.D. from Princeton in 1990. After teaching at different universities in Taiwan from 1991 to 2002, he joined the Institute of Modern History in 2002 and was promoted to the rank of Research Fellow in 2005, becoming Program Director of the Chiang Ching-kuo Foundation for International Scholarly Exchange that same year. His research centers on modern Chinese religious life, with his most recent monograph (Religion in China and its Modern Fate) being published in early 2014. At present, he is working on the interaction between Han and non-Han religious traditions in Southwest China.

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Junliang Pan received his Ph.D. in Religious Science from École Pratique des Hautes Études in 2013. From 2013 to 2015 he held a postdoctoral position at Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique. He is currently an Associate Professor of History at the Paris Diderot-Paris 7 University. His research focuses on Chinese popular religion, Daoism and the religion of Chinese migrants in Europe. He published in 2017 “Maladie, possession et exorcisme: le phénomène de la voyance des esprits (jiangui 見鬼) dans le Haut Moyen Âge chinois” in Fantômes dans l’Extrême-Orient d’hier et d’aujourd’hui (Paris, Inalco) and “Evolution de l’organisation des Eglises wenzhou à Paris: Renégocier le pouvoir et l’autorité” in Le protestantisme à Paris: Diversité et recompositions contemporaines (Genève, Labor & Fides). Shuk-wah Poon is an Associate Professor of History at the Chinese University of Hong Kong. She is the author of Negotiating Religion in Modern China: State and Common People in Guangzhou, 1900–1937. Her current research projects include: swimming and the making of the modern body in 20th century China, and the controversies over oxen protection and beef economy in Republican China. Francesca Tarocco is Associate Professor of Buddhist Studies and Chinese Religious History at Ca’ Foscari University of Venice and Visiting Professor of Buddhist Cultures at New York University, Shanghai. Her main research interests are Chinese Buddhism and Chinese religious history, material religion, the senses and the body, urban Asia (in particular Shanghai), media, and contemporary art. She is the author of The Cultural Practices of Modern Chinese Buddhism and of several journal articles and book chapters on the genealogies and practices of religion in modern China. More recently, she served as the guest editor of a special issue of the Journal of Global Buddhism and as associate editor for China of the Oxford Research Encyclopedia of Buddhism. Her current project is Buddhism and the Re-enchantement of Chinese Modernity. Stefania Travagnin is the Director of the Centre for the Study of Religion and Culture in Asia at the University of Groningen, the Netherlands. Her research explores Buddhism and Buddhists in China and Taiwan from the late Qing up to the present time, religion and media in China, concepts and methods for the study of Chinese religions. Her publications include the edited volume Religion and Media in China: Insights and Case Studies from the Mainland, Taiwan and Hong Kong (Routledge, 2016). She is also director of the three-year project ‘Mapping Religious Diversity in Modern Sichuan’ funded by the Chiang Ching-kuo Foundation for International Scholarly Exchange (2017–2020), with Elena Valussi as co-director. Yen-zen Tsai received a Th.D. from Harvard University (1993). He is a Distinguished Professor in the Graduate Institute of Religious Studies at National Chengchi University. His expertise covers history of early Christianity, Confucianism, and theory of religion. He has published books and articles in these fields, including Revelation and Salvation: Apocalypticism in the Early Western Civilizations (Li-hsu, 2001, in Chinese), “Selfhood and Fiduciary Community: A Smithian Reading of Tu Weiming’s Confucian Humanism,” Dao: A Journal of Comparative Philosophy (2008), and is the editor of Religious Experience in Contemporary Taiwan and China (National Chengchi University, 2013). His recent research has focused on the rise of Christianity in contemporary China in relation to World Christianity.

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Elena Valussi received an M.A. in Chinese Studies from the University of Venice, and an M.A. and Ph.D. in Chinese History and Religious Studies, from the School of Oriental and African Studies, London. She is an Advanced Lecturer in the History Department at Loyola University Chicago. She has been a visiting scholar and researcher at the University of Venice, at the Chinese University of Hong Kong, and at the University of Erlangen-Nuremberg. Prof. Valussi’s research interests and publications revolve around the intersection of gender, religion and body practices in late imperial Daoism, printing and religion in the late Qing and Republican periods, and Republican period discourses on gender and religion. Recently she has also been focusing on religious diversity in the province of Sichuan, and she is co-directing a large project on this topic with Stefania Travagnin. Valussi is the co-chair of the Daoist Studies Group at the American Academy of Religions and a member of the editorial group for the International Daozang Jiyao Project.

Note on Chinese Names, Terms and Transliteration We have used pinyin transliteration throughout, while adding traditional Chinese characters at their first occurrence. Chinese characters for well-known cities, institutions and individuals have not been provided. In certain instances related to Taiwan, Hong Kong, and overseas Chinese communities, pinyin has been replaced with local transliteration systems to maintain names and terms as they are commonly known in the English-speaking world.

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Paul R. Katz and Stefania Travagnin

Introduction Continuing the narrative of Volume II, this book also addresses conceptual categories and values that have been foundational for the narrative of Chinese religions in the last few centuries. Unlike Volume II, the chapters in this book do not just assess the recent history of those values or their intellectual formation, but aim to analyze their role and development during processes of religious practice. Also similar to both Volume I and Volume II, the term modern does not appear explicitly in the title in order to highlight continuities and processes of connection, rather than a solid break, between what happened before and after the mid-nineteen century. In the following pages we will explain why we think the study of concepts in practice can advance the field, the questions the contributors to this volume address, how this book positions itself within the existing scholarship, and how this research line may continue in the future.

1 The Study of Religious Praxis in Modern China and Taiwan What do we mean here by concepts in practice?1 Methodologically, the contributions to this volume draw from different perspectives. First, in line with the recently developed field of ‘lived religion’,2 this volume explores specific case studies of religious environments to unpack how certain values and concepts function in praxis and have informed religious practices in a non-Western area. Small communities or individual thinkers are analyzed vis-à-vis the wider overarching regional and more institutionalized (official) picture of Chinese religions. Second, the study of the concepts in practice addresses the enactment of those concepts into forms of ritualization that eventually may generate new social and institutionalized phenomena.

1 Among introductory writings on the concept of practice in religion we can list, among the others, Bourdieu (1977) and Catherine Bell (1992 and 1998). 2 Scholarship by David Hall, Robert Orsi and Meredith McGuire represents the foundations of the study of lived religion, although their works have concerned only the Western regions. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110547849-001

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Third, praxis is to be intended in terms of active processes that can intersect different domains and consequently unfold cross-boundary phenomena, give shape to new hybrid identities, and thus have the potential to revise our knowledge of the spectrum of Chinese religion. In this sense, the study of religious praxis can reveal new paradigms and refine conceptual categories that, as the following chapters argue, form the background of the religious narrative in China. Building on the previous point, the study of religious practice needs to be conceived in constructive and continuous dialogue with the sphere of theories and methods. In other words, the exploration of religious ideas and values in ritual practices can also lead to a re-assessment and updating of the theories that frame academic research: concepts are studied through religious practices, and the result knowledge is employed to revise methodological theories. Here is how the spheres of theory and practice merge, the academic research completes a cycle and starts a new one. Investigating practices in religion becomes crucial in China given the pragmatic behaviors that characterize the Chinese3: as situational etiquette and ritual practices mark every step in Chinese’s daily life, then an articulated study of those practices in the religious sphere facilitate the understanding of meanings and structures of Chinese society. Approaching religions in terms of living practices may also serve to defy the common misunderstanding of the situation of religion in China. If debates on secularization and political attacks on religion have dominated some of the academic sphere and most of the public opinion on China, the case-studies that are examined in this volume clearly confirm the opposite, and indeed that religious values can be hardly separated from social life or even the government level.

2 Book Narrative: Concepts, Practices, and Questions Our volume opens with a chapter by Paul Katz, who considers the nature of the judicial continuum and what its presence reveals about the development of Chinese legal culture. To do so, he draws on data from his Divine Justice book as well as subsequent discussions with scholars in the field of legal history to

3 See for instance Adam Yuet Chau’s argument that Chinese religions are not fixed and impermeable systems of belief but ‘situation-based practices’.

Introduction

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expand our understanding of judicial practice beyond conventional academic boundaries. Katz defines the judicial continuum as a cogent system of practices that can be used for achieving legitimation and resolving disputes. Such practices include mediation (judgments made by elders and other elites), formal legal procedures (judgments made by officials), and performing rituals (judgments made by the gods). Such acts can be done in succession or in some cases even in tandem. More recently, leading scholars of Chinese legal history like Jérôme Bourgon and Jiang Yonglin 姜永琳 have stressed the need to account for the institutional divisions between rituals and legal judgments, as well as distinguish between “official” legal philosophy and institutions as opposed to “unofficial” religious/legal values and practices. In response, Katz stresses the importance of the concept of “continuum” as covering an interlinked series of phenomena, while also arguing that the practices mentioned above are interrelated without being identical. Nikolas Broy’s chapter traces the evolution of Chinese vegetarianism, namely abstention from meat, alcohol, and a number of pungent vegetables. Based on an interdisciplinary approach that combines document research and fieldwork, Broy’s research demonstrates that Chinese vegetarianism is not merely an expression of the Buddhist precept to refrain from killing living beings, but also features multiple meanings related to morality, individual salvation, spiritual power, health, and longevity. He also shows that most practitioners observe only part-time abstention, with a permanent vegetarian diet being important only for Buddhists and Daoist monastics as well as members of voluntary religious associations generally referred to as “sectarian religions” or “redemptive societies”. For members of such groups, strict vegetarianism was integral to the establishment of patterns of distinction, moral conduct, and salvation. Broy’s chapter opens with a historical study of the emergence and significance of religiously informed vegetarian practices from early medieval China to the modern era. The chapter’s second part illustrates how vegetarianism is practiced among members of two voluntary religious groups: (1) Vegetarian sects (zhaijiao 齋教) that were prominent in China and Taiwan up to the Second World War; (2) The Sect of Pervading Unity (Yiguandao 一貫道), which emerged as a leading religious movement during the 1930s and has worked to spread Chinese vegetarian and moral practices throughout the world. The chapter by Yen-zen Tsai also focuses on religion and dietary issues but from a very different perspective, highlighting the importance of food fellowship in contemporary Chinese Christian practice, including the crucial position the kitchen and dining hall occupy in a church’s physical setting.

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Tsai’s research centers on a case study of the True Jesus Church (Zhen Yesu jiaohui 真耶穌教會; founded in 1917), combining documents, interviews, and fieldwork among church communities in Fujian, Zhejiang, and Jiangsu provinces from 2011 to 2013. Based on the wealth of data he has collected, Tsai observes that Christian practices of sharing meals merge neatly with the commensality that expresses familial ties in Chinese society, thereby branding Chinese churches as family writ large. Such ideas also find expression in vocabularies describing food and its gastrointestinal effects as part and parcel of the experience of scriptural reading. Moreover, Tsai makes the important point that food fellowship practices and the values they promote prove highly attractive in China and Taiwan today, in large part due to the fact that traditional familial ties have been rapidly disintegrating in recent years. Accordingly, food fellowship serves as a driving force behind the burgeoning growth of some Chinese Christian communities. The book’s fourth chapter, by Shuk-wah Poon, explores how Chinese lay Buddhists played a pivotal role in transforming the traditional Buddhist concept of “protecting life” (husheng 護生) into a key facet of lay activism during the Republican era. Poon provides a vivid portrayal of the Buddhist animal protection movement in Shanghai, which was initiated by a number of prominent lay elites, including the cartoonist Feng Zikai 豐子愷 (1898–1975) and the laywoman Lü Bicheng 呂碧城 (1883–1943). Lü appears to have played a pivotal role in Shanghai’s animal protection movement, in large part due to her having spent much of her life in Europe, which led her to introduce Western ideas of animal protection and World Animal Day to fellow practitioners through her writings in Buddhist magazines. One result of these lay Buddhist elites efforts was the founding in 1934 of the China Society for the Protection of Animals (Zhongguo baohu dongwuhui 中國保護動物會; CSPA), which strove to translate Buddhist ideas of animal protection into actual policies by utilizing the connections some of their elite leaders enjoyed with the political authorities. Poon’s research further reveals that, despite claims of being a “secular” organization, the CSPA enthusiastically strove to implement the Buddhist concept of “protecting life” by advocating vegetarianism (see Nikolas Broy’s chapter discussed above), building shelters for stray dogs, and calling on the authorities to ban the slaughter of animals on World Animal Day, a festival created by animal protectionists in the West and held on October 4 in commemoration of St. Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of animals. Poon also identifies the CSPA’s pragmatic approach to vegetarianism, one example being its dividing animals into the categories of “edible” and “inedible”, despite its stressing the Buddhist teaching of non-killing.

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Francesca Tarocco’s chapter draws our attention to a more recent development in Chinese religious life, namely the advent of technologically mediated communities in the Chinese-speaking Buddhist world that utilize “technologies of salvation” in the practice of self-cultivation. Tarocco draws on a long-term perspective to show that various forms of contemporary Buddhist technoculture, including WeChat, web-based television, mobile phone apps, CDs and DVDs, karaoke VCDs, microblogging, etc., derive from historical precedents featuring commitment towards dissemination of the Buddhadharma (hongfa 弘 法), which is now shifting from radio broadcasts, cassette tapes, phonographic records into the digital realm. These arguments are buttressed by data on how Buddhist urbanites in post-socialist China and Sinophone Asia’s city-regions (Beijing, the Shanghai-Suzhou-Hangzhou-Ningbo corridor, Guangzhou, Shenzhen, Hong Kong, Singapore, Kuala Lumpur and Taipei) are taking advantage of new technologies to produce a wide range of Buddhist digital religious goods for soteriological purposes. In her chapter, Elena Valussi provides a sensitive treatment of the development of gender as both an analytical theory in the global scholarly community and a social practice in modern Chinese religion. As it includes a detailed section on the intellectual debates on gender and related concepts in modern Chinese history, this chapter also shares the objectives of the volume Concepts and Methods for the Study of Chinese Religions II: Intellectual History of Key Concepts, and it is of interest to its readers. Valussi opens with a review of the growth of gender studies as an academic field, with particular emphasis placed on the adoption of gender as a conceptual tool that allows scholars to study women in the broader context of their variegated relationships with men. Valussi also draws our attention to the problem of double-blindness in current scholarship, with research in gender studies tending to overlook the importance of religion and research on religion often neglecting the role of gender. The bulk of Valussi’s chapter focuses on the religion’s role in new forms of social positioning of Chinese women. Such phenomena began to take shape during the late Qing and Republican eras, which witnessed growing emphasis on the self-cultivation practices of individual women. Valussi pays close attention to two discourses of this era: (1) Those of religious practitioners and their leaders, which stressed the importance of self-cultivation for achieving women’s emancipation and equality; (2) Nationalist discourses advanced by Chinese intellectuals, which linked the ideal of the “new women” (xin nüxing 新女性) unfettered by traditional “Confucian” values to China’s own emancipation and modernity. The late Qing and Republican eras also witnessed the repositioning of women as public agents in the religious sphere, including utilizing the mass media to learn

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about religion and communicate their views to the general public, as well as becoming actively involved in the founding or management of various Christian associations, Buddhist schools, redemptive societies, etc. Such activities could prove invaluable to religious women as a means of pushing the boundaries between traditional and modern, while also discovering their own agency. The next chapter, by Ya-ning Kao, examines the importance of gender among non-Han peoples, in this case the Zhuang 壯. Kao’s long-term research on female shamans in southwest Guangxi delineates three networks they draw on to establish and perpetuate their careers: spiritual, professional and supporters. Such networks, which are created and then maintained through rites of passage and annual rituals, enable Zhuang shamans to solidify their status and influence in local communities. Kao’s chapter opens with an overview of studies on Zhuang religion and shamanism before proceeding to describe various shamanic rites of passage as well as the annual rites each shaman is required to perform. There are also detailed accounts of how the networks mentioned above function, as well as the main characteristics of Zhuang shamans and the spirits they worship. One of the most striking findings of Kao’s research Zhuang shamanism is the importance of kinship, including the prominence of female relatives. For example, shamans are usually recruited via kinship lines, while a shaman candidate and her family must go to the home of a prominent local shaman and beg that shaman to become her teacher and “ritual mother” (she also needs to ask a Daoist priest to serve as her ritual father). As a result of these practices, by the time a new shaman completes her training she will have established an entire ritual family, including not only the ritual parents mentioned above but also ritual siblings or half-siblings who are fellow apprentices of her ritual mother and father. Such relationships last a lifetime, with a shaman being required to assist in the ritual activities of all members of her ritual family, who in turn bear the same obligation. Moreover, apart from a shaman’s ritual family, her natal family and spousal family (if married) all play supportive roles in her religious life, especially the rituals mentioned above. The final two chapters feature new studies on the importance of globalization in contemporary Chinese religious life, particularly the ways in which religious groups and their practices contribute to the development of overseas Chinese communities as well as processes of identity formation. The first, by Junliang Pan, draws on a case study case study of Wenzhou natives in France to trace the mechanisms of their religious networks through three different vectors: Where (places of worship at the heart of religious networks), Who (actors who construct and utilize religious networks), and What (religious knowledge and norms which are imported into communities through religious networks).

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Pan’s data suggests that Wenzhou religious groups in France can be roughly divided into two categories: Christian groups and non-Christian groups. The first type of groups include congregations of the earliest Chinese Christian church in France, Eglise évangélique des Chinois à Paris (Jidujiao Bali huaqiao jiaohui 基督 教巴黎華僑教會), the largest Wenzhou Protestant church, Eglise protestante chinoise de Paris (Jidujiao Bali Wenzhou jiaohui 基督教巴黎溫州教會), and the Eglise protestante évangélique chinoise de France (Faguo huaren Jidujiao jiuentang 法國華人基督教救恩堂), founded by a renowned charismatic pastor from Wenzhou. Non-Christian groups include those that maintain links to popular temple cults in Wenzhou, including those dedicated to Lord Yang (Yang fuye 楊府爺) and Lady Linshui (Linshui furen 臨水夫人; also referred to as Chen Shisi furen 陳十四夫人). In addition, Taiwanese Buddhist organizations such as Foguangshan 佛光山 and Tzu Chi 慈濟 exert considerable influence in some overseas Wenzhou communities. This is also the case for some redemptive societies and other new religious movements, including the Sect of Pervading Unity mentioned above as well as the Great Way of the Maitreya Buddha (Mile dadao 彌勒大道). One particularly fascinating finding discussed by Pan is that while leaders or active members of some groups regularly go on pilgrimage to Taiwan for advanced training, others also choose to maintain close contact with the Chinese authorities. At one Buddhist temple, for example, senior officials from the Office of Religious Affairs of China and the Chinese Embassy in France accompanied monks from a prominent temple in attending a consecration ritual for statues of the Buddha and Bodhisattvas, thereby enhancing the temple’s prestige and symbolic capital. The concluding chapter, by Weishan Huang, is grounded in a transnational view of Chinese society and culture as no longer being constrained by the boundaries of the nation-state. Huang’s research centers on a case study of Falun Gong 法輪功, a new religious movement that arose in China in 1992, with exiled members now residing abroad in more than 40 countries. Based on the analysis of printed and website materials, as well as fieldwork and interviews conducted in the United States between 2004 and 2005 (especially New York City), Huang makes the important point that some Falun Gong members have chosen to adopt the political and moral values of their new homelands by using these countries’ legal discourse and practices as instruments of resistance against the Chinese government. She also argues that for some Falun Gong members the pursuit of legal action has multiple meanings, such as attempting to stop persecution, raising awareness of the plight of practitioners in China, etc. At the same time, however, some members view going to court as a ritual activity in its own right, namely a process of waiting for ultimate judgment realized by Buddhist Dharma (Fofa 佛法).

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3 Updating the Field and Advancing New Research Paths As the introduction of Volume I outlines in detail, the last two-three decades have witnessed the publications of many and solid studies of religious communities and practices in the modern period, works based on either archive research or ethnographic encounters. In addition, these decades also saw the emerging of new fields of study, like the research on religion and media/technology,4 which developed from the study of material culture and printing, and the analysis of religious communities in the shape of regional, transregional and transnational networks. The latter is partly a result of the recent ‘spatial turn’ in religious studies, and is also framed as a new development of the much earlier research on religious diplomacy and exchanges in pre-modern East Asia. Finally, the new opening to religion in contemporary China made in-depth and long-term ethnographic research possible, with the consequent development of the field of ethnology and ethnography and the emic investigation of more case studies. This research on the ground became crucial as it unveiled new aspects of the religious landscape in China, and eventually made necessary the refining of existing theories of investigation. A careful reading of the history of native and imported ideas shows that those ideas have been continuously reshaped into different activities and phenomena, see for instance the transformation of the traditional concept of fangsheng 放生 into new forms of social institutional practices. Recent works on conceptual categories and the religious discourse of China include the book Social Scientific Studies or Religion in China: Methodology, Theoies, and Findings edited by Fenggang Yang and Graeme Lang (Leiden: Brill, 2014), the volume Globalization and the Making of Religious Modernity in China: Transnational Religions, Local Agents, and the Study of Religion, 1800present edited by Thomas Jansen, Thoralf Klein and Christian Meyer (Leiden: Brill, 2014), and the two-volume publication Modern Chinese Religions, edited by Vincent Goossaert, Jan Kiely and John Lagerway (Leiden: Brill, 2016). If the first differs from ours in focusing only on religion in the mainland and mostly during the post-1980 era, the other two publications are closer in themes and objectives. Globalization and the Making of Religious Modernity in China (2014) considered religions as “concrete manifestations” (Jansen, Klein, Meyer 2014, 4), highlighted practices, and underlined connections and exchanges between East and West. However, our volume does not limit its lens

4 See for instance Travagnin (2017).

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of investigation to the concepts of globalization and global religiosity,5 and also includes studies on transnational networks and diaspora communities.6 Modern Chinese Religions (2016) considers a set of values and macro-areas, in their transformation under the imperative of ‘rationalization, interiorization, secularization’ (i.e., modernity), and that same transformation is seen in dialogue with the premodern milieu. Our volume continues a similar discussion by analyzing other concepts, doing so on the basis of alternative case studies, and going beyond the Han Chinese cultural sphere; moreover, the ‘religion project’ of post-Qing China is seen as transcending the interdependence between the religious and the secular, and framed within distinct local patterns. Our volume integrates existing scholarship, and proposes new settings for the emic investigation of religion in Chinese societies. Like Volume I and Volume II, contributions to this book addressed subjects so far often neglected such as non-Han religions, the issue of gender, the use of media and technology, and transregional movements. This volume investigates concepts in practice, proposes a different method for the study of ideas and values, thus updating the theoretical frameworks of the field. Certainly, more research on this front is still necessary, and the introductions of Volumes I and II have already indicated new areas that we deem worthy of investigation. Catherine Bell has argued, “Critical terms are not critical because they contain answers but because they point to the crucial questions at the heart of how scholars are currently experiencing their traditions of inquiry and the data they seek to encounter” (Bell 1998, 220). Similarly, this volume explores known questions, but also points to areas that have been overlooked, so as to open the possibility for new research trajectories, inquiries and encounters, and alternative traditions of scholarship.

Bibliography Bell, Catherine. 1992. Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice. New University: Oxford University Press. Bell, Catherine. 1998. “Performance.” In Critical Terms for Religious Studies, edited by Mark. C. Taylor, 205–224. Chicago: Chicago University Press. Bourdieu, Pierre. 1977. Outline of a Theory of Practice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Chau, Adam Yuet. 2011. “Modalities of Doing Religion.” In Chinese Religious Life, edited by David A. Palmer, Glenn Shive and Philip Wickeri, 67–84. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

5 See Weishan Huang’s chapter on globalization in this volume. 6 Topics explored in this volume especially by Junliang Pan but also by Francesca Tarocco.

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Hall, David. 1997. Lived Religion in America: Toward a History of Practice. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Jansen, Thomas, Thomas Klein, and Christian Meyer, eds. 2014. Globalization and the making of religious modernity in China: transnational religions, local agents, and the study of religion, 1800- present. Leiden: Brill. Kiely, Jan, Vincent Goossaert, and John Lagerwey, eds. 2015. Modern Chinese Religion II: 1850–2015, 2 vols. Leiden: Brill. McGuire, Meredith. 2008. Lived Religion: Faith and Practice in Everyday Life. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Orsi, Robert. 1985. The Madonna of 115th Street: Faith and Community in Italian Harlem, 1880–1950. New Haven: Yale University Press. Travagnin, Stefania, ed. 2017. Religion and Media in China: Insights and Case Studies from the Mainland, Taiwan and Hong Kong. London and New York: Routledge. Yang, Fenggang, and Graeme Lang, eds. 2011. Social Scientific Studies of Religion in China: Methodology, Theories, and Findings. Leiden: Brill.

Paul R. Katz

On the Judicial Continuum and the Study of Chinese Legal Culture Introduction The primary goal of this paper is to consider the nature of the judicial continuum and what its presence reveals about the development of Chinese legal culture. To do so, I draw on data from my Divine Justice book (Katz 2009a) as well as subsequent discussions with scholars in the field of legal history in an attempt to stretch our understanding of judicial practice beyond conventional comprehension. One way to achieve this aim involves viewing both temples and yamens/courtrooms as sites where people could engage in the pursuit of justice. In Divine Justice, I defined the judicial continuum as a cogent cultural system covering a holistic range of options for achieving legitimation and dispute resolution, including mediation (judgments made by elders and other elites), formal legal procedures (judgments made by officials), and performing rituals (judgments made by the gods). I also noted that such acts can be done in succession or in some cases even in tandem. Subsequently, leading scholars of Chinese legal history, most notably Jérôme Bourgon and Jiang Yonglin 姜永琳, have stressed the need to account for the institutional divisions between rituals and legal judgments, as well as distinguish between “official” legal philosophy and institutions, as opposed to “unofficial” religious/legal values and practices. In response, my paper stresses the importance of the concept of “continuum”, which generally refers to a continuous series of elements often viewed as indistinguishable. Inasmuch as this term suggests a range of interrelated phenomena, not equivalence, it would seem logical to conceive of mediation, the courts, and ritual as constituting a judicial continuum, even though they are hardly identical phenomena. Such a viewpoint allows for the presence of continuity amidst difference. In addition, I argue for a broader understanding of the term “judicial.” In my analysis, “judicial” has been extended to cover not only the branch of government charged with administering legal activities but also social and religious practices aimed at resolving disputes or legitimizing the parties therein. If one accepts this perspective of Chinese legal practice, then the very distinction between “social,” “religious” and “legal” actions may end up being less useful than considering them as part of a broader cultural spectrum. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110547849-002

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Apart from these issues, I also examine forms of overlap between official and religious practice as seen in prison temples, which existed in late imperial China and continue to be used in modern Taiwan. Another point to be discussed is how the concept of the judicial continuum can help us better grasp legal pluralism as seen in the continued legitimacy accorded to different sources of judicial authority, including so-called “customary law” (xiguanfa 習慣法 in Chinese) and the legal cultures of indigenous peoples. The paper concludes by arguing that a better understanding of both the division of labor and reverberation between human and divine justice will require more regular exchanges and tighter collaboration between historians of religions and legal historians.

1 Divine Justice: Main Arguments While a growing body of research has begun to consider the social history of private mediation and Chinese law,1 and impressive scholarship has been undertaken on the ethical and judicial aspects of the Chinese underworld,2 relatively little work has been done on ritual remedies for disputes. The tendency on the part of many researchers to overlook the importance of religion in Chinese jurisprudence may be partially due to the fact that previous scholarship has largely been dominated by two starkly contrasting viewpoints. The first, embraced by neo-conservative scholars who celebrated the importance of traditional Chinese culture, insists that jurisprudence has always been secular (or secular humanist). The second, propagated by intellectuals who sympathize with or support May Fourth calls for thoroughgoing Westernization and modernization combined with the rejection of Chinese cultural traditions, scorns its indigenous legal heritage as having been marginal.3 Another probable cause may be that, when it comes to the study of Chinese law, scholarship continues to be trapped by post-Enlightenment (and especially Weberian) hermeneutical frameworks that highlight secularization and the advent of “rational” systems of law. Secularization is a thorny concept because of its various uses in disciplines such as philosophy, social sciences, theology, etc. (Bruce 1992: 3; Dobbelaere 2002 (1981); Stark 1999; Wilson 1992). For the study of Chinese legal culture, the concept of secularization proves relevant because of the idea that secularized societies become differentiated or atomized into 1 See for example Allee 1994; Bernhardt and Huang 1994; Huang 2001; Macauley 1998; Reed 2000. 2 Prominent works include Eberhard 1967; Goodrich 1981; Teiser 1993; Wang-Toutain 1998. 3 For more on these issues, see Alford 1997; Chang 2000.

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autonomous sub-systems (economy, polity, law, education, etc.) that are highly discrete in relation to each other, with religion being restricted in influence to its own integral sub-system. This in turn seems closely linked to the concept of the secular state, one that distinguishes between governmental and religious institutions, and derives its legitimacy not from divine law but man-made legal codes (Wallis and Bruce 1992). At the same time, there is considerable disagreement over the degree of secularization possible, with Talal Asad arguing that the interdependence of the political and religious spheres inhibits total differentiation (Asad 2003: 201), as opposed to José Casanova, who steadfastly adheres to the idea of the secular sphere being differentiated (and even emancipated) from the world of religious institutions and ethics (Casanova 1994, 2006; Szonyi 2009). There are legitimate reasons for caution about applying this concept to the cultural history of China, especially because many definitions of secularization treat it as a historical process of the modern West by which the religious system loses its dominance over communal life (Wallis and Bruce 1992: 12, 14). In the case of Chinese history, however, religion has continuously interacted with other sub-systems from ancient times to the present day, including legal ones. Nevertheless, the concept of secularization appears to have had a profound impact on many Chinese intellectuals during the modern era, including those who study Chinese legal history. We can see the influence of secularization theories in the work of the esteemed legal historian Derk Bodde (1909–2003), who noted that, “A striking feature of the early written law of several major civilizations of antiquity has been its close association with religion. . .A notable feature of Chinese historical and philosophical thinking, apparent already in early times, is its strongly secular tone. . .When we turn to the legal sphere, therefore, it should not surprise us that here too the atmosphere is secular” (Bodde and Morris 1967: 8, 12–13; emphasis added).4 Such analyses distort the complex overlap between the judicial and religious traditions in Chinese culture, a process of reverberation that even shaped the etymology of the Chinese word for law (fa 法), as the upper right half of the original and far more complex form of this character (fa 灋) contains the character zhi 廌, which refers to a mythical one-horned creature known as the xiezhi (variously written as 解廌 or 獬豸) said to be able to identify guilty parties by butting them after they had performed an oath-making ritual in its presence (Ch’ü 1961; MacCormack 1995: 74–77).

4 The continuing power of such views also extends to the entry on Chinese law in Wikipedia, part of which reads, “Unlike many other major civilizations where written law was held in honor and often attributed to divine origin, law in China was viewed in purely secular terms”; see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chinese_law#_note-3.

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More recently, the Chinese legal historians Philip C.C. Huang and Lai Junnan have reassessed Max Weber (1864–1920)’s classic dichotomy between “formal-rational” and “substantive-irrational” law to argue that law should be considered inseparable from moral values. Nonetheless, they also follow Weber in applying secularization theories to modern legal history, as well as arguing that Western law became increasingly detached from morality, which (as a result of secularization) was left to the realm of religion (Huang 2015: 3; Lai 2015: 48; see also Weber 1951). Moreover, when it comes to Chinese legal history, Huang maintains that, “Chinese civilization. . .had nothing comparable to Christianity for the moral realm. Instead of religion, it was highly moralistic Confucianism 儒家思想, which restricted itself to human life and said little to nothing about an after-life, that laid claim to the moral sphere. The dominance of Confucianism in China’s imperial era, in turn, made for a much greater role for moralism in both governance and law” (Huang 2015: 5). Such arguments have merit, but also overlook the ways in which Buddhism, Daoism, sectarian religions, and communal religious traditions have shaped both morality and legal culture, including through the practice of judicial rituals.5 The need to respond to such arguments, as well as the impact of my own historical and ethnographic research, led to the publication of Divine Justice. This book’s main goal was to examine what religious beliefs and practices reveal about the larger context of Chinese legal culture. Accordingly, I attempted to shed new light on two quintessentially Chinese forms of overlap between religion and the law: the ideology of justice and the performance of judicial rituals. The ideology of justice extends to the ways in which the gods control human affairs in this life and the next, including health, wealth, punishment in the underworld, and reincarnation. This involves a wide range of deities who play many different roles. Some observe and record the good and evil deeds of the living, others respond to prayers for divine intervention, while others administer justice in the underworld, which is largely punitive or “legal,” as opposed to the predominantly “moral” hell (purgatory) of the West. Such ideas are expressed in sayings like “the gods hover three feet above one’s head” (jutou sanchi you shenming 舉頭三尺有神明) or “people do deeds under heaven’s [watchful] eye” (lang teh tso, thi teh khoa 人(郎)在做，天在看 in Southern Min). One of the most important conceptual underpinnings of the Chinese ideology of justice is the belief in the inevitability of retribution (baoying 報應).

5 Recent scholarship on Chinese judicial thought and legal writing has shown that both were shaped by moralistic rhetoric. See for example Carlitz 2007; Chang 2000; Furth 2007; Hegel 2007; Jiang and Wu 2007; Lin 2003; Karasawa 2007; Youd 2007.

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The English term derives from the Late Latin retribūtiōn (or retribūtiō; punishment or reward resulting from a judgment), which is the equivalent of the Latin retribūt(us) (past participle of retribuere), literally to restore or give back. Thus, punishment for wrongdoing can be viewed as a form of “payback” or “just deserts.” Similar values permeate Chinese religious traditions, all of which contend that justice will prevail despite corruption and incompetence among judicial officials in this world and even the underworld, with all wrongdoers eventually suffering some form of punishment, perhaps as quickly as their own lifetimes (xianshibao 現世報) (Brokaw 1991; Eberhard 1967). In addition, it seems that one element common to many of the world’s religions is the belief in postmortem punishment, which has the potential to rectify injustices in this world and ensure that even if the guilty may be able to elude punishment while alive, they cannot escape it after death. The Chinese ideology of justice differs from that of many other religious traditions, however, in its formulation of a complex underworld judicial system charged with keeping track of the words and deeds of the living, as well as administering the requisite forms of retribution after death. Such ideas also shaped formal legal procedures, with Charlotte Furth’s research revealing that one key jurisprudential issue in traditional Chinese law was deciding the appropriate level of punishment for a given crime, which resembles the emphasis on retribution in the ideology of justice (Furth 2007, 12; see also Chang 2000). The second form of overlap between religion and the law may be found in the realm of practice, and involves instances when men and women call upon the gods to help them deal with cases of perceived injustice or resolve disputes. Chinese people have long performed judicial rituals featuring the leading deities of the underworld, especially the City God (Chenghuangshen 城隍神), the Emperor of the Eastern Peak (Dongyue dadi 東嶽大帝), and the Bodhisattva Dizang (Dizangwang pusa 地藏王菩薩). Such rites have generally been held in temples dedicated to these deities, or at least in front of their statues. Chinese judicial rituals are many and varied, but the most common appear to be making oaths (lishi 立誓) and filing underworld indictments (gao yinzhuang 告陰狀; also known as fanggao 放告). The category of oaths is an expansive one, encompassing blood covenants (variously referred to as xuemeng 血盟 or shaxue 歃血), covenant and malediction rituals (mengzu 盟詛), and oaths accompanied by the beheading of a chicken (zhan jitou 斬雞頭). Underworld indictment rituals also exhibit considerable variation. Apart from ritually indicting other members of the living, people could also initiate countersuits against plaints filed by the dead, or even lodge complaints against malevolent sprites. It is also necessary to distinguish between judicial rituals performed to reconcile parties (including disagreements between family members and friends), as opposed to judicial rituals performed to invoke retribution on wrongdoers (particularly in the case of

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crimes or financial disputes among business associates). Divine Justice also treats penitential rituals designed to counter the perceived effects of being charged with wrongdoing in this life or a previous existence, including trials of the insane (shen fengzi 審瘋子) and dressing up as a criminal (ban fanren/zuiren 扮犯人/罪人). All these judicial rituals, while highly diverse, do share some common features, especially a profound concern with attaining justice and the tendency for worshippers to invoke divinities who officiate in the underworld.6 Judicial rituals have been performed by people from all levels of Chinese society (including the officialdom) since ancient times,7 a fact that points to the problematic nature of analytical frameworks based on dynasties, not to mention bifurcations like “traditional” vs. “modern” or “elite” vs. “popular.” Such rites also call into question the very nature of the adjective “Chinese” because they were performed in both Han and non-Han communities.8 Finally, when one considers that Western legal history also featured its share of mediation, as well as judicial rites like oaths and ordeals, the very distinction between “China” and “the West” seems somewhat less relevant. Indeed, the idea of a single “Western” legal system with which the Chinese one can be contrasted is itself an oversimplification. This is because Western legal practice resembles its Chinese counterpart in encompassing many diverse forms of jurisprudence (see the discussion of legal pluralism below). Apart from statutory (positive) law, these include natural law, i.e. the idea that the legal system is just one aspect of God’s will or divine providence, thereby constituting an approximation of fundamental and universal principles (Haakonssen 1995), as well as common law, namely unwritten customs and usages based largely on precedents not all that dissimilar from customary law in China, and which are often enacted into statutory law with modern variations (Arnheim 1994; Edlin 2007). In addition, ritual has long been an integral component of many Western legal systems, including the use of robes and wigs as well as the cry of “All rise!” when a judge enters the courtroom. One particularly noteworthy facet of the overlap between religion and the law in Western culture is the belief in “immanent justice,” which maintains that divine intervention in human affairs such as the administration of justice is a regular and predictable occurrence (Lea 1974 (1866)). This belief does not seem all that different from the Chinese ideology of justice. Nonetheless, one striking contrast between China and the West is that judicial rituals have never

6 Overviews of these phenomena may be found in Goossaert 2008, 2013, 2015; ter Haar 1998; Wu 2000; Zheng 1997; Zheng and Liu 2005; Zheng and Wang 1994; Zhu 2000. 7 For examples, see Bokenkamp 2007; Ch’en 2005; Harper 1994; Kleeman 2005; Lewis 1990, 1999; Nickerson 1997. 8 See the case studies in Lü 2002; Sutton 2000, 2003; Xia 1990; Xie 2013; Zhang 2000.

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been formally incorporated into Chinese court procedures, with high-ranking officials responsible for drafting China’s modern civil and penal codes during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries considering but eventually rejecting the adoption of the Western practice of swearing in witnesses. Divine Justice treats the pursuit of justice in Chinese culture as a cogent cultural system covering a wide range of options for achieving legitimation and dispute resolution that I refer to as the “Chinese judicial continuum.” These options, which include mediation (with judgments being made by elders and other elites), going to court (judgments made by officials), and performing rituals (judgments made by the gods), can be done in succession, or in some cases even in tandem. Moreover, while the satisfaction of successfully staging a judicial ritual certainly differs from that provided by winning one’s case in court, both processes can contribute to the resolution of disputes, thereby constituting integral components of Chinese legal culture. The presence of the judicial continuum also challenges dichotomies like “rational” vs. “irrational” by demonstrating that Chinese legal culture is characterized by the concurrent use of both formal and informal judicial mechanisms, with rituals constituting acceptable and even integral measures for attaining justice. Accordingly, I follow Lawrence Rosen in underscoring “the coherence of the entire system – of prayers and rituals, beliefs and practices, judicial inquiry and subjective assessment, oral witnessing and divine oaths – that contributes to the acceptability of any one element within the cultural scheme” (Rosen 1989, 36). I should also note the important work of Wendy Davies and Paul Fouracre, which stresses the importance of judicial rituals as part of a comprehensive battery of legal procedures not unlike the Chinese judicial continuum described in my work (Davies and Fouracre 1986, 223, 228, 232, 233).

2 Rethinking Divine Justice: Critiques by Jérôme Bourgon and Jiang Yonglin Jérôme Bourgon questioned the arguments presented in Divine Justice from the vantage point of judicial practice and legal codification, arguing that the available evidence forces us to rigorously qualify any claims about human and divine justice constituting a seamless cloth, including the ways in which judicial rituals may have shaped official legal practices. The main thrust of his analysis posits an institutional division between formal legal practice and judicial rituals, with the latter exerting precious little impact on the former. Bourgon also argued that the influence underworld indictments and other religious practices may have had on the

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practice of official justice is not always clearly evidenced and qualified.9 In considering what I once termed the “arbitrary division” made by some scholars between human and divine justice/religious and official legal practice, Bourgon argued that, “Such a division was, unless proven otherwise, an institutional fact: there was no point of quoting an “underworld decision” in a legal judgment, and even mediation seems to be a rather secular practice” (emphasis added; the use of “secular” here seems to follow the Weberian conceptualizations discussed above). Bourgon further argued that both China and the West experienced overlap yet also differentiation between representations of postmortem retribution and judicial practice. Accordingly, a wide range of faults were considered to be “sins,” but only a few of these were transformed into “crimes” punishable according to state legal codes. In the West, writers distinguished sins (peccata) from crimes (crimina), with the former offending God, one’s self, or one’s soul, whereas the latter went against written law or public order. Nonetheless, legal and religious texts often described similar punishments for the condemned in both this life and the next, including whipping, branding, and stoning (David 1984; Humbert 1991). In Chinese legal culture, the distinction between “sins” and “crimes” could also be blurry, particularly since both concepts were expressed using the same Chinese term (zui 罪) (Bernstein and Katz 2010). Be that as it may, Bourgon also observes that, “. . . the code and judicial decision show that the legal system resisted such pressures and reinforced the differences between breaches of moral-religious duties and crimes against the law. . .hell punishments targeted sin, and were therefore moral-oriented, while penal codes targeted crimes, by restrictively defining them and neatly differentiating them from sin” (emphasis added; again, Max Weber’s work may be a factor).10 In his review article about Divine Justice (Jiang 2012), Jiang Yonglin draws on my book as well as his own research results (Jiang 2011) to argue that late imperial Chinese law was viewed as embodying cosmic order, thereby reflecting religious worldviews. In this sense, then, both Jiang and I are endeavoring to better understand the religious aspects of Chinese legal culture. Naturally, he notes that our two works attempt to achieve highly different goals, with mine focusing on what he labels “unofficial religious/legal values and practices” and

9 See our debate in http://www.thechinabeat.org/?p=3653 and http://www.thechinabeat.org/ ?p=3661 (accessed on August 14, 2015). See also his numerous published works on Chinese legal history that form the basis for the ideas expressed during and after our discussions (Bourgon 2002, 2004, 2007, 2014; Gong Tao (Jérôme Bourgon) 2009, n.d.). 10 One example Bourgon gives involves the “Ten evils” (shi’e 十惡), originally a Buddhist list of misdeeds that was modified to become the second article of imperial codes from the Tang to the Qing.

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his centering on “official legal philosophy and institutions”. This dichotomy between “unofficial” and “official”, which may also be shaped by Weber’s ideas, ends up shaping the questions he poses, which tend to be based on a narrow definition of terms like “judicial” and “legal”. For example, in considering the meaning of “judicial”, he asks, “Is it simply related to the judiciary, a government branch engaging in legal activities, or is it expanded to include any form of judgment, including moral or spiritual?” (My answer here would be an expansive one; see below). Similarly, he wonders whether the rituals described in Divine Justice might be viewed as “legal acts”, observing that, “It seems that they involve social/religious acts (some of which are actually illegal) more than legal acts . . . although the judicial rituals have something to do with an ideology of justice and dispute resolution, they might not necessarily be legal/judicial affairs” (Again, the answer to these questions depends in large part on whether one adopts a broad or narrow definition of these terms).

3 Rethinking Divine Justice: On the Nature of Continuums One of the most critical aspects of the above debates concerns how to best conceptualize what I call the judicial continuum. While some might argue in favor of identity transcending differentiation, I prefer to stress continuity amidst difference. Let me begin by quoting one definition of the term continuum: “A continuous extent, succession, or whole, no part of which can be distinguished from neighbouring parts except by arbitrary division.”11 In other words, to me the word “continuum” suggests a range of interrelated phenomena, not equivalence. This would appear to more closely reflect the term’s etymology, including the Latin continuus. This Latin term can mean both “continuous and uninterrupted” and “following one after another, successive, continuous,” including peoples, events, and even dates. In Divine Justice, I used the term to describe a continuous spectrum of judicial beliefs and practices, linked by the overarching “ideology of justice” but differing in time, agency, and intent. To me, the fact that the adjective describes different consulships, battles, itineraries, and even days as successively linked (or continuous) would seem to support such a usage. Therefore, mediation, the courts, and ritual would seem to merit being conceived of as constituting a Chinese judicial continuum, even though they are hardly identical phenomena. 11 This definition may be found in Webster’s, as well as the Free Online Dictionary.

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Of particular value for my research was the stimulating analysis by Timothy Brook, Jérôme Bourgon, and Gregory Blue of the “distorting mimesis” of the homology between worldly legal institutions and their representations in Chinese religious traditions, with depictions of underworld torments serving to remind viewers of earthly punishments, even if such punishments were not identical (Brook, Bourgon and Blue 2008, 122–151). As they observe, “The world of the dead does not so much recapitulate the world of the living as propose what the world of the living could be if it had the rationality, order, and systematic moral logic that are imagined to govern the world of the dead” (Ibid., 126). In Divine Justice, I took the idea of homologies one step further by considering continuums in light of the similarities or correspondences between litigation and judicial rituals. A wealth of evidence indicates that officials have not hesitated to rely on dreams and other forms of divine intervention to solve difficult legal cases, right instances of injustice, capture suspected criminals, and even fight spirits that haunted their offices or homes. Some officials have allowed judicial rites to be performed in their courts or relied on such rituals to assess the guilt or innocence of plaintiffs and defendants, while others have chosen to file plaints at temples to judicial deities (see below). In other words, the segregation between ritual and formal judicial practice might not be as rigid as assumed. All this suggests that China’s judicial continuum covered both the official and religious realms, with considerable interaction occurring between the two. Numerous sources describe late imperial officials combining practices of these two realms, with some performing judicial rituals and others holding formal trials in temples to judicial deities.12 Examples include renowned magistrates such as Wang Huizu 汪會祖 (1730–1807), Lan Dingyuan 藍鼎元 (1680–1733) and Huang Liuhong 黃六鴻 (1633–1693), who not only made oaths to the City God in order to augment their legitimacy but also relied on this deity’s assistance to crack tough cases, and even chose to hold trials in City God temples in order to determine the truth.13 One account in the 1871 Shanghai county gazetteer describes how a local official investigating a murder case conducted an exhaustive criminal investigation, which included interviewing suspects and witnesses and examining wounds on the victim’s corpse. However, when he proved unable

12 For an overview of this phenomenon, see Ch’en 2005; Ch’ü 1961; Waley-Cohen 1993. 13 The case Huang Liuhong invoked the City God to help solve was none other than the “Death of Woman Wang” made famous in Jonathan Spence’s book of that name; see Huang Liu-hung 黃六鴻 1699 (1984), 28 and 343–351, esp. 347, as well as Spence 1978. Other examples may be found in Yuan Mei 袁枚 1716–1797 (1993), 9.168–169 (Zibuyu 子不語); see also Hao 1997, 148–149. For a story of how an official in Amoy resolved a difficult inheritance case by staging a trial at the City God temple, see Macgowan 1912, 140–142.

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to crack the case, he decided to interrogate the prime suspect in front of the City God. This tactic proved effective, as the man broke down and confessed (Shanghai xianzhi, juan 32). Such practices persist in Taiwan today, where some prosecutors also perform judicial rituals when confronted with particularly trying cases. In February 2005, for example, police and prosecutors working to solve the murder of a woman from Toufen 頭份 (Miaoli County), whose headless corpse was dumped by the roadside, visited the Xinzhu 新竹 City God Temple late one night to ask for divine assistance. After making offerings to the deity, they threw divination blocks in order to ask if the case would be solved and received a favorable response. A few days later, the murderer was arrested.14 In another case that made headlines in 1991, when a woman accused a tenant of raping her, the local prosecutor doubted her story and had her make an oath in a City God temple as a means of proving the validity of her charges. When she backed down, the case was considered closed.15 As recently as March 2008, one Pingdong 屏東 district attorney offered a new dragon crown and dragon robe to a deity known as Royal Lord Xing (Xingfu qiansui 邢府千歲) to express gratitude for helping him solve a homicide case involving a local vegetable merchant.16 The overlap between religion and the formal judicial system was so profound that it helped shape representations of the relationship between officials and judicial deities. One striking story of officials interacting with the City God, entitled “The Prefects of the Underworld and Earthly (Bureaucracies)” (Yinyang taishou 陰陽太守), may be found in the late Qing biji 筆記 entitled Zhiwen lu 咫 文錄 (1843 preface). It recounts how a new prefect met the City God from his jurisdiction while travelling there by boat, and relied on the god’s help in solving a number of difficult crimes.17 In another example of such sentiments, the Zibuyu 子不語 by Yuan Mei 袁枚 (1716–1797) describes an official trusting in dreams sent by judicial deities to help undertake his legal duties (Zibuyu, 12.233), while an account in Ji Yun 紀昀 (1724–1805)’s Yuewei caotang biji 閱微 草堂筆記 reveals that some officials would take the initiative to pray for a dream from the City God when dealing with complicated cases (Yuewei caotang biji, 4.3252). The Zibuyu also tells of an official who judged human cases by day and underworld cases by night, taking an iron pill (tiewan 鐵丸) before each chthonic session in order to fortify his heart. After witnessing the numerous

14 See http://www.epochtimes.com/b5/5/2/26/n827472.htm (first accessed on March 1, 2005). 15 See the March 13, 1991 issue of the China Times, p. 15. 16 See the March 16, 2008 issue of the United Daily News, p. A12. Many thanks to Liu Xun 劉迅 for informing me of this story. 17 See n.a. 1994, 216–220 (anyu juan 案獄卷).

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torments of the underworld, he exhorted his subjects to observe good conduct, and especially proscriptions against the consumption of bovines (the so-called “beef taboo” or niujie 牛戒) (Zibuyu, 16.311–312).18 The ideology of justice also had a profound impact on the bureaucratic metaphor. It is a well-known fact that the temples of many underworld deities were built to specifications resembling a magistrate’s yamen, including furniture, brushes, and ink slabs (Guo 2003, 42–46). However, such temples featured a bureaucratic system that was far more complex than the worldly one, including the Office of Speedy Retribution (Subao si 速報司), one of 72 (or sometimes 76) departments run by the chthonic bureaucracy (Chen 2000; Goodrich 1964, 242–243; Goodrich 1981, 27). These deities not only judged the dead, but also had the power to become involved in worldly affairs, including helping to identify the guilty party in a dispute and ensuring the people did not file false plaints (Goodrich 1964, 135–138, 224), functions still performed by underworld deities in Taiwan today. The underworld judicial system could also punish corrupt earthly officials. Thus, it is probably no coincidence that many temples to the Emperor of the Eastern Peak contain statues of a deity known as the Censor (Ducha si 督察司), who is tasked with keeping a close eye on officials as they administer earthly justice (Ibid., 138–139). To sum up, I never argued in favor of an identity between human and divine justice, but would maintain that we pay closer attention to the similarity and overlap of these two forms of judicial practice. I also agree that different systems existed, and that each had its own unique features, but the interaction between them suggests that a continuum did exist. If one reads the work of Max Gluckman, for whom law was a codification of custom (Gluckmann 1965; see also Malinowski 1926), one does not need to ask whether private mediation or ritual practices might be legal.19 Ultimately, then, my research bears on how the ritual and official aspects of Chinese legal culture were meshed together to imbibe people with the belief that the moral universe was a huge net allowing no escape for wrongdoers, regardless of whether they had committed “crimes” as defined by the state. As noted above, one of my goals in writing Divine Justice has been to stretch the legal field beyond conventional comprehension. My work acknowledges that human and divine justice differed, yet also tries to show that the entirety of Chinese legal culture featured a coherent framework whereby human and religious conceptions of justice not only coexisted but interacted in terms of

18 For more on the beef taboo, see Goossaert 2005. 19 I am deeply grateful to the late Nicholas Tapp for bringing this issue to my attention.

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both belief and practice. The human and religious realms had their own unique features, yet they also shaped each other. That’s why I argue for the existence of a continuum. In other words, we can adopt a broad definition of Chinese legal culture that recognizes the differences and essential elements of each form of justice without arbitrarily separating them.

4 Areas for Future Research: Executions and Legal Pluralism We are now only beginning to appreciate the religious aspects of Chinese executions. On the surface, such events seem more “secular” than those in the West, which featured the presence of Christian priests as well as the conviction that criminals could attain salvation by displaying proper Christian behavior during their executions.20 In the Chinese case, one would hardly expect to find records of Buddhist or Taoist religious specialists performing last rites, but some works of fiction indicate that, before being executed, some condemned men were told that they would end up being worshipped in temples to underworld deities. For example, in Chapter 62 of the Shuihu quanzhuan 水滸全傳, prison guards leading Lu Junyi 盧俊義 to the execution ground attempt to console him by stating that, “We’ve already arranged a seat for you in that Temple of the Five Saints ahead. Your soul can go and claim it” (Shi and Luo, Shapiro transl. 1981, vol.2, 1016).21 Moreover, in his recent article on prison temples, Jérôme Bourgon observes that convicts sentenced to death were granted a banquet “without restraint” (yanle xiang bu jin 宴樂向不禁) the day before imperial ceremonies to determine which ones would actually be executed. Prison officials would also burn incense in a temple housed in the South prison, and then burn funeral money in a second temple in the North prison. Both rites tended to be quite perfunctory, but did involve the invocation of an “amazing number of spirits and deities honored in temples and shrines found on the grounds of the Board’s prisons” (Bourgon 2016: 211). Such rites do not seem to have been public affairs like those in the West, but the data Bourgon has collected clearly suggests that religion could figure into Chinese executions. Similar practices persist in Taiwan

20 See the discussion of the didactic power of Chinese executions in see Brook, Bourgon, and Blue 2008, 203–209; see also Ho 2000. 21 Original Ch: 前面五聖堂 裏，已安排下你的坐位了。你可一魂去那里領受.

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today, with non-Christian criminals worshipping images of the Bodhisattva Dizang 地藏 in shrines placed outside execution sites.22 Another topic meriting further research is legal pluralism, generally defined as the existence of diverse forms of judicial practice within a nation-state or social system (Laliberté 2014; Merry 1988). Legal pluralism is a key concept in the field of legal anthropology, which has witnessed a paradigmatic shift during the past few decades due to scholars placing greater emphasis on legal behavior as opposed to legal institutions (Merry 1992, 359–360). For instance, Peter Just’s Dou Donggo Justice reveals that disputes tell us about what is important in a given community, and how communal values can change (Just 2001, 17). Similarly, in her influential book entitled Harmony Ideology, Laura Nader argues that one key aspect of informal justice involves its emphasis on solving conflicts rather than deciding legal merits of a case (Nader 1990, 295), something that is certainly the case for Chinese dispute resolution. The importance of legal anthropological analysis may also be seen in the distinction between the court model (adjudication based on the establishment of past facts by legal efforts in order to achieve a conclusive verdict) and the bargain model (mediation by elders or elites aimed at the attainment of a compromise acceptable to both parties) (Ergene 2004, 52–53). Both models exist in Chinese legal practice (and in the West as well, with many cases being settled out of court). Accordingly, one of Divine Justice’s main goals was to delineate the relationship between these two models in the context of Chinese culture. The practice of allowing conquered or colonized peoples to retain their judicial practices dates back to at least the Roman Empire (Lariviere 1981, 347), while the coexistence of different legal systems was also a feature of many precolonial and Western societies (Tan 1997, 1–13; see also Chiba 1989; Tie 1999). Legal pluralism also marked the interaction between Chinese and Western legal cultures as seen in colonial courts in Asia. This occurred during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, a time when the hierarchy of state law over customary, canon, and merchant law was only beginning to be fully enacted in European societies. As a result, the Western colonial governments of that era tended to avoid blanket top-down imposition of their legal systems, preferring instead various forms of experimentation to establish a legal system that might prove acceptable to both rulers and the ruled. Western states that

22 For more data, see the following websites: http://www.nownews.com/2010/03/13/1382579421.htm; http://www.cdnews.com.tw/cdnews_site/docDetail.jsp?coluid=108anddocid= 101147132, as well as http://dailynews.sina.com/bg/tw/twlocal/cna/20110304/06132273188. html (All three websites were first accessed on April 30, 2010; still accessible on February 13, 2019).

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had to deal with Asian immigrants may not have been as tolerant or understanding, but also proved willing to exhibit some degree of flexibility. To a certain extent, then, the problem of administering justice in colonial or immigrant settings was less a question of tradition vs. modernity than one of the extent to which the modern nation-state would prove willing and able to tolerate nonWestern ideas of judicial authority, with Lauren Benton observing that colonial legal history frequently featured a “contested historical movement from truly plural legal orders to state-dominated legal orders” (Benton 2002, 28). During the modern era, attempts to introduce Western legal systems played a key role in constructing the nature of colonized subjects (Comaroff 2001, 309). At the same time, however, strategies of legal control involved far more than the imposition of a single system designed to achieve cultural integration by means of social engineering. Instead, many colonial powers felt the need to condone indigenous judicial systems, and even infuse their legal systems with other forms of jurisprudence, thereby contributing to the formation of polymorphic judicial cultures or legal pluralism (Hooker 1975, 2002). As John L. Comaroff puts it, the challenge facing colonial authorities was as follows: “[Could] a Euromodernist nation-state, founded on the sovereignty of one law, actually infuse itself with another [form of] jurisprudence?” (Comaroff 2004, 189). As a result, the history of colonial law frequently involved a dialogue between both colonizers and colonized, a fact that gives credence to Marouf Arif Hasian’s claim that, “Legal ideologies are not simply transplanted; they are coproduced by both the colonizer and the colonized” (Hasian 2002, 7). Such interaction involved extensive experimentation, and often messy attempts to find solutions acceptable to colonizers and colonized alike.23 Such phenomena are clearly evident in the history of Britain’s Asian colonies, where the authorities initially chose a strategy of multiculturalism, struggling to build an effective legal system that met the needs of colonizers and colonized. Cases like Omychund v. Barker (1744) and Ramkissenseat v. Barker (1786) effectively established the principle that any religious system featuring belief in divine retribution could be invoked in the course of taking an oath, and that the rites and/or procedures used for the administration of such oaths could be adjusted according to the beliefs of the oath-taker (Willen 1983, 116–117; see also Jain 1994). These cases, and especially the former, served as key precedents in colonies like Hong Kong and the Straits Settlements, with judicial oaths to Chinese deities (including chicken beheadings and burning sheets of yellow

23 For more on these issues, see Comaroff 2001, 310–311; Comaroff and Comaroff 2006; Comaroff and Engel 1978; Kollewijn 1994; Martin 2004; Roberts 1981.

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paper) being sanctioned despite unease about their utility.24 The Japanese pursued similar policies in colonial Taiwan, with the writings of scholar-officials like Masuda Fukutaro 增田福太郎 (1903–1982) revealing that colonial officials including police, prosecutors, clerks, and even judges, would not hesitate to observe judicial rituals, and even allow them to be held in the course of adjudicating legal cases that had already entered the courts.25 An even more striking phenomenon is that Western courts dealing with Chinese litigants at times allowed them to stage the oath-making rituals mentioned above, as well as rites that do not seem to have been performed in Chinese judicial practice such as shattering plates or blowing out matches/candles (Doo 1973; Lammers 1988; Welch 2006; Wunder 1986). Legal pluralism has also marked the development of modern Chinese law. While some might assume that China’s centralized state structure would result in a uniform legal system, the reality is far more complex. The PRC originally adopted parts of the Soviet Union’s legal practice, much of which ended up being abandoned during the Cultural Revolution. Since 1978, China has sought to establish a new legal system that borrows from Western civil code and common law, while debating the extent to which China should preserve its own legal traditions in the name of indigenization (bentuhua 本土化). A final layer of complexity is the ethnic and cultural diversity within the PRC, with national minorities having their own customary laws shaped by religious beliefs, whether it is Sharia law for Muslims or Tibetan legal codes influenced by Buddhism (Piquet 2005; Potter 2001).26 Similarly, in Taiwan, the Nationalist Party (KMT) chose to impose its laws, but only after consultations with local elites and a degree of flexibility towards non-Han legal traditions, particularly those of Taiwan’s Aboriginal peoples (Hipwell 2009; Ku 2012; Simon and Mona 2013). In one notable example, Article 30 of the Indigenous Peoples Basic Law promulgated in 2005 explicitly recognizes the legitimacy of Aboriginal legal proceedings (including rituals), and calls for the formation of indigenous courts for administering justice: Article 30: The Government shall give due respect to tribal languages, Indigenous customs and practices, cultural diversity, cultural integrity, and the integrity of the values, practices and institutions of Indigenous Peoples in the process of dealing with Indigenous affairs, making laws or implementing judicial and administration remedial procedures,

24 Studies of these phenomena include Braddell 1915, 77–80; Freedman 1952, 97; Ji and Ya 2004; Katz 2009b; Munn 2001, 231–232; Norton-Kyshe 1898. 25 See for example Masuda 1996 (1942), 58–102; see also Huang 2002, 111–144; Jung 2009; Lin 2000; Ts’ai 2004; Tsu 1998, 41–42, 47–50. 26 A profound note of thanks to André Laliberté for his guidance in these issues.

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notarization, mediation, arbitration and the like, for the purpose of protecting the lawful rights of Indigenous Peoples. In the event that an Indigenous Person does not understand the Chinese language, an interpreter who speaks the tribal language shall be put in place. Indigenous Peoples’ courts and/or tribunals may be established for the purpose of protecting Indigenous Peoples’ rights and equitable access to Justice/the judicial system/the 27 judiciary system.

Conclusion In an article published in 2015, Philip Huang stated that, “The study of Chinese legal history in the concrete to uncover its operative logics has been the core of the project this author has engaged in for the past 25 years” (Huang 2015, 7). While my research spans a shorter period of time, it has been guided by this goal as well, but expanded to include religion’s place in Chinese legal culture.28 The data presented in this paper, while incomplete, might prompt us to reconsider conventional wisdom about the extent to which the scope of modern Chinese legal culture has been limited to an autonomous secular sub-system, as well as the problem of whether religious influence was increasingly confined to such a sub-system. My research has attempted to shed new light on what the ideology of justice and judicial rituals reveal about the importance of religious beliefs and practices in Chinese legal culture. In terms of ideas about jurisprudence, the reverberation between religion and the law seems intimately linked to a deep concern with the pursuit of justice. Because this ideal was rarely realized in earthly courts, many men and women placed their faith in judicial deities like the City God and the Emperor of the Eastern Peak. Despite the fact that some works of literature portray the underworld bureaucracy as being corrupt, the ideology of justice was clearly predicated on the notion that this system provided better justice than its earthly counterpart. As Valerie Hansen so aptly puts it: “Structured much like this-worldly courts, and populated by many of the same corrupt figures, the courts of the dead differed in one important way: they usually implemented justice” (Hansen 1995, 190). As for legal practice, we have seen that judicial rituals have long coexisted with private mediation and the courts, all of which comprise the Chinese

27 http://www.apc.gov.tw/portal/docDetail.html?CID=74DD1F415708044A (accessed on August 16, 2015). 28 Apart from Jérôme Bourgon and Jiang Yonglin, other legal historians are also starting to consider this issue. See for example Szto 2011.

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judicial continuum. This continuum not only encompasses the conduct of criminal and civil procedures, but also efforts aimed at resolving disputes, which can be mediated in both the courts and in temples. For example, the staging of oath-making rites involves a subsequent waiting period for the gods to pass judgment, during which mediators can work to reduce tensions and resolve the dispute in question. This is also the case for many indictment rituals, with the added feature that the shift from emotive oral expressions of grievance to standardized written texts can help defuse emotions and allow dispute resolution mechanisms an additional opportunity to take hold. Another important aspect of judicial rituals described is that many function as expressions of legitimacy, and the widespread popularity of oathmaking rituals among people ranging in status from high-ranking officials to peasants can be partially explained by the fact that such rites serve as speech acts designed to add cultural sanction to one’s claims. Similarly, indictment rituals filed against other members of the living can legitimate the causes of people involved in disputes. It seems particularly significant that late imperial officials used oaths and indictment rituals to enhance their legitimacy when dealing with natural disasters, human threats to their authority like bandits and rebels, and even unsanctioned local cults and malevolent spiritual forces. However, this should not cause us to overlook the fact that individuals and groups attempting to resist the state’s hegemony could also file plaints against members of the officialdom, especially those they viewed as being corrupt. A similar pattern of dueling rites of legitimacy could also shape gender and family issues, with husbands indicting disobedient wives and chaste widows or other wronged women (and even female ghosts) filing underworld indictments as “weapons of the weak” that could enhance the legitimacy of their causes. Judicial rituals continue to shape legitimation and dispute resolution in modern, high-tech Chinese societies like Taiwan, where people rely on such rites to resolve issues that are not readily addressed in the courtroom (particularly family tensions), as well as put pressure on rebellious children or unfaithful/ abusive husbands. At the same time, however, numerous worshippers who choose to file underworld indictments in temples are also willing to take their cases to court (and in some instances even encouraged to do so by temple specialists), which suggests the increasing viability of the legal system in the eyes of the Taiwanese people. We now appear to be witnessing a new phase of the development of the judicial continuum in modern Taiwan, one that is marked by a concurrent increase in the legitimacy of all of its aspects (mediation, the courts, and judicial rituals) that is also enhancing popular confidence in the ideology of justice.

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This contrasts rather sharply with the fate of the ideology of justice and the judicial continuum in post-1949 China today, where religious life is only now starting to revive, albeit with major fits and starts. Chinese temple cults and the ritual events they organize flourish as hotbeds of cultural innovation and negotiation, with local elites working to expand the space of religious activities while also legitimizing them (Chau 2009; Dean 2009). China is also experiencing a “Confucian revival,” especially in the realm of ritual (Billioud and Thoraval 2015; Sun 2012). In addition, recent research has identified tourism as a crucial arena for understanding states attempts to effectively manage and standardize the local forces shaping China’s religious revival, with opportunities to transform beliefs and practices formerly labeled as “superstition” (mixin 迷信) into “customs” (fengsu 風俗) or intangible cultural heritage (fei wuzhi wenhua yichan 非物質文化 遺產) that possess intrinsic value (Oakes and Sutton 2010). Be that as it may, the extent to which the Chinese authorities may be willing to tolerate the return of judicial rituals remains to be seen. While I have seen evidence of worshippers filing underworld indictments in Quanzhou 泉州’s temples to the City God and the Emperor of the Eastern Peak, as well as in Heavenly Kings (Tianwang 天王) temples in Western Hunan (Xiangxi 湘西), the judicial continuum in China today remains fragmentary and inchoate. This remains a cause for concern, since the achievement of justice is an essential prerequisite for any harmonious society, while the effective functioning of a legal system requires some degree of entirety. In the case of Chinese legal culture, both ideas of justice and judicial practices have been inseparable from religion, with the ideology of justice providing a profound sense of hope for the achievement of justice and judicial rituals a means of achieving this goal. The anguished protests of people who have been wronged poignantly reveal that the longing for justice in China described in Divine Justice remains as pressing as ever. Judicious policies for this aspect of China’s religious revival may go a long way towards fulfilling such aspirations.

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Law and Custom Did not Merge into Civil Law under the Qing), transl. by Zheng Jianpeng 鄭建鵬. Beida falü pinglun 北大法律評論 10, no.1: 89–120. Gong Tao 鞏濤 (Jérôme Bourgon). n.d. “Falü diyu: Guanyu Zhongguo xinyang zhong zhengyi guannian yu falü de bijiao” 法律地獄：關於中國信仰中正義觀念和法律的比較. Unpublished manuscript. Goodrich, Anne Swan. 1964. The Peking Temple of the Eastern Peak: The Tung-yüeh Miao in Peking and its Lore. Nagoya: Monumenta Serica. Goodrich, Anne Swan. 1981. Chinese Hells: The Peking Temple of Eighteen Hells and Chinese Conceptions of Hell. St. Augustin: Monumenta Serica. Goossaert, Vincent. 2005. L’Interdit du boeuf en Chine. Agriculture, éthique et sacrifice. Paris: Collège de France, Institut des Hautes Études Chinoises. Goossaert, Vincent. 2008. “Irrepressible Female Piety. Late Imperial Bans on Women Visiting Temples.” Nan Nü. Men, Women and Gender in China, 10, no.2: 212–241. Goossaert, Vincent. 2013. “The Local Politics of Festivals in Hangzhou, 1850–1950.” Daoism: Religion, History and Society 5: 57–80. Goossaert, Vincent. 2015. “The Shifting Balance of Power in the City God Temples, 1800–1937.” Journal of Chinese Religions 43, no.1: 5–33. Guo Qitao. 2003. Exorcism and Money: The Symbolic World of the Five-Fury Spirits in Late Imperial China. China Research Monograph 55. Berkeley: Institute of East Asian Studies. Haakonssen, Knud. 1995. Natural Law and Moral Philosophy: From Grotius to the Scottish Enlightenment. New York: Cambridge University Press. Hansen, Valerie. 1995. Negotiating Daily Life in Traditional China: How Ordinary People Used Contracts, 600–1400. New Haven: Yale University Press. Hao Tiechuan 郝鐵川. 1997. Zhongguo faxi yanjiu 中國法系研究. Shanghai: Fudan daxue chubanshe. Harper, Donald. 1994. “Resurrection in Warring States Popular Religion.” Taoist Resources 5, no.2: 13–28. Hasian, Marouf Arif. 2002. Colonial Legacies in Postcolonial Contexts: A Critical Rhetorical Examination of Legal Histories. Oxford and New York: Peter Lang. Hegel, Robert E. 2007. “Introduction: Writing and the Law.” In Writing and Law in Late Imperial China. Crime, Conflict, and Judgment, edited by Robert E. Hegel and Katherine Carlitz, 3–23. Seattle: University of Washington Press. Hipwell, William T. 2009. “An Asset-based Approach to Indigenous Development in Taiwan.” Asia Pacific Viewpoint 50, no.3: 289–306. Ho, Virgil Kit-yiu. 2000. “Butchering Fish and Executing Criminals: Public Executions and the Meanings of Violence in Late Imperial and Modern China.” In Meanings of Violence: a Cross Cultural Perspective, edited by Göran Aijmer and Jos Abbink, 141–160. Oxford: Berg. Hooker, M.B., ed. and comp. 1975. Legal Pluralism: An Introduction to Colonial and Neocolonial Laws. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Hooker, M.B. 2002. Law and the Chinese in Southeast Asia. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Huang Ching-chia 黃靜嘉. 2002. Chunfan louxia wantao ji: Riben due Taiwan de zhimin tongzhi ji qi yingxiang 春帆樓下晚濤急: 日本對台灣的殖民統治及其影響. Taipei: Shangwu yinshuguan. Huang Liu-hung 黃六鴻 (1633–1693), Djang Chu transl. and ed. 1984 [text originally compiled in 1699]. Fu-hui ch’üan-shu 福惠全書. Tucson, Arizona: The University of Arizona Press.

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Nikolas Broy

Moral Integration or Social Segregation? Vegetarianism and Vegetarian Religious Communities in Chinese Religious Life Introduction Occasional visitors and tourists may find it difficult to observe the existence of vegetarian cuisines and restaurants when they come to China. Thus, it appears that meat plays an important role in people’s everyday diets. Accordingly, the United Nations estimate that the consumption of meat per capita in the People’s Republic (PRC) has more than quadrupled since the beginning of the reform era from 13.7 kg (1980) to 59.5 kg in 2005; moreover, the PRC is also rated as the world’s leading producer of meat, having yielded almost 81 million tonnes in 2010.1 As a part of daily diets meat plays an important role in the way many people have experienced the transition from the frugality and plainness of the Mao era to the period of relative wealth of the contemporary age (Klein 2016, 9–10). In addition, most popular Chinese dishes include meat, and particularly dinners or banquets intended to attend guests or friends always comprise a variety of dishes made of meat. As far as we know, meat has also been an important aspect of ritual worship of ancestors and gods from the earliest times on (Sabban 1994; Cook 2005; Sterxck 2005; Puett 2005). Likewise, if one walks around a random Taiwanese city during the seventh lunar month (commonly known as guiyue 鬼月, the “ghost month”), one will also encounter numerous shops and offices displaying chickens and other meat-offerings intended to pacify the hungry ghosts. Albeit probably not quite visible in contemporary society, China also has a long and significant history of the religiously motivated abstention from meat. While most prominent in its Buddhist inspired form, Confucian, Daoist, and popular religious beliefs likewise shaped the practice of vegetarianism in Chinese history. Therefore, this chapter will trace the evolution of Chinese vegetarianism as a blend of Confucian notions of periodic abstention as purification, Daoist convictions in the magical efficacy of nonordinary diets, as well as Buddhist beliefs in vegetarianism as religious and moral practice. I will argue that the

1 Food and Agriculture Association (FAO) of the United Nations (ed.), The State of Food and Agriculture. Livestock in the Balance, 2009, 11 and FAO Statistical Yearbook 2013. Food and Agriculture, 2013, 174. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110547849-003

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basic idea of this food-related habit is that the abstention from meat, alcohol, and a number of pungent vegetables is helpful in producing religiously relevant benefits. Thus, through the history of Chinese religions, vegetarianism was charged with multiple meanings related to morality, individual salvation, magical power, health, and longevity. While most practitioners observed only part-time abstention and a permanent vegetarian diet remained important only for a number of monastics (Buddhists and Quanzhen Daoists), it was particularly among nonofficial religious groups – or what I prefer to term “sectarian religion” – that a strict vegetarian “conduct of life” established important patterns of distinction, moral conduct, and salvation.

1 Food, Fasting, and Religion in Chinese Antiquity Because in ancient China meat was scarce and thus considered a luxury good even for the elite (Sabban 1994, 80–82), it is no wonder that antique sources speak of the ruling elite as “the meat-eaters” (roushizhe 肉食者). Moreover, during the Zhou period (11th century – 256 BCE) the ritual exchange of meat between the king and his vassals was a usual way of establishing bonds as well as intensifying loyalty and political relationships between states (Sterckx 2005, 38–39). Meat was also to be preserved for the elderly: according to the famous Confucian thinker Mengzi (third century BCE), meat was to be kept for the people above the age of 70 sui and it was considered a matter of filial piety to serve one’s parents with meat and alcohol (Sterckx 2005, 39). In addition, alcohol and meat played an important role in sacrifices to certain deities as well as to the ancestors (Puett 2005). However, already well before the arrival of Buddhism in the Middle Kingdom during the Han Dynasty (202 BCE–220 CE), there was a well-established tradition of refraining from meat, alcohol, and other substances that can be traced back to the first millennium BCE (Cook 2005, 27–28; Sterckx 2005, 40, 49–50; Lin 2009, 49–54). In contrast to the strict vegetarian practices that developed under Buddhist influence, however, fasting (zhai 齋 or qi 齊) served as a means of purification that was limited to specific occasions, in particular sacrificial offerings and the mourning period after the passing away of relatives. It appears that the cultural and political elites of late feudal and early imperial China envisioned fasting as a requirement in order to be able to communicate with gods and the spirits of the deceased. Described as an almost meditational state of bodily and mental tranquility, it is supposed to “spiritualize and brighten moral qualities”

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(yi shenming qi de 以神明其德) (Kamata 1999, 64–65; Lin 2009, 52). At least since the early Han period, fasting was also an important ritual aspect of mourning practices that included the replacement of carnivorous diets with plain vegetarian food, particularly congee and vegetables (Sterckx 2005, 40; Suwa 1988, 60–61). Thus, fasting had been perceived (1) as a way to transcend one’s ordinary state in order to gain non-ordinary abilities, and (2) as a requirement of purification in the mourning period. During the following centuries, the fast played an important role in imperial and state rituals and it was officially codified in the collected statutes of the Ming and Qing dynasties (Lin 2009, 55). According to these rules, the emperor was supposed to refrain from banquets, listening to music, entering the inner chambers, holding condolences, offering the deities, cleaning the graves, and consuming wine and meat. Similar expectations were also expended to the private performance of standard family rituals, such as funerals or sacrifices to ancestral spirits. For instance, the Family Rituals – the most influential handbook of its kind by Neo-Confucian philosopher Zhu Xi 朱熹 (1130–1200) – urges ritual participants to reduce the consumption of meat and alcohol, to bath themselves and change their clothes, and to live gender-separated for one day (e.g., New Year’s Day, the solstice, new and full moon) or three days (e.g., seasonal sacrifices or rituals to the first ancestor) (Ebrey 1991, 12, 156–157, 167, 170, 173, 176).2 Regarding regular diets, Confucians also insisted on a decent and modest attitude towards meat-eating (Lunyu yizhu, 10:8, 7:9). Accordingly, excessive and unrestricted consumption of meat and alcohol was treated as a feature of a dissolute and licentious lifestyle as exemplified in the famous phrase “ponds of wine and forests of meat” (jiuchi roulin 酒池肉林) that originated in a criticism of a king’s immoral conduct (Sabban 1994, 83). In an equally ethical way, Mengzi states that the man of Confucian virtue cannot bear to see a living animal being killed (Mengzi yizhu, 1:7). In addition, Confucius is reported to have completely forgotten the taste of meat for three months after listening to a certain piece of music (Lunyu yizhu, 7:14), thus suggesting that the truly cultivated Confucian may not have to rely his diet on meat. On the other hand, in early China there appears to have existed another tradition of refraining from certain kinds of food and sometimes even rejecting regular diets altogether. This strand of thinking can be traced back to the southern regions of the Warring States period (453–221 BCE) and also figures 2 Ebray chose to translate zhai 齋 in a general manner as “purification,” but chapter 5 of the manual clearly prescribe not to get drunk when drinking wine and not to use strong-smelling vegetables (hun 葷, see the section on the “five pungent plants” below), see the original facsimile text in Ebrey 1991, 208b18-19.

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prominently in early Daoist writings (Campany 2009, 62–87; Eskildsen 2010, 43–68). To favor a diet that emphasizes the consumption of “subtle energies” (such as qi 氣) instead of ingesting conventional food (including meat) appears to have been understood as a way to resonate with the cosmos and thus to create a divine or immortal body. Even though a permanent vegetarian diet has only been adopted by the Quanzhen Daoist tradition 全真 that came into being in the twelfth century, many Daoist writings of the medieval period attest to the importance of regular fasting as important elements of purification regimens (Zhang Zehong 1999, 13–19; Komjathy 2011, 90–96).

2 Buddhist Vegetarianism The Buddhist tradition has developed divergent attitudes towards the consumption of meat (Shimoda 1990; Schmithausen 2005; Kieschnick 2005, 187–193; Stewart 2010; Kleine and Freiberger 2011, 476–482; Harvey 2011, 156–170). Thus, it is generally acknowledged that the early Buddhists have not rejected meat as such – an attitude which still can be observed in the allegedly more conservative Southern Buddhism in South Asia. According to the Buddhist tradition even the historical Buddha himself has eaten meat regularly, particularly because both meat and fish were considered regular food for humans (Schmithausen 2005, 188; Stewart 2010, 120–124). Because members of the Buddhist community were supposed to live on alms and leftovers, it was quite reasonable that they were expected to eat whatever was donated to them, including meat. According to the concept of the “three types of pure meat” (Skt. trikoṭi-pariśuddha, Ch. san zhong jingrou 三種淨肉) that had been developed in early monastic codes, the consumption of meat was considered acceptable as far as it was ensured that the monks and nuns have not seen, heard, and suspected that the animal had been killed exclusively for them (Kieschnick 2005, 188). Thus, as long as they did not explicitly demand it, meat was a decent component of monastic diets. Moreover, the codes explicitly authorize the consumption of meat and even alcohol for medical reasons (Kieschnick 2005, 188–189; Michibata 1979, 275–279; Liu 2008, 398–435). The prohibition of certain kinds of meat, such as elephants, horses, tigers, and humans, were prohibited not such much because of ethical concerns about the well-being of certain animals, but rather following utilitarian reasoning about the karmic consequences of the act of killing on the killer and the ones who might have initiated the slaughter (Kieschnick 2005, 188). In contrast, the strand of Buddhism that evolved as an independent tradition around the year 0 and came to be known as the “Great Vehicle” (Mahāyāna) developed a rather absolute stance against the consumption of meat. This attitude

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was put forward most prominently in three influential scriptures: the Mahāparinirvāṇa-sūtra (Ch. Da banniepan jing 大般涅槃經), the Aṅgulimālīya-sūtra (Ch. Yangjuemoluojing 央掘魔羅經), and the Laṅkāvatāra-sūtra (Ch. Lengjia abaduoluo baojing 楞伽阿拔多羅寶經) (Michibata 1979, 273–275; Suwa 1988, 42– 43; Shimoda 1990; Kieschnick 2005, 189–191; Schmithausen 2005, 189–191). With the earliest Chinese translations produced in the first half of the fifth century, these texts established the argumentative patterns that since then have been employed by Buddhist activists in order to refute meat-eating. The Sūtra of the Great Extinction [of the Buddha], for instance, argues that the consumption of meat destroys one’s faculty of compassion (Da banniepan jing, T12n374, 386a15-16). The Aṅgulimālīya-sūtra states that because of the countless cycles of rebirths, literally all living beings have been one’s mother and father, brother and sister, and therefore the consumption of meat indicates to eat one of them (Yangjuemoluojing, T2n120, 540c22-27). The Laṅkāvatāra-sūtra lists altogether twenty-four arguments against meat-eating, such as: (1) butchers mix up pure and impure sorts of meat; (2) the foul smell of meat frightens other living beings; (3) meat-eating hampers the efficacy of magical techniques and formulas; (4) it leads to bad dreams and nightmares, (5) as well as to impermanence, and to (6) a rebirth in hell (Lengjia abaduoluo baojing, T16n670, 513c01-14b26). Consequently, the Mahāparinirvāṇa-sūtra explicitly inhibits monastics to consume meat (Da banniepan jing, T12n374, 386a12-15.) – a proscription that has been included into the Brahma Net Sūtra (Fanwangjing 梵網經) (Fanwang jing, T24n1484, 1005b10-13; 1006b0912), the single most influential set of monastic codes in premodern East Asian Buddhism. While the Mahāyāna texts develop a much more ethical perspective on the question of meat-eating by relating it to compassion and the interconnectedness of all sentient beings through rebirth, there is still not much sense of the suffering and pain of animals that are slaughtered or otherwise mistreated. In contrast to modern Western forms of renunciation of meat, the Mahāyāna vegetarianism also includes abstention from alcohol and a number of strong-smelling vegetables (Suwa 1988, 183–201). While early scriptures of Indian origin allude to these vegetables only loosely by their individual names (Suwa 1988, 192–194), Chinese Buddhism has come up with the collective term “five pungent plants” (wuxin 五辛) that usually include onions, chives, leek, Chinese leek, and garlic. The specific meaning of the five plants, however, slightly differs in many medieval Chinese Buddhist texts (Suwa 1988, 187–190, 196–197). Following Brahmanic traditions, the early Mahāyāna scriptures usually attribute the prohibition of these vegetables to their impure nature, their foul smell, and their capacity to fuel greed (Suwa 1988, 192–194; Shimoda 1990, 105–106). Later scriptures elaborate on this topic and state that the consumption of the five pungent plants stimulates sexual passions, temptations, and

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rage. Furthermore, their stench will cause favorable deities to stay away and instead it will allure hungry ghosts to surround the eater until his good deeds are entirely exhausted and the great demon king (mowang 魔王) finally lures him into falling into the “incessant hell” (wujianyu 無間獄, Skt. avīci) where one suffers without interruption (Shoulengyan jing, T19n945, 141c04-13). Thus, we can observe here an interesting difference to “Western” cultures where popular imagination has it that garlic is instrumental in keeping vampires and similar dangerous creatures away. While prescribed for monastics in the Mahāyāna tradition as an ideal way of life, not all members of the saṅgha observed the vegetarian diet properly. Thus, quite a number of medieval Buddhist hagiographies describe monks who ate meat and drank wine (Kieschnick 1997, 51–63) – an experience that is also mirrored in twentieth-century accounts (Hackmann 1902, 245–255; Welch 1967, 113). The transgression of monastic rules, particularly the consumption of meat and alcohol as well as illicit behavior, became a prominent feature of “evil monks” in the popular imagination; in some instances, however, the consumption of meat and wine was viewed more favorable as it was perceived as the source of the exceptional powers and capacities of religious eccentricts, such as in the case of the well-known “martial monks” of Shaolin temple 少林寺 or the Songperiod (960–1279) monk Daoji 道濟, commonly known as “Living Buddha Lord Ji” (Jigong Huofo 濟公活佛) (Kieschnick 2005, 206–208; Shahar 2008, 42–51).

3 The Diversity of Vegetarian Practices While vegetarianism had been established as part of Buddhist monastic life by the sixth century, it was due to the persistent activities of committed lay followers that it evolved into a socially significant phenomenon. Previous scholarship has meticulously analyzed the outstanding contributions of early medieval lay Buddhists in establishing vegetarianism as an important identity marker for Chinese Buddhists. Thus, these activists did not only emphasize the cruel nature of butchering living beings and the suffering of the animals, but they also related their discussions to traditional Confucian values and notions in order to make vegetarian practices acceptable to society (Suwa 1988, 64–91; Lavoix 2002; Kieschnick 2005, 193–202). In a creative reading of the famous Mengzi passage discussed above, one author demanded that if seniors from the age of 60 and 70 are supposed to wear silk and eat meat, respectively, all people below these ages should wear plain clothes and abstain from meat (Suwa 1988, 72–79; Kieschnick 2005, 197–198). Arguably the most important contribution was those of Emperor Wu of the Southern Liang Dynasty 梁武帝 (464–549) who was not only a devout lay

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Buddhist but also instrumental in establishing vegetarianism as a social norm in Chinese Buddhism (Michibata 1979, 292–309; Suwa 1988, 79–90; Kieschnick 2005, 198–201). Liang Wudi was also among the first Chinese emperors to decree a temporary state prohibition of slaughtering, hunting, and catching animals, thus helping to establish a tradition of the regular suspension of slaughtering which was to be continued until the tenth century (Liu 2008, 75–114). He is also usually credited with having popularized the ritual “release of animals” (fangsheng 放生) (Michibata 1979, 225–271; Smith 1999) – a practice which is discussed in more detail by Shuk-Wah Poon in her contribution to this volume. While a number of emperors during the fifth and sixth centuries emulated these prohibitions and replaced sacrificial offerings of butchered meat by dried meat, alcohol, or even noodles and vegetables (Liu 2008, 77–83; Lin 2009, 65). The most thorough and sustained enactment of vegetarianism prescribed by the government was issued by the founding emperor of the Tang, Gaozu 唐高祖 (566–635), already in the second year of the dynasty (Liu 2008, 75–91). Thus, in 619 he decreed that throughout the year, all people are supposed to abstain from butchering and fishing during the first, fifth, and ninth months, as well as on ten days of each month (1, 8, 14, 15, 18, 23, 24, 28, 29, and 30); in addition, no death penalties were supposed to be executed; afterwards, the consumption of alcohol was also added to the list. Later emperors even ordered that in some rituals sacrificial meat should be replaced by alcohol. Except for the brief period of the persecution of Buddhism (842–845), this law was in effect for the entire Tang period, and thus for almost 300 years; moreover, it was also adopted by Korean and Japanese governments of that time (Liu 2008, 76). Most probably due to the resurgence of Confucianism after the Tang, the state prohibitions of butchering were not enacted any more since the Song dynasty. Nevertheless, the custom of resting the slaughtering of animals and adopting vegetarian diets during certain festival days appears to have remained quite widespread among the general populace (ter Haar 2001, 132–133). In the early 1920s Japanese observers still noticed that in Hunan and Zhejiang provinces the slaughtering of animals had been prohibited for about three days at the Buddha’s birthday (4/8) (Shina Bukkyō no genjō ni tsuite 1926, 50–51). In contemporary Taiwan too, some extraordinary ritual events still include the periodic abstention from meat for an entire local community. For instance, during a field trip in 2010 I have been told by informants that in the case of a threeday offering festival (a so-called jiao 醮) on behalf of the neighborhood temple Tanshuiting 潭水亭 in Tanzi township 潭子鄉 (Taizhong county), all members of the local community were expected to eat vegetarian, shops would not sell meat, and butchers were on vacation for three days.

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Besides these prescribed vegetarian customs, periodic abstention from meat and alcohol evolved into an integral element of a variety of religious and social practices. From the early medieval period on, rituals that involved the offering of vegetarian sacrifices and communal vegetarian meals became widespread religious practices. These “vegetarian assemblies” (zhaihui 齋會) (Kamata 1999, 64–80; Hureau 2010, 1221–1227; Campany 2015) were often dedicated to deceased parents or relatives and were intended to create merit in order to help them attain a good rebirth. Usually conducted in set-apart rooms or spaces in lay households that would be termed “vegetarian halls” (zhaitang 齋堂), these rituals consisted of prayers, recitation, repentance (chan 懺), and the recitation of ritual formula. Vegetarian assemblies were usually held on particular days of the month that are related to ancient Indian Vedic practices that involve fasting (Skt. poṣadha) on a number of prescribed days, including new and full moon (Hureau 2010, 1213). Thus, it appears that these fasting days were utilized in order to intensify devotional religious practices and to enhance the efficacy of rituals (Campany 2015, 324). Because of its ascribed potency in enhancing the efficacy of rituals, vegetarianism has influenced a large number of religious and social practices. Thus, already medieval Buddhist scriptures promise that the observance of vegetarianism (and other Buddhist precepts) would lead to divine protection (Hureau 2010, 1219–1221). Late imperial accounts underscore the belief in the medical efficacy of non-meat diets (Shenbao, 1879/7/25, #2286, 1, article “Zhaijie bian”). Throughout the imperial period, practitioners appear to have viewed vegetarian diets as a way of manipulating the gods in their favor. Thus, a Ming period (1368–1644) literary account depicts a couple that observes vegetarianism for three years in order to get a childbirth (Chūgoku akusō monogatari, 96). In order to obtain divine blessings, many ordinary practitioners have observed vegetarian diets on and before the birthday of certain gods (Yiwenlu, article “Chisu chizhai zhengyi” 喫素持齋正義, 1895, #1485, 307). Some of these customs have evolved into popular and large-scale festivals, such as the “vegetarian [feast] of the Nine emperors” (jiuhuangzhai 九皇齋) that is held from the first to the ninth day of the ninth lunar month. Already mentioned in late nineteenth-century sources, the festival evolved into a major event particularly in Southeast Asian Chinese communities. Probably because of its large-scale involvement of spectacular spirit-possessions it usually attracts also tourists, media attention, and local people (Cohen 2001). Another widespread vegetarian practice in late imperial China was the custom to abstain from meat and alcohol in order to pay respect to one’s parents. Usually called “vegetarianism to repay the favor” (bao’en zhai 報恩齋), this practice appears to have blended Confucian norms (mourning) and Buddhist

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ideas and is generally limited to three years. Already medieval historical sources record numerous examples of people who refrained from meat after the death of their fathers and mothers (Lavoix 2002, 110–111; Lin 2009, 56–58). Yet others observed vegetarian diets in order to prolong the life of their parents. The salvation of deceased mothers is at the center of the so-called “blood pond vegetarianism” (xuepenzhai 血盆齋), a practice that appears to have originated in the Blood Pond Sūtra, a Buddhist text that probably dates back to the tenth century. According to this influential scripture and many others that revolve this topic, mothers (and women in general) can be saved from suffering in the blood pond in hell by observing a vegetarian diet for three years (Wang 2003, 291–294; Maekawa 2003). Thus, it appears to have been a widespread belief that women were to be sent to suffer postmortem in the blood pond because of their impurity that was ascribed to the menstrual cycle – a notion that is still upheld by some contemporary practitioners, as it was articulated by one Taiwanese informant in a field trip in 2010. At least since the Song Dynasty, abstinence from meat and alcohol as well as chastity and compassion have evolved into a powerful blend of religious and moral values that has been adopted particularly by women and is therefore considered by some scholars to be a “gendered form of cultivation” (Lu 2002, 73). According to Lu Huitzu, “food asceticism” was one way for women to attain autonomy, spirituality, and identity in a society that left little space for women to participate (2002, 106–107). Probably because of severe state regulations and social standards regarding public religious activities and the possibility of women to become nuns in the late imperial period (Goossaert 2008), it appears that this way of negotiating female identities was instrumental in creating a number of religious traditions that were institutionally independent from Buddhist monasteries. As one of them, the so-called “vegetarian women” (caigu 菜姑) are groups of nonmonastic popular Buddhist female practitioners that are particularly strong in the Southeastern provinces of Zhejiang, Fujian, and Guangdong (Liu Yirong 2005; Tan 2013). While having a strong Buddhist identity, vegetarian women are quite eclectic in mixing Buddhist, Daoist, and popular religious symbols and practices, and often serve as local Buddhist ritual specialists. Also among the more sectarian groups (that will be discussed below), women are usually considered to make a considerable proportion of the membership and often cluster to form particular female spaces (cf. Broy 2014, 317–319; Lee 2008). In her pioneering fieldwork in 1950s Southeast Asia Marjorie Topley found that “vegetarian halls” (zhaitang), some of which belong to sectarian traditions such as Xiantiandao 先天道 (see below), were often inhabited by women (1954). Particularly because of the need to find a new home far away from their

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Chinese places of origin, vegetarian halls served as places to socialize in an entirely female environment. In Hong Kong, many vegetarian halls also belong to the Former Heaven Sect and have – at least historically – played a very similar role as places of female autonomy and socialization (Topley and Hayes 1968; Sankar 1978). Likewise, Taiwanese vegetarian halls served as safe havens for chaste and abstinent women (Zhang Kunzhen 1999, 201–202). In some instances, female rejection of conservative social norms or resistance against modernist reforms has turned into violent protest (Prazniak 1999, 213–256). Even today, female vegetarianism and chastity appears to be a topos of resistance in East Asian societies, such as the recent price-winning novella The Vegetarian (Kor. Chaesik-juui-ja 채식주의자; Ch: Caishi zhuyizhe 菜食主義者) by South Korean writer Han Kang 韓江 and first published in Korean in 2007 shows. Even though some authors highlight “food asceticism” as a particular female way to establish alternative social spaces that allow women to pursue a life beyond culturally prescribed roles such as wife, mother, and daughter-in-law (Lu 2002, 106–107), their behavior paradoxically also conformed to dominant social norms and expectations (such as widow chastity), and it was sometimes also praised by Confucian literati and conservative writers (Lu 2002, 73–76; Lee 2008, 383–384).

4 Vegetarianism in Popular Sects As has been discussed above, vegetarianism as a permanent (Buddhist monastics) and periodic (lay followers and ordinary practitioners) pursuit has been established as an accepted religious and social practice already during the medieval period. Lifelong abstention by ordinary people, however, was severely criticized by conservative elites since the Tang period (Kieschnick 2005, 204). Therefore, it is remarkable that it was particularly in popular sects, i.e. nonofficial, nonmonastic, and religiously synthetic religious communities, that permanent vegetarianism was practiced most thoroughly and evolved into a marker of sectarian identity. At least from the Song period onwards, the sources attest to the existence of a very much “Buddhist inspired” but still institutionally independent tradition of nonmonastic religious groups that particularly emphasized the significance of vegetarianism for their religious and moral identities (for a general discussion of these groups, Chikusa 1982, 199–328; ter Haar 1999, 64–113; Seiwert 2003, 168–197). Albeit there are no statistics available for the late imperial period, at least in the eyes of many officials vegetarian sectarian activities were widespread in the Qing period (Shiliao xunkan, vol. 27, tian 971a05-06). Likewise, late

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nineteenth-century Christian missionaries noted the considerable proportion of committed vegetarians who were all deemed more religious and pious than “ordinary” Chinese (Rowe 1989, 260; Satō 2006, 71). According to a counting by Taiwanese Yiguandao historian Lin Rongze, the majority of late imperial sects practiced vegetarianism. Thus, his analysis of official memorials and imperial decrees of the Ming and Qing collected in the First Historical Archives in Beijing shows that among the 196 different sectarian traditions that are mentioned in this material, more than half of them (57 percent) were vegetarian; including double entries, even three-quarters (74 percent) were abstinent (2009, 470–476). Albeit these numbers paint an impressive picture, we have to be careful not to overestimate their significance. Thus, strictly speaking, these numbers merely demonstrate that vegetarian sects appear more frequently in the sources than nonvegetarian ones. This observation, however, may be due to the fact that they were easier to spot because a strict vegetarian diet pursued by nonmonastic practitioners served as a means for officials to distinguish sect members from ordinary villagers. Judging from the massive amount of sectarian literature that has been preserved from the Ming and Qing dynasties, as well as from historical records, it appears that Chinese sectarians have legitimized and practiced vegetarianism for a number of reasons (Lin 2009, 218–273). Building on notions of compassion, karma, and impurity that have been derived from the Buddhist contexts, sectarians have also added distinct vocabularies and interpretations (Lin 2009, 257–273). At first, it appears that a great number of people have become sect members because of the widespread belief in the efficacy of vegetarian diets in securing individual luck, protection, and health (Lin 2009, 226–238). Others seem to have come into contact with sects after having practiced conventional forms of filial vegetarianism. As survey documents from colonial Taiwan suggest, a number of vegetarian halls came into existence because certain practitioners delved deeper into abstention practices after having observed three years of bao’en zhai (Jibyō daichō: Tōseigun I 寺廟台帳：東勢郡 I, #026012).3 However, in traditional Chinese local society the observance of a strict and permanent vegetarian diet had far-reaching liturgical and social implications: “If we remember that Chinese socio-religious ties were literally built on sharing meat and liquor, then the strict maintenance of the five injunctions could only mean proclaiming oneself to be a socioreligious outsider” (ter Haar 2001,

3 Copies of the unpublished and handwritten Jibyō daichō 寺廟台帳 (“temple registers,” early 1920s) are held by the Library of the Institute of Ethnology and in the Taiwan special collection of the Joint Library of Humanities and Social Sciences, both Academia Sinica, Taipei.

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129–130, 137; Puett 2005). The social coercion to consume meat (such as sacrificial offerings, communal feasts), as depicted in popular novels (Goossaert 2007, 6), was also felt and articulated by sect members. For instance, a sectarian anthology of conversion accounts that probably dates back to the seventeenth century (ter Haar 2014, 115–117), depicts the moral hardships experienced in everyday life. In some cases, female members express their grief because animals are butchered for weddings and other festive banquets; in others, female sectarians are strongly compelled to resume carnivorous diets because their failure to produce male offspring was attributed by their nonsectarian relatives to their vegetarian regimens (Qizhi yinguo, MJZJ 6, 497b13-16, 508b04-05, 509b06). Official investigations in Shanxi province in 1814 recorded a member of the “Pure Tea Sect” (Qingcha menjiao 清茶門教) who experienced some trouble marrying a woman who rejected his strict observance of the vegetarian fast. Only after two years, she finally agreed but was harshly criticized by fellow villagers for having started to observe a vegetarian diet by herself (Qingdai dang’an shiliao congbian, 3:2, 4). Because permanent abstention from meat and meat-related practices was perceived as a thread to community solidarity, and because strict observance of vegetarianism was also an integral part of the devotional repertoire of many nonofficial religious groups that state officials and conservative literati regarded as potential political threads anyhow, permanent vegetarianism in a nonmonastic context became stigmatized at least since the twelfth century. Thus, many such traditions were branded as “vegetarian demon worshippers” (chicai shimo 喫菜事魔). While this label appears to have been applied to Manichean groups first (Chikusa 1982, 207–210; ter Haar 1999, 48–55), it was soon utilized to denote vegetarian religious groups in general. Still in use during the late imperial period, it however has been replaced in late Qing discourses by the no-less derogatory “vegetarian bandits” (zhaifei 齋匪), that – as far as I am aware of – was used for the first time in a memorial to the emperor submitted in 1815 (ZPZZ Jiaqing 20/7/5, Bai Ling 百齡, Gongzhongdang Jiaqing chao zouzhe, vol. 33, no pagination). Similar to the appellation “White Lotus Sect,” the term did not represent one single movement (Noguchi 1986, 455–477; Asai 1990, 427–430). While occasional criticisms of popular vegetarianism can be observed already during the medieval period (Kieschnick 2005, 204), it was only due to the recurrent combination of vegetarianism and sectarianism since the Song, as well as because of increased sectarian uprisings since the middle of the eighteenth century that vegetarianism became an issue for state officials. While vegetarianism appears to have been still a minor issue in the first half of the 1700s (Lin 2009, 328), it appears that after the violent uprising of the so-called “Honorable Officials Vegetarians” (Laoguanzhai 老官齋) in Fujian province in

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1748 (ter Haar 2014, 160–166) popular vegetarianism evolved into a typical feature of sectarian dissent in the eyes of state officials. Thus, already in 1749 the governor-general of Zhejiang and Fujian reported that more than fifty “vegetarian criminals” (zhaifan 齋犯) have been found among which twenty-one were forced to eat meat (kaihun 開葷) and “return to laity” (huansu 還俗) (Lin 2009, 330). In 1763, adherents of the “Yellow Heaven Sect” (Huangtiandao 黃天道) in northwestern Hebei who did not possess any heretic scriptures but were only found to practice vegetarianism were nevertheless sentenced to be beaten with the stick (one hundred times) and it was ordered that their names would be displayed to the public for one month (ZPZZ Qianlong 28/4/14 by Zhao Hui 兆惠, Gongzhongdang Qianlong chao zouzhe, vol. 17, 457a16-b02). Towards the end of the nineteenth century, quite a number of officials were reported to have dealt with vegetarian sectarians in even more inhumane ways. For instance, in Anhui province vegetarians were compelled in 1883 to eat buns filled with meat (roubao 肉 包) so that officials were able to find out if they belong to the “vegetarian bandits” (Shenbao, article “Zhaifei jinwen 齋匪近聞”, 1883/3/30 (6 May 1883), #3613, 2). In 1878, newspapers reported that in Tianjin vegetarians were forced to eat pork (Shenbao, article “Shu tong chu xieshuo leling kaihun er ze hou 書痛鋤邪說 勒令開葷二則後”, 1878/5/20 (20 June 1878), #1887, 1). Finally, a Sichuanese official compelled adherents of a vegetarian sect to drink pork blood in public (Takeuchi 1991, 148). Another source of criticism in the late imperial period were Christian missionaries (Reinders 2004) who disapproved of the value of vegetarianism, but nevertheless considered vegetarian sectarians pious and strict in their pursuit of religious goals and thus possible converts (Rowe 1989, 260; Satō 2006, 78). Thus, it was probably not a coincidence that a considerable number of them were actually found to convert to Christianity (Miles 1902, 1–3; ter Haar 2014, 201–204) and to serve as informants for many early researchers and Christian authors who wrote about Chinese religions in the nineteenth century (Miles 1902, 1–3). Particularly because of the apparent success in attracting former vegetarian sectarians, as well as because of the general turmoil of that time (opium addiction, unemployment, etc.) that was often attributed to foreign influence, the Christian religionists appear to have been viewed less favorably by some sectarians. Under these circumstances a group of vegetarians that belonged to the Dragon Flower tradition (see below) instigated a violent uprising in 1895 that especially targeted Christian missionaries. Because of its vicinity to the central Fujianese city of Gutian, this major incident came to be known as the “Gutian incident” (Gutian jiao’an 古田教案) and it has attracted considerable scholarly attention (Rankin 1961; Satō 2006; ter Haar 2014, 204–209). Even though the authorities were able to deal with the riot within days, in the end

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eleven missionaries lost their lives and Chinese vegetarians were considered evil persons in the international press that took an active interest in the events.

4.1 The “Vegetarian Sects” (Zhaijiao): Abstinence and Morality Zhaijiao 齋教 (“Vegetarian Sects”) is a generic term that commonly incorporates the three distinct groups Longhuapai 龍華派 (“Dragon Flower Sect), Jintongpai 金 幢派 (“Gold Pennant Sect”), and Xiantianpai 先天派 (“Former Heaven Sect”) (ter Haar 2014; Broy 2014). Having originated in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century southeastern China (particularly Fujian), all three sects were introduced to Taiwan since the middle of the eighteenth century where they represented the most widespread and religiously dominant form of Buddhism until the early 1900s. It was only in the twentieth century that Zhaijiao declined through the efforts of Japanese, Chinese mainlander, and Taiwanese activists that aimed at establishing an “orthodox” monastic Buddhism on the island (Jiang 1994). While having been object to state repression particularly after the founding of the People’s Republic, all three traditions still exist on the Chinese mainland. Due to the limited space available here, I shall confine my discussion to vegetarianism-related beliefs and practices in the Dragon Flower and Former Heaven sects. While the Longhuapai is generally considered to have made a typical example of religious vegetarianism, early eighteenth-century accounts indicate that sect members also used to eat eggs (Miaoguantang yutan, 641a02-04). Nevertheless, the descriptions of Japanese observers during Taiwan’s colonial period (1895–1945) depict the vigor of these sectarians who avoid not only meat, the five pungent plants, and alcohol but also opium, tobacco, and betel nuts. In addition, they are reported to have refrained from other social ills such as gambling (Nanbu Taiwan shi, 302:3, 31–32, 34–35; Broy 2014, 162–165). Because of this strict ascetic stance, vegetarian sectarians were considered particularly moral, pious, diligent, and hardworking individuals who would constitute good citizens (Nanbu Taiwan shi, 31–32, 34–35, 44; Taiwanjin no Kannon shinkō to saishokujin seikatsu, (part one) 27). In the second half of the nineteenth century the Fujianese Dragon Flower Sect is reported to have been quite successful in helping opium addicts to find a way back from addiction, social isolation, and financial problems by leading a devout religious life (Satō 2006, 74–79). The codified norms of the sect express abstention from meat, diligence, and dignity as well as a plain and simple life as a religious ideal (Dehuatang famai tanggui, 215–217, 226–229; Longhua Fojiao tanggui, 28–30, 33). Not only are sectarians expected to serve plain food on the occasion of a reception, the

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regulations also prescribe practitioners to keep their bodies, clothes, offering bowls, and altars clean. In addition, meat-eaters who are not affiliated with a vegetarian temple through relatives, are not allowed to participate in any rituals. Similarly, contemporary adherents who are not yet full-fledged members but practice only part-time abstention from meat known as “flower vegetarianism” (huazhai 華齋) are not permitted to touch or move any objects within the temple. Thus, their impurity and the stench of meat is still recognized by the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, as one informant put it. Similarly, when preparing two important rituals for the initiation festival only committed long-term vegetarians are allowed to select the rice: in the first ritual, the glutinous rice is used as an offering that is intended to imitate the creation of the cosmos; in the second one, it will be eaten collectively by all sect members (Broy 2014, 380–384, 412–416). This underscores the significance of vegetarianism as purification as it is understood here. The significance of the vegetarian precept for the identity and practice of the vegetarian sects is visible already in the writings of Patriarch Luo, collectively known as the Five Books in Six Volumes (Wubu liuce 五部六冊), printed for the first time in 1509. According to these scriptures, meat-eaters are considered “deluded people” (miren 迷人) who will never be saved from suffering in the cycle of rebirths (Zhengxin chuyi wuxiuzheng zizai baojuan, 266b08267a14; Tanshi wuwei baojuan, 71a06-73a12). Moreover, they will be sent to suffer in the avīci hell, a fate that will also befall one’s deceased kin (Zhengxin chuyi wuxiuzheng zizai baojuan, 266b08-267a04). Those who “break the fast” (kaizhai 開齋) will become hungry ghosts after their passing without any opportunity to be reborn again (Zhengxin chuyi wuxiuzheng zizai baojuan, 295b05-06). Citing a popular Buddhist scripture, Patriarch Luo likewise considers meat-eating a savage act (Zhengxin chuyi wuxiuzheng zizai baojuan, 335a10, Jin’gangjing keyi baojuan, 276b07). Similarly, nineteenth-century ritual manuals explain the meaning of the Chinese character “meat” as follows: “Within the character rou 肉 there are two humans (ren 人). The one inside does not recognize the one outside. He must give back the exact same amount that he has eaten. Meandering in the cycle of rebirths (lunhui 輪迴, Skt. saṃsāra), humans eat humans” (Dacheng zhengjiao keyi baojuan, 379a15-16). This calculatory model of what exactly has to be repaid in the future is favored by many scriptures from diverse sectarian traditions (Lin 2009, 261–262). Consequently, some texts assure vegetarians that they will never be reborn in hell and that their deceased kin will be saved (Dacheng zhengjiao keyi baojuan, 377b06). Therefore, during the initiation ceremony new sect members make a vow to observe the vegetarian precept (and others as well), otherwise they will suffer divine retribution (Dacheng zhengjiao keyi baojuan, 388b11-19).

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The Former Heaven Sect, on the other hand, shares this absolute stance against the consumption of meat. Tracing its origins back to the seventeenth century, this tradition become historically visible by the end of the eighteenth century and has since then evolved into a vast network of related groups from which independent religious traditions such as Yiguandao 一貫道 (“Way of Pervading Unity”) sprang off (Broy 2014, 249–259). Even more than the Dragon Flower Sect, the Xiantiandao advocates a modest life of abstinence and austerity. For instance, the writings of the sect’s twelfth patriarch Yuan Zhiqian 袁志謙 (ca. 1760–1836) alias Yuan Wuqi 袁無欺 offer clear accounts of what the sect expected of its members (Takeuchi 1992). Thus, they will be saved in the coming apocalypse only by observing the vegetarian fast, keeping the precepts, and beseeching the grace of the “Eternal Venerable Mother” (Wusheng Laomu 無生老母) (Wuqi laozu quanshu, 219b02-04), the sect’s primary deity and creator of the cosmos that also was venerated in many other late imperial sects. Similar beliefs were revealed to imperial officials who investigated activities of this sect, then known as “Green Lotus Sect” (Qinglianjiao), in 1840s Sichuan. Thus, the members believed that only by joining the sect and practicing vegetarianism one could be rescued from the end of the world which was predicted to occur during 1845–1847 (ZPZZ undated, most probably Daoguang 25/8/28, Chuanfei zoubing, 98). Similar binaries that explicitly link abstention to religious salvation and meat-based diets to annihilation in the coming apocalypse date back to medieval Buddhist-oriented traditions and can be observed in popular sectarian scriptures all over Chinese history (see, for instance, the sixth-century Puxian Pusa shuo zhengming jing, T85n2879, 1366c12-16). In pursuit of frugality, members of Yuan’s community were expected to cook simple food without adding oil, to drink water, and to use plain dishes. The patriarch even advocated a strict vegan approach by prohibiting his followers to use silk and animal hair for making clothes, or to use animal bones to make buttons. In addition, sect members were required to refrain from gambling or visiting brothels, and even to refrain from marrying (Wuqi laozu quanshu, 174b07-09; 244b09-13). On the other hand, vegetarianism (or fasting, zhaijie 齋戒) has also been understood as an interior practice of forbearance, temperance, and the purification of one’s thoughts (Wuqi laozu quanshu, 115a06). Similar ascetic attitudes have been expressed by sectarian informants to missionary George Miles in 1902 who wrote about a “Sect of the Jasper Pool” (Yaochimen 瑤池門) in Hankou 漢口 (part of today’s Wuhan), another offshoot from the Xiantiandao network (1902, 5, 8). An important sectarian scripture in regard to vegetarianism is the Description and Origin of the Vegetarian Precept (Zhaijie shuyuan 齋戒述原) authored by Peng Yifa 彭依法 (ca. 1796–1858), who is acknowledged as

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one of five religious leaders who shared the patriarchate during the turbulent years of the 1840s and 1850s. This text has not only been important for the Xiantiandao traditions, but it is likewise honored by Yiguandao (Lin 2009, 251–256). By relating vegetarianism to the precept of non-killing and thus to the Confucian value of humanity (ren 仁), Peng claims that the abstention from meat is actually a Confucian virtue that only has been forgotten by later generations. In order to remove the karmic burden of previous lives, abstention from meat is regarded as an essential feature of religious cultivation (Zhaijie shuyuan, 671a02-03, 672a01-08). This way of thought is termed the “mind-method of the Confucians” (kongmen xinfa 孔 門心法) and it is thought to help people to be saved from future apocalypses. Thus, people who love to eat meat, to kill living beings, and to slander the “true Way” (zhengdao 正道) will be annihilated and the gods will not be able to rescue them (Zhaijie shuyuan, 671a09, 673a01-02). Finally, the text explicates the meaning of the Chinese characters rou 肉 (“meat”), lao 牢 (“prison”), and yu 獄 (“prison”) (Zhaijie shuyuan, 672b08-11) in a very emphatic way: People who eat meat will have to pay back in their future life. Therefore, there are two humans (ren 人) within the character rou 肉 who constantly think about eating each other. If one eats eight liang 兩 in this life, he will have to give back the exact same amount of half a jin 觔 in the next. Thus, to take [someone’s] life finally leads to experience suffering on one’s own. This is why the characters lao 牢 and yu 獄 have an ox (niu 牛) and a dog (quan 犬) inside. This is to say that if one does not save oxen and dogs, prison (laoyu 牢獄) is inevitable.

While parts of this explanation appear to have been influential in other sectarian contexts as well (see the citation from the Dragon Flower tradition above), this particular example of refuting meat-eating by analyzing Chinese characters is applied frequently by Yiguandao activists in contemporary Taiwan.

4.2 The “Way of Pervading Unity” (Yiguandao): Traditional Morality and Modern Lifestyle Having originated as an offshoot of the Former Heaven tradition in late Qing northern China, Yiguandao emerged as an independent religious organization in 1920s Shandong province. During the ministry of the eighteenth patriarch Zhang Tianran 張天然 (1889–1947) it evolved from a local sectarian group to a large religious organization that by the end of the 1940s had spread throughout mainland China and Taiwan, but also to Korea and Japan. While being banned

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on the Chinese mainland since the late 1940s, it has become one of the major religious traditions in the Republic of China on Taiwan since its successful legalization in 1987 (Jordan and Overmyer 1986, 213–266; Song 1983; 1996; Lu 2008; Billioud forthcoming). Until recently, most vegetarian restaurants in Taiwan appear to have been run by Yiguandao members, as up to the 1970s an estimated 90 percent of all vegetarian restaurants in Taiwan were operated by them, and nowadays about 70 percent of the smaller ones (Goossaert 2007, 14–15); similar estimations are held in the case of Chinese vegetarian restaurants in Southeast Asia (Takeuchi 1991, 44). Thus, Yiguandao is held by the general public as the single most important vegetarian religious group besides monastic Buddhist institutions. In contrast to Buddhist dietary practices, however, the consumption of eggs and dairy products is allowed in Yiguandao. Because in late 1940s Taiwan duck eggs were more affordable than chicken eggs, the sect came to be known as the “Duck Egg Sect” (Yadanjiao 鴨蛋教) among the general populace (Song 1983, 78, 132). Today, one will find a wide array of ascetic approaches among Yiguandao groups and individuals, ranging from modest diets that may include eggs, cheese, and milk to entirely vegan habits. While overall data are missing, a quantitative survey among 1,300 Singaporean followers conducted in 2013–14 reveals that about 74 percent of the respondents consume milk and eggs in their diets, and less than one quarter refrains entirely from animal food products (Hong 2017, 291–293, 303). Albeit the important eighteenth patriarch has discarded permanent vegetarianism as a requirement to be accepted as a sect member, the abstention from meat, alcohol, and the five pungent plants still plays a major role in sectarian beliefs and practices (Lin 2009, 412–418; 2014, 133–160; Zhong 2008). For instance, already the 1937 catechism Answers and Explanations to Doubts and Questions Regarding the Unity Sect explicates that it is perfectly fine if new members observe only flower or monthly vegetarianism (huazhai yuezhai 花齋月齋) at first. However, the text also expresses the conviction that these members will get used to permanent abstention in the long run. Thus, the scripture explains that zhaijie (vegetarian or fasting precept) is of fundamental importance for practitioners of the Dao because it helps their bodies to maintain their primordial purity by not consuming the five pungent plants and the three animals (sanyan 三厭, i.e. animals that fly, walk, and swim). In addition, it is argued that Heavens appreciate the care for sentient beings as an expression of morality and therefore sect members are not supposed to mindlessly eat and kill living beings (Yiguandao yiwen jieda, 211–212). Thus, while on the hone hand making it easier for possible recruits to join the sect by not making full-time abstention a requirement of membership, sectarian writings and regulations nonetheless stress the moral and religious

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significance of a vegetarian lifestyle. In addition, anyone aiming to establish an Yiguandao altar within one’s own home is required to observe “the clean mouth vegetarianism” (qingkou rusu 清口茹素). Similar to the Dragon Flower Sect discussed above, qingkou is not merely limited to dietary habits, but it also comprises abstention from improper ways of talking. Likewise, instructors and religious leaders (called dianchuanshi 點傳師) are supposed to meet these requirements. Thus, basically all committed long-term members are vegetarians. Accordingly, the 2013–14 survey mentioned above found that less than 2 percent of the respondents appear to have not favored a meat-free diet (Hong 2017, 291) – keeping in mind, however, that countless other probably less committed followers not included in this inquiry may have divergent food consumption habits. On the other hand, the innovation to organize “eating groups” (huoshituan 伙食團) on university campuses was a major reason to Yiguandao’s success in attracting large numbers of university students since the late 1960s (Song 1983, 134–135; Lin 2013, 287–313; 2014, 567–587) – a practice that is still applied in contemporary overseas mission, such as in Korea (informal conversion during my fieldwork in Taiwan, August 2016). In contrast to many other Chinese sects, this remarkable ratio of permanent vegetarians is achieved not by keeping the nonvegetarians out from the beginning, but by allowing new recruits the space to unfold their religious and moral potential within the sect. Thus, drawing inspiration from the Confucian emphasis on the significance of learning and cultivation, Yiguandao offers a variety of courses, lecturers, and study groups that are intended to help people to explore their religious potentials, but of course also to bind them to the group. One particular widespread practice among new members is to make vows in order to establish a schedule and itinerary for one’s individual religious journey (Lu 2008, 71–90). Among the most frequently made vows, one finds “removing bad habits and refining bad tempers” (gai piqi, qu maobing 改脾氣, 去毛病) that include the consumption of alcohol, tobacco, and betel nuts, as well as vows to become a vegetarian (qingkou rusu). In addition, the essential nature of vegetarianism as “purification through abstention” is also stressed and discussed in various study groups that are intended to increase the average new member’s level of proficiency in sectarian beliefs and practices. One textbook that is used during these seminars (Mingde xinmin jinxiulu, 115–123), for instance, explains that zhai means to maintain purity from the outside and from within: thus, it is not only important to refrain from consuming meat, pungent plants, alcohol, and tobacco, but also to abstain from doing improper (feili 非禮) acts and saying improper things. Moreover, the text highlights the medically harmful effects of nonvegetarian diets. For instance, it is claimed that spring onions

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and garlic are harmful to one’s kidney and heart, respectively. In a creative reading of a number of citations from Confucian classics (some of which have been discussed above), the textbook also claims that the Confucians have actually always been advocates of vegetarianism (Mingde xinmin jinxiulu, 115–118). In addition to many other quotations from sectarian texts, spirit writings, and the Mahāparinirvāṇa-sūtra, the textbook also alludes to the so-called father of the modern Chinese state, Sun Yatsen (1866–1925), who has praised vegetarian diets as the reason to health, demographic increase, and old age in premodern China. Sun argues that this ancient wisdom of Chinese civilization has now also been appreciated by Western science (Mingde xinmin jinxiulu, 118–119, cited from: Sun Wen xueshuo 孫文學說, in Sun Zhongshan quanshu, vol. 2, 3–4). Other Yiguandao writings even claim Christian advocacy of vegetarianism. Thus, one recent book that is devoted to showing resemblances of Yiguandao teachings and the Bible argues that Genesis 9:4 (“but you must not eat meat that has its lifeblood still in it”) alludes to a permanent abstention from meat. To further enhance the urgency, the book cites one spirit writing dated 1979 that claims that only vegetarians will survive the apocalypse at the end of the present age (Jiemi Shengjing ‘mori’ qiangu zhi mi, 91–92). This view not only inherits traditional sectarian approaches, but it is also frequently proclaimed in Yiguandao writings (Zhong 2008, 164–166). Today, Yiguandao activists also seek to relate their vegetarian beliefs and practices to global discourses about environmentalism, organic food production, and animal rights. For instance, in a number of articles the mouthpiece of Yiguandao’s general association claims that the consumption of meat contributes to global warming; others shed light on the cruelty of meat-production (Yiguandao zonghui huixun, #208 (2009/1), 42; #236 (2011/5), 33–36; #263 (2013/8), 46–49). Likewise, recent book publications address these issues in great detail, arguing that only by abstaining from meat – and thus low-emission food production – global warming will be halted and the rainforests will be saved (Shushi shuxin jiu diqiu, 6–11). Consequently, Yiguandao serves as an active promoter of vegetarianism on an international scale: in October 2013, the Yiguandao Association of Malaysia in cooperation with the Malaysian Vegetarian Society hosted the Sixth Asian Vegetarian Forum in Kuala Lumpur that was attended by international speakers and approximately 20,000 participants (Yiguandao zonghui huixun, #269 (2014/2), no pagination [title article]). Only one month later, the Cambodian Yiguandao Association held a similar, yet only national annual vegetarian festival in Phnom Penh (Yiguandao zonghui huixun, #271 (2014/4), 42–45).

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Conclusion This chapter has explored vegetarianism-related beliefs and practices in the history of Chinese religions. While over the span of more than two thousand years different actors have charged the renunciation of meat with various meanings related to ritual purity, religious salvation, moral cultivation, magical efficacy, or physical health, it appears that the idea of abstention from certain desirable foods (and other things) has played a pivotal role in how people have imagined ways to manipulate personified or abstract forces (such as deities or cosmic laws, the Dao) since the first millennium BCE. Or, as Holmes Welch put it: “The Chinese have always had a deep-seated feeling that if a person gave up something desirable, he would be repaid for it by acquiring magical potency, or, in the case of Buddhists, transferable merit” (1967, 112). As the many examples discussed here have shown, vegetarianism was never a stand-alone norm in Chinese society but it was always clustered with similar moral values such as chastity, sobriety, and simplicity. Therefore, it is no wonder that many vegetarians also refrained from alcohol, tobacco, betel nuts, and similar substances. This phenomenon of moral clustering is especially obvious in the case of so many women who have rejected both meat and marriage. While in some instances having been lauded by conservative literati as exemplars of Confucian moral values (such as widow chastity), the exact same practices were also used to establish autonomous female spaces or even to challenge dominant social norms (such as foot-binding in premodern China). While the popularity of abstaining from meat in China is usually ascribed to the “Buddhist conquest,” this chapter has also highlighted the significant impact of notions of purity, ritual propriety, and health that were related to abstention from meat and ordinary diets in the pre-Buddhist period. Already in the medieval era but also in late imperial and modern sects, Confucian and Daoist ideas are equally stressed by vegetarian religious communities. While pre-Buddhist practitioners appear to have favored part-time abstention from meat, it was only through the impact of Buddhism that the idea of permanent vegetarianism came into being. Still, most ordinary practitioners have observed abstention only for specific reasons (e.g., filial piety, health, luck) and for a limited period of time (ranging from a couple of days to three years), and it were particularly monastic religious traditions (Buddhist, Quanzhen Daoist) and nonofficial religious sects where vegetarianism became an important marker of religious identity and individual moral practice – even up to the point that many groups imagined vegetarianism as a requirement to be spared in the coming apocalypse. At least since the Song period, this resolute stance has resulted not only in tensions within local societies but it has also led to increasing criticisms by defenders of the state orthodoxy, up to the point that vegetarians

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were particularly targeted in investigations and persecutions of nonofficial religious activities. In modern China, however, the links between vegetarianism and religion have been weakened. While previously the strict observance of vegetarianism was largely confined to specific religious contexts (monastics, sects), the contemporary period sees the dawn of a chic form of vegetarianism and veganism that is very much influenced by Western discourses (Goossaert 2007, 13–17, 23–24; Goossaert and Palmer 2011, 281–285; Klein 2016). As has been hinted in the discussion of Yiguandao, however, this modern trend is not necessarily distinct from religious contexts, in that global concerns about environmentalism, organic food production, and animal rights also feed into religious discourses. Thus, in Taiwan the links between religious activism and vegetarianism are still strong, as most vegetarian restaurants are run by either Buddhist or sectarian groups. In addition, other new religious groups such as the “Supreme Master Qinghai movement” (Qinghai Wushangshi 清海無上師), which was founded in 1986, are quite successful in merging the global vegan trend, Buddhist concerns, and New Age spirituality (Ding 2004, 353–420). Thus, the organization opened Taiwan’s first vegan supermarket and it operates the vegan “Loving Hut” (aijia 愛家) restaurant chain with more than 200 outlets across the world.4 Likewise, in the PRC vegetarian restaurants often serve as portals to encounter religion and traditional morality (Klein 2016, 16–19; Fan and Whitehead 2005, 57–59; Billioud and Thoraval 2015, 112–116, 298–300).

Abbreviations MJZJ T. TWZJZL

ZPZZ ZZK

Ming Qing minjian zongjiao jingjuan wenxian 明清民間宗教經卷文獻, edited by Wang Jianchuan 王見川 and Lin Wanchuan 林萬傳. Taipei: Xinwenfeng, 1999. Taishō shinshū daizōkyō 大正新修大藏經, compiled by Takakusu Junjirō 高楠順 次朗 and Watanabe Kaikyoku 渡邊海旭. Reprint Taipei: Xinwenfeng, 1982. Minjian sicang Taiwan zongjiao ziliao huibian: Minjian xinyang, minjian wenhua (1) 民間私藏臺灣宗教資料彙編: 民間信仰, 民間文化 (第一輯), edited by Wang Jianchuan 王見川 et al. Luzhou: Boyang wenhua, 2009. zhupi zouzhe 硃批奏摺 = memorial presented to the emperor. Manji zokuzōkyō 卍続蔵経. Reprint Taipei: Xinwenfeng, 1993.

4 See the official website: http://lovinghut.com/ (accessed on 12 January 2017).

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Bibliography Primary Sources Chuanfei zoubing 川匪奏稟, collection of memorials related to Qinglianjiao activities in Sichuan in 1845, microfilm copy held by Fu Sinian Library 傅斯年圖書館, Academia Sinica. Chūgoku akusō monogatari 中国悪僧物語, ed. Namino Tōru 浪野徹. Tokyo: Hirakawa shuppansha, 1990. Da banniepan jing 大般涅槃經 (Skt. Mahāparinirvāṇa-sūtra), T12n374. Dacheng zhengjiao keyi baojuan 大乘正教科儀寶卷, handwritten manuscript dated 1879, MJZJ 6. Dehuatang famai tanggui 德化堂法脈堂規, written between 1908–1921, TWZJZL 22. Fanwang jing 梵網經, T24n1484. Gongzhongdang Jiaqing chao zouzhe 宮中檔嘉慶朝奏摺. Taipei: Guoli gugong bowuguan, 1993–1995. Gongzhongdang Qianlong chao zouzhe 宮中檔乾隆朝奏摺. Taipei: Guoli gugong bowuguan, 1983–1988. Mingde xinmin jinxiulu 明德新民進修錄. Banqiao: Zhengyi shanshu chubanshe, 2006. Jiemi Shengjing ‘mori’ qiangu zhi mi 解密聖經『末日』千古之謎, by Huang Guohua 黃國華. No bibliographic information, 2011. Jin’gangjing keyi baojuan 金剛經科儀寶卷, dated 1835, ZZK 129. Kugong wudao juan 苦功悟道卷 (Kaixin fayao edition), original edition dated 1652, reprint by Mindetang 1980, MJZJ 2. Lengjia abaduoluo baojing 楞伽阿拔多羅寶經 (Skt. Laṅkāvatāra-sūtra), T16n670. Longhua Fojiao tanggui 龍華佛教堂規, copied by Lin Puduo 林普多 (?-1932), TWZJZL 22. Lunyu yizhu 論語譯註. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2004. Mengzi yizhu 孟子譯註. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2003. Miaoguantang yutan 妙貫堂餘譚, by Qiu Junhong 裘君弘 (1670–1740), dated 1703, Xuxiu Siku quanshu 續修四庫全書, vol. 1136. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1995–2002. Nanbu Taiwan shi 南部臺灣誌, edited by prefecture government of Tainan in 1902, handwritten, Zhongguo fangzhi congshu. Taiwan diqu 中國方志叢書。臺灣地區, vol. 302. Taipei: Chengwen chubanshe, 1982. Puxian Pusa shuo zhengming jing 普賢菩薩説證明經, T85n2879, 1366c12-16. Qingdai dang’an shiliao congbian 清代檔案史料叢編. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1979. Qizhi yinguo 七枝因果, handwritten document dated 1882, MJZJ 6. Shenbao 申報. Shanghai: Shenbaoguan, 1872–1949. Shiliao xunkan 史料旬刊. Beijing: Jinghua yinshuju, 1930–1931. Shina Bukkyō no genjō ni tsuite 支那佛教の現状に就いて, by Mizuno Baigyō 水野梅暁 (1877–1949). Shina jihōsha, 1926. Shoulengyan jing 首楞嚴經 (Skt. Śūraṃgama-sūtra), translated by Pārimiti in 705, T19n945. Shushi shuxin jiu diqiu 蔬食蔬心救地球. Taibei: Mingde chubanshe, 2013. Sun Zhongshan quanshu 孫中山全書. Shanghai: Guangyi shuju, 1936. Taiwanjin no Kannon shinkō to saishokujin seikatsu 臺灣人の觀音信仰と菜食人生活, by Nishioka Hideo 西岡英夫. No bibliographical information, 1936. Tanshi wuwei baojuan 嘆世無為寶卷 (Kaixin fayao), MJZJ 2.

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Wuqi laozu quanshu 無欺老祖全書, in Zangwai daoshu 藏外道書, edited by Hu Daojing 胡道静 et al., vol. 24. Chengdu: Bashu shushe, 1992–1994. Yangjuemoluojing 央掘魔羅經 (Skt. Aṅgulimālīya-sūtra), T2n120. Yiguandao yiwen jieda – 貫道疑問解答, preface dated 1937. Republished in Minzhong jingdian: Yiguandao jingjuan, Liu Bowen jinrang yu qita 民眾經典：一 貫道經卷、劉伯溫 錦囊與其他, edited by Wang Jianchuan 王見川, vol. 1. Taipei: Boyang wenhua, 2011. Yiguandao zonghui huixun 一貫道總會會訊. Zhonghe: Zhonghua minguo Yiguandao zonghui. Yiwenlu 益聞錄. Xujiahui, 1878–1898. Zhaijie shuyuan 齋戒述原, by Rutong Laoren 儒童老人 (alias Peng Yifa), dated bingzi 丙子 (1876), MJZJ 9. Zhengxin chuyi wuxiuzheng zizai baojuan 正信除疑無修證自在寶卷 (Kaixin fayao), MJZJ 2. Zhengxin chuyi wuxiuzheng zizai baojuan 正信除疑無修證自在寶卷, this edition dated 1729, MJZJ 1.

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Food Fellowship and the Making of a Chinese Church: Cases from Contemporary China and Taiwan Brother Chen had accompanied me in my regular Bible reading. Through his exegetical guidance, I could always feel beautiful things contained in the holy book…. If what my daily reading of the Bible was an intake of spiritual food, then he was a skillful chef who turned the food into palatable dishes. Bible reading was no longer an unbearable burden like chewing tasteless wax; rather, it was something delicious to be ingested.…. So we read the Bible together everyday, ate meals at the same table, and shared our life experiences in the midst of bowls and dishes…. Indeed it was the Bible verses, similar to tasty and nutritious food, that strengthened my mind and enabled me to move forward. “Different Kinds of Food” (Buyiyang de shiwu 不一樣的食物) Han Xiaojing 韓小鯨

Introduction Many scholars of religion have noted the rapid growth of Christianity in China in the recent decades (Aikman 2003; Dunch 2001; Hunter & Chan 1993; Lee 2007; Lian 2011; Yang 2012). When the Communist regime took control of China in 1949, its official survey reported that there were 3 million Catholics and 1 million Protestants. Despite the severe repression of Christianity or all forms of religion during the Cultural Revolution (1966–1976) and restrictive religious policy following this period, the Christian population dramatically increased to 67 million, Catholics and Protestants combined, in 2010, according to the Pew Research Centre’s Forum on Religion and Public Life.1 Fenggang Yang, a leading expert on contemporary religion in China, estimated that if the current growth rate would go steady, Chinese Christians would swell to 250 million in 2030, making China the largest Christian country in the world.2 Although the focus of attention on the numbers of Chinese Christians might be interesting, uncertain variables such as sources of data, size or area of survey, unpredictability of social, economic, and political developments, often

1 http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/asia/china/10776023/China-on-course-to-be come-worlds-most-Christian-nation-within-15-years.html (accessed Dec. 29, 2016). 2 http://www.economist.com/news/briefing/21629218-rapid-spread-christianity-forcing-offi cial-rethink-religion-cracks (accessed Dec. 29, 2016). https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110547849-004

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turn it into subjective interpretations (Ashiwa and Wank 2009, 1–2). What is more noteworthy, I propose, should be to find out the special features about this Christianity that just recently arose. Indeed we should ask first: what kind of Christianity is the current Chinese Christianity? Is it the same as the Christianity we have familiarly witnessed and understood in the West? Can we compare it to other forms of Christianity such as the Pentecostal-charismatic ones that also have been swiftly spreading in Latin America and other parts of the world (Cox 1996; Hollenweger 1972; Martin 2002; Miller and Yamamori 2007; Synan 1997)? As Fenggang Yang observed that “this speed of growth [of Chinese Christianity] is similar to that seen in the fourth-century Rome just before the conversion of Constantine, which paved the way for Christianity to become the religion of his empire,”3 how then do we, taking their respective “imperial” contexts into serious consideration, compare these two Christian manifestations? And since the present Chinese regime has repeatedly emphasized the importance of developing a “socialism with Chinese characteristics” as its national goal (Dirlik 1989; Link 2015; Youwei 2015), in a parallel vein, can we delineate a rising “Christianity with Chinese characteristics”? The aforementioned questions are legitimate and important, but my present paper is not able to answer all of them. Instead, my modest attempt will focus on food and communal eating in contemporary Chinese churches. As the excerpt quoted from a prose collected in a 2015 Chinese Christian weekly calendar-booklet, titled Savory Relationship (Meiwei guanxi 美味關係), and placed at the beginning of this paper vividly demonstrates, vocabularies describing food and its gastrointestinal effects are heavily employed to express the author’s experience of scriptural reading. As far as I have observed, this blending of food, eating, and spiritual experience both in the practical and figurative senses are typical and prevalent in the Chinese Christian community. For this reason, I would suggest that food fellowship as a prominent characteristic in contemporary Chinese Christianity deserves our investigation. I will argue that it is often an essential element that helps establish a Chinese church and that this special feature is consequential behind the rapid growth of today’s Chinese Christianity. To achieve my end, I intend to take the True Jesus Church (TJC / Zhen yesu jiaohui 真耶穌教會) as an example of illustration, drawing evidence from its different local churches across the Taiwan Strait.

3 Ibid.

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1 Data and Method The True Jesus Church was founded in 1917 in Peking (now Beijing) by “the Lord Jesus Christ,” as its official website claims (TJC, US General Assembly website 2016). It has actively engaged in evangelical work in China and abroad since its birth. By now it has established branches in 60 countries and in 6 continents, with memberships totaling 1.5 million the majority of whom reside in mainland China (TJC, US General Assembly website 2016; TJC, International Assembly website 2016). Scholars of Chinese Christianity have designated it as one of the three most conspicuous Chinese indigenous churches, along with the Jesus Family and Little Flock, that had appeared in China before 1949 (Bays 1995, 2003; Deng 2001; Lian 2008; Tang 2006; Wang 2005). This background of indigenousness makes it a good candidate for our exploration of Christianity with Chinese characteristics. For my research purposes, I have traveled to mainland China since early January, 2011, for more than ten times and conducted my field work in different local TJCs primarily in Fujian, Zhejiang, and Jiangsu provinces. The most intense one took place from April 13 to May 19, 2013, during which I had oral interviews with the church leaders. In this paper, I will use pseudo-names for them for safety reason as most of them are not affiliated with or distance themselves from the official Three-self Patriotic Movement (TSPM) and thus could easily incur suppression. As a resident of Taiwan, I have regularly attended TJC’s meetings in Taipei, in particular its Sabbath Day services, the highly regarded occasions by its members. In this way, my approach combines oral interviews and participant observations, in addition to consulting TJC’s official publications, as well as documents that local churches feel no qualms to share.

2 Thematic and Theoretic Background That food is vital to human biology is a truism, but how it is perceived, emphasized, and managed varies in different cultures and societies. Scholars of diverse disciplines have devoted their effort to the exploration of food and eating in many areas of human activities (Anderson, E. 2014; Counihan and Esterik 2013; Mennell, Murcott and Otterloo 1992). They, for example, found that food is intimately related to medicine. In Chinese tradition, the intrinsic quality of a specific kind of food is believed to correspond to human physical constituencies, and hence it is popularly applied to body nourishment (Anderson, E. 1988; Chang, H. 2007; Yu 2000). This nutritional or health concern is actually transnational. It has recently attracted worldwide attention due to the pandemic

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problems such as shortage of food, overweight, and obesity (Cline and Ferraro 2006; Ferraro 1998; Jung 2004, 2006; Mason 2013). Cultural anthropologists noticed that food itself is not something neutral; it is often gendered (Bynum 1987; Chang, H. 2007; Lin, Shurong 2007; Liu 2007; Luo 2005; Sered 1988) or politicized (Chau 2010; Chen, Yuanpeng 2009; Farguhar 2002) in specific cultural or social contexts. From the post-colonial perspective, they also discovered that cuisines of specific sorts distinguish the colonized from the colonists in their collective memory; thus food evokes special feelings and serves as a symbol of class divide and group identity (Chen, Yuanpeng 2009; Chen, Yuzhen 2008, 2010, 2016; Holtzman 2006). The study of food then tends to lay great weight on the materiality of food and, as well, human responses to it with all their senses and therefrom to draw ramified cultural, social, political, or ethnic implications (Holtzman 2006; Sutton 2010). From this theoretical background I derived my present thematic interest, with an intention to apply it to the interactions between Christian “food-rite” and Chinese foodways. To strengthen my argumentation, I rely upon and dialogue with two eminent cultural anthropologists, Mary Douglas (1921–2007) and Claude Fischler (b.1947), whose insights had significantly contributed to the discourse of food scholarship. In many religions, foods are often categorized with rules that instruct the believers what to take or what to abstain from (Latham and Gardella 2005; Freidenreich 2011; Anderson 2014, 188–98). Thus the distinction between kosher and terefah under the dietary codes in Judaism makes it clear for the Jewish people what are allowed or forbidden to eat. Similarly prescriptions about halal and haram foods, designating lawful or unlawful according to the Qu’ran, also shape the Muslim’s eating habits. In Mahāyāna Buddhism, the belief in ahimsā, nonviolence or non-taking of life, impels its followers to avoid meat and opt for vegetarianism (Bowker 1997, 351–52; Smith 1995, 365). Not only what to eat is important, but also when and with whom one eats is crucial to many religious devotees. Fasting, either for purposes of repentance, petition, or spiritual discipline, always demands the practitioners to refrain from intake of food during a specified time span. Observance of the holy month of Ramadān is a good example (Denny 1985, 113–17). In Hinduism, complex rules are laid down for different caste groups to follow as regards the production, preparation, and consumption of food. Brahmans of high caste in particular are cautious about whom they dine with or happen to touch when dealing with foodstuffs, because improper physical contacts may bring about pollution, a ritual and moral taboo (Michaels 2004, 180–84). As an offshoot of Judaism, Christianity has not developed its own dietary laws in the process of its birth and formation. Although some Jewish Christians in the first two centuries may have followed their ethnic food codes, subsequent

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orthodox Christianity did not formulate rules in this regard for public observance (Latham and Gardella 2005). Sensitivity to different categories of food and their application to physical body and spiritual exercise were only related to ascetics, notably in Medieval monasteries (Bynum 1987). However, as I will expound in the following pages, food was by no means ignored in Christianity; rather, it was transcribed into a “food-rite” the importance of which is closely connected to the establishment of a church community. Chinese civilization has placed a great emphasis on food and eating since the time of its inception. Many sinologists confirmed that in this sphere, “China has shown a greater inventiveness than any other civilization” (Gernet 1962, 135; Chang 1976, 1977; Anderson and Anderson 1977; Anderson, E. 1988; Sterckx 2005, 2011). K. C. Chang, late renowned archaeologist and historian of ancient China, confirmed his research in these emphatic words: “I cannot feel more confident to say that the ancient Chinese were among the peoples of the world who have been particularly preoccupied with food and eating” (Chang 1977, 11). And this cultural trait has left its indelible mark to Chinese life in the subsequent generations, even down to our present time (Sterckx 2005, 3; Lin 2011; Yao 2008; Zhao 2014). Food and eating in Chinese society do not center on the separation between the edibles and the non-edibles on the basis of a belief system as other world religions have shown. Nor do they highlight taboos of possible pollution that strictly guide the interaction of those coming from different social statuses and eating together. The Chinese have enjoyed a pretty wide range of diets, in a way true to the meaning of homo omnivores who are able to adapt themselves to changing environments and consume whatever foodstuffs available. There are at least two prominent features, I propose, about food and eating in Chinese society that should distinguish themselves from those found in other cultures or religions. The one concerns the components of a meal, and the other is related to the manner manifested in the setting of a group eating. A Chinese meal, as K. C. Chang has pointed out based upon ample archaeological and historical evidence, consists of fan 飯 (grain food) and cai 菜 (vegetable and meat dishes). The fan component has remained relatively stable throughout Chinese history, referring to either cooked rice or wheat or millet products like pancakes or noodles according to the availability of agricultural species in different localities. The cai component, on the other hand, may contain one, three, five, ten, twelve or even more dishes the contents of which depend upon how different kinds of vegetables, meat, or other edible natural ingredients are mixed and cooked. This part shows a great variety of compositions, and its manifestations reflect multiple culinary systems across the vast Chinese land (Lin 2011; Yao 2008; Zhao 2014). The dual “fan-cai principle,” as

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Chang dubbed it, bespeaks the “Chineseness” of a Chinese meal, no matter what the variegated local cuisines may appear. He reckoned that the age-old indigenous yin-yang concept may have played a role in formulating this dietary principle (Chang 1976, 115–148; 1977, 8). People who eat at the same table and share the same fan-cai demonstrate a significant internal relationship. The collective behavior of commensality itself symbolically sets up a boundary that distinguishes the insiders from the outsiders. David Jordan, scholar of Taiwanese folk religion, cogently remarked that “a family is the unit attached to a rice pot” (Jordan 1977, 118). What he meant was that eating together is an act that presumes recognition of affinity among those involved. The hospitable expression offered to a guest for a meal at home is “nothing (troublesome) but adding one more pair of chopsticks” (buguo duojia yishuang kuaizi 不過多加一雙筷子) on the part of the host. That is, the guest is invited to share the fan-cai already prepared for the family members and he or she, once joining in, would be treated just as a member among them. On this occasion the invitation connotes an act of inclusion into and an expansion of the familial web. Further, as the act of eating together does not only happen among the living but also takes place between the living and the dead on moments such as funerary ceremonies, it is thus intrinsically a ritual behavior. Prescriptions about how to cook the fan-cai sacrificed to the deceased, regarded as either gods, ghosts or ancestors, may be different from the ordinary ones, it is certain that those who participate in the meal are to create a large family network spiritually (Thompson 1988; Sterckx 2011). Food and eating in the Chinese cultural context therefore contain the mundane and the transcendental meanings. Mary Douglas perceived food not as an isolated item but as an integral part of a structured whole that has a close relationship with human cognition and socio-cultural practices. The categorization of food, as her acclaimed analysis of the dietary codes in biblical Judaism based upon the binary “clean and unclean” mode has demonstrated, exactly reflects how people arrange the animal world in correspondence with the order of the human world. Hence the classification of meat into fit or unfit categories patterns the symbolic universe that the ancient Jews created. In the practical life, the “abominable” animals are likened to the gentiles who encroach on the Israelites’ boundaries, and as such their meats are unclean. Only those animals matching with detailed and restrictive prescriptions, paralleling the Jews’ self-understanding as a chosen people who observe various laws of holiness, are considered to be clean. The clean animal meats, hunted from the air, sea, and land, are allowed to become food at the table, and among them only selected few are qualified to be offered at the altar. These graded degrees of holiness further show how the Jewish people conceive their symbolic world and conduct their daily activities accordingly (Douglas 1966).

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To understand food and eating, Douglas asserted, one has to decipher how a meal is arranged and consumed as a “patterned activity.” A meal is not merely food eating but rather a social event. Like language, it is expressed in “syntagmatic relations” the basic element of which is a “gastronomic morpheme,” the mouthful (Douglas 1975, 251–53). In people’s daily life, for example, breakfast, lunch, and dinner are socio-culturally understood in temporal sequence, and the meaning of each is deciphered in relation to one another. The weekly meals, which are specially regarded, are held in contrast to and on the basis of the daily ones. And the annual celebrations of certain feasts are further ceremonially prepared and enjoyed by communal recognition and participation. All these meals, whichever graded level each may fall upon, define themselves in structured relations (Douglas 1975, 258–59). As to the components of a meal, it is customary in western society to contain the two-part solids and liquids. The solids, although their ingredients and ways of cooking may be different, are also structured according to the identities of the participants. They are normally offered to and shared by family members and invited guests, in contrast to drinks that are unstructured and could be given to strangers (Douglas 1975). All in all, food and eating represent a system of communication, and their meaning is metonymical. Their function lies in establishing an order in the midst of disorder, which is vital to a community’s integrity and survival. Claude Fischler’s (1980, 1988) theory focuses on the dialectic relationship between food and human identity. He presupposed that human species are omnivorous and, as such, are prone to constantly searching for new edibles urged by biological needs. On the other hand, “taxonomic doubt,” caused either by the habit of eating stable, rigid diets as witnessed in an isolated agricultural society or by “gastro-anomy” in modern industrialized society where snacking culture is prevalent, makes humans suspect foodstuffs of unknown sources. To resolve the dilemma between “neophilia” and “neophobia,” he argued, people invent different culinary systems to incorporate the new and strange materials. In this sense, cookery functions to tame the wild; it is a mechanism that transforms nature into culture, making the raw and the unknown familiar in the human world. Echoing Mary Douglas’ concept that purity and edibility are synonymous, Fischler asserted that by classifying food into categories and giving rules to cooking and eating, humans create a world of order wherein also lies their identity. Indeed, as he strongly claimed, “We become what we eat” (Fischler 1988, 279) and “Food makes the eater” (Fischler 1988, 282). Although with different emphases, the theories by Douglas and Fischer seem to converge at three interrelated points. First, food itself is by no means meaning-neutral. It always carries an arbitrary and symbolic meaning the understanding of which is intimately tied to the social and cultural context in

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which it is generated, particularly in the culinary culture or system a group of people have established. Second, food and its consumption are a social activity, and their expression is patterned or structured. They represent a collective effort to communicate within a group of people who share the same symbolic universe. Third, once the communication takes effect, it further strengthens the existed world of order and endows people attached to this world with a sense of identity. These theoretical insights, to my mind, are inspiring, but in what way and to what extent they can be applied to the understanding and interpretation of food fellowship in a Chinese Christian community remains to be tested.

3 Cases of the True Jesus Church I have been frequently attending church services affiliated with different denominations in the US and Asian countries, paying special heed to how the church members mutually interact and, importantly, greet the first comers. How a church and its members express themselves is admittedly related to their theology, service format, church convention, members’ background, and social custom. But a church’s attitude toward its own members and toward the visitors, either cold, warm, or enthusiastic, it seems to me, crucially affects its development. My recent visits to some TJC local churches in China, all thriving, compelled me to look for explanatory elements in the cultural sphere. Food fellowship, among others, appeared to me very prominent when I examined how these churches have been quickly expanding. Here is a vignette I noted down in April 2013 when I stayed at Endian Church in L City for my fieldwork. It tells about the scene when the congregants gathered to enjoy the Sabbath lunch meal: In southern Jiangsu province, almost all churches like this one that belong to the TJC denomination have a spacious dining area. And its location, accommodation, and kitchen facilities are always heated topics of conversation for the local church leaders who plan to construct or purchase a chapel or a meeting site. After Endian Church had bought the present property from a factory owner, it inherited a small kitchen adjacent to the administrative building. In order to accommodate three to four hundred members at the meal hour, however, it constructed a shelter-like roof along the wall that divides it from its neighbor and set up tables and benches for that purpose. The whole dining site appeared simple and crude, but the congregants were happy about what they saw (Figure 1). After the morning service was over, it was close to noon. Sisters of today’s cooking team had prepared the meal. They put two huge pots containing fan (steamed rice) at the entrance area, in addition to a big barrel of hot soup standing ready at the corner and against the wall. They also laid out four dishes of cai on each table. Congregants quickly moved from the chapel to the dining area and filled the empty seats around the square tables. When they began to eat, they individually said a thanksgiving prayer first and then warmly invited one another to

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Figure 1: Dining area at Endian Church (photo by the author).

the tables to share the food. They quickly raised their rice bowl and extended their chopsticks onto the dishes, showing joyous and content countenances. Those who were not able to sit around the table due to lack of seats, especially the youths and women with children, were holding their own rice bowls covered with cai and savoring every mouthful in the parking space. At this moment, all the church members seemed to forget the difficulties they confronted and were immersed in the bliss of food fellowship.

Endian Church started its house meeting in 1993, with a core membership of no more than a dozen. With the increase of believers and “truth seekers,” in the words of Sister Guan my informant, it moved quite a few times to larger private houses or rented apartments for better accommodation. But the members’ gatherings often incurred protests from the neighbors because of noises caused by praying and hymn singing. These complaints drew local police’s interferences and they were often forced to run and hide. Thanks to the “miraculous” help from God, according to Sister Guan, they finally purchased the present location, a bankrupt factory, in 2008 with a very cheap price. Now the congregation exceeded three hundreds. Through a long process of negotiation with local authorities, they were allowed to hold religious activities at the present site, but with regular supervisory visits from the government officials. A majority of Endian Church’s members, including Sister Guan herself, are migrant workers and their families from northern Jiangsu. To search for a better

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life, they moved down to L City, located at the flourishing Yangtze Delta, to try their fortune. Although they worked hard, low wages and the precarious nature of their jobs have often made their life insecure. A few church members from Fujian province are financially better-off, as they are owners of small factories in the aluminum industry. Some of them run their own shops, selling construction materials. In a booming but highly competitive market, however, they also work day and night to keep their business running at the expense of family life and church attendance. During my stay at Endian Church, I once joined Sister Guan and her fellow workers’ visit to these “backsliding” members. I was impressed by the constant interruptions of our conversation either from their employees or mobile phone calls. At those moments Sister Guan showed me an awkward smile, hinting that I should understand what she had told me about some of the difficulties the church was currently facing. Because of the members’ general living situation, the occasions when they are able to appear at the church become all the more cherished. In particular on the Sabbath Day, a holy day greatly honored by TJC, the church leaders would host activities to bring their members firmly together. Besides the two formal services, one in the morning and one in the afternoon, when the congregation gathers to listen to the sermons, pray, and sing hymns, lunch fellowship features most conspicuously. This is the time when the church can show its love and care toward its members. It is also an event that involves all the church members regardless the different degrees of their faith. On this occasion, guests or first comers are warmly invited to sit around the table (Figure 2). Those who have recently less attended the church, if found showing up, are particularly welcomed. I heard Sister Guan, when she saw some church members hurrying away after the morning service to attend their own business, shouting their names and insisting that they finish the meal before leaving. The occasion was a bit chaotic, as sounds and responding actions simultaneously broke out and intermingled. But it was unmistakable that the atmosphere of the communal eating was hilarious and convivial, exhibiting an inclusive and hospitable spirit. Endian Church is by no means unique in its practice of food fellowship. Others like Panwang Church and Fengfu Church also manage it in a comparable fashion although in different living contexts. Panwang Church is situated in B City, a city larger than L City and has been similarly flourishing owing to booming economy. Most members of the church are young adults in their twenties or thirties, and a few are older, such as its able and experienced leader, Sister Dong, who is in her mid-fifties. They came, again, from northern Jiangsu to the new place as hired hands, leading a hopeful but difficult life. I was struck by the dilapidated two-story meeting house they rented in a slummy quarter when I paid them my first visit in July 2011. The house was packed on

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Figure 2: Fan (steamed rice) and cai (vegetable and meat dishes) prepared for the guests at Endian Church (photo by the author).

the Sabbath, and during the service hours, I was afraid that the ramshackle might fall apart. While the sermon was going, some church sisters were simultaneously preparing the lunch in a kitchenette adjacent to the assembly room. Once in a while, tinkling and clinking of kitchen utensils broke the otherwise solemn silence. The air was suffused with appetizing smell of the cooked dishes when the sermon was drawing to its end. After the concluding prayer was over, the church members moved fast to fetch their own bowl and filled it with fan and cai. They found whatever space available and, either sitting or standing, began eating their meal. The lunch activity seemed to be understood as a formal part of the Sabbath Day service, as evidenced by the smoothness and spontaneity with which the congregants conducted their movements. I, as a guest, was invited to sit at the only table and enjoyed the meal with the church board members. The delicious food stood in sharp contrast to the shabby appearance of the building, yet for Panwang Church members, the former seemed to be much weightier than the latter. When I returned to Panwang Church again in July 2014, it had moved to the fourth floor of a recently constructed business building. The new site contains eight rooms, not including the main hall that is able to accommodate more than two hundred worshippers. Sister Dong proudly introduced me

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around, while at the same time bearing testimonies to how divine grace had brought many new members to the saved ark and how God had paved the way for the church to successfully own this location. She specifically led me to the kitchen, pointing to the modern facilities with which it was equipped. She was satisfied that the church could now more conveniently prepare food and, on account of it, welcome more outsiders to the church community. Fengfu Church in P City began its meeting in 1994 and purchased its present compound in the suburban area in 2007. Compared with the two aforementioned churches which have undergone local governments’ surveillance and even suppression from time to time, this one is fortunate to have developed without too many obstacles. That it occupies a great piece of land and stands next to a government’s building bespeaks its relatively stable relationship with the local authority. Sister Ying, its leader and my informant, has witnessed its growth from a handful of people to a congregation of eight hundred members. From my first interview with her in July 2011, the second one in August 2012, to the third one in July 2014, I was impressed by her and her co-workers’ effort to manage their church to become a center that coordinates eight meeting points in the vicinity. Fengfu Church has indeed become a gathering point not only for the church members spreading around P City, but also an important center that often hosts training programs of various kinds for TJCs in southern Jiangsu. Two thirds of Fengfu Church’s members are immigrants, and only one third are native residents. Among the former, many are students coming from different parts of the country to P City to attend local universities or colleges. To manage the huge congregation, Sister Ying explained to me, the church organizes all of its members into fellowship groups according to age, hence the Old People’s Fellowship, Pillar Fellowship, Social Youth Fellowship, and Student Fellowship. When these fellowships meet at the church, they hold activities that include Bible study, prayer, choir rehearsal, special lectures, etc. What is crucial during or after the activities is food sharing. For that purpose, Fengfu Church has partitioned a large space as the dining area, in addition to constructing a clean, wellequipped kitchen. As I was conversing with Sister Ying right in the dining room and had quite a few meals with her and other church leaders there, I could see the geographical centrality of this particular spot and understand the importance it assumes in the process of the church’s growth. The local TJCs in Taiwan have laid equal, if not more, emphasis on food and eating in managing their congregants and attracting new comers. Take Ankang Church, for example, a church I have frequently attended. The church is located at the outskirts of metropolitan Taipei. As finding a piece of land upon which to construct a spacious chapel is beyond its financial power because of the extremely expensive real estate, it is housed in an apartment building.

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Its members include Han the majority and two other ethnic minorities, Amis and Atayal. Their socio-economic backgrounds vary widely, from construction workers, security guards, shop keepers to computer engineers and university professors. Although demographically diverse, they get along well in a caring and congenial spirit. One often sees enthusiastic participation from the members whenever church activities such as training programs and evangelical meetings take place. The harmonious relationships and fervency have made the church admirable, and visitors from other church communities often come and take it as a model to emulate. Ankang church also holds two services on the Sabbath, one in the morning and the other in the afternoon, and the number of attendees has maintained an average of one hundred to one hundred and twenty. The church members come to observe the morning service at ten thirty, which normally lasts an hour and half to finish. As the main part of the service is a long sermon, attendees have developed a spirit of listening in quietude and devoutness. After it is ended and administrative businesses have been announced, a young brother or sister is assigned to say grace for the lunch, particularly thanking the hands that have prepared today’s meal. Then and there the relatively solemn and serious atmosphere would change to a lively one. The congregants begin to greet each other, particularly calling names of those whom they have not seen for some while to show their good will. As the congregants slowly leave the assembly room, many of the members politely pat others’ shoulders, pull those intimate friends by their hand, and encourage one another to move to the dining area. Ankang Church has four cooking teams which take monthly turns to prepare the lunch meal for the church attendees. The team members are mostly middleaged housewives headed by Sister Zhou. If a month happens to have a fifth Sabbath, it is the young adults, male and female included, who are responsible for the cooking job. On the Sabbath, the team members have to get up early and go to the market to buy the foodstuffs with which they have planned to make cai. With a limited budget, 3,500 NTD (roughly 110 USD), as Sister Zhou revealed to me, they are careful in selecting the right, inexpensive materials available. If the expenditure exceeds what is officially set, they either apply for reimbursement or, as most of them would do, simply pay from their own pocket and regard it as a way of offering. After bringing the foodstuffs back to the church, they have to wash, cut, stew or fry them and get five, six, or even seven dishes ready at the table before the noon time. Sometimes I peeked at the kitchen, often finding the busy cooks moving with adroitness and attentiveness as though driven by an invisible task master. When the hungry congregants come to the dining area, they, upon seeing the delicious dishes, usually voice light-hearted praises. After tasting the fan and cai,

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many of them, like experienced gourmets, would evaluate their different gustatory and olfactory qualities. They further make comparisons among the different Sabbath Day meals they have enjoyed in the past weeks, as if implicitly pressing the cooking teams into competition. But the cooking team members are happy to receive the connoisseurs’ responses, always congratulatory and thankful, and would politely ask everyone to consume all the food they prepared. And that, as they customarily express, is the highest complement. In this way the Sabbath lunch at Ankang Church is not an ordinary meal bur rather a weekly feast, as indeed many church members and visitors have repeatedly aired such an opinion. That is also why many late comers who have missed the morning service would positively show up at the dining table, an event they often feel physically and spiritually gratifying. The local TJC leaders in Taiwan are aware of the importance of food fellowship in uniting the congregation and inviting “truth seekers.” Therefore they are very willing to spend resources on this activity. Table 1 shows Ankang Church’s foodrelated expenditures in the ten-year period of 2005–2014,4 in contrast to the amounts spent by Zhengbin Church,5 located in northern Taiwan, and Dalin Church,6 located in southern Taiwan. It is hard to compare them based upon their respective statistics owing to different congregational sizes and incomes, but it is significant to note that substantial percentages of money are spent on eating (an average of 12.62% for Ankang, 11.4%% for Zhengbin, and 26.53% for Dalin7) and that in this regard they are generally increasing in the past years. Further, as Zhengbin Church is presently constructing its new church building and Dalin Church, too, is about to do the same thing, spaces reserved for dining hall and kitchen at these two churches are impressive. Table 2 indicates that Zhengbin’s new church will have a space for the eating purposes (dining hall and kitchen combined) 1.3 times larger than that of the main chapel. As for Dalin’s new church, space for preparing food and eating and space for worship gathering are almost equal in size. These concrete pieces of evidence well substantiate my observations about the practices of food fellowship at Taiwan’s TJCs described above.8

4 Ankang Church provided me its data on May 25, 2015. 5 Zhengbin Church provided me its data on May 27, 2015. 6 Dalin Church provided me its data on May 9, 2015. 7 As Dalin Church explained to me, because it has become a regional center, akin to the status of Fengfu Church in China, where activities and meetings of many kinds have taken place, it has financially allotted a large portion to the preparation of food. This is why very high percentages of food expenditure appear in the data in the past five years. 8 Brother Su, architect who designed for these two churches, provided me the data on May 6, 2015.

          Total

Year

,, ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, ,,

Total Expenditure

, , , , , , , , , , ,,

Food Expenditure

Ankang Church

. . . . . . . . . . .

% of Food Expenditure , , , , , , , , , , ,,

Food Expenditure

Zhengbin Church

,, ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, ,,

Total Expenditure

Table 1: Food expenditures of three churches in Taiwan (2005–2014).

. . . . . . . . . . .

% of Food Expenditure ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, ,, ,,

Total Expenditure , , , , , , , , , , ,,

Food Expenditure

Dalin Church

. . . . . . . . . . .

% of Food Expenditure

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Table 2: Space allotments of chapels, dining halls, and kitchens of two churches in Taiwan. Space (m) Chapel Dining Hall Kitchen Dining Hall and Kitchen Ratio of Dining Hall and Kitchen to Chapel

Zhengbin Church

Dalin Church

. . . . .

. . . . .

As far as food fellowship is concerned, the TJCs across the Taiwan Strait, although burgeoning in different socio-political contexts, share some common, interconnected features. These features are also elements that contribute to the cohesiveness among the church members, as well as to the attractiveness to the possible converts. First, the local TJCs rely heavily upon food and communal eating as a strategy to grow. This leaning toward or emphasis on corporeality and its enjoyment does not defeat but co-exist with the fact that TJC, a Pentecostal-Charismatic denomination (Tsai 2015), regards spiritual experience most highly. Second, the local TJCs manage their congregants through food fellowship after the model of a family in which caring, affection, and intimacy of human relationship are promoted and practiced. To many of TJC’s members, the church is unmistakably a family writ large. Third, female members of the local TJCs are the foremost agents who prepare food and arrange its distribution. They assume a critical role in moving and shaping the course of the church’s development. These characteristics are important for us to bear in mind when we bring our cases into theoretical discussion.

4 Discussion When we concentrate on the topic of contemporary Chinese Christianity, we deal with complex elements related to Christian religion, Chinese culture, and different localities’ social, economic, and political contexts in “greater” China. What I have presented in the preceding section about food and communal eating at TJC’s local churches across the Taiwan Strait may appear preponderantly Chinese. That is, it all has something to do with traditional Chinese fan-cai components and Chinese way of management in a family-like style. In what sense, then, is it Christian? Can we find specifically Christian factors in our case study? Indeed, food and communal eating are prevalent in

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world religions, and in Chinese society, sharing meal sacrificed to local deities has been a long-time practice in folk or popular religions (Anderson 1988, ix–xi, 200–201; Overmyer 1986, 70, 85; Sterckx 2005, 1–6, and Sterckx 2011). In this connection, food fellowship at the church can be easily identified as a parallel to the festive celebration of a local god’s birthday. But this contradicts the self-understanding of the church members who would insist that their belief and practice of food fellowship is rooted in the biblical teachings and that it is Christian rather than Chinese. To reconcile the perspectival discrepancies, I detected that the Eucharist or Holy Communion was a pertinent gateway to start with theologically and practically. The Eucharist has been part and parcel of Christianity since the origination of this religion. In the past two millennia, it has gone through various theological interpretations and liturgical transformations, depending upon which denomination took it into deliberation (Bernas, 2002; Jung 2006; Hellwig 2005; Power 2002; Wandel 2006). In sum, the Catholic Church stresses the liturgical power of the Eucharist that is believed to transubstantiate the blessed bread and wine into Christ’s presence. Protestantism, on the other hand, regards the celebration of the sacrament as anamnesis, a memorial act that recalls the suffering, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Both of these two Christian mainstreams, however, agree that the significance of this Christian rite lies in urging the Christians to reflect on and realize Christ’s sacrificial love and to remain in unity (Hellwig 2005, 2877–78; Levering 2005, 11–28). Relevant to our consideration are the initial layers of composition of the Eucharist which, in the process of its formation, evolved into oblivion in the orthodox liturgical theology toward the end of the second century. According to the Synoptic traditions, Jesus and his disciples, as their Jewish custom would have it, celebrated the Passover and had the Seder meal together (Mark 14:12–16; Mathew 26:17–19; Luke 22:7–13). It was a time for the Jews to commemorate the saving grace which God had bestowed upon their ancestors in the mighty act of delivering them from bondage in Egypt. The prescribed paschal lamb, unleavened bread, and other foodstuffs were to be consumed while holding the feast by a family (Exodus 12:1–14). One could see on this occasion a mixed feeling of excitement, gratitude, and pensive sadness (Robinson 2000, 118–125; Schauss 1962, 77–85), yet it was positive that the concrete edibles helped lead the participants to a realm of higher spirituality. The Passover meal coincided with the last meal Jesus had with his disciples. The early Christian tradition which the Apostle Paul had inherited combined the two but purposefully shifted its focus from the former to the latter (1 Corinthians 11:23–26). Now the Last Supper was held to commemorate the death of Jesus, the sacrificial lamb, who died for the sins of humanity. It

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was one step further proclaimed as the Lords’ Supper or the Lord’s Table, a meal that emphasized not the consumption of physical but symbolic bread and juice. In the relationship of the “new covenant,” what the dish and cup contained were no longer ordinary food but the flesh and blood of Jesus (1 Corinthians 11:24–27). Here Christ’s corporeality was still maintained, but the original food imagery disappeared from the scene. When the Lord’s Supper was instituted as the Eucharist, as a sacrament, it informed Christians of its spiritual meaning through ceremonial act. On this occasion participants gathered only to eat symbolically. Jesus Christ, God’s incarnation, was thus divested of his physical body. What remained to be learned about the Eucharist were sacrifice, love, and unity, all spiritual virtues without material faces. The TJC formulates its theology in the Protestant tradition. It holds the Holy Communion in high esteem, regarding it as one of the three sacraments, along with Water Baptism and Footwashing, that Jesus Christ himself established and commanded his disciples to observe (True Jesus Church 2007, 89). It is celebrated at every local church twice a year during spiritual convocations respectively in spring and fall. According to TJC’s official explanation of its basic beliefs, the Holy Communion “can never be regarded as a usual, ordinary diet, or else God will execute judgment (1 Corinthians 11:29, 30)” (Yang 1970, 137). Rather, it is “a spiritual fellowship” of those already baptized and recognized as church members (True Jesus Church 2007, 93). In other words, guests, “truth seekers,” and even Christian friends of other denominations are not qualified to partake of the sacramental meal. The meaning of the Holy Communion, the TJC advocates, lies in commemorating the suffering and death of Jesus Christ. Through the ceremonial reenactment, participants are reminded of his salvific grace, as God brought the same to the ancient Israelites. It is something like a mystery, because those who join the spiritual fellowship can anticipate the future resurrection after death (1 Corinthians 11:26; Revelation 19:7–9) or an eternal life (John 6:53–56) (Yang 1970, 134). What is beyond doubt about the central message of the Holy Communion for the church members is that, in imitation of Christ, they should be humble, serve one another, and unite as one body (1 Corinthians 10:17; 12:12–27) (True Jesus Church 2007, 98). Many theologians affirm the sacral nature of the Eucharist or Holy Communion, as TJC’s official stance does. They call it a “holy eating” (Jung 2006, 131) and warn the Christians not to treat it as a “fraternal banquet” (Levering 2005, 26). To my mind, although the liturgical performance of this Christian rite may create a sacred aura and hence help maintain the authority of the sacerdotal system, whether or not it facilitates the growth of the church is highly disputable. Once the material dimension of the Holy Communion is missing, what kind of experience in real life can the Christians identify to comprehend the

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Eucharistic “mystery”? To put the question further, in what way can the eating of the “flesh and blood” of Jesus Christ evoke similar experience among the Christians, or Chinese Christians for that matter, in their practical life, if its spiritual teachings like humility, service, love, and unity are simultaneously imparted and demanded? Our introduction to the different TJC cases can challenge the conventional theological position and offer a new perspective. As far as I can observe, the majority of the local TJC members are people of the lower-middle class with limited education; this is more obvious in China than in Taiwan. They work hard, harboring the hope to gain a stable life particularly in the new and competitive urban environment, as the members of Endian, Panwang, and Fengfu have testified. Entering the TJC, they receive empowerment and consolation in their charismatic experiences like speaking in tongues and miraculous healings (Tsai 2015). On the other hand, they are also practical people. Food and its consumption are certainly their daily necessities, but where and with whom they eat are also important. They find that the church provides a setting where they can comfortably dine. This is because, first, the church functions like a large family with participants of comparable backgrounds. To many members who are singles, migrants, or underprivileged struggling in an alienated society, it proves to be an attractive place to come and stay. Second, the fan and cai are carefully prepared, like the case of Ankang, which to many are more than an ordinary meal. The Sabbath Day lunch is a festive treat, as a matter of fact. The gastrointestinal enjoyment here is not a small business. Third, the food fellowship is open to all. It does not have boundaries that divide or exclude whoever wants to enter. On the contrary, it is meant to eliminate any barriers and welcome church members and non-church members alike. Fourth, it is managed prominently by middle-aged sisters whose motherly features usually soften a church body that is otherwise rigidly organized. Their leadership runs smoothly not by rules or commands but by caring through food preparation and distribution. At this juncture, one clearly sees a gap between the Protestant theology of the Holy Communion or the one upheld by TJC and its realization in local churches. On one level, what is appealing to ordinary members is the physical consumption of food. Hence the original layer of the Holy Communion, that is, the Passover meal when the paschal lamb and unleavened bread are served at a Jewish family, appears to tally well with their practical experience. That by partaking of Jesus’ flesh and blood one has the hope of an eternal life may remain a mystery forever for most of the local TJC members. One another level, however, the ordinary TJC members absorb other spiritual teachings with sensitive mind. They understand what love, care, service, and unity mean when the preacher expounds them in association with the celebration of the Holy Communion. On

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quite a few occasions I saw some participants moved to tears when the suffering of Jesus was narrated and his sacrificial love was portrayed. So with respect to this part of the Holy Communion, there is no better realization of it than in the communal participation of the Sabbath lunch. Through being a preparer, a distributor, or a consumer, the church members easily catch its spiritual implications on account of their bodily engagement. This blending of the practical and the spiritual pertinently reflects the double identity of the local TJC members who, as Chinese and as Christians, live in contemporary “greater” China. If the analysis above makes sense, we can further refer it to the theories proffered by Mary Douglas and Claude Fischler. I fully subscribe to both theoreticians’ insight that food itself is not an isolated item but rather a meaning-laden system. Like language, it has its own “syntagmatic relations” the interpretation of which relies upon the context in which it is generated. I also agree that a meal is not equal to food eating; instead, it is a social event embedded in a temporalspatial web. It is constructed by people who share similar symbolic universe and, on account of it, obtain their identity. These inspiring ideas of theirs compel us to examine food and commensality from a broader perspective, reminding us of the importance of relating the subject particularly to social and cultural dimensions. Still, the structuralist approach adopted by Douglas and Fischler appearsrestrictive to me. Their overemphasis on “patterned” or “structured” mode of perception may encounter difficulties when it comes to our study of Chinese Christian community. In the first place, taxonomic categorization of food in Judaism or in other religions does not apply to Chinese culinary culture. The distinction between clean and unclean foods as a reflection of “purity and danger,” as Douglas advocated, or the equation of purity and edibility, as Fischler asserted, does not exist in the Chinese world of cognition. On the contrary, because of the propensity to tasting whatever edible, the Chinese culinary culture opts for intermingling different kinds of food. As the “fan-cai principle” makes it clear, it is not the ingredients but how to cook them that distinguishes a specific cuisine from others. This mixing or synthesizing quality, further, facilitates communal participation to a quicker and wider degree. My field work tells that not a single member of those who came to the Sabbath lunch cared about whether the meal was vegetarian or prepared according to certain dietary codes. To the Chinese Christians, just like to other non-Christian Chinese, the more variegated the food ingredients are, the more welcomed they become. The lowering or elimination of boundaries in this regard makes easier access for whoever comes to the church and participates in the meal event. In a true sense, food serves as a gateway for the local TJCs to consolidate their congregation and attract possible converts. And if food itself exhibits a

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mixing characteristic, so does the commensal activity. Although I mentioned that the majority of the local TJCs in China are from the lower-middle class, more and more new members of middle class background, in particular in Shanghai and Taipei, have joined the church. When they gather to eat, no priority is given to specific individuals except, according to the Chinese custom, the elderly and the guests. They each help themselves by filling their bowls with cooked rice and whatever cai prepared. They sit or stand casually and chat with other fellow members while eating. The amalgamation of sounds and actions creates a receptive environment for the food sharers to get immersed in enjoyment. The human agents and the warm atmosphere they create appear very crucial, as long as I can observe, because it is they who manifest the effect of food and validate its public consumption. My personalist approach, which highlights persons as creators and experiencers, here stands in contrast to Douglas and Fischler’s theoretical stance. Last but by no means least, Douglas and Fischler’s structuralist approach also ignores the role women play in producing and managing food in a religious community (Chang 2007; Liu 2007; Lo 2005; Sered 1988). My case study indicates that middle-aged female members, as church leaders and cooks, are indispensable in shaping and guiding the local TJCs. They may not be as knowledgeable about the Bible as the preachers, mostly male, and therefore do not exert their influence from the pulpit. Nor are they proficient in church organization, which is necessary in combating the social and political pressure. Many of them, however, act as a traditional, motherly figure in preparing food and distributing it to the entire congregation. They engage themselves in the kitchen and start actions from the members’ basic needs. In a community like the TJC where females make up a much higher proportion than males, their role functions decisively in the rapid development of local churches. So far as the issue of food fellowship and the making of a Chinese church is concerned, this gender factor is something we should always take seriously.

Conclusion My concern in this paper is, in view of the rapid growth of Christianity in contemporary China, to explore what this “Christianity with Chinese characteristics” may appear to be. I singled out food fellowship as the focus of examination, regarding it as one of the most prominent features that contrast Chinese Christian communities with those outside of “greater” China. To illustrate my point, I relied upon the data I collected from my field work in different local TJC

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churches across the Taiwan Strait. My analysis shows that food fellowship functions as a pivot that internally pulls the congregation into a cohesive whole and externally attracts the new comers to join the church community. In interpreting my findings, I noted that we should look into the two major sources, Chinese and Christian, of food fellowship for our discussion. Food, in the form of fan and cai, and the different ways of cooking it have played a highly important role in Chinese culture. How and on what occasions family members share food are also crucial to their interaction, integration, and cultural transmission. On the Christian side, the earliest layer in the composition of the Eucharist or the Holy Communion originated from the Jewish Passover Seder meal. It was and still is celebrated with concrete, physical food and collective eating in and by a Jewish family to commemorate the Exodus event. The Protestant sacramental theology, which the TJC generally agrees with, has reduced it to a symbolic, ceremonial performance while keeping its spiritual significance of humility, sacrifice, care, and unity. The Chinese Christians, as seen from the local TJC members, cherish the opportunity of eating together at the church, as it has become harder and rarer for a family to practice in a busy and disintegrating urban environment. But unlike a Chinese religious feast in relation to celebrating a local deity’s birthday, the participation in the Sabbath Day meal restores the original sense of the Holy Communion and physically realizes its spiritual teachings. The synthesis of these two, Chinese culture and Christian ritual, is worthy of our attention. With respect to theoretical consideration, I resorted to the insights primarily brought about by Mary Douglas and Claude Fischler. On the one hand, as they emphasized, I agreed that food should be treated as a system of communication and as a social event, hence the importance of viewing it in a larger context of human interactions. On the other hand, however, I found that their structuralist perspective has its limitations and is disputable when applied to our interpretation of Chinese Christian community. In contrast, my personalist approach lays weight on the human agents who participate in the food fellowship either as a preparer, a distributor, or just a consumer. Their involvement in the food event in creating Durhkeimian effervescence abolishes the boundaries that divide food categories and human classes (Durhkeim 2001, 154–164). The conglomeration, informed by Chinese familial ideal and established by Christian love, equality, and devotion, is precisely the desirable context in which the church members find their physical enjoyment and spiritual solace simultaneously. In this sense, I conclude that food fellowship suitably characterizes contemporary Chinese Christianity and that it has substantially contributed to the rapid growth of many Christian churches across the Taiwan Strait.

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Shuk-wah Poon

Buddhist Activism and Animal Protection in Republican China Introduction Buddhist activism in Republican China has received increasing scholarly attention in recent years (see Katz (康豹) and Goossaert (高萬桑) 2015; Kiely and Jessup 2016). These studies are in stark contrast to the grim picture Arthur Wright painted of Buddhism in modern China: that “Buddhism – for all its new social consciousness – seemed to many to teach a lesson of passivity or tolerant resignation at a time when the mood of the intellectuals and political leaders called for a program of positive action” (Wright 1959, 116). This article explores why and how lay Buddhists played a pivotal role in turning the traditional Buddhist concept of “protecting life” (husheng 護生), which had defined a distinctively Chinese animal protection movement, into an important facet of Buddhist activism in Republican China in the 1930s. The Buddhist animal protection movement in Republican Shanghai was initiated by individual lay Buddhists such as cartoonist Feng Zikai 豐子愷 (1898–1975) and Lü Bicheng 呂碧城 (1883–1943), who might not have been personally acquainted. Shanghai’s thriving printing industry played a crucial role in turning their individual efforts into a collective force. In 1928 Feng published the touching Paintings on the Preservation of Life (Husheng huaji 護生畫集), giving the concept of husheng a visual graphic form. From 1929 onwards Lü, a Buddhist laywoman who spent most of her life in Europe, introduced the Western ideas of animal protection and World Animal Day to the Chinese Buddhist circle through her writings in Buddhist magazines. Their efforts paved the way for Han Shizi’s 寒世子 publication of Husheng bao 護生報 in 1932 and the founding of the China Society for the Protection of Animals (Zhongguo baohu dongwuhui 中國保護動物會, CSPA) in 1934 by a group of Buddhist activists-cum-elite philanthropists in Shanghai under the leadership of Wang Yiting 王一亭 (1867–1938) and Ye Gongchuo 葉恭綽 (1881–1968), who helped translate the Buddhist idea of animal protection into real policies thanks to their connections with the political authorities.

Note: This article is funded by Hong Kong Research Grant Council (GRF project title: Animals, Modernity and Nation-building: Oxen in Republican China). https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110547849-005

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Despite claiming to be a secular organization, the CSPA enthusiastically translated the Buddhist concept of “protecting life” into action, building shelters for wild dogs, advocating vegetarianism, and calling on the Nationalist government and the municipal councils of the French Concession and International Settlements in Shanghai to ban animal slaughter on World Animal Day – a festival created by animal protectionists in the West and held on October 4 in commemoration of St. Francis of Assisi, the Christian patron saint of animals. The CSPA’s approach to animal protection was significantly different from that of the Shanghai Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (SSPCA) founded by Westerners in 1898, most notably in that the SSPCA did not believe that animals enjoyed the right not to be killed.1 Instead, the organization claimed that because animals could feel pain, they should be killed humanely. The animal protection movement in 1930s Shanghai, therefore, was a result of a combination of individual and institutionalized efforts that was made possible by print media and resources of individual lay Buddhists. Having relatively more contact with the outside world than most of their monastic counterparts, lay Buddhists were instrumental in the resurgence of Buddhist activism by recasting the traditional non-killing narrative into a modern and forwardlooking animal protection movement. This role should be understood in the historical context in which the Buddhist activists aspired to give Buddhism a respectable position in China’s painstaking efforts to build a strong and modern nation, and to present Buddhism as a civilizing and modernizing force of pacifism in the contemporary world. This chapter first explains Feng’s and Lü’s roles in visualizing and modernizing, respectively, the Buddhist notion of “protecting life.” The second section analyzes the various impetuses that led to the founding of the CSPA, which symbolized the institutionalization of the Buddhist idea of “protecting life.” The following part shows the CSPA’s efforts to turn World Animal Day, which originated in the West, into a Buddhist event by requesting that the political authorities ban the slaughtering of animals on that day. The final section explains the successes and limits of the CSPA, including its pragmatic approach to vegetarianism by dividing animals into the categories of “edible” and “inedible,” despite its belief in the Buddhist teaching of non-killing.

1 The initiator of the SSPCA was Frank J. Maitland, a well-known horseman in Shanghai. Early committee members included F. Ayscough and L. Midwood. See MacGregor 1939.

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1 Buddhist Idea of “Non-killing” Visualized and Modernized The first of the five precepts of Buddhism is to refrain from killing any living being. The practices of non-killing and releasing living creatures from captivity – based on the Buddhist idea of being compassionate to all sentient beings, which partly derives from the Indian concept of ahimsa – can be found in numerous Chinese Buddhist texts. One of the earliest of these texts was Fayuan zhulin 法苑珠林 (A Grove of Pearls in a Dharma Garden), which was compiled by the monk Daoshi 道世 in the 7th century and which cited Buddhist scripture Fan wanjing 梵網經 (Brahma’s Net Sutra) to explain why killing living creatures should be prohibited: “All men are our fathers. All women are our mothers. All our existences have been taken from them. Therefore, all living beings of the six realms are our parents, and if we kill them, we kill our parents” (Fayuan zhulin 2005, 299–300 [Juan 65]).2 The cornerstone of compassion to animals is thus samsara, which weaves all sentient beings of the six realms into an interconnected web of life. Compassion to animals is expressed in different forms, including the ritual of releasing living creatures from captivity and abstaining from consuming meat. The ritual of releasing living creatures became closely associated with the Pure Land School and was advocated by Yunqi Zhuhong 云棲祩宏 (1535–1623), a leading monk of this Buddhist school in the late Ming (Eichman 2016, 118). While this practice may have been motivated by expressing lovingkindness to all living creatures, seeking moral cultivation and improving personal karma were the chief, if not the only, concerns of most Buddhist practitioners. As Jennifer Eichman has pointed out, “[n]ot killing was a means to accrue sufficient merit to ensure material advantages in this lifetime and a good rebirth” (Eichman 2016, 217). John Kieschnick states that the primary reason for Buddhists to practice vegetarianism in traditional China was concern for their own karma, not a concern for animal welfare (Kieschnick 2005, 203–208).3 Improvement of animal well-being, therefore, was more a means to human ends than an end in itself.

2 See Pu 2014, 13; Fan Wanjing is a Buddhist scripture ostensibly translated by Kumarajiva in 406 but has been suspected to be an “apocryphal” scripture composed by an indigenous Chinese in the middle of the 5th century. See also Eichman 2016, 125. 3 For a detailed account of vegetarianism in Republican China, please refer to Nikolas Broy’s chapter in this book.

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The idea of “protecting life” was popularized during the imperial period not only by Buddhist scriptures, but also by morality books (shanshu 善書), not all of which are strictly Buddhist. The authors of these books and the practitioners of the ideas within them simply saw non-killing and compassion for animals as a means of self-cultivation; animal welfare was not necessarily their ultimate concern. One notable example is Xu Qian’s 徐謙 (1780 - ?) Wu you ruci 物猶如此 (Even Animals Can Act Morally). A native of Jiangxi, Xu wrote the book in 1861 at the age of 81. The book is a compilation of 335 animal stories showing how some animals behaved in a moral manner. In one story, a young elephant tried to feed his dying mother grass. Realizing that his mother was too feeble to eat, he cleaned his mother’s body with his trunk as tears streamed from his eyes. Obviously, the animals in Xu’s book were Confucianized as well as anthropomorphized. In the preface Xu wrote the moral lesson of the book: “All people will become good people, and the whole world will be filled with filial sons and loyal ministers” (Fawei, Wu you ruci 2011, 7).4 Xu aspired to advocate Confucian ethical concepts such as filial piety and righteousness, not kindness to animals. Xu’s concern was the human world; nowhere in the book did he discuss the proper treatment of animals. Interestingly, even though Xu’s book was neither about Buddhism nor animal protection, Buddhist magazine Husheng bao reprinted Xu’s book in 1935 to advocate the idea of protecting animals, believing that the book could help “transform cruelty to kindness and hostility to peace” (Husheng bao 1935, 1). Visual depictions of the idea of “protecting life” began taking form in 1928, when Buddhist cartoonist Feng Zikai published Husheng huaji in celebration of the 50th birthday of his teacher the monk Hongyi 弘 – (born Li Shutong 李叔同, 1880–1942, a practitioner of the Vinaya School).5 Feng saw protecting animals as instrumental in protecting one’s heart (huxin 護心), arguably an equivalent term for karma. Geremie Barmé comments on the social implications of the paintings, suggesting that Feng Zikai’s cartoons represented “a form of public moral cultivation and practice propagated by the educated caste, as well as being part of a larger effort to create a new society” (Barmé 2002, 184). In the first of 50 paintings, titled “All Living Beings” (zhongsheng 眾生), two pig-drovers and a team of pigs are walking quietly and peacefully in the same direction. The picture was accompanied by a poem written by Hongyi to convey the message that all sentient beings are equal and thus should be treated with compassion, and that “loving all creatures” (aiwu 愛物) means releasing living creatures and

4 For more information about Even Animals Can Act Morally, see Yau 2005, 203–204. 5 For more about Hongyi, see Birnbaum 2016.

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abstaining from killing and eating them. The picture and the poem advocate the idea that sentient beings should not eat other sentient beings. Feng’s contribution does not so much deepen the religious understanding as it does visualize the idea of not killing, thereby conveying husheng in a more intimate and sensitive way and to a much wider readership. Feng’s paintings became popular and were reprinted by several Buddhist printing houses (Feng 1929, 2–3). Feng’s works were soon followed by Buddhist Han Shizi’s publication of the magazine Husheng bao in 1932 and the founding of the CSPA in 1934, indicating that the idea of husheng had quickly snowballed into an animal protection movement that subsequently brought the intervention of the political authorities. However, without the participation of Buddhist laywoman Lü Bicheng, who was pivotal in the formation of the CSPA and the introduction of World Animal Day to China, the animal protection movement in 1930s China might have lost its cosmopolitan appeal. Born into a scholar-gentry family in Shanxi in 1883, Lü Bicheng became an activist for women’s education in the late Qing period. In 1921 Lü studied art and English at Columbia University in the United States. In 1927 she left the United States for Europe, where she stayed for seven years and became immersed in Buddhist studies and vegetarianism after encountering the writings of the monk Yinguang 印光 (1862–1940) in London.6 An advocate of the Pure Land School, Yinguang taught that military strife and people’s suffering in China were the karmic consequences of killing and eating animals.7 Living in Europe enabled Lü to explore a synthesis of Buddhist teachings and the Western trends of vegetarianism and animal protection. In late 1928 Lü became aware of the animal protection movement in Britain when she read a news report in the London Times about the Royal Society Against Animal Cruelty (Lü 1932, 116–120). In May 1929 Lü spoke at the International Congress of Societies for the Protection of Animals in Vienna. Dressed in an eye-catching peacock costume, she delivered a speech titled “There should be no slaughter,” in which she stated that as a representative of China’s peace-loving vegetarians, she opposed the slaughter of animals. She briefly explained the contributions of Buddhism, Confucianism, and imperial decrees to animal protection in China, and then she argued that non-killing was more effective than international treaties at achieving world peace (Lü 1932, 148–151).8 This pacifist rhetoric that linked non-killing and world peace was adopted by the CSPA in 1934.

6 Lü 1980, 222; Fong 2004, 44–45; Lai 2010, 87 and 107. 7 Wang 1925, 1; Schumann-Brandau 2016, 5. I am grateful to Matthias Schumann-Brandau for allowing me to cite his paper. For more about Yinguang, see Kiely 2015, 363–397. 8 The congress ended with recommendations to governments that regulations for the transport of cattle should be improved, export of horses from England to European countries,

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Lü started to spread the idea of establishing an animal protection organization in China in July 1929 after Secretary Margaret Ford of the British branch of the World League Against Vivisection and for the Protection of Animals (WLVPA) sought a donation from her and expressed the intention of setting up a branch of the organization in China (Lü 1929, 1–3).9 Lü was a great admirer of Westerners’ passion for protecting animals in China. She stated in an article that “the most shameless thing on earth is abusing the weak. The organizations in Europe and the United States engage themselves in helping them [animals]. Their spirit is as noble as that of the sages. I cannot help but express my respect and admiration” (Lü 1931, 431). Lü also supported the establishment of an organization in China to disseminate the idea of animal protection, but she insisted that Chinese affairs should be managed by the Chinese people. In an article published in late 1929, she warned that a Western animal welfare organization “seems to be planning to set up a branch in China. It is much better to take the matter into our own hands than letting outsiders do the job for us on our own soil” (Lü 1929, 1–3). These words show Lü’s ambivalence towards the West; her admiration for Western culture was tempered by strong Chinese nationalism. Despite her relatively brief immersion in Buddhist teaching, Lü Bicheng interestingly played a prominent part in injecting a modern element into the Buddhist idea of “protecting life” and in familiarizing the Buddhist community in China with the animal protection movement in the West. In the sections below, we will see how Lü’s writings contributed to the founding of the CSPA and the introduction of World Animal Day to China in the 1930s.

including France, Holland, and Belgium for slaughter should stop, and recreational fishing and hunting should be prohibited. Lü’s suggestions of vegetarianism and putting an end to slaughter were not mentioned. See “Animal Protection” 1929, 19. 9 The first anti-vivisection organization in the world was founded by Frances Power Cobbe in Britain in 1875, which was called National Anti-Vivisection Society. Other anti-vivisection organizations sprang up in other countries, and they organized themselves into the World League Against Vivisection and for the Protection of Animals in 1898. The first meeting was held in Paris in 1900, the second meeting in Frankfurt, Germany, the third in Helsinki, Finland, and the fourth in London, England. See Fourth triennal International Congress of the World League Against Vivisection and for the Protection of Animals 1910, 67.

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2 From Idea to Action: Formation of the China Society for the Protection of Animals Intrigued by Lü’s call for the formation of an animal welfare organization in China, the newly-founded Chinese Buddhist Association (Zhongguo fojiao hui 中 國佛教會) in Shanghai sent a letter citing her work to lay Buddhist Wang Yiting, a wealthy businessman and philanthropist, in December 1929, inviting him to serve as director of the preparatory committee for the animal protection organization.10 Other committee members were Buddhist monks Taixu 太虛 (1890–1947) and Renshan 仁山 (1887–1951) and Buddhist laymen Huang Hanzhi 黃涵之 (1875–1961) and Huang Maolin 黃茂林 (?–1933). In the letter to Wang, the Chinese Buddhist Association stated that in Britain, “after the British Parliament passed the animal protection bill proposed by Parliamentary member [Richard Martin], a world animal protection organization was set up and vegetarianism was implemented . . . Chinese Buddhists were the earliest to practice vegetarianism and animal protection, and these practices spread to the people of the whole country [of China]. Because of the lack of organization and propaganda techniques, people outside of China do not know this.”11 The letter highlights the common ground between the Buddhist and Western cultures, but it also exposes a misunderstanding of the history of the animal protection movement in the West. Richard Martin (1754–1834) helped establish the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (SPCA) in 1824 after he pushed an animal protection bill through Parliament in 1822. But neither the SPCA nor the organizations campaigning against vivisection advocated vegetarianism. Frances Power Cobble (1822–1904), a leading advocate of Britain’s anti-vivisection movement, even publicly criticized vegetarianism.12 By drawing a parallel between Chinese Buddhism and the animal protection movement in the West, the Chinese sangha – represented here by Lü and the Chinese Buddhist Association – showed that Chinese Buddhism, far from being insular or outdated, was a forward-thinking religion in tune with modern times. It is not known why the discussion about establishing an animal protection organization subsided for more than two years and was only picked up again in 10 The Chinese Buddhist Association was founded in Shanghai on 12 April 1929. The monk Yuanying 圓瑛 was elected president. See Welch 1968, 41. 11 See “Jiangzu baohu dongwu fenhui” 將組保護動物分會 1929; “Zhi Wang Yiting jushi deng qing danren shijie baohu dongwuhui Zhongguo fenhui choubeiyuan han” 致王一亭居士等請 擔任世界保護動物會中國分會籌備員函 1929. For a comprehensive account of Wang Yiting, see Katz 2014, 117–154. 12 See Harrison 1973, 788 and 792; Puskar-Pasewicz 2010, 35–36.

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May 1933, this time under the leadership of lay Buddhists rather than monks. Officially coming into existence in Shanghai on 25 February 1934, the CSPA declared that “it [was] not a religious organization,” but its close relationship with Buddhism was evident. The CSPA’s temporary office was in the World Buddhist Householder Grove (Shijie Fojiao jushilin 世界佛教居士林) in Shanghai (Shenbao, 19 May 1933, 11).13 Its leaders were a group of Buddhist activistscum-elite philanthropists, including Ye Gongchuo (chairman), Guan Jiongzhi 關絅之 (vice chairman, 1879–1942), Wang Yiting, Zhu Ziqiao 朱子橋, Huang Hanzhi, and Li Jingwei 李經緯. Prominent Buddhist monks such as Taixu, Yuanying 圓瑛 (1878–1953), and Yuanchen 遠塵 were members of the CSPA; Lü Bicheng donated three thousand yuan and became an honorary member. The CSPA discreetly advocated vegetarianism, stating that “it would be good if [the members] can be vegetarians, but they will not be forced [to practice vegetarianism]” (Zhongguo baohu dongwuhui zhengqiu huiyuan dahui tekan 中國保護動 物會徵求會員大會特刊, 18). Apart from the Western cultural influence introduced by Lü, the CSPA should also be viewed as a continuation of Buddhist activists’ collaboration regarding controversy over the fish releasing pool (fangshengci 放生池) in West Lake, Hangzhou, that had dragged on since 1927. Some CSPA leaders – such as Wang Yiting, Guan Jiongzhi, and Huang Hanzhi – were active in this controversy, which began with the Hangzhou government’s announcement in 1927 that for the sake of improving the water quality of West Lake, all the fish in the lake would be sold and the proceeds would be diverted to the government. This announcement provoked an outcry among Buddhists who had been releasing captive fish at West Lake for years. A group of Buddhist activists, some of them followers of the monk Yinguang, collaborated to fight for the preservation of West Lake as a venue for the release of living creatures. The controversy ended in 1933 when the Hangzhou government agreed to preserve part of the lake for the purpose of releasing animals.14 So it was not a coincidence that the idea of founding an animal protection organization was rekindled in 1933: the CSPA was the Buddhist activists’ continuing (but modified) platform for protecting life after the end of the West Lake controversy. In any case, Lü Bicheng’s rhetoric enabled the CSPA to package the protection of life as a modernist project. The animal protection movement in Republican China, which crystallized with the founding of the CSPA in 1934, demonstrated an interplay of

13 The World Buddhist Householder Grove was founded in 1922. For more about this organization, see Jessup 2016, 37–78. 14 For details of the controversy, see Chen Minghua 陳明華 2010, 46–57.

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various forces at work. Modern printing technology in Shanghai and the new cartoon genre adopted by lay Buddhist Feng Zikai produced the influential Husheng huaji. Buddhist monk Yinguang, who linked eating meat and killing animals to China’s military conflicts among warlords, inspired Buddhist laymen such as Lü Bicheng in London and Wang Yiting in Shanghai. As a result, these lay Buddhist activists, becoming well-informed about the animal protection movement in the West and seeing Buddhist teachings as an antidote to the conflict-ridden Chinese and global societies, made painstaking efforts to demonstrate the forward-looking dimensions of Buddhism by linking the practices of non-killing and releasing living creatures to human well-being. The CSPA’s approach to animal protection was significantly different from that of the Shanghai Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (SSPCA) founded by Westerners in 1898. The SSPCA was premised on the idea that because animals are sentient beings, they should be killed in humane ways – not that their lives should be spared. For example, the SSPCA created graphic flyers to educate the Chinese people on the proper way to handle live poultry; it also called on the Shanghai Municipal Council to pay attention to the inhumane treatment live pigs suffered on the journey to the slaughterhouse, such as having their bristles yanked out (“The SSPCA” 1937, 184; Shanghai Municipal Archives, file number: U1-161658).15 Accepting the idea that pigs and poultry were food and that killing them for their meat was not immoral, the SSPCA emphasized that animals should not be abused before being slaughtered. Despite this disagreement, the SSPCA and the CSPA saw each other as partners. In October 1934 the SSPCA acknowledged that “[o]wing to the excellent work which is being done by the newly formed Chinese Society for the Protection of Animals, it was decided to discontinue any further educational work in the Chinese language, leaving this field to the Chinese society but giving Chinese society the fullest cooperation” (“Chinese Observe Animal Day” 1934).

3 Buddhification of World Animal Day in China Although a secular organization, the CSPA eagerly translated the Buddhist concept of “protecting life” into action, building shelters for wild dogs and

15 For more about the relationship between the CSPA and SSPCA, see Poon Shuk-wah 潘淑華 2015, 414–415.

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advocating vegetarianism. Its annual highlight was the observance of World Animal Day on October 4, the date that St. Francis of Assisi died. Determined to preach the gospel to all living creatures, St. Francis of Assisi gave sermons to fish and birds, which he saw as his brothers and sisters. However, it is important to note that he did not refuse to eat meat. Francis was canonized in 1228, two years after his death (Sorrell 1988, 6, 78, 140–142). Roger D. Sorrell reminds us that “there is no doubt Francis appreciated the individual things of creation in their own right . . . the motivation behind them stems from a mind that is, even though original, profoundly medieval” (Sorrell 1988, 139). Nonetheless, the image of St. Francis as the patron saint of animals became a useful resource to promote the modern cause of animal protection. In 1928 the British branch of the WLVPA designated October 4 World Animal Day (“The Voice of the Voiceless” 1934, 2). Interestingly, the new holiday did not elicit much interest in the West, but it did in China. Thanks to the CSPA’s reinterpretation of the origin and significance of the festival in the West, the Nationalist government issued an official prohibition against slaughtering cattle on October 4 at the request of the CSPA. Lü Bicheng brought World Animal Day to the attention of the Chinese Buddhists. In May 1931 Lü published an article in the Buddhist magazine Haichao yin, titled “World Animal Day,” in which she offered two views on the origin of the day. One view is that it commemorated the 100th anniversary of the death of Richard Martin, the parliamentarian responsible for Britain’s first animal protection law in 1822; the other view is that it was instituted to commemorate the death of St. Francis of Assisi. Lü explained Martin’s contribution to improving the well-being of animals but failed to point out that because Richard Martin died in 1834, the first World Animal Day did not fall on the 100th anniversary of his passing. In terms of the relationship between World Animal Day and St. Francis of Assisi, Lü simply stated that she would leave this out of her article, which indicated either a lack of interest in or ignorance of St. Francis of Assisi (Lü 1931, 57–74). Therefore, we can postulate that Lü’s knowledge of World Animal Day was limited. Her omission of St. Francis of Assisi would not be surprising if the article did not attempt to trace or verify the origin of World Animal Day, but to show her fellow Chinese Buddhists the long history of animal protection in the West, which was initiated by Richard Martin. She commented that “in all civilized countries, animal protection organizations are springing up,” and that these animal protectionists “aspire to put an end to all slaughtering [of animals].” Hence, we can see that Lü conflated (probably deliberately) the animal protection movement in the West and the Buddhist prohibition of slaughtering and eating animals. Mainstream animal protection organizations in the West hoped

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to stop cruelty to animals, but they did not see meat consumption as a problem to be eradicated. Lü’s intended association of animal protection with vegetarianism was strengthened by ten cartoons from Feng Zikai’s Husheng huaji that the editor of Haichao yin used to illustrate Lü’s article (Lü 1931, 57–74). The Buddhist and Western concepts of animal protection were thus merged, or at least the Western notion of animal protection was interpreted in a way that added support to the traditional Buddhist prohibition on killing. In September 1934 the Shanghai municipal government accepted the CSPA’s request to ban slaughtering on World Animal Day in the Chinese city of Shanghai (“Baohu Dongwuhui kaihui ji” 保護動物會開會紀 1934, 4:15; “Zhongguo Baohu Dongwuhui jinxun” 中國保護動物會近訊 1934, 3:11). In September 1935 the CSPA’s chairman, Ye Gongchuo, proposed the observation of World Animal Day to the Executive Yuan of the Nationalist government in Nanjing, explaining that it was a practice that “has been held incessantly for a hundred years in Europe.” He earnestly requested that the central government prohibit slaughtering animals on that day so that people could become familiar with the idea of protecting animals. The government accepted this request (“Dongwu jie” 動物節 1935, 1:2). Built on Lü Bicheng’s reinterpretation of World Animal Day, the CSPA infused World Animal Day with the Buddhist practices of nonkilling and vegetarianism, claiming that “all civilized countries . . . prohibit cruelty to animals and promote vegetarianism to reduce the slaughter of animals. This is to uphold the principles of benevolence and justice” (“Shijie Dongwu jie jinri jintu” 世界動物節今日禁屠 1936, 2:3). As a result, for three years beginning in 1935, the killing of cattle was prohibited on October 4 in China’s major cities, including Shanghai and Nanjing. The Nationalist government’s support for animal welfare and World Animal Day can only be explained by its aspiration to be identified as a modern regime whose governance lived up to modern standards of civilization. The banning of animal slaughter (jintu 禁屠) on a certain day or period had been a longstanding ritual practice in imperial China not confined to Buddhism. Abstinence from killing animals and consuming meat could be viewed as an expression of grief due to the fact that the ban accompanied the mourning period that followed the passing of the emperor. The state would also enforce the ban as an integral part of the rain-praying ritual to demonstrate collective sincerity. During the Sui Dynasty (581–618), if a drought followed the autumnal equinox, officials would perform a prayer sacrifice with wine and dried meat as offerings. If there was still no rain twenty days after the prayer sacrifice, the officials would close the market and ban butchering (Suishu 隋書, vol. 1, juan 7, p. 128). In the Tang Dynasty (618–907), the market would be closed, butchering banned, and clay dragons created if there was no rain ten days after the first prayer (Jiu

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Tangshu 舊唐書, vol. 3, juan 24, p. 912). In other words, bans on butchering were imposed when the initial rain-praying ceremony proved ineffective. Under the influence of Buddhism, the prohibition of slaughtering animals was routinized during the Tang Dynasty. Tang emperor Gaozu 高宗 (r. 618–626) banned butchering during the first, fifth, and ninth lunar months, and on ten selected days (1st, 8th, 14th, 15th, 18th, 23rd, 24th, 28th, 29th, and 30th) in the remaining nine months. In other words, the slaughter of animals was forbidden for over 100 days each year during the Tang Dynasty (Liu 2008, 75–114). In the Qing dynasty (1644–1912), to mourn the death of the emperor, butchering in the capital city of Beijing was banned for forty-nine days (Rawski 1988, 240). The CSPA’s proposal to ban animal slaughtering once a year understandably did not bring much tangible improvement to the well-being of animals. But to the Buddhists, the ban could at least serve as an annual reminder of the importance of extending compassion and kindness to all sentient beings. While the municipal government of Shanghai and the Nationalist government in Nanjing agreed to the request, the International Settlement and the French Concession of Shanghai were lukewarm to the proposal. The Commissioner of Public Health of the International Settlement was supportive of the idea of protecting animals from mistreatment, but he did not see how suspending the slaughter of animals for one day a year would actually benefit animals. He wrote in an internal government document that “it would be a better move to deliver certain lectures on the kind treatment of animals before slaughter and on the methods of humane slaughtering and I would do my best to make such arrangements as were possible to facilitate such meetings.” The Municipal Council of the International Settlement replied that “the Council does not feel itself empowered to issue orders for the cessation of all slaughtering on October 4” (Shanghai Municipal Archives, file number: U1-16-1659). In contrast, the French Concession responded in a tone of polite sarcasm that all butchers would comply with the instruction of suspending butchering on World Animal Day, but they would kill more animals before October 4 to ensure a two-day supply of meat (Shanghai Municipal Archives, file number: U38-1-2359). An article in the North China Herald ridiculed the CSPA’s approach to protecting animals: If cattle have to be slaughtered for human needs, postponement for twenty-four hours can have little relation to the amelioration of the condition of animals if the inevitable is to happen . . . If there is any real and genuine desire to improve the lives of animals, the authorities might more profitably apply themselves to investigating the condition of the thin, starved ponies which pull Chinese carriages about the streets of Shanghai and look as if they are liable to drop dead at any minute. They might also investigate the system of dog stealing which takes place daily and results in captives being kept in terrible conditions in the Native City. (“Animal Day” 1934, 45)

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These comments did not do justice to the CSPA, which not only strove to stop the killing of animals on World Animal Day, but also made efforts to improve the well-being of animals year-round by advocating vegetarianism and protecting certain species of animals from being killed for their meat.

4 Inequality Among Sentient Beings: Prioritizing Animals for Protection Buddhism preaches that because all sentient beings are equal, no animals should be killed for food. But most likely out of a pragmatic consideration that it would be difficult to end the slaughter of all kinds of animals, the CSPA tacitly classified animals into two categories. Cattle, pigs, and poultry were categorized as edible, except on World Animal Day; other species – including wild birds, cats, dogs, and oxen – were categorized as inedible and not to be eaten at any time. In October 1934 the CSPA wrote to the Shanghai municipal government to complain that residents shot tens of thousands of wild birds living in reed marshes in Shajiabin 沙家濱 (80 km northwest of Shanghai) every day and sold them for food. The CSPA called on the municipal government to prohibit the mass killing of wild birds, explaining that by doing so, residents could avoid “being exposed to the wailing of birds and become less avaricious and cruel” (“Baohu Dongwuhui qingjin yumin rulu buque” 1934, 4:13). In April 1936, after receiving a report from a local charity group, the CSPA wrote to the county government of Fuding 福鼎 in northeastern Fujian, requesting that the killing of cats and dogs for their meat be prohibited because “cats and dogs are useful for human beings, and are not food . . . killing them [has] tremendous effects on [the] human mind (renxin 人心)” (“Ye Gongchuo qing jin ziyi pengshi maoquan” 葉恭綽請禁恣意烹食貓犬 1936, 3:11). The justification that the CSPA used was similar to Feng Zikai’s idea that protecting animals was a means of protecting the human heart. But little was said about the actual misery of animals that were being killed. Oxen attracted the most attention in the animal protection movement. Starting in the 1910s, an increasing number of oxen were being slaughtered for their meat, which was then shipped abroad – mainly to Japan – to satisfy Japanese people’s growing appetite for beef. Although eating beef was not strictly prohibited in China and Japan before the nineteenth century, killing oxen for meat was strongly discouraged by government officials and by social norms on the grounds of protecting agriculture. Vincent Goosseart argued that “beef taboo” was a social marker in imperial China that differentiated the Chinese from outsiders and

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respectable people from “those not well integrated in local society” (Goossaert 2005, 245). In the Meiji period in Japan (1868–1912), beef eating took on a new meaning: the Japanese people attributed the rise of the West to the Western diet of beef and cow’s milk. Eating beef therefore became a cultural marker of modernity and civilization (Cwiertka 2006, 24–34). The craze for beef, although in a less conspicuous manner, also developed in urban China. Killing oxen in China in the 1920s and 1930s became a complex ethical, economic, and political concern. Japan’s increasing demand for beef from China created both economic problems and a new source of revenue. To ease the tensions between eating beef and protecting oxen, the term “beef cattle” (cainiu 菜 牛) was adopted to distinguish edible cattle from inedible “farm oxen” (gengniu 耕 牛). “Beef cattle” referred to oxen too old or too weak to serve an agricultural purpose. In 1931 the Nationalist government banned the slaughter of oxen (“Jinzai gengniu” 禁宰耕牛 1931). Nevertheless, the distinction between “beef cattle” and “farm oxen” was the subject of endless debate. The national and local governments were accused of attempting to increase revenue by allowing farm oxen to be slaughtered as beef cattle, as high taxes were levied on beef cattle. Protecting oxen was a frequent topic in Buddhist publications in the 1920s and 1930s, such as Feng Zikai’s Husheng huaji and Han Shizi’s Husheng bao. In the painting “Begging for Life” (qiming 乞命) in Husheng huaji, an ox on its knees wails helplessly as a fierce-looking butcher wields a knife (Figure 1). In another painting, “Farmer and Milkmaid” (農夫與乳母), an ox and a cow are portrayed as people’s close companions, helping toil the land and giving their milk (Figure 2) (Feng 1929, 35–37). The Buddhist magazine Husheng bao also helped spread the principles of vegetarianism and animal protection, with the protection of oxen as one of its major foci. The magazine espoused the protection of oxen not only by repeating the old narrative that oxen were beneficial to humans and that killing oxen would bring retribution (or bad karma), but also by giving a vivid written illustration of the cruelty inflicted in slaughterhouses. Editor Han Shizi wrote two articles in 1932 and 1936 decribing what he witnessed on a secret visit to a slaughterhouse in Shanghai. In the first article, “A visit to a slaughterhouse,” he wrote that the oxen, well aware of what was happening to them and with tears in their eyes, refused to enter the slaughterhouse. “The sadness on their faces was something I have never seen in my life,” he wrote.16 In the second article, Han Shizi refuted the idea that the oxen,

16 Han Shizi, “Tuchang canguan ji 屠場參觀記”. It was a long article that was not published in Husheng bao. Readers could get a copy by mailing a request to Husheng bao. See Han 1936, 5.

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Figure 1: Feng Zikai’s “Begging for Life”.

Figure 2: Feng Zikai’s “Farmer and Milkmaid”.

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after being shot in the head, would not feel pain. He believed that the oxen only fainted, but could still feel pain identical to “death by a thousand cuts” (lingchi 凌遲) (Han 1936, 5). Like many Buddhists, Han Shizi argued that the term “beef cattle” was nonsensical, as all oxen were used for farming and therefore should not be eaten. Killing an ox that was too old to farm was ethically unacceptable. He lamented that killing oxen would also do harm to farmers, but, sadly, due to the agricultural crisis, farmers had no other alternative but “to sell their oxen to [make] a living. When the spring comes, and they have no oxen to help them, there would be nothing to harvest. This is a suicide.” He appealed to kind-hearted people to build “oxen shelters” where oxen rescued from slaughterhouses could live and farmers could rent them for farming (“Bo cainie ke zai wuhai nongshi de xieshuo” 駁菜牛可宰無害農事的邪說 1931, 53-54; Han Shizi 1935a, 6; Han Shizi 1935b, 7). No sources indicate that Han Shizi’s proposal came to fruition. It is not known whether the CSPA responded to Han Shizi’s proposal of setting up oxen shelters, but it did share his objection to the term “beef cattle.” In 1936 the CSPA wrote to the Nationalist government, stating that all the “beef cattle” were “farm oxen” and requesting that the government abandon the term “beef cattle.” The letter described the cruelty inflicted on oxen in the process of being turned into “beef cattle” (i.e., made unfit for farming): “The butcher sticks iron needles into oxen’s legs to make them lame, and then claims that the oxen are beef cattle.” The CSPA commented that if farm oxen became edible after being termed “beef cattle,” according to the same logic, a human being would become edible upon being called a “meat person (cairen 菜人)” (Archives of Institute of Modern History, Academia Sinica, file no.: 17-27-196-04). The CSPA’s efforts to protect animals won the admiration of many Buddhists, many of whom wrote supportive articles to Buddhist publications. However, nonBuddhists did not share those sentiments for various reasons. First, the CSPA’s approach to animal protection was considered ineffective. An article in the North China Herald contended that offering tangible support to improve the conditions of puppies and ponies who lived miserable lives in Shanghai was more useful than the slaughtering ban on World Animal Day. Second, some people believed that the well-being of humankind deserved more consideration than that of nonhuman animals. A critic named Fengxi 鳳兮 wrote: “Gentlemen of animal protection, please spend the money meant for protecting animals on helping people instead. Even if things have been done once or twice to help people, there are still plenty of poor people. Factories, relief centers . . . there is a lot that needs to be done” (Fengxi 1934, 25). Third, compassion was regarded as equivalent to weakness. Fengxi pointed out that the CSPA’s attempt to attain pacifism through

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advocacy of non-killing merely exposed the weakness and cowardice of the Chinese people: “the reason why CSPA is more enthusiastic than other European countries in protecting animals is because we are too weak to resist those who are strong. As a result, we can only advocate compassion as a means to save the country . . . I dare to say that this will lead us nowhere” (Fengxi 1934, 25). Probably to fend off accusations of being more compassionate to animals than to human beings, Feng Zikai, one of the protagonists of the animal protection movement, distinguished “small matter” (xiaojie 小節) from “major matter” (dati 大體) in an article in 1938, stating that “what we care about are not the animals, insects, or fish (small matters), but our own heart (major matter). In other words, protecting animals, insects and fish is the means, and advocating compassion and peace in the human world is the end” (Feng 1992, 656). Animals were treated merely as a means to attain pacifism rather than as precious lives in their own right, which means that to the Buddhists, ending animal suffering was a step to ending human suffering. The ideal of extending compassion to all sentient beings, overshadowed by anthropocentrism, remained largely unaccomplished.

Conclusion This chapter explicates the expression of Buddhist activism in the form of the animal protection movement in Republican China. It argues that Buddhists’ concern for animals’ well-being was not merely a continuing manifestation of the age-old Buddhist morality of “protecting life” through which to improve one’s karma. Rather, it embodied the Buddhist circle’s reformist agenda of projecting a modern and progressive image of Chinese Buddhism in response to the campaigns against religion and “superstition” that had been gaining momentum since the late Qing period. The Buddhist ideas of non-killing and vegetarianism thus took on new meanings and were disseminated in new forms in Republican China. Jan Kiely and J. Brooks Jessup have also pointed out that Buddhism displayed a high degree of “civic activism” in Republican China in the form of education, social welfare, charity, and Buddhist publication projects (Kiely and Jessup 2016, 8–9). Timothy Brook argues that the gentry elites’ engagement in Buddhist activities during the Ming Dynasty was motivated by personal inner cultivation as well as by a desire to position themselves as “legitimate representatives of the public interests of local society” (Brook 1993, 319). What understanding can we gain by comparing Buddhist activism in Republican China to the gentry activism of the Buddhist community in the Ming Dynasty?

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The socio-political and religious landscape of Republican China, without doubt, was vastly different from that of the Ming Dynasty. After incessant attacks on religion and “superstition,” Buddhism in 1930s China had become as much a resource as a liability. This chapter shows that despite its limited success in improving the well-being of animals, Buddhist animal activism in Republican China changed the conventional image of Buddhism as insular and inward-looking. It also transcended local interests and revealed a national and transnational dimension. Both monastic and lay Buddhists made vigorous efforts to demonstrate a strong sense of social engagement and responsiveness to modernity and nationalist and internationalist commitments in an effort to help nurture a more engaged form of Buddhism. By turning the age-old Buddhist idea of “non-killing” into a modern animal protection movement with a cosmopolitan sense, and by claiming that the Buddhist traditions of animal protection could bring morality to a conflict-ridden human society, the Buddhist activists refashioned Buddhism as a modern religion and projected themselves as representing not only the interests of their community, but also those of the nation and of all humanity.

Bibliography Primary Sources “Animal Day.” North China Herald, 10 Oct. 1934, 45. “Animal Protection.” The Times, 22 May 1929, 19. “Baohu Dongwuhui qingjin yumin rulu buque 保護動物會請禁愚民入蘆捕雀.” Shenbao, Oct. 21, 1934, 4: 13. “Baohu Dongwuhui kaihui ji 保護動物會開會紀.” Shenbao, 18 Sept. 1934, 4:15. “Bo cainiu ke zai wuhai nongshi de xieshuo 駁菜牛可宰無害農事的邪說.” Pinjia yin 頻伽音, 1931, no. 3: 53–54. “Chinese Observe Animal Day.” Shanghai Times, 5 Oct. 1934. “Dongwu jie 動物節.” Zhongyang ribao, 23 Sept. 1935, 1:2. Fawei, Wu you ruci 法味, 物猶如此 [2011. Hong Kong: Xianggang fotuo jianyu xiehui]. Fayuan zhulin 法苑珠林. In Qisha Dazangjing 磧砂大藏經, vol. 104 [2005. Beijing: Xianzhuang shuju]. Feng Zikai 豐子愷 1929. Husheng huaji 護生畫集 Shanghai: Kaiming shudian. Fengxi 鳳兮. 1934. “Dongwujie 動物節.” Nüsheng 女聲 3, no. 1: 25. Fourth triennial International Congress of the World League Against Vivisection and for the Protection of Animals: Held at Coxton Hall, Westminster, London, from July 19th to 24th, 1909 [1910. London: J. Tamblyn] Han Shizi 寒世子. 1935a. “Puqing gedi renren changban jiuniuju zhi wojian” 普請各地仁人倡 辦救牛局之我見. Husheng bao 76: 6.

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Han Shizi 寒世子. 1935b. “Wei gengniu zuo tongxin yu” 為耕牛作痛心語. Husheng bao 85: 7. Han Shizi 寒世子. 1936. “Wei Shanghai tuchang tuzai genniu zhi bianzheng” 為上海屠場屠宰 耕牛之辨正. Husheng bao 95: 5. “Jiangzu baohu dongwu fenhui” 將組保護動物分會. Shenbao, 9 Dec. 1929. “Jinzai gengniu” 禁宰耕牛. Shoudu shizheng gongbao 首都市政公報, vol. 75, 1931. Jiu Tangshu 舊唐書 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1975). Lü Bicheng 呂碧城. 1980. “Lianbang zhi lu” 蓮邦之路. In Jindai zhonghua funü zixu shiwen xuan 近代中華婦女自敘詩文選, edited by Li Youning 李又寧, 222–223. Taibei: Lianjing chuban shiye youxian gongsi. Lü Bicheng 呂碧城. 1931. “Jinri wei shijie baohu dongwujie Baoshou hui yu zai Zhongguo sheli fenhui” 今日為世界保護動物節保獸會欲在中國設立分會. Zhengjue 正覺 8–9: 431. Lü Bicheng 呂碧城. 1931. “Shijie Dongwu jie” 世界動物節. Haichao yin 海潮音 12, no. 4: 57–74. Lü Bicheng 呂碧城. 1929. “Dongwujie zhi fuyin” 動物界之福音. Haichao yin 海潮音 10, no. 12: 1–3. Lü Bicheng 呂碧城. 1932. Oumei zhiguang 歐美之光 . Shanghai: Foxue shuju. “Shijie Dongwu jie jinri jintu” 世界動物節今日禁屠. Zhongyang ribao, 4 Oct. 1936, 2:3. Suishu 隋書 [1973. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju] “The SSPCA,” North China Herald, 3 Feb. 1937, 184. “The Voice of the Voiceless,” Northern Times, 5 Sept. 1934, 2. Wang Yiting. 1925. “Jiangzhe zhanhou zhi Yinguang fashi fayu” 江浙戰後之印光法師法語. Shijie fojiao jushilin linkan 世界佛教居士林林刊 8: 1. “Xin chuban: Wu you ruci” 新出版: 物猶如此. Husheng bao, 1 July 1935, 76: 1. “Ye Gongchuo qing jin ziyi pengshi maoquan” 葉恭綽請禁恣意烹食貓犬. Shenbao, 20 April 1936, 3:11. “Zhi Wang Yiting jushi deng qing danren shijie baohu dongwuhui Zhongguo fenhui choubeiyuan han” 致王一亭居士等請擔任世界保護動物會中國分會籌備員函. Zhongguo fojiaohui yuekan 中國佛教會月刊 5–6, December 1929, Correspondence, 7. “Zhongguo Baohu Dongwuhui jinxun” 中國保護動物會近訊. Shenbao, 3 Oct. 1934, 3:11. Zhongguo baohu dongwuhui zhengqiu huiyuan dahui tekan 中國保護動物會徵求會員大會特刊. “Zhu Ziqiao deng faqi Zhongguo baohu dongwuhui” 朱子橋等發起中國保護動物會. Shenbao, 19 May 1933, 11.

Archival Materials Archives of Institute of Modern History, Academia Sinica, file number: 17-27-196-04, “Zhongguo baohu dongwuhui yanqie zhizhi sizai gengniu” 中國保護動物會嚴切制止私宰 耕牛. Shanghai Municipal Archives, file number: U1-16-1658, “Shanghai zujie gongbuju weishengchu banfa aihu dongwu biaoyu shixiang wenjian” 上海租界工部局衛生處頒發愛 護動物標語事項文件. Shanghai Municipal Archives, file number: U1-16-1659, “Shanghai zujie gongbuju weishengchu zhiding dongwu ri shiyi wenjian” 上海租界工部局衛生處制訂動物日事宜文件. Shanghai Municipal Archives, file number: U38-1-2359, “Shanghai dongwubaohu weiyuanhui guanyu dongwujie, dongwu zaisha wenti gei Shanghai fazujie gongdongju de xinjian” 上海動物保護委員會關於動物節動物宰殺問題給上海法租界公董局的信件.

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Secondary Sources Barmé, Geremie. 2002. An Artistic Exile: A Life of Feng Zikai 1898–1975. Berkeley: University of California Press. Birnbaum, Raoul. 2017. “Two Turns in the Life of Master Hongyi, a Buddhist Monk in Twentieth-Century China.” In The Making of Saints in Modern China, edited by David Ownby, Vincent Goossaert, and Ji Zhe, 161–208. New York: Oxford University Press. Brook, Timothy. 1993. Praying for Power: Buddhism and the Formation of Gentry Society in Late Ming China. Cambridge: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University. Chen Minghua 陳明華. 2010. “Shishen men de Xihu fangsheng meng, 1927–1933 nian guanyu Xihu fangshenchi de zhengduan” 士紳們的西湖放生夢, 1927–1933 年關於西湖放生池的 爭端. Kaifang Shidai 開放時代 4: 46–57. Cwiertka, Katarzyna J. 2006. Modern Japanese Cuisine: Food, Power and National Identity. London: Reaktion. Eichman, Jennifer. 2016. A Late Sixteenth-Century Chinese Buddhist Fellowship: Spiritual Ambitions, Intellectual Debates, and Epistolary Connections. Leiden: Brill. Feng Chenbao 豐陳寶 and Feng Yiyin 豐一吟, eds. 1992. Feng Zikai quanpian 豐子愷全篇. Hangzhou: Zhejiang wenyi chubanshe. Fong, Grace S. 2004. “Alternative Modernities, or a Classical Woman of Modern China: The Challenging Trajectory of Lü Bicheng’s (1883–1943) Life And Song Lyrics.” Nan Nü: Men, Women, and Gender in China 6, no.1: 12–59. Goossaert, Vincent. 2005. “The Beef Taboo and the Sacrificial Structure of Late Imperial Chinese Society.” In Of Tripod and Palate: Food, Politics, and Religion in Traditional China, edited by Roel Sterckx, 237–248. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Harrison, Brian. 1973. “Animals and the State in Nineteenth-Century England.” The English Historical Review 88, no. 349: 786–820. Katz, Paul (康豹) and Vincent Goossaert (高萬桑) eds. 2015. Gaibian Zhongguo zongjiao de wushinian, 1898–1948 改變中國宗教的五十年, 1898–1948. Taipei: Institute of Modern History, Academia Sinica. Katz, Paul. 2014. Religion in China and its Modern Fate. Waltham: Brandeis University Press. Kiely, Jan and J. Brooks Jessup, eds. 2016. Recovering Buddhism in Modern China. New York: Columbia University Press. Kiely, Jan. 2015. “Zai Jingying dizi yu nianfo dazhong zhijian: Minguo shiqi Yinguang fashi jingtu yundong de shehui jinzhang” 在菁英弟子與念佛大眾之間 — 民國時期印光法師淨 土運動的社會緊張. In Gaibian Zhongguo zongjiao de wushinian 1898–1948 改變中國宗教 的五十年 1898–1948, edited by Paul Katz and Vincent Goossaert, 363–397. Taipei: Academia Sinica. Kieschnick, John. 2005. “Buddhist Vegetarianism in China.” In Of Tripod and Palate: Food, Politics, and Religion in Traditional China, edited by Roel Sterckx, 186–212. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Lai Shu-ching 賴淑卿. 2010. “呂碧城對西方保護動物運動的傳介 — 以《歐美之光》為中心的 探討.” Academia Historical Journal 23: 79–118. Liu Shu-fen 劉淑芬. 2008. Zhonggu de fojiao yu shehui 中古的佛教與社會. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe. MacGregor, F. 1939. “The Early Years of the S.S.P.C.A, 1898–1907.” The Blue Cross 3, no.3: 87–93.

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Poon Shuk-wah 潘淑華. 2015. “Husheng yu jintu: 1930 niandai Shanghai de dongwu baohu yu fojiao yundong” 「護生」與「禁屠」: 1930 年代上海的動物保護與佛教運動. In Gaibian Zhongguo zongjiao de wushinian 1898–1948 改變中國宗教的五十年 1898–1948, edited by Paul Katz and Vincent Goossaert, 309–426. Taipei: Academia Sinica. Pu, Chengzhong. 2014. Ethical Treatment of Animals in Early Chinese Buddhism: Beliefs and Practices. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Puskar-Pasewicz, Margaret, ed. 2010. Cultural Encyclopaedia of Vegetarianism. Santa Barbara: Greenwood. Rawski, Evelyn S. 1988. “The Imperial Way of Death: Ming and Ch’ing Emperors and Death Ritual.” In Death Ritual in Late Imperial and Modern China, edited by James L. Watson and Evelyn S. Rawski, 228–253. Berkeley: University of California Press. Schumann-Brandau, Matthias. 2016. “For the Sake of Morality and Civilization’: Buddhist Activism and the Emerging Animal Protection Movement in Republican China.” Unpublished conference paper at: Protecting the Weak – Concepts and East Asian Evidence, 7–8 Oct 2016, Lingnan University, Hong Kong. Sorrell, Roger D. 1988. St. Francis of Assisi and Nature: Tradition and Innovation in Western Christian Attitudes towards the Environment. New York: Oxford University Press. Welch, Holmes. 1968. The Buddhist Revival in China. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Wright, Arthur. 1959. Buddhism in Chinese History. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Yau Chi-on 游子安. 2005. Shan yu ren tong: Ming-Qing yilai de cishan yu jiaohua 善與人同： 明清以來的慈善與教化. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju.

Francesca Tarocco

Charismatic Communications: The Intimate Publics of Chinese Buddhism Introduction A Buddhist temple in Zhejiang province, East China, 22 April 2017: “Is there Buddha in your mobile phone (shoujishang youmeiyou fo 手機有沒有佛)?” asks abbot Zhanran to his followers. “Yes” – they enthusiastically reply. Surrounded by professional video cameras, the monk is addressing a large congregation from his lavishly decorated rostrum. His voice is deep, a rich baritone. “Thousands of disciples are watching our dharma lecture. Thousands more than last time when we already had more than 400.000 viewers – we are on Facebook Live!” Deying, a nun who recently returned to China after studying in Britain, smiles excitedly as she logs in to the Temple’s public WiFi and Facebook page. She delights in her master’s screen presence as she sits only a few meters away from him. Zhanran presides over three monasteries and a steadily growing community of dedicated clerics and lay practitioners. Over the years, he built a thriving media production house devoted to the propagation of Buddhism through video and live broadcasts. It is thanks to these screen-based media that he sustains and reinforces his relationship with his followers, in particular, by intensifying their enchantment with the charisma of a Master (shifu 師傅) whose numinous power is defined as being gained through ascetic and ritual practices. Similarly to other religious communities of the digital age, Buddhist practitioners approach pious self-making through their everyday reliance on digital media technologies including the multi-purpose social media, messaging and payment app WeChat 微信 and the matrix barcode QR code. Buddhist encounters with digital religion are far from being extraordinary. Rather, they constitute an intrinsic part of their social and devout lives. In the following pages, I will give attention to the weaving of abbot Zhanran’s religious charisma through the lives of his followers. While I write through the details of some of his performances, this chapter is ultimately about the ways in which new and digital media enable religious charisma’s Note: I want to gratefully acknowledge the help of several practitioners and offer my special thanks to Nunzia Carbone, Anna Greenspan, Paul Katz, Stefania Travagnin, Angela Zito, and an anonymous reviewer. I have changed all the names of my informants and of some locations. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110547849-006

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extension in the everyday sphere of practitioners’ pious self-making. I attend to the basic premise that, in the current era of hypermediation and widespread growth of the World Wide Web, WiFi, blogs and virtual communities, these media must be looked at as reinforcing social networks. Stemming from a longer history of technological mediation, the emergence of Buddhist-inspired mass media in the twentieth century – for instance radio in 1930s Shanghai – has furthered the possibilities of intimate involvement with venerated Buddhist clerics (Tarocco 2011; 2017). Religion – notes Angela Zito – like the media and mediation of all sorts, “functions best when no one notices it, when people appropriate it as an always-already present aspect of social life” (2008, 728). In contrast to a belief that religious networks would be easily abandoned in the electronic age, Buddhist social networks may be more widespread and persistent now than at any point in modern history. In this sense, this chapter responds to Jeremy Stolow’s call in his Deus in Machina to profoundly rethink the very postulation that religion and technology “exist as two ontologically distinct arenas of experience, knowledge and action” (2013, 6).

1 Methodology Forty years ago, Walter Ong argued that different media afford different religiosities. While religion became embedded in human sociality and social networks in an era of orality, it successively took shape within visual forms of communication and transmission including writing and printing (1967). Crucially, as Roberta Magnusson and others have clearly shown, both in pre-modern Europe and in China, religious institutions were initially in the forefront of innovation in a number of technologies, including woodblock printing, hydraulic technologies and the building industries. One need only to think of cathedrals in the European High and Late Middle Ages and temples in China from the Tang to the Yuan periods (Barrett 2008; Kieschnick 2003; Magnusson 2001). Today, they are at the forefront of innovation around electronic and digital media (Grieve 2013). Since the “turn to religion” in the 1990s (de Vries 1999), critical social theorists have debated the nature and place of religion in modernity and examined religious cultures in light of what was once called the “secularization thesis”. A key assumption here is that the “mere expansion of modern communication technologies is somehow commensurate with a dissolution of religious authority and a fragmentation of its markers of affiliations and identity” (Stolow 2005, 122). This view has ben strongly refuted in studies of contemporary Buddhist, Christian and other communities in Africa, Asia, the United States and elsewhere. Religious practitioners reject in practice dichotomies such as religion/media and

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technology/charisma (Zito 2007; Clart 2015; Grieve and Veidlinger 2015; Campbell 2013; Stolow 2005; De Witte 2013; Tarocco 2017; Han 2016; Travagnin 2017). In 1995, Lawrence Babb and Susan Wadley edited the volume Media and the Transformation of Religion in South East Asia. Babb noted then that one can “visualize” religious traditions as “systems” that retain and transmit information. Encoded in a variety of ways, such information can “be disseminated and propagated in various media including speech, writing, ritual practice, and iconography” (Babb 1995, 1). In what follows, I give attention to the intimate relationship between religion, technology and charisma in contemporary Chinese Buddhism. I ask in what ways does technology provide the conditions for the reception of spiritual gifts and for making the sacred present. While others have examined its vital role in the production of national modernity and the institutions of the state (Ashiwa and Wank 2009), my own analysis primarily tracks the work contemporary Buddhism performs in the everyday sphere of pious self-making (Tarocco 2011; 2017). In witnessing present-day narratives of salvation and redemption, I look at the ongoing renewal of religion in the Chinese world and take up the idea of charisma as a relationship based on the “expectation of the extraordinary” and one that “stimulates and empowers collective behavior” (Palmer 2008, 70). To analyze the ways in which the followers of abbot Zhanran use technologies and commodities, I draw inspiration from Lauren Berlant’s work on the “intimate public” constituted by “strangers who consume common texts and things” (2008, viii). Berlant examines the geographies and politics of women’s intimacy with a focus on consumerism, commodity, and popular culture in the United States from the 1830s onwards. She probes into a capitalist society with a social life mediated by “capital and organized by all kinds of pleasure (from personal consumption to active community membership)” to explore the relationship between intimacy and publicity and thus rethink the category of individuality in late capitalism (2008, xii). As I envision the shrines my informants assemble in their mobile phones and around the photo-icons of eminent Buddhist clerics, I concur with Zito’s insightful analysis of televised religion: “from the point of view of the mediation of social life, “religion” and “media” can be seen to function in surprisingly intimate ways and to form even more potent forms of social practice when deliberately intertwined” (2003, 728).

2 Soundscapes and Technocultures René Lysloff describes “technocultures” as social groups and behaviors “characterized by creative strategies of technological adaptation, avoidance, subversion, or resistance” (1997: 207). And, similarly to other communities the world over,

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Buddhist practitioners too approach their pious self-making through an everyday reliance on media technologies that include broadcast media, QR codes and digital media. Crucially, Zhanran’s followers tell me that they understand their own technoculture as tapping into the power of empathetic responsiveness (ganying 感應), a term Robert Sharf translates as “sympathetic resonance” (2002, 82–88). This idea is connected with key Buddhist doctrines. A proper invocation or visualization, notes Sharf, can transform the immediate location of the practitioner: “the world of the Buddhas is none other than this world – a world constructed through the activity of the mind” (2002, 118). Buddhist mindscapes and embodied ritual actions, I argue, play an important role in how practitioners understand and use modern technologies. I concur with Yuk Hui when he suggests that we need to understand the cosmological settings affecting technology least we remain “overwhelmed by the homogeneous becoming of modern technology”, as “technics is always cosmotechnics” (2016, 12 and 19). This is a crucial effort because “the misconception that technics can be considered as some kind of universal remains a huge obstacle to understanding the global technological condition in general, and in particular the challenge it poses to non-European cultures” (Hui 2016, 12). Evidently, making sense of Buddhism has never been the sole province of a disembodied intellect. Buddhist cultures are deeply invested in the senses and in a bodily immanence that involves the whole of the human sensorium (Rambelli 2007; Kieschnick 2003; Kitiarsa 2008; Gifford 2011; Tan 2002; ter Haar 2014, Tarocco 2007). How have ordinary people and religious institutions adjusted to, and negotiated with, the penetrative forces of a global market economy into the religious lives of the information era? How do we begin to attend to a more nuanced and situated agency and autonomy of actors? Crucially, I argue, things are not given meaning only at the point of consumption. Charisma and aura, of persons and things, can find their way into massproduced artifacts, digital devices and the cyberspace. For the followers of qigong masters, healing powers emanate from an object or an action so that one can speak of force-filled audiotapes (daigong cidai 带功磁带). Buddhist practitioners believe that the individual and collective recitation of scriptures and their reproduction by other means are key to the preservation and dissemination of Buddhism. The Buddhist liturgical tradition of the Chinese-speaking world is an orally transmitted practice of significant historical and cultural depth. Its vocal delivery include reading (du 讀), reciting (song 誦), chanting (yin 吟) and singing (chang 唱). Clerics are trained to use “dharma instruments” (faqi 法器) – the drum gu (鼓), the small brass bowl suspended on a stick yinqing (引磬), the woodblock muyu (木魚), the bell zhong (鐘), the large brass bowl qing (磬), the cymbals cha (鑔), and the suspended gong dangzi (鐺子). Liturgical manuals have their own musical notation. Standard symbols

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denote the correspondence of the strokes on the ritual percussion instruments with the utterances of the words of the texts. The rhythmic framework is not explicit and has to be practiced and learned (Ellingson 1979; Demiéville 1980; Tarocco 2001; Chen 2005). Decades before digital media became widespread, Buddhists were already very invested in the mass-mediated production of Buddhist soundscapes. In the 1930s, Buddhist publics listened to the radio station Voice of the Buddha (Foyin diantai 佛音電台). This was in all likelihood the very first Buddhist radio station in the world and was launched at a time when song became an effective technology for instructing and enforcing belief, whether in schools, in the military, and in all missionizing efforts. In a break from this tradition, Buddhist clerics created a new repertoire of devotional songs and hymns. Most notable among them was Hongyi 弘一 (1880–1942), who lived and died in odor of sanctity. Deeply interested in music, the monk’s most famous tune, the Song of the Three Treasures (Sanbaoge 三寶歌) enjoys abiding admiration and popularity (Birnbaum 2016; Tarocco 2011). In the early 2000s, practitioners in East China told me that the exalted status of its creator, a spiritually advanced practitioner, is absolutely key to its continuing success. Hongyi’s followers experience an intimate encounter with his charisma in a plethora of piously coded mass-produced audiovisual objects, including CDs and DVDs and small-screen-based movies and videos. Diasporic Chinese informants in Surabaya, Java – a wealthy Indonesian-Chinese family – have amassed a sizable collection of DVDs. As they can only afford sporadic access to clerics, they “keep in touch” with them through digital audio-visual materials and access teachings and teachers online.1 And the celebrated CD series Fanbai/ Buddhist Liturgical Chant/Hymns to the Three Jewels was sponsored by a community of Chinese clerics and lay Buddhists and professionally recorded and produced by the French musicologist François Picard. Practitioners gathered for a special Dharma assembly of Buddhist liturgical music (Fojiao fanbai yinyue fahui 佛教梵唄音樂法會) to sing Hongyi’s Song of the Three Treasures together with other more traditional liturgical materials, in a seamless sonically efficacious continuum.2 While more traditional CDs of Buddhist chanting were disseminated transnationally within networks in Taiwan, China, Hong Kong, Singapore, Malaysia, Europe and North America in the 1990s and early 2000s, during the “karaoke craze” practitioners thoroughly enjoyed practicing 1 Pauline Chang, personal communication, Surabaya and Tretes, Java, July–September 2009. 2 The first two CDs in this series are recordings of the morning and evening lessons of the daily liturgy at two different Chinese monasteries. Cf. Chine: Fanbai Chant Liturgique Bouddhique, Leçon du Soir au Temple de Quanzhou, recordist F. Picard, Ocora C559080 (1989) with sleeve notes by F. Picard. Cf. Tarocco (1990–2000).

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“Karaoke-style singing instructions for Buddhist liturgical chanting” (Fanbai kala OK jiaochang 梵唄卡拉 OK 教唱). Similar products are widely available in shops of ritual objects (fodian 佛店) and at major pilgrimage sites (Zhou and Tarocco 2008). See Figure 1.

Figure 1: Buddhist practitioners peruse a large selection of DVDs (Photo by the author, 2017).

Buddhist ritual sounds have seamlessly extend their reach into the mundane core of everyday life as religious consumers ritually engage with these piously coded objects in the bourgeoning technoscapes of the Chinese Buddhistinspired world. As attested by its ubiquitous presence in temples and homes, they view the Buddhist recitation and chanting radio-like device nianfoji (念佛機)

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Figure 2: Electronic Hong Kong made sutra recitation machine Nianfoji.

as religiously efficacious regardless of its mechanical nature (see Figure 2). For this to work, Natasha Heller reminds us, one must remember that that the aura of Pure Land sound is continuously reinforced through the re-telling of miracle tales (2014). Grass-roots religious providers deploy such sonic devices and listen to DVDs for their own spiritual empowerment at home.3 And one MalaysianChinese informant recalls the use of Buddhist tapes and CDs in the 1980s and 1990s to ward off evil spirits in the villages outside Kuala Lumpur. Earlier visual and sonic idioms are weaved through today’s cyber-Buddhism. At one and the same time, practitioners have quickly adopted and adapted emergent media, in particular WeChat-based messaging services and audio-video sharing capabilities. Not only do practitioners rely on sound recording and reproduction to enjoy a relationship with eminent clerics in intimate settings of their choice, they also continue to use audio-visual digital resources to worship, communicate, educate and proselytize (Tarocco 2017; Huang 2017).

3 See for example the use of recordings of the cantillation of Buddha’s names in the private rituals of the fortune-teller protagonist of the documentary “Fortune Teller” (Suanming 算命) by Xu Tong 徐童 (Dgenerate films, 2010). Yoke Voon, personal communication, London, May 2004 and June 2011.

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3 Buddhist Scriptures and Cyber-Buddhism Commissioning, copying, printing and reciting scripture are some of the traditional ways to gain merit (gongde 功德) for the donor who hopes to mitigate future conditions in this life and the next. Pious activities focus on objects, scripture, and support, which aim to respectively sow the “merit fields” of Buddha, Dharma (teaching/law), and the monastic community (Adamek 2005, 139). The proliferation and circulation of all manners of Buddhist electronic scriptures (dianzi fojing 電子佛經), suggests a shift from sharing ritual participation within a specific religious community to a more generalized collectivity that entwines intimacy with publicness. Clerics can extend their mediated reach in examples ranging from televangelism, to cassette sermons, to Internet blogging, websites and the now ubiquitous WeChat. Right before the latter became a dominant and trailblazing commercial force around 2014, in collaboration with some young Chinese scholars-practitioners, I conducted a small survey of the websites of major temples in China, namely, Shaolin Temple 少林寺, Bailin Temple 柏林寺, Tianning Temple 天寧寺, Dongshanggu Temple 東山古寺, Famen Temple 法門寺, Guo’en Temple 國恩寺, and Xinchangdafo Temple 新昌 大佛寺. We also spoke to clerics and laypersons. At the time, monastic websites offered access to a wealth of up-to-date information about Buddhism alongside materials of a historical nature, including the temples’ histories (siyuan jieshao 寺院介紹) and the biographies of their abbots.4 There were sections on Buddhist philosophy and the arts (fojiao zhishi yu yishu 佛教知識與藝術), lived Chan (shenghuo chan 生活禪) and archives of written documents, videos, films, and news items. The Shaolin Temple’s website offered a thorough overview of its activities and ramifications in the world, including a Press 少林雜誌社, an Overseas Culture Center 海外文化中心, and even an Intangible Asset Management Center 少林無形資產管理中心. A good example of online and off-line interaction was the website of the Dongshangu Temple with its Philanthropic Company 慈善事業發展有限公司. Set up in 2007, the company accepted donations and promised to deliver clean water, food, and medical products in exchange. Five temples out of seven offered independent columns advising on vegetarianism and health (sushi jiankang 素食健康). Crucially, all sites gave access to copious amounts of Buddhist scriptures (Fojiao dianji 佛教典籍).

4 Cf. http://www.tianningsi.org/fjxy/; http://dongshangusi.com/; http://www.famensi.com/ fjwh.asp; http://www.guoensi.com/love/; http://www.zjxcdf.com/web/gaosheng.aspShaolin; http://www.shaolin.org.cn/index.aspx (all accessed in April 2013).

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All sites we looked at referenced miracle stories, hagiographic materials and examples of filial piety taken from local gazetteers and other sources.5 The texts could be downloaded (jingwen xiazai 經文下載). Shaolin’s site had the largest number of texts followed by Bailin and Tianning Monasteries. In an instructive conversation at Tianning Temple in March 2013, a senior monk lamented the fact that the majority of scriptures on his temple’s website were somewhat arbitrarily taken from those of other sites. And yet, the projects of digitization of the Sinitic Canon of Buddhist scriptures seemed to him like a great accomplishment. He was adamant that “so many texts have been already digitized” and that any temple in China could find what they needed for their website. He thought that Taiwan’s and Hong Kong’s Buddhist-inspired Internet were “excellent” because they contained “large amount of scriptures”. When Tianning Temple’s first website was initially created in the late 1990s, it was simply conceived of as an “information tool” for visitors and the scriptural materials on the site were not digitized by the monks but were instead taken from those of pre-existing websites.6 Crucially, however, the monk saw the creation on an Internet forum (wangshan luntan 網上論壇), as the most “necessary and urgent” addition to the temple’s website. In his view, the Internet was key to the dialogue with Buddhism’s “online friends” (wangyou 網友).7

4 Making Charisma The past decade witnessed a spectacular growth of clerical avatars in China and the rest of Buddhist Asia. In this respect, it is useful to make a distinction between religion online and online religion. While the first conceives of the Internet merely as a platform for religion to work with untouched and unaffected by technology, “online religion” hints at the possibility of new forms of religiosity that the Internet enables and facilitates (Helland 2000). In their extensive engagement with digital technology, Buddhist religious leaders have learned to rely on screens, computers, and mobile phones. Cyberspace plays a significant role in reinforcing transnational ties. Not only has electronic communication

5 “Being Filial to In-laws and Freeing the Whole Family from Pestilence (Xiaohu wengu quanjia mianyi 孝护翁姑全家免疫), http://www.tianningsi.org/fjxy/ (accessed March 2013). 6 The Chinese Buddhist Electronic Text Association, Chinese Electronic Tripitaka Collection (dianzi fodian jicheng 電子佛典集成), Taiwan. The CD/CD-ROM is distributed for free. It is, however, possible to give donations to the organization that digitizes the scriptures. See http://www.cbeta.org/donation (accessed April 2016). 7 Tianning Temple, 21 March 2013, personal communication.

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technology led to the formation of international organizations and the opening of meditation retreat centers and of other spaces for gathering, it has also helped Chinese clerics to reach out to larger and more diverse publics through Internet sermons, blogs, and television specials. Thanks to WeChat, tells me a well-known cleric, all Buddhists can “for the first time in history, be on very close terms with monks and nuns who can efficiently answer their questions, dispel doubts and reinforce religious bonds” (Tarocco 2017, 25).8 The followers of Zhanran I meet are willing to share healing and miracle stories with me. They use religious concepts such as those of efficacy and the numinous (ling 靈), of qi (氣) and spiritual healing (jingshen zhiliao 精神治療) to explain the nature of Zhanran’s powers and that of his temple’s dharma treasures (fabao 法寶). The magic is laid in at the point of production: from the blessed and bottled water, purified by a German water filter, to the DVD video drama of the abbot’s own conversion story. During one of my visits, I witness Zhanran lead a dharma assembly (fahui 法會) of several hundreds followers. In that occasion, I am offered the temple’s fabao and told that they are infused with the monk’s healing powers. Zhanran imparts his teachings to a very a diverse audience of devoted followers, pilgrims, temple volunteers, laywomen and men, and nuns and monks of all ages and socio-economic circumstances. Most of them hail from the metropolises of East China, Shanghai, Hangzhou, and Ningbo, and many more still are local farmers. As with most dharma assemblies, practitioners congregate to eat vegan food prepared at the temple, leave offerings, worship, and conduct a large release of animals rite (fangsheng 放生). “Our Master talks to everyone” – a local woman tells me. She now lives in the temple with her family – “he is very different from the others who only care about rich people from Shanghai”. For a few days before the ceremony, the air is redolent with the smell of medicinal herbs that burn away in two large cauldrons. Flowers, fruit, and butter lamps are neatly arranged. Large quartz stones are scattered around. Pagodas of all sizes and shapes dot the monastic grounds. I am taken to a grotto that contains an ingenious internal slope leading to a white inner chamber. This is to get people to “experience the Pure Land”, I learn. “Our Temple is small but we have everything” – tells me the nun Deying – “my Master takes good care of us”. She eventually leads me to see the spring and water pond to the back of the residential quarters. She describes the numinousness that surrounds us: “there was no drinking water when my Master arrived here, so he climbed the mountain to find a spring. Once he did, he bought an expensive

8 WeChat, 12 September 2015, personal written communication.

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German-made water filter. We now have the purest and holiest drinking water”. When I ask her about the two stunning peacocks pecking nearby, she answers: “they are such intelligent creatures – they know where my Master is in the temple. They always sleep next to him”. Later on that day, a woman in her late thirties tells me that she had prayed for months asking for a child. After her baby daughter was born, she decided to devote herself to Zhanran. She is raising her baby a vegan, a sign of robust commitment to Buddhism in the world of Chinese piety. Several others share personal stories of miracles, devotion, liberation from existential crisis, of suffering and redemption. One of the abbot’s earliest disciples to take lay ordination is an older, highly educated woman, a former high ranking cadre and Communist party member. We discuss Zhanran’s healing powers. “I was severely depressed for many years – she tells me. After becoming my Master’s disciple, I only feel peace and happiness (anle 安樂)”. Many of Abbot Zhanran’s followers produce the origin stories of their piety where miraculous occurrences and conversions are entwined with technology. One cleric tells me that watching an online video of one of Zhanran’s dharma talks was the key moment in the path to her Buddhist awakening: “Three years ago I saw a video of my Master on the video-sharing platform Youku 优酷. I knew immediately that I wanted to meet him and become his disciple. I searched for more materials online for months on end. When I came back to China, I decided to become a nun.” Since childhood, she had been on a spiritual quest, reading manuals of self-help and Daoist classics. Finally, she is at peace now, she tells me. An older male cleric, now the precentor, tells me of his online encounters with Zhanran. Soon after watching one of his Master’s cinematic sermon, he decided to give up his lucrative finance job and walk all the way to the temple to meet him. He was so worried that he would not be admitted in that he cried all night at the front gate. “Sometimes” – a younger cleric tells me – “when we have a question, we watch one of my master’s videos to find the answer”. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the largest lecture hall of the temple is equipped with a large screen and a professional sound system. One of Zhanran’s followers is a trained documentary filmmaker and a former employee at one of China’s TV stations. She invites me to watch one of her films together. “I want this to be perfect – she tells me – I want people to cultivate their moral character (xiushen 修身) when they watch it”. The audience of clerics and laypeople gasps and rejoices as Zhanran, bathed in light, travels from one Buddhist site to the next, from Bodhgaya to Kandi, to Bangkok. In person, Zhanran is unhurried, thoughtful and frank. “There are many kinds of skillful means but they all lead to the same final destination”, he tells me. He is adamant in his belief that digital media are key to “proselytizing and

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spreading the dharma in our age” (zhege shidai de hongfa 這個時代的弘法). When he performs his dharma lesson, on a stage similar to those used for live performances, Zhanran’s seat is surrounded by a lavish display of offerings, photo-portraits of his masters, and various regalia. “The equipment is a gift from one of his Shanghai followers” – tells me one of the monks and a professional sound technician (see Figure 3). Printed on the white plastic backdrop is the image of the white pagoda of Mount Wutai 五台山. Loudspeakers hang from the scaffolding and from the nearby trees while two monks and a laywoman operate professional video recording equipment. Three other monks aim their cameras at people in the audience. In front of Zhanran, right before a small pagoda, is a large camera on a tripod. A sound recording station is placed at the center of the crowd, sheltered by a large umbrella. A few meters away, other monks operate a professional video editing and broadcasting suite. This is a well-rehearsed and impressive operation. For weeks before it finally takes place, the event is widely publicized on social media and further circulated within the acolytes’ own networks. A highly detailed how-to list that contains the links and instructions with which to access the live feed is circulated by the temple’s official account. It includes the monk’s official website, a mobile phone number, the account on China-based social media platform’s WeChat, that of the popular video sharing site Youku and Facebook’s live feed. The latter is officially forbidden in China but can be accessed through a virtual private network (VPN). All the clerics I meet are extremely proud of their technological proficiency (fatade meiti 發達的 媒體) but insist that propagation would be futile if it were not accompanied by serious practice and spiritual accomplishments.

Figure 3: Monks and technicians deploy professional equipment to film, record and broadcast Zhanran’s dharma lectures (photos by the author).

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In a wonderfully rich and deep voice, subtly modulated, Zhanran narrates one of his ascents to Mount Wutai together with his late teacher. He recalls how close he felt to the bodhisattva Wenshu 文殊 and tells miracle stories taken from a rich lore that extends back to medieval times. We hear of numinous encounters with the deity on the mountain paths, of the power of relics, and the healing potential of sutras recitation. The monk uses the logic of qi, a logic that became very common in China during the qigong fever (qigong re) of the 1980s and 1990s (Palmer 2003). In an earlier dharma lesson he gave during the SARS outbreak of 2003, and now available in a bilingual print edition, Zhanran asserted: “someone asked me today if the ceremony gives the service of treating people by using the supernatural powers to cure diseases. Did you know that the power you get from merely hearing the title of the Lotus Sutra or the chapter of the Universal Door of Guan Yin Bodhisattva is even greater that the net power generated by one hundred million qigong masters altogether?” (Anonymous, n.d.). In the original text, the key term here is fagong (發功), the magical power of a person whose mastery of body and mind culminates in the achievement of magical powers which can be projected towards others for healing purposes. Such, his followers tell me, is Zhanran’s own. The dharma lecture I witness is a compelling performance, its content a potent mixture of Buddhist doctrine and storytelling. It instructs and entertains at one and the same time. It delves into China’s recent traumas and even offer religious explanations to infamous political events. It references, for instance the “Lin Biao incident” explaining that Mao went to Mount Wutai to pay respect to the bodhisattva and was therefore blessed, while Lin, intent at destroying Buddhism, was punished and lost his life. We learn about the relationship between Buddhism and science, Chinese medicine, the role of compassion in life. The devotees listen attentively, oblivious of heat and humidity. Zhanran’s exalted state among his followers is further explained to me in terms of skillful means – pedagogical skill is described as a defining feature of Buddha or advanced boddhisattva in several Mahāyāna texts. Crucially, upāya kauśalya or “skillful means” is the ability to compose a dharma lesson in such a way that it is effective for its intended audience (Osto 2008: 5–6). In numerous heartfelt conversations about their Buddhist personhood and their relation with their Master, two of Zhanran’s lay disciples tell me of his wonder-working powers and his “heavenly eye” that allows the bodhisattva to see the death and rebirth of all beings. These are the six superknowledges (shentong 神通) or powers of spiritual penetration, that are commonly “recognized as standard by-products of meditation” and “essential means of achieving the conversion of others” (Faure 1991, 102). They are “the descending movement of upāya, the “skillful means” through which the

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bodhisattva reaches out to sentient beings in his attempt to elevate them”. Of course, such “penetration” of an enlightened person is not a conscious “exercise of powers but a spontaneous response to beings” (1991, 108, cf. also Pye 1978). Similarly to Hongyi, Zhanran is seen to possess “eminence”, which is an intangible but very real quality, one that followers regard as an expected “by-product of the monk’s spiritual attainments” (Kieschnick 1997, 72). This quality exists in whichever form the monk decides to manifests himself. While both clerics and laypeople experience elaborate cinematic productions collectively on a large screen at the temple, shorter videos also circulate continuously inside and out of the fast-growing social media network of Zhanran’s followers. These shorter videos are watched in the more privately defined intimate spaces of the smaller and portable screen. Like cinema, however, smaller-screen movies are “technologically mediated expressive and cognitive acts of vision which connect with, and affect, the individual and public spaces” (Voci 2010: 185). In sum, Zhanran makes charisma in real life teachings and speeches that his own media making activities and those of his followers contribute to augment and amplify. To him and his disciples, religion and technology are not distinct arenas of experience and practice. On the contrary, the widespread proliferation of digital charisma enables the emergence of a generalized community of Buddhists who are also deeply and intimately connected.

Conclusion As James Taylor remarked in relation to Thai Buddhism, new articulations of Chinese Buddhism are “significantly implicated in local-global historical and sociocultural contexts” (2015, 219). While much thought has been put into asserting the global nature of contemporary Buddhism, we should also concentrate on local practitioners’ interventions and strategies. This is a profoundly historical undertaking in that it looks at a turning point in religious cultural production by Buddhists clerics and laypeople in the 21st century. What this allows for is the exploration of “how spiritual, moral and theological codes of practice guide technological negotiation” where religious communities “use technologies in ways that are active, creative and socially situated” (Campbell 2010, 132). Similarly to other religious groups, today’s Buddhist identities and communities are held together by modern communication technologies. They leverage mass media for they can be used to “solidify their membership, identity and belief” (Cambell 2010, 185). In contrast to those who argue that the logic of mass media and the market place affects and transforms traditional religious forms, I maintain that it is Buddhism that has historically shaped

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media. The appropriation of media by religious practices is not merely a new, modern or contemporary phenomenon (Stolow 2005 and 2013). Contrary to previous technology, personal mobile technologies engender a sense of co-presence and continuous connection through sharing powerful sacramental experiences and goods. As with other systems, the present technological moment of Buddhist quotidian digital vernacular is but the latest manifestation of a long process of mediation that can be genealogically traced in the history of Chinese religious practice. Across the two sides of the Taiwan Straits, secularization and state control notwithstanding, a remarkable resurgence of interest in Buddhist practice is under way. Such renaissance appears to be intimately connected not only with the construction and role of charisma in modern Chinese societies but also with the role that technology and media play in the material realities of the Buddhist everyday (Huang 2017; Travagnin 2017; Tarocco 2017). Within contemporary religious environments characterized by networked forms of electronic and digital communication, radio evangelism, and religious video games, practice shapes and is shaped by mass media. In this chapter, while maintaining that mediation is inherent in religion (de Witte 2013, 174), I sought to complicate the view that the expansion of modern communication technology means the dissolution of religious authority. I argued instead that the spheres of pious self-making and social imaginary that are opened up by Chinese Buddhist technoculture are embedded in deep-rooted attitudes towards the nature of charisma that inform the recuperation of monastic ideals and the production of technologically mediated fabao. These are key to establishing, maintaining and amplifying local and trans-regional networks of online and offline followers. The sacred in the global present appears deeply entrenched in the horizons of modern communication technologies where digital media feed into and shape social and religious practices. Attention to these and to the material infrastructures that enable them sheds light on how the use and production of digital media have become integrated into Buddhist everyday life.

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Hugues, Christopher R., and Wacker Gudrun, eds. 2003. China and The Internet: Politics of the Digital Leap Forward. London and New York: Routledge Curzon. Hui, Y. 2016. The Question Concerning Technology in China: An Essay in Cosmotechnics. Falmouth: Urbanomics. Jerolmack, Colin and Douglas Porpora. 2004. “Religion, Rationality and Experience: A Response to the New Rational Choice Theory of Religion.” Sociological Theory 22, no.1: 140–160. Ji, Zhe. 2008. “Expectation, Affection and Responsibility: The Charismatic Journey of a New Buddhist Group in Taiwan.” Nova Religio: The Journal of Alternative and Emergent Religions 12, no.2: 48–68. Jones, Charles B. 1990. Buddhism in Taiwan: Religion and the State 1660–1990. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Kieschnick, John. 1997. The Eminent Monk: Buddhist Ideals in Medieval Chinese Hagiography. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Kieschnick, John. 2003. The Impact of Buddhism on Chinese Material Culture. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. Kitiarsa, Pattana ed. 2008. Religious Commodification in Asia. Oxon and New York: Routledge. Lee, Joonseong. 2009. “Cultivating the Self in Cyberspace: The Use of Personal Blogs among Buddhist Priests.” Journal of Media and Religion 8, no.2: 97–114. Lim, Francis K. G. 2009. “Charismatic Technology.” In Mediating Piety: Technology and Religion in Contemporary Asia, edited by F. K. G. Lim, 1–24. Leiden: Brill. Lysloff, Rene T. A. 1997. “Mozart in Mirrorshades: Ethnomusicology, Technology, and the politics of representation.” Ethnomusicology 41, no.2: 206–219. Lu, Jie. 2013. China’s Literary and Cultural Scenes at the Turn of the 21st Century. London and New York: Routledge. Magnusson, Roberta J. 2001. Water Technology in the Middle Ages Cities, Monasteries, and Waterworks after the Roman Empire. Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press. n.a. 2012. Wode chujia yinyuan 我的出家的原因 (accessed online in May 2016). n.a. n.d. n.p. Yongheng de ganlu: Guanshiyin pusa pumenpin jiangji 出家的原因永恆的甘露觀 世音菩薩普門品講記. Print. Ong, W. J. 1967. The presence of the word: Some prolegomena for cultural and religious history. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Osto, Douglas, 2008. Power, Wealth and Women in Indian Mahāyāna Buddhism: The Gan.d. avyūha-sūtra. London and New York: Routledge. Palmer, David. 2003. “Modernity and Millenialism in China: Qigong and the Birth of Falungong.” Asian Anthropology 2: 79–110. Palmer, David. 2004. “Cyberspace and the Emerging Chinese Religious Landscape, Preliminary Observations. In Cyber China: Reshaping National Identities in the Age of Information, 37–50, edited by F. Mengin. New York: Palgrave MacMillan. Palmer, David 2008. “Embodying Utopia: Charisma in the post-Mao Qigong Craze”. Nova Religio: The Journal of Alternative and Emergent Religions 12, no. 2: 69–89. Plate, S. Brent. 2009. Religion and Film: Cinema and the Re-Creation of the World. New York: Columbia University Press. Pye, Michael. 1978. Skilful Means, A Concept in Mahayana Buddhism. New York and London: Routledge. Rambelli, Fabio. 2007. Buddhist Materiality: A Cultural History of Objects in Japanese Buddhism. Stanford: Stanford University Press.

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Reader, Ian and Tanabe, G. J. Jr. 1998. Practically Religious: Worldly Benefits and the Common Religion of Japan. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Rotman, A. 2008. Thus Have I Seen: Visualizing Faith in Early Indian Buddhism. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Sharf, Robert H. 1992. “The Idolization of Enlightenment: On the Mummification of Ch’an Masters in Medieval China.” History of Religions 32, no.1: 1–31. Sharf, Robert H. 2002. Coming to Terms with Chinese Buddhism: A reading of the Treasure Store Treatise. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Stolow, Jeremy. 2005. “Religion and/as Media.” Theory, Culture and Society 22, no.4: 119–145. Stolow, Jeremy, 2013. “Introduction: Religion, Technology and the Things in Between.” In Deus in Machina: Religion, Technology and the Things in Between, edited by Jeremy Stolow, 1–22. New York: Fordham University Press. Tan, Hwee San. 2002. “Saving the Soul in Red China: Music and Ideology in the Gongde Ritual of Merit in Fujian.” British Journal of Ethnomusicology 11, no.1: 119–140. Ter Haar , Barend. 2014. Practicing Scripture: A Lay Buddhist Movement in Late Imperial China. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Tarocco, Francesca. 1999-2000. “Chine/Fanbai/Chant liturgique bouddique (3 vols).” CHIME 14-15: 192–193. Tarocco, Francesca. 2001. “Buddhist Music.” In The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, edited by Stanley Sadie and John Tyrrell. London: Macmillan, online edition. Tarocco, Francesca. 2007. The Cultural Practices of Modern Chinese Buddhism: Attuning the Dharma. London: Routledge. Tarocco, Francesca. 2011. “On the Market: Consumption and Material Culture in Modern Chinese Buddhism.” Religion 41, no.4: 627–644. Tarocco, Francesca. 2013a. “The Wailing Arhats: Buddhism, Photography and Resistance in Modern China.” In The Art of Merit: Studies in Buddhist Art and its Conservation, edited by David Park and Kuenga Wangmo, 113–123. London: Archetype Publications. Tarocco, Francesca. 2013b. “An Exemplary Digital Life: Venerable Daoxin in Cyber-space.” Paper Presented at the NYU Center for Religion and Media’s Conference Religion in the Digital Age II: Mediating “The Human” in a Globalizing Asia, New York, September 27. Tarocco, Francesca. 2015. “The City and the Pagoda: Buddhist Spatial Tactics in Shanghai.” In Handbook of Religion and the Asian City: Aspirations and Urbanization in the Twenty-first Century, edited by Peter van der Veer, 37–51. Berkeley: University of California Press. Tarocco, Francesca. 2017. “Technologies of Salvation: (Re)locating Chinese Buddhism in the Digital Age” in Journal of Global Buddhism special issue edited by Francesca Tarocco on “Buddhists and the Making of Modern Chinese Societies” 18: 155–175. Tarocco, Francesca and Zhou Xun, 2008. Karaoke: The Global Phenomenon. London: Reaktion Books. Taylor, Charles 2004. Modern Social Imaginaries. Durham: Duke University Press. Taylor, Jim. 2003. “Cyber-Buddhism and Changing Urban Space in Thailand.” Space and Culture 6: 292–308. ter Haar, Barend. 2001. “Buddhist-inspired Options: Aspects of Lay Religious Life in the Lower Yangzi form 1100 until 1340.” T’oung P’ao 87: 92–152. Travagnin, Stefania. 2017. “Introduction: Religion and Media in China.” In Religion and Media in China: Insights and Case Studies from the Mainland, Taiwan and Hong Kong, edited by Stefania Travagnin, 1–15. New York: Routledge.

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Elena Valussi

Gender as a Useful Category of Analysis in Chinese Religions – With Two Case Studies from the Republican Period Gender as an analytical theory, and gendering as social practice, are central to religion and the naturalization of these phenomena and their subsequent under-investigation have had a deleterious effect on the adequacy of the scholarship that the scientific study of religion has produced. (Warne 2000, 140–154)

Introduction This paper will address the concept of gender and of gender equality (nannü pingdeng 男女平等) in a religious context as it emerges in the writings of men and women of the Republican period, and it will also focus on the creation of a religious public sphere for women in the same period. Further, it will use gender as an analytical tool to explore representations of religion. In the Republican period we see an intensification of the presence of women in the public sphere, the emergence of the concept of nüjie 女界 (woman’s realm) and the making of the Chinese “new woman” (xin nüxing 新女性); these new representations and repositioning brought with them intense debates on the role of women in society, of gender differences and of gender equality.1 This repositioning has been studied in many areas, the literary, poetic, and especially the political, with the emergence of the discourse on women’s rights.2 Religious modernization in the Republican era has also been the focus of much

1 Discussed in Qian, Fong, and Smith 2008, “Introduction”. 2 The literature on the emergence of a discourse on women’s rights in Republican China and its effects on the larger cultural sphere is extensive. Recent examples are: Barlow 2003; Gilmartin 1994, 195–225; Yue 1993, 118–136; Edwards 2008; Judge 2008; Liu, Karl and Ko 2013. Note: I would like to thank the Chinese Text Project (http://ctext.org), the Digital library & museum of Buddhist studies, College of Liberal Arts, Research Center for Digital Humanities, National Taiwan University (http://www.cnbksy.cn), and the “Chinese Women’s Magazines in the Late Qing and Early Republican period” project, housed at the University of Heidelberg (http://kjc-sv013.kjc.uni-heidelberg.de/frauenzeitschriften/index.php) for the easy access to digital version of some of the texts consulted for this article. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110547849-007

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scholarly attention.3 However, their intersection, the religious dimension of this social repositioning of women has yet to be analyzed in detail, and systematic perspectives on gender and religion are still a marginalized field of study in the West as well as in China.4 In this article, I look at the writings of Daoist and Buddhist intellectuals and practitioners in order to start outlining and understanding the debates about gender and religion in the public sphere. I analyze how the discourse on women’s rights and gender differences is used by religious practitioners and leaders in this period of great historical and cultural change and I argue that, even though many religious leaders supported and in some cases championed women’s spiritual equality and their right to participate in religious organizations, women’s religious and spiritual emancipation during the early 20th century was closely tied up with China’s own emancipation and the wider nationalist agenda, so this effort needs to be seen in the context of a nationalistic discourse. This analysis reveals a concept of gender equality that is complex and shifting, and has different meanings for men and for women. The questions I pose are these: how did Chinese religious leaders and practitioners respond to the idea of gender and of gender equality, introduced into China together with other Western ideologies at the turn of the century? How did they interpret their significance for China, in a moment of great political turmoil? How did they use indigenous concepts to integrate the concept of gender and gender equality in their religious discourse, and make them relevant to their specific context? And how did this debate affect and involve women? I will provide examples coming from Daoism and Buddhism, starting with a case study on Chen Yingning 陳櫻寧, his popularization of meditation techniques for women, and his relationship with female followers and readers of his journals. I will continue with the discussion of Buddhist approaches to gender equality in the words of male Buddhist leaders like Taixu 太虛 (1890–1947) and Yinguang印光 (1862– 1940), as well as of Buddhist nuns. I will utilize mostly materials published in religious journals in the forms of letters, social commentaries, and opinion 3 The most representative works in this area are: Liu, 2009, which discusses Chen Yingning and his effort in modernizing traditional Daoist practices; Palmer and Goossaert 2011, which stresses the importance of religion in the project of nation building; Nedostup 2009, which describes the anti-superstition campaigns and the emergence of the modern category zongjiao; Pittman 2001 and Tuttle 2005, which discuss the modernization of Buddhism; Katz 2014, which discusses religion and modernity in Republican China. 4 Ursula King (2004, 1) argues that the close relationship between religion and gender is still little understood, and that “there exists what I call a double-blindness: on one hand most contemporary gender studies, whether in humanities, social sciences or natural sciences, remain extraordinarily ‘religion blind’; on the other hand, many studies in religion continue to be profoundly ‘gender blind’. For a discussion of the Chinese case, see Kang 2015, 491–559 and Kang 2017, 1–27.

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pieces; I will also use materials from more mainstream, non-religious journals addressing the question of gender and religion in contemporary society. The importance of journals for the study of Republican society and their impact on women’s lives has already been highlighted in several fields; however, the religious field has not been investigated in such detail, and I believe that, in the context of a rapidly changing society, they are of great value.5

1 Preamble on Gender Terminology and History Neither religion nor gender constitute univocal categories, they both take different shapes depending on the historical context, theory, or epistemology, therefore it is hard to define both of them. Here I want to discuss the term gender, and consciously recognize its historical formation both in the West and in China, before we can use it to analyze Chinese religion in relation to it. The use of the term “gender” in the English-speaking world as a definition of the social and cultural relationship between men and women is quite new. What was used until the 1960s as a grammatical term, started to assume a wider significance first in the use psychologists made of it, when they distinguished a person’s biological sex from their sexual orientation. It was then adopted by feminists and scholars in their political and academic work. However, interpretations and uses of the term vary widely. Most scholars now acknowledge that sex and gender have been used as extremes on a continuum, with “sex”, which focuses on the biological, genetic and physiological features of males and females on one side, and “gender”, which characterizes the behavioral characteristics that we define as feminine and masculine, on the other (Haunius and Hassel 2015, 27). However, the two terms are often conflated or used interchangeably. As we will see below, this becomes even more problematic when the terminology and discussion are applied to a different cultural and linguistic context like the Chinese one. The academic field of gender studies has its own history, and epistemologists generally understand the theorization of gender in different phases (Höpflinger, Lavanchy, and Dahinden 2012, 615–638):

5 There are a growing number of publications discussing how late Qing and Republican journals and periodicals covered various aspects of women’s lives, were often written by female journalists and writers, and often directed clearly to a female audience. See Wagner 2008, 227–256. For the religious field, see Katz 2014, especially chapter 2, where the author discusses the importance of publishing in the widening of the Buddhist public discourse, and Clart and Scott, 2015, which includes sample studies of important religious publishers in 20th century China.

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1.

The rise of feminist thought was inspired by the French Revolution and Enlightenment thought, and in the nineteenth century saw women advocating for a ‘new woman’, an active agent in her own life and society, intellectual and assertive, and a challenge to the patriarchal structure (Juschka 2001, 5). This development deeply inspired the Chinese discourse in the nineteenth and early twentieth century, and gave rise to the notions of gender equality (nannü pingdeng) and ‘new woman’ (xin nüxing 新女性). 2. With the rise of 1960s feminist consciousness, feminist researchers started criticizing a male bias and andro-centrism characterizing most work in the social sciences, and challenging it by producing scholarship that included women as subjects (Juschka 2001, 8). This approach acknowledged the longstanding acceptance of men and women acting in ‘separate spheres’, but at the same time gave women a ‘voice’, bringing out the variety of female experiences that had been mostly muted up to that point. This approach influenced the study of gender in China, especially its focus on the Confucian notion of ‘separate spheres’ (and related concepts of yin/yang and nei/wai). 3. In the 1980s, feminists and women’s studies scholars started using gender, in order to avoid the biological determinism implicit in the differentiation between male and female sex, and to suggest that gender differences result from cultural practices and social expectations, not just sex differences. Historians who had been studying “women” and “women’s culture” embraced the use of the “gender” as a “fundamental category of historical analysis”,6 an analytical tool that would allow them to “study women within their political, social and cultural context, and in relation to men” (Morgan 2006, 9). This trend is making its way in the field of Chinese religious studies and lies at the basis of this paper.7 4. Recent scholarly work has questioned the existence of static gender categories, and of a coherent identity behind acts that express gender, and instead focused on the performativity of the subject and of gender itself (Butler 1993). Darlene Juschka urges us to move beyond the sex/gender dichotomy, seen as too related to the nature/nurture dichotomy, and she

6 The seminal article in this respect is Scott 1986. Scott’s work has been tremendously influential in shifting the conversation towards social constructions of gender. She distinguished four areas in which gender operates: symbolic representations, normative concepts, social institutions, and constructions of subjective identity. Central to her analysis is the notion that gender is a social construct, based on perceived differences between the sexes, especially differences of power (Scott 1999, 41–45). 7 Notable works in this direction for Chinese history are Gilmartin 1995, and Wang 1999, and for Chinese religion, Grant 2009.

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argues that both the discourse of sex and gender points to “difference”, which is in itself confirming the status quo of female oppression and subjugation, and erasing self-determination (Juschka 1999, 77–105). This concept is embraced by the Buddhist nuns described at the end of this paper, who claim that the Buddhist teaching moves beyond all differences, including gender differences.

2 Language of Change – From zhongnan qingnü 重男輕女 to nannü pingdeng 男女平等 The discourse on women’s rights and feminism came of age in the Republican period, influenced by ideologies such as liberalism, evolutionism, socialism, anarchism that were entering Japan and China at the time. In this moment of change, the language to express the radical shifts that were happening was often borrowed from those cultures that had a strong presence in China; lexical and cultural borrowings were not new phenomena in China, but the 20th century saw the introduction of a vast variety of branches of Western knowledge in a short period of time (Lackner, Amelung and Kurtz 2001, 2). It was then that Western concepts of human rights, women’s rights, feminism, and gender equality were first introduced to China directly from the West or through Japan; these ideologies went on to greatly influence Chinese discourses on culture, identity and nationalism. Even though scholarship on new terminologies has started to emerge, one term which has not received much attention is gender, especially from the point of view of religious discourse. The term gender itself, in the way we use it today, was not used in China in the Republican period. As a recent book on feminist activist He-Yin Zhen (also known as He Zhen 何震, c. 1884 – c. 1920) discusses, the category closer to “gender” that we can identify in the modern period is nannü 男女 (Liu, Karl, and Ko 2013). However, these two terms cannot and do not overlap completely; while nannü is steeped in Chinese cosmology, (yin yang, qian kun. . .) gender, as mentioned above, raises from the need of western psychologists, anthropologists and historians in the last decades of the 20th century to go beyond what was termed the “social constructivist” fixed biological division between the sexes. Even though a total terminology match is not possible, the aim here is to investigate terminology that was used to indicate what we would now term a “modern gender sensibility” in China. The concept of “gender equality” too had entered China, like many other Western concepts, from Japan. At the turn of the 20th century, many men and

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women had travelled to Japan to study, and had come into contact with foreign concepts that they started to make their own; in Japan, they experimented with publishing a variety of journals where they employed the concepts of “natural rights” (tianfu renquan 天賦人權), people’s rights (minquan 民權), and power (quanli 權力) (Svarverud 2001, 125–146). Chinese feminists like He-Yin Zhen started their careers by publishing articles on Chinese feminist newspapers in Japan.8 In these writings, they were articulating notions of gender (nannü), women’s rights (funü renquan 婦女人權) and gender equality (nannü pingdeng) for the nascent Chinese nation.9 The terminology used was dependent on the invention of new categories, inspired and influenced by the Victorian differentiation of genders, by Western political and social movements, and by the introduction of new categories like human rights. In discussing women’s shifting roles in society and in relation to men, new (and portrayed as positive) terms like nüxing 女性, xin nüxing, nannü pingdeng, funü renquan (or nüquan 女權), nüjie, were created, in the same vein as the proto-feminist model advocated in nineteenth century Europe and mentioned above.10 Chinese progressive and feminist intellectual, using the newly coined word nüxing (female sexual subject) were discussing the necessity to “liberate” women from the fetters of an old society which was keeping them like slaves under the power of their male kin. Social scientist Chen Shousun described in this way “the woman question (nü̈xing wenti 女性問題)”, in his dictionary Shihui wenti cidian: The woman problem. . .takes the matter of sex (xing) to be the most central and fundamental question of human life. . . The woman question is not simply concerned with Woman herself, but broadly speaking with the lives of men and women, so that it has an intimate relation to social life generally. What is most important in this question is to reform current male-centered civilization and to abolish the slave status of women that has obtained, reestablishing a society with the objective of equal rights for women and men. (Barlow 2004, 67)

Nüxing was perceived and used as the other half of a sexual binary, “womanhood beyond kin categories”, far from the term funü that had encompassed

8 He -Yin Zhen spent a year in Japan (1907–08) where she founded the newspaper Tianyi bao, or Natural Justice, an anarchist leaning Chinese feminist journal published by the Society for the Restoration of Women’s rights in Tokyo; her first writings on feminism were published there. See Liu, Karl and Ko 2013, 4–5, and Xia 2008, 293–314. 9 See He-yin Zhen’s 1907–08 series of essays discussing the concepts of nannü and nannü pingdeng extensively (Liu, Karl and Ko 2013, 53–184). See also Ma 2010, 57. 10 Discussed in different ways in Rankin 1975, 50–54, and Barlow 2004, 37–63. On nüjie, see Zhang 2015, 245–275.

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marriage and motherhood as a central determining factor of womanhood. It had a “universal, sexological and scientistic core.”11 These new terms were clearly in contrast to older (and now perceived as negative) expressions like zhongnan qingnü 重男輕女, nanzun nübei 男尊女卑, nan shuai nü, nü cong nan 男帥女, 女從男, sancong 三從. In this language shift, we recognize a larger and deeper categorical shift, from relational identities (defining women in relation to men) to categorical identities (defining women for themselves), from hierarchy to egalitarianism, from duties to rights (Fitzgerald 2008, 22). However, as Fitzgerald aptly describes (2008, 23 and 24), the idea of gender equality was a new concept among the late imperial and Republican elites, its premise built upon the basis that men and women were categories entitled to equality, and linked to the concurrent emergence of other categories like national state (guojia 國家) and national people (minzu 民族). This is clear in the writings of pre-eminent Republican intellectuals, for example Kang Youwei’s 康有為 early support of women’s education, and Liang Qichao’s 梁啟超 publications. Liang’s 1897 essay “On Women’s education”, stresses that, despite the differences between men and women, women were not inferior to men, that “women’s education is necessary to strengthen the nation”, and that fetal and early childhood education, expounded in early Confucian treatises and an important duty of women, was paramount to the proper up-bringing of the new generation (Liu, Karl and Ko 2013, 196–197 and 200). In another pamphlet, “A Proposal for Building Women’s Schools”, Liang highlighted the importance of educating women, because “[Women], above, can serve their husbands, below, can teach their children, close by, can manage the house, and far away, can benefit their people” (Liang 1897, 3–4). Jin Tianhe’s 金天翮 1903 essay “The Women’s Bell”, in the same vein, advocated for women’s rights and education but “within the overriding discourse of national salvation and humanism” (Edwards 1994, 123).12 Xiaoping Cong

11 Barlow 2004, 53. Barlow is the scholar who has given this term and its history close analysis: “the term nüxing’ (literally female sex) erupted into circulation during the 1920s, when treaty port intellectuals overthrew the literary language of the Confucius Canon”, “the same modernist semiotics that invoked the new signs of society (shihui), culture (wenhua), intellectuals (zhishifenzi), individualism (geren zhuyi) and innumerable other new Chinese words, gave nüxing wide and expansive discursive powers. In the 1930s, nüxing as a representation took a life of its own. . . a universal category of woman emerging in the new consumer society” (Barlow 2004, 53–54). 12 A full translation of this text is found in Liu, Karl and Ko 2013, 209–285. Wang Zheng compares the promotion of education of women in China for the benefit of their children and of the nation, to the concept of ‘Republican Motherhood’ in the US, “the promotion of patriotic mothers who raised virtuous sons in the early republican period” (Wang 1999, 14, fn. 21).

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describes the transformation of the role of women from mothers to teachers in the Republican period, pointing out yet another linguistic shift, that from “teachers of the inner chambers” (guishu shi 閨塾師), traditional mothers who taught their own children at home, to female teachers (nü jiaoxi 女教習), teaching young citizens in order to strengthen the nation. “Traditional women were transformed into educators in the public domain, and female normal schools were built to train female teachers for the sake of national prosperity” (Cong 2008, 115–144). We will see how these ideas are clearly reflected in the work of religious leaders, Daoist and Buddhist. Thus, for many reformers and political revolutionaries of this period, championing women’s rights was essential not only for women’s sake, but for the process of modernization and for the survival of the nation, at a time when China was deemed backwards and barbaric for its treatment of women.13 The emancipation of women in China in fact served as a potent example, not for the feminist movement, but rather for patriarchal nationalism and the urgent project of state rebuilding (Edwards 2000, 115–147). Women leaving behind the fetters of Confucian morality (footbinding, concubinage. . .) meant that they were constructing a new, stronger, China, while constructing a “new woman”. As China was deemed powerless in the face of Western nations, traditional Chinese women became symbolic of that lack of power, and therefore the Chinese ‘new woman’ was, a symbol of political liberation (Larson 1998, 26). As a result of this repositioning of women’s roles, we observe an expansion of the public sphere to include women, but at the same time an appropriation of that space by nationalism. It is not coincidental that, at this time, we witness the emergence of a ‘new gendered collective identity’, nüjie, in service to the nationalist agenda and as a new space for women to operate in the public sphere.14 Not all intellectuals subordinated gender equality and female independence to the well-being of the nation: in her writings, He-yin Zhen advocated for a feminist struggle not subordinated to nationalistic and modernizing agendas, one that would bring about true social equality and the end of all social hierarchies, but she was in the minority (Liu, Karl and Ko 2013, 1). Below, we will see how these tensions between different currents of feminism, and between male and female intellectuals, and their use of new terminologies, will be mirrored in the writings of religious leaders and practitioners.

13 For an introduction to how these issues inform many thinkers of the period, see Gilmartin 1999, XII–XIII. For more on how women were seen as central to the construction of the national identity, see Hu 2000, 3. 14 On this term and the relation between gender and nationalism, see Zhang 2015.

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3 Gender and Religion in 20th Century China Recent scholarly works have highlighted how religion in the 20th century in China was reorganized according to new, modern, and scientific paradigms; in this novel definition, which excluded many communal experiences deemed superstitious, religion came to be identified more with personal practice and individual beliefs, understood as self-strengthening and self-improvement, and was to be one of the responses against Western Imperialism and Japanese occupation. Female religiosity was used as a site of symbolic transformation in 20th century China: in “A Women’s Bell”, the late nineteenth century male intellectual Jin Tianhong makes clear that superstition was a particular problem for women, it grew from their excessive emotional nature, and was to be overcome by education (Edwards 1994, 131). May 4th intellectuals thought the superstitious religious activities of women had to be reformed. Temples were transformed into schools, and women were educated in these schools, as a symbol of the real modernization of China.15 This large-scale support for and investment in women’s education, together with many other societal changes, produced a generation of female educators and intellectuals who found employment, and a new space of activity, in schools, newspapers, and also in religious organizations. Whereas some radical feminists (males and females) completely repudiated religion, many found new ways to engage with it; religious women who entered the public sphere began to be singled out not for criticism but rather as exemplars of women’s emancipation, constructing the “new woman” in the religious sphere. This phenomenon can be observed in different arenas: 1. Active involvement in Christian schools and hospitals, in charitable organizations like the YWCA, in redemptive societies, in Buddhist schools and organizations, and in Daoist circles; 2. The use of the press both to learn about different religious traditions, Chinese and Western, and to share personal religious experiences; 3. The revisiting of religious scriptures with a new ‘gender sensibility’.16 Women used this dramatic 15 An example of this discourse is found in Zhang 1943, 7–8, where he describes the need to convert all nunneries into schools for women; these school would work in a similar way to nunneries, which rescued destitute women from a life of poverty and gave them stability, with the added bonus of educating them, thus benefiting society and the nation. It is clear that joining a nunnery for a woman was not seen as an active religious choice, but a last resort for ‘weak women’, eliminating female agency in the process. 16 This is discussed for Buddhism in Li 2000, 255–312; for Christianity in Littell-Lamb 2002; for redemptive societies in Xia 2013. There is also extensive evidence of letter writing in religious journals on gender issues, and whole issues dedicated to women: the Buddhist Journal Jue you qing 覺有情 published three issues in 1943 devoted to women and Buddhism: ‘Fünü xuefo hao 婦女學佛號’, Jue you qing 83–84, 85–86, 87–88. It includes discussions of the role

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shift for their own purposes, pushing the boundaries between traditional and modern, private and public, finding spaces of agency within the nationalist project that was going to change their superstitious activities into examples of modernity, opening up areas of leadership that might have not been available to them in the past. In this process, using skills and values traditionally assigned to women (nurturing, teaching, taking care of the elderly and poor, leading charity efforts) they emerged in the public sphere and actually changed religious traditions. I argue that Daoist and Buddhist championing of women’s spirituality and spiritual equality must be viewed as a recognition of the widening of the public religious discourse to include women, but at the same time also as part of a larger project to create a modern, lay and nationalist spirituality. The examples below will show the tension between the nationalist agenda and the real advancements and radical changes advocated and practiced by religious women. It was also essential for the religious leadership of the time, besieged by calls for the transformation or total elimination of superstitious activities, observing the continuous attack on temple property to advance lay educational activities, to prove that they wholly embraced the re-education of women into citizens, and at the same time supported the essential role of women as the pillars of family and society. Supporting this agenda was important for the very survival of both Daoist and Buddhist communities.

4 Chen Yingning: Religion and Nationalism Chen Yingning 陳櫻寧 (1880–1969) (hao Zhixiang 志祥, Yuanshan 元善, zi Zixiu 子修, Daoist name Yuandunzi 圓頓子) was an intellectual who had a great impact on the reorganisation and diffusion of alchemical texts and notions in the Republican period.17 Originally from a literati family in Huaining 怀寧, Anhui, he obtained his xiucai degree at the age of fifteen. Because of his weak health, he started studying medicine, and at the same time started to practice Daoist methods for enhancing life. In 1905, he had to drop his studies and halt his career because his illness relapsed. He visited several religious mountains around China where he gathered oral teachings and scriptures. In 1912 he settled in Shanghai, at the Daoist abbey Baiyunguan 白雲觀, where he read extensively from the Daoist Canon. In 1916 he married Wu Yizhu 吳彝珠 (1882–1945) and responsibilities of Buddhist women in the family and in society, the role of women in Buddhist scriptures, and real-life accounts of nuns. 17 The main English language work on Chen is Liu 2009. See also Wu 2005. Published collections of Chen’s writings and letters include Xu 1977, Zhongguo daojiao xuehui 1989, and Hong 1991.

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a doctor with a keen interest in Daoist practice. Trained in gynecology, she opened a small clinic in Shanghai, providing income for the family. This clinic was to function until the spring of 1936.18 In the following years, Chen devoted his time to the study of alchemy. He gathered a group of interested intellectuals and experimented with different practices, from waidan (external alchemy) to neidan (internal alchemy), and recounted his trials with waidan in a letter to Mr. Huang Chanhua 黃懺華.19 He was interested in applying modern scientific ideas to the study of alchemy, introducing concepts like particles, atoms, neutrons, electricity. . . in his study of neidan (Liu 2009, 113–131; Liu 2010, 221– 246). He also annotated many different inner alchemy treatises, de facto creating a new category xianxue 仙學, “the study of immortality”, which approached religion and spirituality from a lay intellectual (xue) point of view, rather than from a religious point of view.20 In 1933 he was asked by Zhang Zhuming 張竹銘 (1905–2004), head of the renowned publishing company Yihuatang shanshu ju 翼化堂善書局 (Morality Bookstore of Broad Transformation), to be the chief editor of the journal Yangshan banyuekan 揚善半月刊 (Nurturing the Good Biweekly). It was in the pages of this journal that Chen began to introduce the wider public to the techniques of Daoist inner alchemy. Before long he had attracted a circle of interested people, and together they founded the Xiandao xueyuan 仙道學院 (Institute for the Way to Immortality), a center for research into xiandao 仙道, “the way to immortality.” Chen made use of the Yangshan banyuekan to published alchemical texts that he himself annotated, as well as numerous epistolary exchanges that he conducted with readers regarding various aspects of the theory and practice of xianxue. In 1937, because of the Japanese occupation of Shanghai, the journal had to close down. A similar journal, Xiandao yuebao 仙道月報 (The way to immortality monthly) was started up in 1939, again with the support of Zhang Zhuming and Chen as chief editor, but in 1941, it too had to shut down because of the continuing turmoil in Shanghai. Despite the short periods in which these two journals were published, the materials that appeared in their pages are extremely valuable. Chen worked relentlessly to disseminate the notions embedded in alchemical works through the publication of these two

18 In the spring of 1936, Wu was diagnosed with breast cancer. Her use of female alchemy to cure herself, and her practice with her friend Wu Yizhu are briefly discussed in Liu 2009, 202–203. 19 Chen 1935, 1–2. Reprinted in Hong 1991, 505–507. See also Hong 1991, 2. 20 Lay and monastic Buddhists were at the same time creating the new intellectual category of Foxue. On the creation of a lay Buddhist identity in Shanghai, see Jessup 2010.

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journals, the writing of various commentaries to inner alchemical works, and the organisation of a community of believers. For Chen, and many of his contemporaries, there was an inextricable relationship between Chinese religious traditions and the strength of the nation. He says: We must affirm that Daoism is the spiritual anchor of the Chinese nation. . .. To believe in Daoism is to conserve our body, and to propagate Daoism is to save the country. But against the cultural and religious invasion, our military power cannot be deployed successfully. If we do not utilize our country indigenous culture and religion resisting it, the foundation of several thousands of years of intellectual tradition will be lost in one day. (Liu 2012)

It is clear from the above discussion that Chen strongly believed that his role in the revival of Daoism through xianxue was a service not only to individual practitioners, but more importantly to the nation. Readers of the Yangshan banyuekan agreed with this interpretation. Jingxin zi 淨心子 is a good example. In his “Xianxue shi qiangguo de weiyi miaofa lun 仙學是中國的惟一妙法論 – The Immortal’s learning is the only efficacious method for strengthening the nation”, he advocates for a self-cultivation that would strengthen the body of the citizens first and, as a result, invigorate the nation (qiang min, qiang guo 強 民強國) (Liu 2012). As will be clarified below, this strengthening was extended to the body of women.

4.1 Chen Yingning’s Reinterpretation of Female Alchemical Practice Xun Liu’s excellent monograph on Chen introduces him as a central figure in the modernization of Daoism in the Republican era. In this article, I wish to focus specifically on Chen’s engagement with women’s practice and on gender issues.21 My analysis of Chen’s interest and involvement in women’s practice is based on: 1. His relationship with the noted female writer, educator and activist Lü Bicheng 呂碧城, who inspired his first annotation of female alchemy texts; for this interaction I have looked at Chen and Lü’s epistolary exchange in 21 Chen’s modern reinterpretation of Daoist self-cultivation practices has been discussed in Liu 2009. Chen’s approach to female alchemy for women (nüdan 女丹), on the other hand, has not received enough attention and deserves to be explored further. Exceptions are Valussi 2003, 184–205, and Liu 2015.

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the Yangshan banyuekan and at Chen’s annotated editions of the Sun Bu’er nügong neidan cidi shi zhu 孫不二女功內丹次第詩注 (A commentary to the female inner alchemy poems of Sun Bu’er in sequence) and the Nüdan shize 女丹十則 (Precepts on female alchemy).22 His annotated and rearranged versions of numerous female alchemy texts, first serialized in the journals he edited, and then collated in a stand-alone collection with a long introduction, the Nüzi daoxue xiao congshu wuzhong 女子道學小叢書五種 (Small collectanea on Daoist learning for women, in five chapters) (Chen 1936b). His epistolary exchanges with other female readers in the Yangshan banyuekan. Specifically, his exchanges with Zhu Changya 朱昌亞 a gynaecologist educated in America and a colleague of Chen’s wife Wu Yizhu in Shanghai, a regular participant to gatherings at the Chen’s home, and very active at the Xianxue yuan 仙學院, the institute organized by Chen to research xianxue23; Chen Wuxuan 陳悟玄 from Baoying 寶應 in Jiangsu; Ms. Dong 董 from Anyang 安陽 in Henan; and Zhang Zhide 張志德.24

The majority of the female alchemy scriptures Chen annotated and reprinted come from the two largest and most well-known collections of female alchemy, the Nüjindan fayao 女金丹法要 (Essential methods for the female golden elixir), edited by Fu Jinquan 傅金銓 (fl. 1820) in 1813, and the Nüdan Hebian 女丹合編 (Collection of female alchemy), edited by He Longxiang 賀龍驤 in 1906 (Valussi 2008, 153–193). Both male editors published these collections in Sichuan, far from the quickly modernizing coastal areas and less influenced by the discourse of women’s rights and democracy. The Nüdan hebian was first published in 1906, the first epistolary exchanges about nüdan between Chen Yingning and his female student Lü Bicheng appeared in 1916, and Chen’s final collection dedicated to female alchemy, the Nüzi daoxue xiao congshu wuzhong, was published in 1936. Even though the time between the publication of the Nüdan hebian and that of Chen’s works is not that great, the different interpretations

22 The epistolary exchange dates to 1916 and is reproduced in Yangshan banyuekan, 4.14, (1937). It is reprinted in Hong 1991, 270–277. The two female alchemy texts, edited and annotated for Lü, are reproduced in Hong 1991, 636–668. 23 Zhu Changya and Wu Yizhu, Chen’s wife, were close friends. On their friendship and their shared interest in Daoist practices, see Liu 2009, 201–204 and Liu 2015. 24 These exchanges are reproduced in Hong 1991, 234–279. The one between Chen Yingning and Chen Wuxuan is among the most prolific, and covers diverse topics. Hong 1991 reprints 7 letters: see Hong 1991, 242–250 (originally in Yangshan banyuekan 4.1, 1936), and Hong 1991, 256–61 (originally in Yangshan banyuekan 4.10, 1936, and Yangshan banyuekan 4.15, 1937).

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of the role of women in the process of self-refinement expressed in them are quite significant. The earlier female alchemy texts collected in the Nüdan hebian were largely prescriptive and emphasized female chastity and the proper behavior of women. They also assumed that women, because of their relegation to the “inner chambers,” would not have access to either teachers or manuals, and would be practicing on their own. Chen reinterpreted and annotated the preexisting nüdan canon according to his own ideas about Daoism and xianxue, as well as contemporary notions of modernization, scientific experimentation, and gender equality. He rejected the assumption that these texts were transmitted by the gods and therefore were not to be questioned: he criticized, ridiculed and even deleted references to the divine nature of the scriptures, asserting their human origins: “These are all fake names. In this era of the elimination of superstition, we cannot still use these names” (Chen 1936b, vol. 2, section 4, 3b; Chen 1936b, vol. 1, section 3, 3b). He rejected the gender-biased double standards that were taken for granted in earlier texts. He eliminated most of the references to chastity and female proper behavior, thereby allowing the discourse on women’s emancipation to become predominant. He advocated for rethinking religious gender bias: This text says that women’s refinement must include ‘awaiting salvation’ (daidu 待度); this is fake principle, and not very satisfactory. It is due to past beliefs that women are inferior to men. Every one of the world’s religious institutions subscribe to the belief that men and women are not equal, it is not only China that is like that. But if you focus on women’s outstanding talents, then you’ll be able to smash this pre-existing model. (Chen 1936b, vol. 2, section 4, 3b–4a)

He added detailed notes about the physiological processes involved in, and the bodily changes that would result from, the practice of female alchemy, explaining the process from a western scientific point of view. Moreover, he criticized previous authors for their negative portrayal of women’s physiology as burdensome, and affirmed the equality between male and female access to immortality, introducing a gender equality perspective. He rearranged the structure and the contents of the texts when they were unclear or redundant, applying the kaozheng 考證 textual criticism methods spearheaded by Liang Qichao, Hu Shi 胡適 and Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛, that were beginning to be used in contemporary reassessments of religious and medical canons, favoring an empirical mode of scholarship: “I have deleted without exception the places where there have been interpolations, I have eliminated the falsities and restored the truth” (Chen 1936b, vol. 1, section 2, 4a–b). In his annotations to the texts, he made a concerted attempt to eliminate the aura of “mystery” and “esotericism” that he believed made it unnecessarily difficult for ordinary

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people to access the Daoist scriptures. In modifying the para-text, Chen was thus able to advocate for his brand of Daoism, modern, void of superstitions and old beliefs. Specifically, he significantly shifted the attitude towards women emerging from these texts; nüdan became a tool for women’s spiritual independence, not their confinement, and started to appeal to the “new women” reading his publications and journals.

4.2 First Encounters: Chen and Lü Bicheng 呂碧城 (1883–1943) Chen was first inspired to tackle female alchemy by his encounter with charismatic women’s rights activist, poet, educator and journalist Lü Bicheng. Lü had written extensively on the question of women’s rights in China, was an admirer of radical political activist and journalist Qiu Jin, and, like Qiu Jin, was passionate about the need to educate girls; for this reason, she founded and directed the Beiyang Women’s public school in Tianjin.25 Lü had also been a personal friend of Yan Fu, a public intellectual and an advocate for the physical health, spirituality and strength of all Chinese. After the end of the Qing dynasty in 1912, the school she directed had to be closed down. From the sources, it is unclear exactly where she lived in the next few years, but accounts place her in Shanghai, even though she was also said to be Yuan Shikai’s secretary in Beijing for the short period between 1912 and 1915. In Shanghai, she became a very successful businesswoman and amassed a great fortune. It is likely at this time that she met Chen.26 Lü had become interested in spiritual traditions and selfrefinement possibly because of her weak health, as well as her disappointment in the political process, and was looking for a more personal path; she would eventually become a practicing Buddhist, a strong advocate of animal rights and vegetarianism, and a contributor to Buddhist journals, specifically Jue you

25 On Lü Bicheng’s life as a poet, writer, journalist and women’s rights activist, see Grace Fong’s articles: Fong 2004, 12–59; Fong 2008, 87–114; Fong 2014, 35–61. See also Wu 2004, 1–75, and Zhang 2013, 75–110. 26 Liu 2009 places their encounter during a brief sojourn by Chen in Beijing. Though the sources are contradictory, it is more likely that they met through common acquaintances in Shanghai. I am basing my chronology on Fong 2004. Lü first published her poem to Chen after her visit and appended his reply in the 1918 edition of the Xinfangji 信芳集 (Collection of newsbearing flowers) (shi 詩 3a–4b). It was included among her shi poems in subsequent editions of her poetry.

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qing 覺有情 (Awakening all living creatures), which dedicated a whole issue to her remembrance.27 She pursued Chen because of his expertise with Daoist practices and, in a letter, asked him to discuss self-refinement for women.28 Directly inspired by Lü’s interest, Chen responded in 1916 by annotating two well-known late Qing female alchemy texts, the Sun Bu’er Yuanjun fayu 孫不二元君法語 (Model sayings of the lady of the Origin Sun Bu’er), producing the annotated version Sun Bu’er nügong neidan citi shi zhu 孫不二女功內丹次第詩注 (A commentary to the female inner alchemy poems of Sun Bu’er in sequence), and the Nüdan shize 女丹十則 (Ten Precepts on Female Alchemy), for her.29 After reading these annotated versions of female alchemy texts, Lü had several very specific questions, which she expressed in letter-form to Chen. Her queries are frank and direct, revealing a great shift in the way educated women were able to discuss their personal experiences, their bodies and their sexuality with men. In his careful responses, Chen was not afraid to discuss issues such as female physiology, menstruation, and breast massage. This correspondence is valuable because, while it still portrays Chen as the teacher, it also gives Lü a powerful voice, which clearly influences Chen’s responses. In the larger context of female alchemy literature, and of alchemical literature in general, it is the first time that we see the recording of a direct and public exchange between a man and a woman on the issue. Up until then the literature, written, edited and published by males, only indirectly acknowledged the contribution of women, often family members, to the gathering of texts as well as to the understanding of the practice.30 We can safely say that it was Lü Bicheng’s first pointed inquiries in 27 In the late 1920s and 1930s, Lü wrote several articles on Buddhist magazines about her interpretations of Buddhist scriptures, as well as on her vegetarianism. A quick search of the Quanguo baokan suoyin 全國報刊索引database (http://www.cnbksy.cn) reveals more than one hundred articles authored by Lü, mostly published in the two decades between 1920 and 1940, evenly divided between women’s journals, Buddhist journals and educational journals. 28 Lü was one of Chen’s first pupils, and we have no evidence of previous discussions or publications by Chen covering women’s practices. 29 The Sun Bu’er Yuanjun fayu is in Daozang Jiyao 道藏輯要 15: 6826–6827, 108a-110b. The Nüdan shize is part of the collection Nüdan hebian mentioned above. Both texts are also reproduced in Hong 1991, 636–668. The 1916 letter exchange was appended to the Nüdan shize in the Nüzi daoxue xiao congshu in 1936 and in an issue of the Yangshan banyue kan in 1937; the annotated texts were serialized on the pages of the Yangshan banyuekan between 1933 and 1934, and later republished as self-standing pamphlets, as a way to address the similar concerns of a growing number of female readers. See reprints in Hong 1991, 270–277. 30 See for example how He Longxiang acknowledges the impetus behind his search for female alchemy scriptures on Emei shan 峨眉山 as coming from women in his family in his Nüdan Hebian. He 1906, 6a.

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1916 that inspired Chen to delve deeper into the question of female practice and to later connect to the growing number of women interested in such matters.31 This may also be related to the increasing ease in which women were debating ‘feminine issues’ publicly on newspapers and with men. One example is the debates over menstrual regularity and the use of sanitary pads recently discussed by Shing-ting Lin for the same period (Lin 2013, 294–316). Lü’s questions to Chen focus only on the practice and its effects on the female body. His answers reveal a desire to explain in simple and scientific terms the changes that self-cultivation brings to the female body. Some examples follow: Lü’s question: The Nüdan shize says: “In women, the Yang 陽 ascends.” What is the Yang in women? How does it ascend? Chen’s response: What we call women’s Yang is the woman’s growth energy inherent in her body. Ascending indicates that it ascends to the breasts. Thus, the reason a pre-pubescent girl does not have breasts is that her Yang is still restrained inside. After the age of ten, then her breasts slowly start growing. That which makes them grow is the power of the Yang energy. Lü’s question: Where is the sea of blood located in the body? Chen’s response: The Huangdi neijing 皇帝內經 (Yellow Emperor’s Inner Canon) says that the brain is the sea of marrow, the womb is the sea of blood, and the cavity in the chest is the sea of qi 氣. If you want to know where the sea of blood is, you first need to understand what the womb (bao 胞) is. The womb is located above the intestines, behind the bladder, and in women, it is the palace of the child, the place of conception. Lü’s question: The book talks about the blood fluid changing into residual matter, which is then discarded. How can we discard it? Chen’s response: As for discarding, this is the monthly menstrual period. It is a natural, not man-made process. Lü question: What is pure? What is impure? How do we decide which is which? Chen’s response: Energy is pure, blood is impure. What is pure ascends, what is impure descends. What is pure is useful, what is impure is useless [. . .] But what needs to be understood is that impure blood is a transformation of pure energy; every month too much impure blood is lost, which decreases the pure energy. The superior practice does not allow pure energy to change into impure blood, and as result the menses cease naturally. The mediocre practice extracts pure energy from impure blood, and as a result, the menses slowly lessen until they disappear.

31 In a letter to Zhu Changya, Chen directly acknowledges that his initial letter exchanges with Lü Bicheng and the annotations to female alchemy texts he provided her had been incredibly helpful to many readers and practitioners in the intervening two decades. He asserts that at least 2500 people, in China and abroad, had been able to receive these instructions through his publishing efforts. See Hong 1991, 241.

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Lü’s question: As for the breasts being the final location (of the practice), how can you apply the revolving motion (to them)? Even if you can, what is the method for this revolving movement? How can you ‘support them and return to the center’? Chen’s response: The meaning of ‘support them and return to the center’ is that you are supporting the two breasts with your hands. Hold them tight like a ball, do not support them from underneath as if they were bags, but support the right breast pushing it towards the left, and the left breast pushing it towards the right; do not let them naturally fall towards the two sides. At this time, your spirit and intention will naturally and silently gather at the point between the breasts. Lü’s question: What is meant by “Beheading the Red Dragon”? Is it stopping the menses? Chen’s response: It is refining the menses, not stopping them. For ordinary women, if their menses happen to stop, they immediately think that they are ill. But refining the menses in order to stop them is a practice and has nothing to do with illness. Prepubescent girls can skip the step of “Beheading the Red Dragon.” As for older women, since their menses have already dried up, they need first of all to nurture their bodies and practice so as to cause the menses to return, and then refine it again until they disappear. This is even more trouble!! (Hong 1991, 270–77)32

In the 1936 introduction to his annotated version of the Sun Bu’er poems, Chen discussed gender equality. He argued that, while all religions tend to treat women differently from men, keeping them on a lower step of the ladder, this is not true of xianxue, for which men and women are equal (pingdeng). He appropriated the nüdan tradition, making it part and parcel of xianxue and, as an example of gender equality, he explained how in this tradition women are deemed to be even faster than men in reaching their spiritual goal: Every religion in the world is extremely impressive, but from a theoretical as well as practical point of view, very few of them give the opportunity of considering man and women as equals (nannü pingdeng de jihui 男女平等的機會). Only the shenxian 神仙 school is not like this: it often says that women’s practice is faster than men’s (. . .) All the way until the final results of the practice, if the person works hard and does not stop the practice, there are no differences between men and women (ping wu gaoxia zhi cha 幷無男女高下之差). Therefore, the shenxian tradition (shenxian jia 神仙家) is not the same as other religions (jiao 教), because of its peculiar knowledge. The shenxian school is extremely free (ziyou 自由), and transcends the religious dimension (. . .) Those women who have high aims, should enter this door. (Chen 1933, 3–4)33

Here, Chen wanted at the same time to disassociate himself and the shenxian school from the superstitious beliefs that had been criticized so harshly, and to

32 Original in Chen 1936b, vol. 1, section 3, 22a–35b, and Yangshan banyuekan 4.14: 4–5, (1937). 33 Also reproduced in Hong 1991, 639.

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elevate women, generally understood to be particularly backwards because of their religious beliefs, to a practice that was non-superstitious.

4.3 Chen and His Larger Female Audience As editor of the Yangshan banyuekan, Chen published widely on subjects relating to self-refinement and alchemy, and, as mentioned above, his 1916 correspondence with Lü Bicheng and the texts he annotated for her were issued in the Yangshan banyuekan in 1936. Chen’s emergence as an expert on questions of female practice in the short decade between 1933 and 1941 spurred an immediate response from many female readers, and throughout the periods of publication of his two journals, he engaged in correspondence with readers interested in female practice, its limits and implications (Hong 1991, 234–279). The letter exchanges between Chen and his readers are the first first-person accounts of the perspective of female alchemy practitioners on a variety of topics, and while they are not atypical in the context of the contemporary flourishing of periodicals, and especially publications that targeted women and women’s education (Chen 2008, 315–347), they nonetheless give us a rare glimpse into the world of female practitioners, their familial and financial situations, their access to reading materials and the specific book selections they made. The issue of gender equality arose often in his exchanges with female readers: in his response to Ms. Chen Wuxuan 陳悟玄, who had inquired about female alchemy, Chen asserted that the traditional belief of “valuing men and undervaluing women” (zhongnan qingnü 重男輕女) is not natural (tianran de 天然的) but man-made (renwei de 人為的), and that xianxue, differently from religions such as Buddhism, Christianity and others, was the only school (pai 派) recognizing it.34 The language used (equal rights, freedom, natural vs. manmade) reminds us of the wider context of gender equality and nationalism in which this discussion was embedded. It is valuable to note how Chen uses xianxue’s treatment of women as an example of its superiority amongst other religious traditions, pitting forward-looking xianxue against other (backwards and superstitious) religions. Xianxue, because of its view on women’s spiritual emancipation, was modern and in line with the times, therefore women of high aims should choose it against others.

34 Chen 1936a (“Fu Jiangsu Baoying mou nüshi”), 8. Also in Hong 1991, 245.

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In a response to questions by a different reader, Shi Zhihe 石志和, Chen again discusses gender equality, and challenges backwards notions about the female body: Customs say: a man has a structure of eight Jewels; a woman has a body of five leakages.35 In fact, what are the eight Jewels? What are the five leakages? Please hear (me) and point (me to the answer). In response: the eight Jewels are: Gold, silver, pearls, jade, coral, agate, crystal, amber. All are precious things. To compare them to the male body is valuable. The five leakages (lou 漏) are the eyes, the ears, the nose, the tongue, the body’s five senses. . . . They allow the body to perceive color, smell, touch. . .therefore you cannot avoid having “leakages”. Also, the Chinese medical classics say that the female body has 5 illnesses “below the girdle”, and it can be said that they are the five leakages. This and other custom sayings are constructed out of the habits of old about valuing men over women (zhongnan qingnü), and they do not tally with the principles of gender equality (nannü pingdeng). I honestly say one sentence: “Women have leakages, is it possible that men do not? (Chen 1935 [Dafu Shi Zhihe jun shiwen], 27)36

In this response, Chen rejected old customs (zhongnan qing nü), replacing it with the newly constructed concept of gender equality (nannü pingdeng); he wanted to transform traditional religious gender inequality (women have 5 leakages) into a new modern understanding of gender (women have leakages, is it possible that men do not?) This view was shared by other readers, as exemplified by this letter: “Xiandao nannü pingdeng lun” 仙道男女平等論, written by Cheng Xu 澄虛, and published in the Xiandao yuebao on January first 1939 (the first letter of the first issue of this new journal). Cheng discusses gender equality from the point of view of the Way of the Immortals: My country has corrupt customs; there is nobody who does not value men over women in religious and superstitious schools. Specifically, they regard women as filthy objects; when they refer to men, they call them ‘the body of the 8 Jewels’; when they refer to women, they call them ‘the body of the 5 leakages’”. This kind of language habit reflects a truly strong philosophy of “valuing men over women” (zhongnan qingnü). If women have leakages, how is it that men do not have leakages? This is truly and honestly a laughing matter. But my immortal way is not that way. If you check all of the alchemical treatises, all of the ones that discuss women’s way of refinement say that they are faster in comparison to men. This is the immortal’s way valuable point in terms of gender

35 This is a general reference to Buddhist beliefs about the male and female bodies. 36 Shi Zhihe was a male reader from Baoying in Jiangsu, not far from Shanghai, and a friend of Chen Wuxuan. This question appears in a longer question and answer exchange centered on the differences between Buddhism and Daoism and it is the only one referring to women.

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equality (nannü pingdeng). Liu Yiming (the author of 12 books on the Dao) says: ‘for example men take 5 years to “conceal” the qi, but women can complete it in 3 years. Men take 9 years to refine themselves, women can do it in 5 years. Women’s inner nature is soft, men’s inner nature is hard; if soft, it is easy to “conceal”; if hard, it is hard to tame. Therefore, as for male and female refinement, they have differences in their practices. Their differences lie in the fact that female practice has “cutting the Red dragon” (the menses); if the Red Dragon is cut, the body becomes like a male. After this, (a woman) uses the same practice as a man, and her accomplishment will be even faster. I say that in the world there is no lack of courageous and intelligent women. If they read this discussion of mine, they will not reject it as superstitious talk. (Cheng 1939)

Cheng Xu 澄虛, using the same categories as Chen (nannü pingdeng, zhongnan qingnü), highlighted the gender bias inherent in representations of female physiology in religion; at the same time, he emphasized elements of alchemical treatises that put forth women’s superiority to men. Both the original female alchemy texts and their reinterpretations by Chen and his contemporaries still subscribe to the belief in the fundamental difference between men and women; what Chen is advocating for is the acknowledgment that women are equal to men in their ability of achieving spiritual goals, not in the way they achieve them. Thus, Chen’s rhetoric, while supporting gender equality, still comes from the understanding that there are ‘separate spheres’ of action and practice for men and women, tied to their different biologies. Further, despite the repeated and heartfelt support for gender equality, and the support and advocacy of women’s practice and emancipation, a close reading of the epistolary exchanges between Chen and his female readers also reveals Chen’s support of more traditional female social roles as wives and mothers. Prasenjit Duara, writing specifically about the Republican period, introduces the concept of Nationalist Patriarchy: “Nationalist patriarchy is dominated by the tension between the desire to modernize (the lives of women as well) and to conserve the truth of their regime in the bodies of women (Duara 1998, 299). “Like many other early twentieth-century patriarchal nationalisms, women were to be liberated for and by the nation; they were to embody the nation, not to be active agents shaping it” (Duara 1998, 298). This attitude is quite clear in Chen when he answers questions from readers about the possible conflicts between practice and family life. Zhu Changya, for example, asked about the most appropriate practice for women of different ages and marital status. In response, Chen gave her eight examples of women in different stages of their life, with a description of the practice suitable to each. The first five examples relate to women who have not had sexual intercourse, while the rest relate to married women:

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Ex. 1) A girl of about ten who has not yet had her menses. The energies of such a young girl are abundant and not yet depleted by over-exhaustion, desires and grief. This makes her practice much easier than that of an older woman, and she can skip the first few stages of the practice. Ex. 2) A girl between fourteen and twenty years of age. A young woman who has had her first menses, but whose energies are still abundant. She needs to follow the normal course of the practice. Ex. 3) A woman between 22 and 35 years of age. Such a woman may or may not have a regular menses, or may suffer illnesses related to her menses. It is necessary for her first to go to a doctor and get a complete check-up before she can safely start the practice. Her practice will be much more difficult than that of a young girl. Ex. 4) A woman between the ages of 35 and 49. At this age, the menses are starting to stop, and a woman is fatigued. It is necessary to replenish her energies before she can start the practice. Ex. 5) A woman between the ages of 49 and 60–70. Her menses have already ceased. In order to start the practice, she will need to replenish her energies and cause the menses to return. Only then can she start the practice. Ex. 6) A married woman between the ages of 16 and 26. For a woman of this age and circumstance, practice can be very difficult. She will need to face the problems of being pressured by the family to produce offspring, being pressured by her husband to engage in sexual intercourse and having to work hard to run the family. If the woman is poor, practice is not advised. If she is wealthy, she will need to discuss the issue with her husband. (italics mine). Ex. 7) A married woman between the ages of 26 and 46. A woman of this age and circumstance has even more responsibilities and pressures than a younger woman, therefore she might not be able to practice at all. But if her husband agrees to desist from sexual intercourse and if she agrees to stop breastfeeding if she has young children, it can be done. (italics mine). Ex. 8) A widow With no children, or with grown-up children, and no husband to put pressures on her, such a woman is in the perfect position to practice. (Chen 1937, 527–529)37

It is clear from the last three examples how family responsibilities need to come before practice, if the two collide. Even though Chen openly advocates for gender equality (nannü pingdeng), he still often operates from within the confines of Nationalist Patriarchy, as it is clear from some of his responses to his reader’s queries. Chen appears to be at the same time a champion of women’s equality but also very aware of the pressure on women to continue to conform to a more traditional familial model. He does not advocate a total disengagement from the family, and in fact he warns women to consider the needs of parents,

37 Italics are mine. Reprinted in Hong 1991, 236–238.

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children and husbands. The discussion of the necessity for women to come to terms with their own physical and above all social situation before they can start the practice, or during the practice, indicates that, despite Chen’s positive assessment of xianxue in relation to gender equality, and despite the freedom female readers have in discussing personal questions with him, he perceives women’s negotiation of family and spiritual life as normal, and the husband’s agreement to the wife’s practice as essential. Chen’s concept of gender equality emerges from his interpretation of the practice but is not necessarily intended to influence social reality, nor to challenge family and national stability. This is in line with other materials on women’s practice published in the Yangshan banyuekan. For example, below is an advertisement for the reprinting of the Kundao yingxing shibaze 坤道應行十八則 (Eighteen precepts on how Daoist women need to practice). This late Qing compilation of exhortations for women to follow proper behavior, rules and regulations within the family, with husband, sons and in-laws, had just been reprinted by Yihuatang, which also published the Yangshan banyuekan. The advertisement emphasizes that the intent of the scripture is to instruct women in the proper care of the family. It also notes that men too should know about these precepts, since it is women who will shape the next generation. The practice of these precepts will, by regulating the family, contribute to regulating the country: The Yi(jing) says: the way of Qian forms the male, the way of Kun forms the female; this is a practice that women should embrace, and it should be even more important for men, because women, once married, give birth to sons and daughters (italics mine). Therefore (this text) is not only a contribution to the education (of women), but also to the education of the entire family [. . .] These eighteen principles cover the way to refine the body, the way to serve one’s in laws and follow one’s husband, the way to educate children and rule the household (italics mine), and the way to thoroughly understand the world, awakening to reality and refining inner nature. From a narrow point of view (following these principles) will result in becoming a sagely woman just like Jiang Yuan 姜嫄 (the consort of King Gu, an ancient king); from a wider point of view, (following them) will result in ruling the family and regulating the country (italics mine). All perfected women should read this treasure.38

The above statement highlights the importance of the traditional role of women as nurturers and educators of children, supporters of the family unit, and 38 Publicity for the Yihuatang reprint of the Kundao yingxing shibaze, Yangshan banyuekan 2.11, (1934): 9. The Kundao yingxing shibaze was originally part of the Yuanhua zhinan 元化指 南, compiled in 1899 by Hu Sizhen 胡思真. Reprinted in Zangwai Daoshu 藏外道書, vol. 25, 753–767.

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overall role models for the whole of Chinese society, in line with what Kang Youwei, Liang Qichao and Jin Tianhe suggested, and with what Buddhist leaders discussed below also support. The implication is that Daoist female practice can benefit not only the family but also the nation. The examples above show the complexity of the historical moment that Chen and his readers face: a moment of great change and turmoil, an opportunity to dramatically redefine gender relations, but at the same time the great need to maintain a social order based on gender differences. Below, I will try to highlight a similar trajectory for influential personalities in the Buddhist community, who were genuinely interested in women’s advancement in society and also utilized the gender equality discourse in order to bolster and modernize their own religious tradition, sometimes, like Chen, highlighting its ‘modernity’ at the expense of other, more backwards, traditions.

5 Buddhist Reinterpretation of Gender Equality Buddhist Republican reformers have received much scholarly attention recently, but their stance on gender has generally not been explored.39 There are, however, a few studies on Buddhist nuns and nunneries, which also include discussions of gender.40 The gender equality discourse emerges in discussions by male and female Buddhist reformers in the early Republican period, and is approached in a variety of ways, some similar to what is described for the Daoist community above, and some more specific to the Buddhist community. A quick survey of Buddhist and non-Buddhist newspapers of the time reveal a definite preoccupation with the role of nuns in society, a question that did not arise in the Daoist community. Historically, nuns, and especially Buddhist nuns, had been seen with suspicion, often as little more than prostitutes.41 A typical example is given in the Jinping mei: Black-robed Buddhist nuns are the most unspeakable of creatures; In vast courtyards and secluded mansions, they deceive beauties.

39 See Goldfuss 2001; Kiely 2017, 30–77; Birnbaum 2003, 428–450 and 2017, 161–208; Campo 2017, 99–136; Yu, 2005; Pittman 2001, and Jessup 2010. 40 A general introduction to the topic is Li 2002, 147–176. On nuns, see Yuan 2009, 375–412, and Devido 2015, 76–77. 41 For a historical perspective on the perception of nuns as prostitutes see Wang 1935, 158–165. See also the description of nuns and sexual desire in late Imperial China in Goldman 2001, 71–148.

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If persons of this ilk were readily capable of attaining Buddha-hood; The Western Paradise would remain forever a realm immersed in murk. (Jinpingmei cihua 金瓶梅詞話, Wanli Edition, 40:4a)42

This perception continued into the 20th century. Newspaper articles describe Buddhist nuns as prostitutes or as surrogate mothers; they discuss ways to reeducate nun-prostitutes, or criticize the constant scorn directed at them.43 The life of a nun, even though not always equated with prostitution, is described as bitter and difficult, and the decision to enter the Buddhist order not a personal choice but rather a result of poverty, illness or other familial hardship, and a position difficult to escape from.44 So, while we see the rise and celebration of male Buddhist teachers, who sometimes are revered as saints, the perception of nuns is generally negative. In the 1920s and 1930s, and into the 1940s, we also witness the publication of several treatises and pamphlets by Buddhist leaders and adepts who praise the role of Buddhist women in the family. Examples are: Lü Xianxi’s 呂咸熙 Xunnü baozhen 訓女寶箴 (Precious Admonitions for the Instructions of Women)45; Zhiguang’s 智光 “Funü xuefo yuanqi” 婦女學佛緣起 (Introduction for Women Studying Buddhism) and Funü xuefo chubu 婦女學佛初步 (Rudiments for Women Studying Buddhism)46; Taixu’s 太虛 (1932) Zhujia shinü xuefo chengxu 住家士女學 佛程序 (Procedures for Laymen and Laywomen Studying Buddhism); Chen Hailiang’s 陳海量 (1948) Jianshe Fohua jiating 建設佛化家庭 (Constructing the Buddhist Home); and Yuan Xi’s 愿西 (1936) Fohua jiehun jinian tekan 佛化结婚纪 念特刊 (Special Commemorative Issue on Marriage in Buddhist Education), among others. Thus women’s roles in Buddhism are acknowledged and discussed widely.

42 Available from: http://ctext.org/wiki.pl?if=en&chapter=739689. Translated in Roy 1993, vol.1, 444. A similar description is found in Jinpingmei cihua 12:18b. Translated in Roy, vol. 1, 252. 43 On nuns described as prostitutes in magazines, and their rehabilitation, see Jin 1937, 4 and 30. On nuns hired to produce children for barren mothers, see: n.a. 1935, 14, and 1935, 9. On general criticism of nuns’ character, questioning their dignity, see n.a. 1932, 1706. 44 Several articles describe the hardships in the life of a nun and the lack of choice in entering it: Han 1925, 85; Li 1935, 3559–3563. One article describes the desire and anxiety of one specific nun about leaving the nunnery: Lian 1940, 37. 45 Lü, a scholar from Yunnan active in the late Qing and beginning of the Republican period, composed and prefaced the Xunnü baozhen in 1921 (Lü 1929). 46 Zhiguang, from Taixian in Jiangsu, was an important Buddhist educator and abbott. See a biography by Erik Hammestrom: http://buddhistinformatics.ddbc.edu.tw/dmcb/Zhiguang_智 光. For his publications, see Zhiguang 1929, 1–11, and Zhiguang 1933.

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With this context in mind, in this section we will see how Buddhist reformers engaged in different ways with the questions of gender equality, of the education of both lay-women and nuns, and of whether Buddhist women should become nuns or practice within the family. While most scholars supported the equality between men and women and decried gender discrimination, some Buddhist leaders were ambivalent about allowing and supporting Buddhist women in their choice to become nuns, and advocated for a strong role of Buddhist women within the family. Buddhist reformers generally supported the education of both monks and nuns, within the context of larger educational reforms advocated by intellectuals and the state, and in response to Liang Qichao’s 1897 call for the education of women. Below, I will briefly survey writings from major Buddhist reformers like Taixu, Yinguang and Yang Wenhui, as well as writings by followers and students.

5.1 Buddhist Teachers and Gender Equality Taixu 太虚 (1890–1947), one of the major figures of Republican Buddhism, had a complex stance on the equality between men and women: on the one hand he supported Buddhist laywomen and their religious work, on the other he discouraged them from becoming nuns, firmly asserting that the Buddha never wanted a Buddhist order for women, which would hinder the male order. He also advocated for more traditional roles of Buddhist women within the family, and he spoke positively of how women could contribute to the Buddhist cause more as lay-women than as nuns.47 In his “Jin Fojiao nannü sengsu xianmi wenti” 今佛教男女僧俗顯密問題, he asserts that, of the four groups of Buddhist followers (monks, nuns, laymen and laywomen), laymen were more educated and in a better position to fundraise for the Buddhist cause than monks and nuns, but also that lay-women were even more active and effective than laymen, and a great asset to the Buddhist community, whereas both monks and nuns had a limited reach (Taixu 1925, 6–7).48 Starting in 1924, and in the following years, Taixu also helped to set up the first educational Buddhist institutions for nuns and laywomen, the Puti Jingshe 菩提精舍, the Zhengxinhui nüzi yanjiubu 正信會女子研究部, and the Bajing Xueyuan 八經學院, at the Wuchang Buddhist Institute (Wuchang shijie foxue yuan 武昌世界佛學苑), therefore

47 Pittman 2001 is an excellent introduction to Taixu and his reforms, but it does not discuss his attitude on gender, female education and the female order. 48 See also the above mentioned Jujia shinü xuefo chengxu.

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opening the way for a number of well-educated nuns to enter the samgha, and to provide an opportunity for Buddhist laywomen to deepen their knowledge of Buddhism.49 His efforts were emulated across China with the establishment of other educational institutions for Buddhist women; examples are the 1928 establishment of a Buddhist class for women within the women Lotus Society of Jinan (Nüzi lianshe 女子蓮社), in Shandong and, in 1929, of the Nüzi Foxueyuan 女子佛學院 within the Wuliang shou Gongdelin 無量壽功德林 in Macao (He 1997, 207). A more traditionalist view of the role of women in society was that of Yinguang 印光 (1862–1940), another important Republican Buddhist reformer, an early supporter of the dissemination of Buddhist scriptures through printing, and a favorite teacher of the Shanghai lay Buddhist business and political elites, which also included many women.50 In his writings, he clearly supported a very traditional understanding of the role of women as wives and mothers, educators of their children, center of the family structure, pillar of society and country.51 His preface to the lithographic re-print of the Guifan (石印) 閨範, the educational book for women written by Ming dynasty writer Lü Kun 呂坤, echoes the Yijing in defining men and women as having definite but different positions in the world, based on cosmological laws: Heaven and Earth produced the two yin and yang qi, thereby engendering the ten thousand things. The sages provided men and women with definite positions, thereby building a moral order. (Yinguang 1939, 96)52

Yinguang was clearly supporting a traditional structure of society, and specifically women’s role in it as different, but complementary, to that of men. As described in detail by Li Zhuo, Yinguang clearly expressed and adhered closely to a traditional Confucian view of women as wives, mothers, filial daughters and daughters in law (Li 2007, 333–334). For these reasons, Yinguang was weary of the demands for equal rights for men and women, and believed that: Men have men’s rights, and women have women’s rights; serving your husband and teaching your children is a woman’s heavenly duty, her rights are therefore enormous. If

49 He 1997, 203–09, discusses these efforts in detail. Devido 2015 also discusses Taixu’s role towards nuns and lay-women. 50 For an introduction to Yinguang and his relationship to the Shanghai elites, see Kiely 2017. This account does not discuss Yinguang’s stance on women. 51 For a detailed description of Yinguang’s attitude towards women within Buddhism, see Li 2007 and the first part of Li 2000. 52 Ch: 天地以陰陽二氣。化生萬物。聖人以男女正位。建立倫紀.

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you do not stress this, and you cause women to become involved in government and politics as an equal right, this definitely is a disorderly system that does not distinguish right from wrong. (Yinguang 1962, 89)

In his “Jiating jiaoyu wei tianxia taiping zhi genben fayin” 家庭教育為天下太平 之根本發隱 (Yinguang 1939, 204–206), Yinguang clearly linked the positive role of women in the family to the opportunity of engendering peace in society and in the country, in a moment of grave political turmoil; in this way, Yinguang was assigning the important responsibility and power of keeping the country safe to women, indirectly criticizing the actions of those women who acted differently. He expressed this also in his letter to Nie Yuntai: Women hold more than half the power to administer the country and pacify the world. In the world, there are few virtuous men, this is because in the world there are few virtuous women. If there are virtuous women, then there are virtuous wives and virtuous mothers. If there are virtuous wives and mothers, it is rare that their husband and children be nonvirtuous. (Yinguang 1962, 335)53

In his writings, Yinguang is therefore clearly supporting the notion of ‘separate spheres’ for men and women (discussed above), each contributing from their positions to society and the world. For Yinguang, this seems even more important in a period of political and social instability. His attitude also influenced his followers: his student Chen Hailiang 陳海量, in the introduction to his Jianshe Fohua Jiating 建設佛化家庭, states “the family is society in its embryonic stage (chuxing 雛形), and society is the aggregation (jiheti 集合體) of the family”. Note the terminology, presenting a traditional Confucian belief dressed in modern scientific language. The introduction continues: “in order to actualize the Buddhist transformation of society (. . .), we need to start with the Buddhist transformation of the family” (Chen Hailiang 1947, 7). On the whole, Yinguang and Chen Hailiang both echo contemporary intellectuals like the above-mentioned Liang Qichao and Jin Tianhe, who supported the education of women as a service to family, society, and country. Yang Wenhui 楊文會 (1837–1911), another well-known Buddhist reformer who was active at the very end of the Qing, supported educational reforms in general and the education of nuns in particular (Goldfuss 2001). A lay Buddhist believer, Yang was very active in Buddhist publishing: he founded the Jinling Scriptural press (Jinling kejing chu 金陵刻經處) and he directed a large publication project, the Dazang Jiyao 大藏輯要, where he re-published several 53 Ch: 治國平天下之權﹐女人家操得一大半。以世少賢人﹐由於世少賢女。有賢女﹐則有賢 妻賢母矣。有賢妻賢母﹐則其夫其子女之不賢者﹐蓋亦鮮矣.

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Buddhist sutras, eventually producing more than a million copies.54 Many of these scriptures related to women and their role within Buddhism.55 According to He Jianming, Yang was a model for supporting a role change for women within the Buddhist hierarchy and he provided a large amount of materials for the revival of Buddhist literature on women that was to happen after his death, in the Republican period (He 1997, 204–205). In the larger context of widespread reprinting of Buddhist scriptures, many texts concerning women were re-printed, advertised on Buddhist journals, and read widely, and provided a meaningful context for both nuns and laywomen to discuss issues of gender equality in Buddhist scriptures and in the samgha. For example, between 1935 and 1943, we see the publication of a new hagiography of Buddhist nuns, a modern version of the Biqiuni zhuan called Xu Biqiuni zhuan 續比丘尼傳, compiled by the monk Zhenhua 震華 (1908–1947). This work was much larger than the original Biqiuni zhuan; while the original was in four chapters and included sixty-five biographies, the new version was in six chapters and included 245 biographies from all eras, including the Qing and Republican period. It took a long time and effort to compile (Zhenhua continued to work on it through the Japanese occupation) and it provided a muchneeded account of Buddhist women’s lives and deeds (He 2001). Until then, the Biqiuni zhuan and the Shannüren zhuan were the only detailed account of the achievements of lay and monastic Buddhist women. In the preface to this work, published in the Buddhist Journal Jue you qing, Zhenhua adopts the language of gender equality: In origin, the underlying reality was equal (pingdeng 平等), there were no differences between men and women, and all sentient beings were good. (Zhenhua 1943 (1939), 4)56

The passage continues describing how from nothingness the world came into being and, subsequently, differences arose, including gender differences; specifically, the notion of ‘zhongnan qingnü’ emerged. Zhenhua criticizes this

54 Apart from Goldfuss 2001, Pittman 2001, 40–45 also discusses the important role of Yang Wenhui in the Buddhist publishing business. See also Scott 2013, 62–75: “Yang Wenhui and the Jinling Scriptural Press”. None of these discussions include a specific reference to Yang’s reprinting of Buddhist sutras and biographies with women as central characters. 55 Examples are: Biqiuni zhuan 比丘尼傳 (Lives of the Nuns), by Liang period 梁 (502–557) monk Baochang 宝唱; Shannüren zhuan 善女人傳 (Biographies of Good Women), a collection in two juan, compiled by Peng Shaosheng彭紹升 (dharma name Peng Jiqing, 1740–1796), containing 139 biographies of “good women” (11 more lives are appended to 7 of the biographies, for a total of 150 biographies), Xuzangjing [X88n1657] 150, 106–126. 56 Ch. 原夫法性平等，本无男女差别，良以一切众生.

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notion discussing examples of capable and fearless Buddhist women, such as Longnü 龍女 and Tiannü 天女, who were able to change their gender and prove that the body is illusory. The first preface to the Xu Biqiuni zhuan, also published in Jue you qing, is by Shou Pei (守培 1884–1955), Zhenhua’s master. In it, Shou Pei again asserts the primacy of the Buddhist message in terms of gender equality. He uses the terminology we have seen used over and over again: The sages in the world, basing themselves on images and forms (xiangxing 像形), surveying all around them, say: “The way of Qian forms the man, the way of Kun forms the woman” (qiandao cheng nan, kundao cheng nü 乾道成男，坤道成女). Men are respected, women are vulgar (nanzun nübei 男尊而女卑), the man leads and the woman follows, and for this reason, for their whole life, Chinese women do not have sovereign rights (zhuquan 主權). They follow the ethics of thrice following (sancong 三從), that is, when unmarried you follow the father, when married you follow the husband, when you are a widow you follow the son. . . Common people have started praising equal rights for men and women (nannü pingquan 男女平權), (but) originally my Buddhist (school. . .) was the earliest to praise it. Not only (do they praise) gender equality, but the equal rights (pingquan平權) of all sentient beings who are lost; further, not only do sentient beings have the same rights of other sentient beings, but also, sentient beings have the same rights of all Buddhas. Ordinary women who study Buddhism and become nuns are destroying the structure of false images (xiang 像) in the world, they are putting into practice the equal rights of all natures (shi tixing zhi pingquan 世體性之平權) wanting to exit this world. (Shou 1943 (1936), 4)

This passage, like Zhenhua’s above, refers to a long tradition, especially within chan Buddhist interpretations of scriptures, that gender differences are irrelevant towards enlightenment, that, like status distinctions, age etc.., they are part of the realm of forms (xiang) which are only temporary in the perspective of enlightenment.57 Both writers extensively use 20th century terminology in this discussion, with Shou Pei specifically introducing the discourse of sovereign rights (zhuquan), equal rights (pingquan-used ten times in a short passage) and equal rights for men and women (nannü pingquan). The introduction discredits Confucian ideology that puts men above women, inserting this discourse in the general May Fourth criticism of the Chinese tradition; it also deftly asserts that Buddhism was the first religious school to support equal rights for men and women, earlier than those ‘common people who have started praising gender equality’. Shou Pei insists on the superiority, relevance and usefulness of the Buddhist message: “people of this world know to promote 57 For an excellent discussion of how chan scriptures tackle this question through the examples of the Dragon Girl and of Mo-shan liaoran, see Levering 1982, 19–36.

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gender equality, but they do not know to promote the equality of all beings; . . . my Buddhist tradition advocates for equality from a position of equality; people of this world advocate for equality from a position of non-equality” (Shou 1943 (1936), 4). This assertion has to be seen in the context of a competition between religious traditions at a time of religious suppression, a fine argument whereby, while Confucian mores are outdated and have to be challenged, Buddhism can be, and is, modern. Shou Pei’s direct support of gender equality is, however, tempered by the justification for the publication of this collection of exemplary stories of Buddhist women: the reality that many nuns are ignorant of the role women have played in Buddhism, and do not know how to develop to their full potential. Also, despite the rhetoric of gender equality and equal rights in the two prefaces, the contents of the collection, like other collection of hagiographies of Buddhist women (such as the Shannüren zhuan 善女人傳), often choose to depict women as paragons of family virtues before they turn to Buddhism, generally after a life changing event.58 Thus at the same time that there is an assertion of equality between men and women from the perspective of enlightenment, equally strong is the discourse of the importance of women’s role in strengthening the core of society, the family.

5.2 Buddhism and Gender in Buddhist Newspapers An important example of the discourse surrounding issues of gender in Buddhism are the three issues of the already mentioned Buddhist journal Jue you qing, founded in October 1939 by Shanghai Buddhist laymen Chen Wuwo 陳無 我 (Faxiang 法香) (1884–1967) and which ended in 1949; the three issues are almost all completely dedicated to women in Buddhism and titled “Funü xuefo hao” 婦女學佛號 (Issue on Women studying Buddhism).59 The articles include close readings of Buddhist sutras with female protagonists, analyses of hagiographies of Buddhist nuns, letters written by nuns and laywomen about their experiences of Buddhist life, accounts of exemplary Buddhist women, and several articles containing advice for women interested in

58 Several of the biographies indicate that the nuns joined the order only after their fiancée died, or their parents died, therefore as a result of a personal tragedy that eliminated their opportunity to follow a more traditional life trajectory. See the biographies from the Republican period in Zhenhua 1988. 59 Issues 83–84, 85–86, 87–88, all published in 1943.

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Buddhism. Titles include: “Woguo funüxuefo de rezen” 我國婦女學佛的責任 (“The responsibilities of Chinese women studying Buddhism”); “Funüxuefo yu guojia shengshuai zhi guanxi” 婦女學佛與國家盛衰之關係 (“The Relationship between women who study Buddhism and China’s rise and fall”); “Jiao xianzai funüxuefo zhi fa” 教現在婦女學佛之法 (“How to teach Buddhism to modern women”); “Nüzi xuefo zhi jiyao” 女子學佛之急要 (“The importance of teaching Buddhism to women”); “Zuo shengmu shi xuefo zhi ji” 作聖母是學佛之基 (“Being a wise mother is the basis of studying Buddhism”); “Du nüjie ji shi du weilai zhongsheng” 度女界即是度未來眾生 (“Saving women means saving all future sentient beings”). Many of these articles, again, articulate the belief that the most important role for women in Buddhism and in this particular political moment is to be ‘good wives and wise mothers’ (liangfu shenmu 良妻賢母); supporting the nation by keeping the family together, raising children, teaching them Confucian and Buddhist virtues. This is confirmed in “The responsibility of Chinese women studying Buddhism”, where monk Zhi Guang 智光 asserts the fundamental importance of women within the family. “. . .you have to think of society’s tranquility, of the country’s prosperity. . .If in the world there are no wise mothers, then in the country there will be no ‘good people’ (liangmin 良 民). . . How does this connect to Buddhism? If women improve their understanding of Buddhism and of the laws of karma, they will raise children who will also follow those teaching, and therefore Buddhist ‘wise mothers’ will raise Buddhist ‘good people’”. Zhi Guang continues by asserting that ‘turning the world’s darkness into light, and turning suffering into happiness, this responsibility rests completely on the body of women. . . Because China is a Buddhist country, the women of China have a great responsibility” (Jue you qing 83–84: 6). Laywoman Zhang Jueming 長覺明, in her essay on the relationship between women who study Buddhism and China’s rise and fall, mentions her belief, influenced by her teacher Yinguang, that the most important role for a Buddhist woman in this moment of political and social turmoil is to raise well educated and good children, and to achieve national strengthening and world peace (Jue you qing 83–84: 7). With a somewhat different tone, a letter by nun Guan Yuan 觀願 takes issue with the disparaging of nuns in some Buddhist sutras. ‘Hegu qing ni 何故 輕尼? – Why look down on nuns?’, criticizes the belief in the worthlessness of the female body (Qingjian nüshen 輕賤女身 ‘Belittling the female body’), critically compares this belief with her personal inspiring experience of becoming a nun and forgetting about her female body (Wang le ziji shi ge nüzi 忘了自己是 個女子 ‘I forgot I was a woman’), and asserts that certain Buddhist sutras

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wrongly look down on female adepts (Jue you qing, 83–84: 4–5). It is useful to remember that the preference for Buddhist married laywoman to nuns was justified by a general disparagement of the role of nuns in society, as mentioned above. A frequent contributor to this journal was the above-mentioned Lü Bicheng, who in her later life had become a devout Buddhist and a strong supporter of vegetarianism and of animal rights, and who died in 1943. The third of the three issues on women in Buddhism is completely dedicated to her at the time of her death, and include her own writing as well as memorials about her from prominent Buddhist leaders (Zhenhua and nun Zhang Jueming). In her poems and writings, Lü shows a similar level of commitment towards Buddhism and its transformative powers as she had done with Daoist scriptures for women. In their commentaries on her role in the Buddhist world, different writers highlight Lü’s role in the Buddhist world: while Zhenhua praises her for having thrust Chinese Buddhism on an international scale (Lü traveled abroad extensively and was always a vocal supporter of Buddhist message), nun Zhang Jueming 張覺明 chooses to praise her for the example she embodies for the Buddhist ‘female realm’ (nüjie 女界) (Jue you qing 87–88: 9 and 13).

5.3 Buddhist Nuns and Gender Equality At the same time as the rhetoric on Buddhist women as wives and mothers was being embraced, Buddhist laywomen and nuns also enthusiastically went beyond this call: “These Buddhist women put aside the traditional ‘good wives, wise mothers’ ideal and the early Republican ideal of ‘mothers of citizens’ to view and portray themselves as ‘citizens of the nation’ and to serve as model dharma teachers and educators of the people, ‘dharma educators of citizens to save China’ and enlighten the world, as Taixu advocated (Devido 2015, 78). Nuns were taking advantage of the new opportunities afforded to them by the focus on Buddhist education on the one hand, and by easy access to Buddhist publications. Abbesses started working towards creating educational opportunities for nuns: a well-known abbess of the Mingyue an 明月庵 in Yangzhou 揚 州, Cheng Xiu 誠修, was particularly active, building a school for nuns in her abbey (He 1997, 204). Another Republican era newspaper, the Fojiao nüqun zhuankan 佛教女眾專 刊 (Dedicated Journal for Female Buddhists), was the first dedicated solely to Buddhist women, with articles written by Buddhist laywomen and nuns. This newspaper was established in Wuchang in 1937, at the Pure Bodhi Vihara (Puti jingshe 菩提精舍) study institute for female Buddhists, opened in 1931 by the

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nun Hengbao 恒寶. It published only one issue due to the occupation of Wuhan by the Japanese in 1938.60 The articles in this newspaper reveal how Buddhist nuns used the rhetoric about the need for female education indicated by Liang Qichao and Kang Youwei, and also the Buddhist stance on female education discussed by Taixu, Yinguang, Yang Wenhui, Shou Pei and Zhenhua, and bring it one step forward, challenging the very notion of gender difference. In her essay Nüxing de wenti 女性的問題 (The woman question), Hengbao brilliantly and with a very modern perspective challenges the “woman question” from a Buddhist perspective.61 In it, she starts by saying that a discussion of the “woman question” in newspaper publications always engenders a large amount of spirited reactions; specifically, when talking about “Buddhist women” (fojiao de nüxing 佛教的女性), questions arise: “in what way should we transform them? How should we educate them?” The topic is still so controversial that an article by a Buddhist master about the “gender question in Buddhism” (fojiao liangxing wenti 佛教兩性問題), was received with a lawsuit. Hengbao proposes to reform the approach to the question of Buddhist women: Mainly, we need to reform the great question of us Buddhist women.62

and immediately asks herself why we even use the terms “men” and “women”, and what is the fixed meaning of nüxing 女性. Why do the terms male and female even exist? Ultimately, what is the fixed meaning of ‘woman’?63 (Hengbao 1937, 17)

Here it is necessary to note that the very term nüxing, as mentioned above, is of recent coinage, and that Buddhist sutras generally use the word nüren or nüshen when discussing women. Thus, Hengbao is not only very aware of the current literature about women and feminism, but she is also willing and able to use this new term and challenge its current feminist use, using Buddhist perspectives. In doing so, she moves beyond the gender dichotomy recently established by Chinese feminists that had the aim to provide equal rights for both men and women (inscribing this equality in the nationalist efforts to save China

60 For more information on the institute and on the newspaper, as well as about educational institutions for female Buddhists in the Republican period, see Yuan 2009. 61 This title, and this issue, was ubiquitous in publications in the 1920s and 1930s. 62 Ch: 主張要改革我們佛教女性的大問題. 63 Ch: 為什麼有男女的名字存在呢？到底女性的定義是個什麼呢?

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from the Western oppressors). She understands how this term has been used thus far and wants to move beyond it. Thus, she starts by quoting Buddhist sutras: The Ekottarika-āgama says ‘those who have desires and feelings become women’64

Here, Hengbao is connecting the category woman (nüren) not with physical female characteristics, but with non-Buddhist behaviors. While the category “woman” has traditionally been described in sutras as having ten evils (all related to pollutedness and desires), she argues that, if it is a man to have these desires and evils, why should he not be called ‘a woman’? Why do these ten evils necessarily only relate to the female gender (nüxing)? Here she distinguishes between the non-sexual category “woman (nüren)” that a both a man and woman can be if they do not behave in a correct manner, from the category female gender (nüxing) that has bodily female characteristics.65 In this way she is striving to eliminate the direct correlation between female sexual attributes and incorrect behavior dictated by desire and pollution. Anyone can be “a woman” if they behave incorrectly, no matter their sexual attributes. Thus, she is voiding the term nüren of female physiological characteristics, and therefore freeing female physiology from a direct relation with pollutedness and evil. Women (nüren) have 10 kinds of ‘evils’. . . but if we turn the sentence around, and there is a man with a lot of desires, with all of those ten evils, how can it be that he is not a woman? For what reasons do we definitely have to indicate these (characteristics) as of the female gender (nüxing)? The sutra says: “after seeing the Buddha nature you become a man, otherwise everybody else is a woman’. May I ask, of those termed men, ultimately who are seeing Buddha nature? If there is no Buddha nature, I daresay that all people in this world would be of the female gender, there would be no men, so how would we still be talking about the female gender question? (Hengbao 1937, 17–18)

This discussion is reminiscent of Levering’s discussion of the story of the Dragon girl, who is asked to perform a sex change from female to male; the girl does not change her form into male because it is more perfect, but because, through her transformation, she is showing that there is no underlying reality

64 Ch: 欲情多者， 變成女人. 65 Here I disagree with Yuan Yuan’s interpretation of this very passage. She translated nüren as female and nüxing as woman. I translate it in the opposite way, with nüren as the category woman, that encompasses much more than sexual characteristics, and nüxing as female gender.

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and no real distinctions, whether between men and women or anything else.66 Hengbao also refers to the well-known story of the Tiannü in the Vimalakirti sutra in which a 12 year old girl changes herself into an illusory form of a male master and then into the illusory form of a woman; Hengbao asks: How could there really be the existence of the female gender? . . . The Buddha says that in terms of the (Buddhist) doctrine, there are no males and females, so you see the Buddhist view on gender differences, how it upholds equality! (Hengbao 1937, 18)67

Hengbao is using a particularly political and polemical stance in asserting the necessity to go beyond these constricting categories. This is done using modern terminology, pointing out the inadequacy of the distinction between man and woman, and the ascription of fixed characteristics to both men and women. Hengbao is interpreting Buddhist scriptures to assert not just male-female equality but also the necessity to go beyond standard definitions of male/female, with a very modern sensibility and utilizing a category, nüxing, created at the beginning of the 20th century to locate and discuss gender inequality. Through Buddhist sutras, Hengbao presents a strong case for the need to go beyond both sex and gender, and for the non-existence of difference, in the same way that contemporary gender theorists like Judith Butler and Darlene Juschka, discussed above, have. Chen Yingning had asserted the equality between genders in their ability to achieve spiritual goals, but still with a strong understanding of biological and social differences. Buddhist leaders also asserted the need for different gender roles in Buddhism, Hengbao, on the other hand, follows the Buddhist doctrine to its more radical end and asserts that there is not and never was any difference between men and women from the perspective of Buddhahood, therefore anyone pointing out the flaws of women, their differences from men, is ontologically wrong. Hengbao also utilizes contemporary language to assert the superiority of the Buddhist message (among other religious messages) in relation to gender differences. As for Tiannü (in the Vimalakirti sutra), how can it be that it (the story indicates) that is necessary to become male in order to become a Buddha? How could this not (indicate) a principle of equality between male and female genders (instead)? (Hengbao 1937, 22)68

66 The story appears in the “Devadatta” chapter of the Lotus Sutra. See Levering 1982. 67 Ch: 豈真有女性的存在呢？… 佛說一切諸法， 非男又非女，你看佛教的男女性， 何等的平 等呀！ 68 Ch: 天女， 何嘗要變成男子來成佛呢？還豈不是男女性的平等理嗎!

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Other nuns, in their articles in the Fojiao nüqun zhuankan, use contemporary language to interpret the Buddhist tradition. Haiming 海明 writes an essay entitled: “Huayan jing shang de nüquan” 華嚴經上的女權 (Women’s rights in the Avatamsaka Sutra); Fazheng 法證 and Hailian 海蓮 write about the female philosophy of Buddhism (“Fojiao nüzu zhexue” 佛教女子 哲學), and Changchao 常超 writes about contemporary Buddhist women (“Xiandai Fojiao nüzi 現代佛教女子”) (Fojiao nü̈qun zhuankan 1937, 26–32, 41–49, 49–53). These nuns display a group consciousness that is clearly influenced by other contemporary movements (women’s rights but also labor rights, ethnic rights, etc. . .); this group consciousness, and the ability to discuss not only the rights of nuns within Buddhism, but also their value, indicating what they can offer to Buddhism and to society as a whole, is to be inscribed within a particular political moment. As Yuan Yuan perceptively notes “Buddhist nuns are situated at the heart of the national project of modernization and Buddhist reform” (Yuan 2009, 394). Also, more than in the Daoist case discussed above, Buddhist nuns are able to discuss issues of gender difference and gender equality from the Buddhist standpoint of the ultimate absence of any difference, including gender difference.

Conclusion: Daoist and Buddhist Gender Parallels in a Modern Nationalist Perspective There are several parallels in the writings of Chen Yingning and his readers, and the writings of the reformer monks and of the nuns found in the newspapers discussed above. Both are, directly or indirectly, trying to assert the superiority of their religious tradition among other religious traditions using gender equality as a tool. Buddhism, as Hengbao and Shou Pei most clearly underline, is inherently a religion of equality, thus it already contains indications of the equality between men and women. However, Cheng Xu, quoted above defending Daoist gender equality, criticizes the Buddhist vision of women: “Specifically, they regard women as filthy objects; when they refer to men, they call them “the body of the 8 Jewels”; when they refer to women, they call them “the body of the 5 leakages” (Cheng 1939, 1). Chen Yingning too criticizes Buddhism’s stance on women and goes to great lengths to prove that it is his reinterpretation of Daoism, xianxue, which offers true equality to women. In this process, both Buddhist and Daoist reformers are distancing themselves and their traditions from old superstitious beliefs and, in order to prove their

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superiority, use the same contemporary terminology: nannü pingdeng, nannü pingquan. However, while the Daoists tout the inherent gender equality of the Daoist discourse (yin and yang co-exist, qian and kun unite and together produce the world), some Buddhists move beyond gender differences and point out that the Buddhist tradition starts from a place of radical equality of all sentient beings. Why does this language become central in Daoist and Buddhist discourses? Because it is an important terrain where a visible change from a traditional to a modern society can be observed. The fact that in the same period of time two different religious traditions see the need to assert their own values of gender equality is in large part a reaction to the criticism coming from outside and inside China describing the inequality between men and women as the culprit for China’s backwardness and inability to compete culturally and politically with Western nations. A movement towards modernization through the language of gender equality indicates the willingness of religious traditions to transform and to reinvent themselves in a way that would be acceptable to the political reformers that were at the time attacking and dismantling religious institutions. For religious traditions, it was important to highlight the inherent aspects of each tradition that were already a harbinger of modernity, and gender equality was at the center of that discussion. Further, the concept of gender equality, for both Daoism and Buddhism, is closely intertwined with nationalism, as is clearly shown in both Chen Yingning and, for example Taixu and Yinguang’s work; these reformers understood and supported the role of women in a modernizing society, and advocated for the expansion of the public sphere to incorporate them in new roles. However, they also continued to advocate for their essential role within the family, because they believed in the centrality of women, and mothers, in the process of nation-building. In most cases, equality did not mean sameness, but it meant equal access to rights, while maintaining mostly separate roles in society. Only some Buddhist nuns followed the Buddhist interpretation of reality to its logical and most radical end, asserting the need to move beyond all distinctions, including gender distinctions, thus refusing different social roles for men and women. The fact that both in the general discourse and in the religious context most of the rhetoric surrounding gender equality was clearly at the service of strengthening institutions like the family, society and the country, did not impede religious women from seizing the opportunity to expand their activities and freedoms. They found new spaces of action through writing in newspapers, leading charitable activities, teaching, proselytizing, and were able to express their views, their challenges, and their processes of change openly, in the

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context of the burgeoning newspaper boom, as seen above in the example of Daoist and Buddhist lay-women and nuns. The role of women in religious traditions was publicly discussed, scriptures were dissected for proof of the ultimate non-existence of gender differences, the lives and actions of famous – and unmarried – Buddhist women (like Lü Bicheng) were praised, intimate details of a woman’s religious path were publicly aired. This was certainly seen as a step towards gender equality. In this article, I have attempted to highlight the importance of gender in the development, transformation and re-invention of two religious traditions in the Republican period. I have not tried to reconstruct women’s lives and experiences within a specific religious tradition, but rather to show how the concepts of gender and gender equality were powerful tools in the hands of both men and women within religious communities, and how these concepts helped transform attitudes within and towards religion; at the same time, I have used gender as an analytical tool to look at, understand, and dissect the radical transformation of religion in the twentieth century.

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Databases Quanguo baokan suoyin 全國報刊索引: (http://www.cnbksy.cn) C-text: http://ctext.org Chinese Women’s Magazines in the Late Qing and Early Republican Period: http://kjc-sv013. kjc.uni-heidelberg.de/frauenzeitschriften/index.php

Ya-ning Kao

Ritual Practices and Networks of Zhuang Shamans Introduction This chapter explores three networks utilized by Zhuang 壯 shamans (spiritual, professional and supporters) that are established and maintained through shamanic rites of passage and annual rites, and discusses how they reveal the framework of the Zhuang spirit world, especially pertaining to deceased ritual masters and spirit soldiers. Zhuang shamans, most of whom are women (see below), rely on these three intertwined networks to solidify their status and influence in local communities. The spiritual networks of Zhang shamans legitimize their status, while professional networks enhance their ability to work with other specialists and networks of supporters provide assistance for the demanding work of frequently being called to perform rituals. Shamans, as well as their natal family, their spouse’s family, their ritual family and supporters all must spend considerable time and money to sustain these networks. Studies on Zhuang shamanic practices offer ethnographic materials to respond to discussions of “ritual performances or religious behaviors as a costly signal” (Sosis 2003, 2004) and to the model of costly beliefs and practices (Wildman and Sosis 2011). In this chapter, “costly” beliefs and practices refer to the time and money spent by religious groups to maintain networks via conducting and participating shamanic rituals. The Zhuang comprise the most populous ethnic minority in China. “Zhuang” is an ethnonym that was assigned to several different Tai sub-groups in the 1950s when the People’s Republic of China carried out its nationality classification project (Mackerras 1994, Mullaney 2011). The Zhuang population exceeds 19 million, and is mainly distributed across south and southwest China, primarily in the Guangxi Zhuang Autonomous Region but also western Guangdong province and eastern Yunnan province. From the perspective of Chinese history, during the imperial era (prior to 1911) Zhuang chiefs frequently interacted with Han Chinese officials and were known as having attained a high degree of literacy. In 1920, the Chinese folklorist Shi Zhaotang (1928) recognized Zhuang people as a highly Sinicized ethnic group. Note: For Zhuang shaman networks, see chapter 3 of Kao’s Ph.D. thesis (2009). For further discussions of supporter groups and networks, see Kao 2017. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110547849-008

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In fact, in the 1950s a great number of Tai-speaking people in Guangxi and Yunnan – having come to identify so strongly with the dominant Han culture – refused to been identified as Zhuang (Kaup 2000). In addition to Chinese literacy, which became popularized among elites in the early 18th century, the cultural impact of Han Chinese on the Tai-speaking people can be seen in Zhuang beliefs and practices related to Daoism and Buddhism (Yu 2004), yet both are also highly integrated with Zhuang native beliefs.1 In the context of contemporary ethnic relations in China, many Zhuang people have sought to carve out and maintain a distinctive Zhuang ethnic identity – of which Zhuang ritual practice plays an important role – that distinguishes them from the dominant Han culture. As a whole, Zhuang ritual specialists can be divided into three categories; Daoist priests (Ch. daogong 道公, Zh. bou dao), vernacular ritual practitioners (Ch. mogong 麽公, Zh. bou mo and Ch. shigong 師公, Zh. bou slay) and shamans (Ch. wu 巫, Zh. moed and gyaem).2 In this paper, “Zhuang Daoism” is a translation of the Chinese term zhuangzu daojiao 壯族道教. “Daoist priest” is a translation of daogong 道公, which in turn is a Chinese transliteration of the Zhuang term for these ritual specialists, which is bou dao (‘bou’ means ‘male’ and ‘dao’ refers to Daoism.) Chinese literature uses several terms to describe the shamans of south China, including wupo 巫婆, wushi 巫師, xianpo 仙婆, etc. While Daoist priests and vernacular ritual practitioners worship specific deities and conduct rituals by reading written texts, shamans are ritual specialists who can travel to another world and are able to become possessed by different spirits. In terms of gender, both Daoist priests and vernacular ritual practitioners are male; in contrast, the majority of shamans are female. Despite these differences, the relationship between different categories of ritual specialists is characterized by cooperation, as all three kinds of ritual specialists will sometimes carry out major rituals together in community temples or in front of a family altar. At the same time, however, it is essential to note that in general shamans receive more money (in a form of a red envelope) and offerings than

1 An account of the historical processes through which Daoism and Buddhism became incorporated into Zhuang society and religious systems, not to mention full elaboration of the specific differences between Daoist practices among Zhuang and Han populations as they are manifest in ritual practice today, are beyond the scope of this paper. 2 In the context of Zhuang society, Zhuang languages are divided into northern and southern language groups. The sub-groups of Zhuang who speak southern Zhuang languages, such as the Nong people (Ch. nongren 儂人, Zh. Pou Noeng) refer to shamans as moed 末, while the sub-groups of the Zhuang that speak northern Zhuang languages such as the Bouyei (Ch. buyi 布依, Zh. Pou Iui) refer to shamans as gyaem 禁.

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Daoist priests or vernacular ritual practitioners do. Therefore, if people encounter easily handled problems, often choose to invite a Daoist priest rather than a shaman. This is because the rituals performed by Daoist priests tend to be much simpler than the shaman’s in terms of time, budget, preparation of offerings, number of assistants to invite, etc. Although these three categories of ritual specialists conduct their practices in different ways, all must be called to their profession by deceased ritual masters. Among the Zhuang, not only shamans but also Daoist priests and vernacular ritual practitioners in southwest Guangxi told me that before they began their training, their families consistently encountered bad luck, or they became gravely sick; some say that they even went mad. If they had not received this calling, they say, they would not have voluntarily chosen this profession. Yang (2007, 47) also found that about 70% of shigong vernacular ritual practitioners suffered illness or bad luck; only after consulting shamans did they discover they were being called to become ritual practitioners. Regarding transmission patterns among Zhuang ritual specialists, as will be discussed later, shamans are usually recruited through kinship lines. In contrast, a genealogy of shigong vernacular ritual practitioners shows that they don’t usually feature kin relations (Qin 2015, 53–56), while mogong vernacular ritual practitioners do not have a tradition of passing their religious knowledge and skills on to their own sons (Huang 2006, 20). In general, the professional life of a Zhuang shaman is costly in terms of ritual expense and labor, and hazardous in terms of interaction with potentially dangerous spirits. This leads to questions regarding the continued persistence of shamanic traditions among Zhuang populations today. Through an examination of the three types of networks described above, particularly how are activated in a shaman’s rites of passage and annual rites, this chapter explores this persistence while also elaborating our understanding of the Zhuang framework of spirits. Most of the data regarding Zhuang ritual practices discussed in this chapter were collected in southwest Guangxi between 1998 and 2016. Materials were gathered through participant observation in both the daily lives and ritual practices of two female Zhuang shamans, and also through personal interviews with shamans, Daoist priests, ritual participants and ritual specialist’s supporters. Cultural evolutionary models of religion argue that the primary adaptive benefit of religion is intra-group cooperation. Determining who is and who isn’t allowed to benefit from such cooperation is an issue of group membership. In discussion of “hard-to-fake” signs of commitment, behavioral ecologist William Iron argues that in social environments where indirect reciprocity is a crucial strategy, “too-costly-to-fake” behaviors provide reliable signs that members are invested in the long term well-being of a group. “Other things equal, we should

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expect that costlier religions are more effective at creating intragroup cooperation, we might also predict that the greater need for cooperation, or the greater the difficulty in creating cooperation, the costlier will be the religious institutions supporting it” (Irons 2001, 299). Building on Iron’s theory, Sosis (2003) proposes a model of a “costly signal.” This “signal” refers to participation in ritual performance, which is key to demonstrate the individual’s level of commitment to the religious group. Religious behaviors such as wearing special ritual costumes, making numerous sacrifices, undergoing circumcision as an initiation ceremony, etc., are costly signals that sometimes appear as strange behaviors to non-believers (Sosis 2004, 168). Although both secular and religious groups conduct rituals, belief in supernatural agents such as gods, spirits, and ghosts are hard to be examined and help promote a long-term cooperation of the religious group (Sosis 2004, 172). Sosis’s (2003) model focuses on explaining how individual costly ritual practices internalize religious belief by comparing the costs and the benefits of believers versus skeptics. First, the net benefit for believers is much higher than for skeptics because believers are subject to fewer monitoring and punishment costs than skeptics. Second, each religious group requires members to have a minimum level of participation and the fitness gain for believers is higher than that of skeptics. Third, both believers and skeptics practice public rituals; however, only believers engage in a certain amount of private rituals to enhance the identity of religious members within the group. Sosis (2003, 109) suggests that believers and skeptics should be viewed as the two ends of a strategic continuum of religious behaviors. Wildman and Sosis (2011) further develop the model of costly beliefs and practices based on Henrich’s cultural evolutionary model of costly displays. The advanced model is an agent-based one which examines the subgroups committed to high-cost beliefs and practices. Two key features are identified as helping maintain the stability of the costly belief or religious group; (1) the high cost of the group, and (2) the charisma of group leaders. In the remainder of this chapter, Section 2 provides an overview of studies on Zhuang religion and shamans. Section 3 describes the various shamanic rites of passage, while Section 4 treats the annual rites each shaman is required to perform after initiation. Section 5 explores the three different networks that Zhuang shamans maintain to support their ritual practice. Section 6 offers a discussion of the particular characteristics of Zhuang shamans and the spirits they worship, while noting their differences from other religious traditions in Zhuang and Han Chinese societies. In the final section, I describe how the framework of the spirit world as conceived by Zhuang people contributes to the persistence of shamanic ritual. The chapter concludes by responding to the model of costly beliefs and

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practices by focusing how the leaders of Zhuang shaman’s groups preserve stability and costly ritual behaviors as strategies to maintain the groups.

1 Overview of Research on Zhuang Religion and Zhuang Shamans Regarding the spiritual beliefs of the Zhuang people, researchers have tended to utilize the following four approaches. The first approach takes a macro view of religious practice and defines Zhuang religion as a “folk religion” (Ch. minjian zongjiao 民間宗教) or “folk beliefs” (Ch. minjian xinyang 民間信仰) in the context of official PRC classifications of and policy regarding religious belief (Yu 2004; Huang 2010). The second is a micro approach that focuses on efforts to classify the religious practices into different “religious categories” (Ch. zongjiao leixing 宗教類型) according to the type of ritual specialist leading the rites with the aim of creating a complete picture of the diversity of religious practices and pinpointing what distinguishes Zhuang religion from those of non-Zhuang populations (Huang 2006; Ling 1993a; Qing 2014; Xu 2007; Yang 2007). A third approach involves carrying out large scale surveys and the collection, transcription and translation of selected ritual specialist’s manuscripts, with the goal of highlighting and promoting Zhuang literacy as distinct from Chinese literacy (Huang 2012; Zhang 2004). The last approach to Zhuang religion, and the one this chapter builds upon, is an ethnographic participant-observation approach, followed by analyses of ritual practices (Holm 2003, 2004, 2017; Kao 2002, 2011a, 2015; Wilkerson 2007). This approach tends to take a personally witnessed ritual event as a starting point from which to explore various questions about Zhuang religion, religious practice, and religious practitioners. The strength of this approach is that it allows researchers to consider their data within contemporary social contexts and offer deeper explanations rather than simple classification. For example, Kao’s (2002) study of a household ritual for raising children also describes the life story of a female shaman and her ritual performance. In other works, Kao (2011a) compares the three categories of ritual specialists in the context of conducting rituals for raising children, while Kao (2015) discusses rituals for burning spirit clothing held in a shaman’s household to illustrate the significance of deceased ritual masters and spirit soldiers for Zhuang shamanic practice. Holm (2003, 2004, 2017) explores the history of mogong vernacular ritual practitioners’ ritual manuscripts and the contexts of such texts within the rituals, while Wilkerson (2007) illustrates how social and economic conditions impact the performance of

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community rituals and the competition between a Daoist priest and a shaman based in the community. In studies of Zhuang religion that focus specifically on shamans, research has tended to be concentrated geographically in southwest Guangxi, particularly on ritual specialists in Jingxi 靖西 County of southwest Guangxi. Therefore, our understanding of shamans in Jingxi is more plentiful and varied than what is known of shamans in other areas of Guangxi and Yunnan. Within this research, Ling Shudong is a pioneer in studying the transmission of the shamanic profession and the symbolic meanings of shamanic paper-cuttings (Ling 1993a, 1993b). Xiao Mei’s (2007) ethnomusicological work carefully analyzes the soundscapes of shamanic rituals, including vocal sounds (songs, dialogs, speeches) and the sounds of music instruments. Mo Li’s research (2010) regards the art of paper-cutting used in shamanic ritual. Huang and Nong (2007) provide a record of the initiation rite of a famous female shaman. A common limitation running through the literature is that it has yet to fully examine the interactions between ritual specialists and their audiences, nor does it fully discuss the cooperation between Zhuang shamans and other kinds of ritual specialists.3 In order to contribute to the extant literature, this chapter focuses on the three networks – spirits, Daoist priests, and their supporters – as seen in a shaman’s rites of passage and during their annual rites. As such, this chapter serves to enhance our comprehension of the vital forces that undergird a shaman’s existence, while also elaborating our understanding of Zhuang conceptual frameworks about spirits.

2 Zhuang Shamans and Shamanic Rites of Passage 2.1 Moed and Spirits In southwest Guangxi and east Yunnan, the Nong people 儂人 refer to Zhuang shamans as “moed” (Zh., Ch. mo 末, meaning “ant” in local language).4 Most shamans are female and therefore the prefix “me”, meaning female, is added: memoed (Zh.,

3 Qin (2015, 71–83) discusses cooperative and competitive relationships between shigong and Daoist priests, as well as between shigong and female shamans. 4 The usage of moed (ant) in describing shamans is widespread among the Tai people of mainland Southeast Asia. Rather than being diminutive, the metaphor of an ant describing shaman points to the role of shamans acting like a queen ant with her numerous helpers.

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Ch. mopo 末婆). Although they are far fewer, male shamans do exist and are called ge moed (ge is a prefix meaning male, Ch. mo gong 末公).5 As with other shamans, the core ritual practices moeds perform involve spirit journeys during which they become possessed by varied spirits. During such journeys, a moed travels up and down the world of human beings and passes into another world. A broad description of the Zhuang understanding of “spirit” is that pei (Ch. gui 鬼) refers to the spirits of the dead (ancestors, deities, unnatural dead), while kvaen (Ch. hun 魂) are the spirits of the living (a person’s souls).6 Both categories of spirit should dwell where they belong, pei settled in a fixed location and kvaen with the body of their living person; otherwise, an unhappy pei spirit will make trouble for the living by attempting to draw their kvaen away. Pei can do this by scaring people, or perhaps drawing them into a wild place. Too many kvaen leaving the body will result in sickness or even death. A moed’s duty is to help these two kinds of spirit settle down and to return to where they belong. To do this, moeds rely on two types of spirit helpers, both of which are a part of the pei category of spirits. Dead ritual masters (Ch. ba 巴, Zh. ba) help the moed locate the source of the problem that the ritual seeks to address, while spirit soldiers with horses (Ch. bing ma 兵馬, Zh. beeng ma, hereafter spirit soldiers) assist moeds in dealing with both kinds of spirits. As mentioned above, the only way an individual can become a moed is by answering the call of a deceased ritual master.7 Like specialists in many other shamanic traditions, those who are chosen will, at the beginning, suffer from mental or physical discomfort until they make a commitment to the deceased ritual master and start their apprenticeship. A deceased ritual specialist often chooses a family member to inherit her profession and makes this choice known by causing that descendant physical or mental harm. When family members discover that the illness cannot be cured through medication, people will suggest the family consult the moeds. Experienced moeds can determine if the sickness or madness is a sign that the sick person has been chosen. If they determine this to be the case, they will suggest that the candidate take a vow to become a moed as soon as possible, otherwise she will continue to be sick (or go mad) and may die.

5 In this chapter, I will use the term moed to reference Zhuang shamans in general and the terms memoed and gemoed when describing specific ritual specialists. However, since the vast majority of moed are women, for simplicity, I will use the female pronouns “she” and “her” when providing general descriptions. 6 Among the Zhuang, each individual has 12 souls. 7 This phenomenon is common among shamans in ethnic groups in southwest China, for example see Kang’s (2015) study on Miao shamans in Western Hunan.

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2.2 Rites of Passage In the beginning, deceased ritual masters might appear in a candidate’s dream to teach her how to sing and chant; however, in order to learn to communicate effectively with deceased ritual masters and to summon and command spirit soldiers, the candidate must find both a practicing moed and Daoist priest to act as her masters and teach her. After a period of learning, these two ritual masters will perform an initiation ceremony for their apprentice. Later, other ceremonies have to be carried out during the moed’s lifetime symbolizing her passage to a new status, confirming her ability and qualifying her to carry out larger-scale rituals. This series of rituals – taking a vow, an initiation rite and one or two advancement rites – can be understood as the shaman’s rites of passage. A brief note on terminology: in the Zhuang context, people adopt two systems and terms of reference for the moed’s rites of passage. The first is the professional system used by Daoist priests especially Buddhist Daoist priest (Ch. shidaogong 釋道公, Zh. bou dao baed) which are referred to as an “Ordination Rite” (Ch. shoujie 受戒), “receive a document of ordination rite” (Ch. chuajie zhawen 傳戒剳文) and “Rite of Adding a Cap” (Ch. jiaguan 加冠).8 The other is the system known by lay people which refers to putting a cap (Zh. gai mao) as initiation rite, and putting the second cap (Zh. gai mao bay dai nyei) and the third or biggest cap (Zh. gai mao bay dai slam/gai mao lung) as advancement rites. In this chapter, “initiation rite” refers to the ritual in which a Zhuang person becomes a formal member of a ritual specialist group.

2.2.1 Formally Declaring Moed Candidacy When a moed candidate receives the call, she and her family will go to the home of a moed master and beg that moed to become her teacher and “ritual mother” (Ch. mushi 母師, Zh. me slay). If the master accepts the candidate, the moed will report to her deceased ritual masters that she has taken an apprentice by burning incense sticks and offering rice wine. The master also loudly

8 In southwest Guangxi, Zhuang Daoist priests are sub-divided into two types; native Daoist priests (Ch. tudaogong 土道公, Zh. bou dao to) and Buddhist Daoist priests. Both kinds of Daoist priests can conduct initiation and advancement rites for moeds (see Huang 2012, 166). Both initiation and advancement rites for moeds that I attended were held by Buddhist Daoist priests. In these rites, I observed that their written texts and documents are written using Chinese characters.

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asks the candidate and her family whether they are willing to be a moed and a moed’s family respectively.9 The candidate and her family must answer loudly in the affirmative. After a full month of training, the candidate’s natal family gives her an embroidered belt to symbolize that she is familiar with a spirit journey; then the apprentice will become able to follow the master when she goes to carry out rituals (Ling 1993a). In their training, all three categories of Zhuang ritual specialists need a pair of ritual parents to act as their masters. This includes both Daoist priests and vernacular ritual practitioners who, although their practice centers on texts, still must invite a moed to serve as a ritual mother during their initiation rites. Therefore, for moed, in addition to her moed master, the candidate has to find a Daoist priest to act as ritual father (Ch. fushi 父師, Zh. bo slay) and teach her the general principles of Daoist ritual. The moed candidate and her family visit the Daoist priest in his home and after paying respects to the deceased ritual masters of the ritual father in front of his altar, they have a meal together that officially solidifies the bonds that they have established. It is possible that a moed may have more than one pair of parents in her life time; this occurs on the occasion that one or both of the ritual parents that held her initiation rite dies before holding her advancement rites. In this case, the moed must find another ritual father or ritual mother to perform the remaining advancement rites for her. Upon completion of declaring candidacy, the moed-in-training will have established an entire ritual family. In addition to ritual parents, she will also have a group of ritual siblings (Ch. shi xiongdi jiemei 師兄弟姊妹, Zh. bei nong slay), or half-siblings who are the fellow apprentices of her ritual mother and ritual father. Once a moed has established these ritual kin relationships, she will be required to assist in the rites of passage and annual rites for all members of her ritual family or families as they have the same requirement in turn. A moed’s ritual family, natal family and spousal family (if she marries) all play either supportive or collaborative roles in holding moed’s rites of passage and annual rites.

2.2.2 Initiation Rite – Rite of Putting on the Cap The professional term for the initiation rite for moeds is the “Rite of Putting on the Cap” (Ch. shangmao 上帽, Zh. gai mao, with gai a Zhuang term and mao a Chinese

9 For a description of formally declaring moed candidacy, see also Ling 1993a.

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loan term from mao 帽).10 The formal term for this rite alludes to its similarities with Daoist ordination rites, and the cap given during the ritual specialists’ initiation and advancement ceremonies clearly demonstrates the idea of officialdom (see 4.2.3). The moed’s cap is red and embroidered with a veil in the front. Throughout most of a spirit journey, the front veil is folded on the top of cap. When a moed encounters a deity and/or deceased ritual master, she lowers the veil to show spirit her cap. Ideally, a moed needs to obtain two more caps to reach the highest professional level (see 2.2.3). The higher the rank they achieve, the more beautiful and more embroidered the cap they obtain, which in turn signifies the more deceased ritual masters and spirit soldiers they can control. In both initiation and advancement rites, moed’s natal family must provide the cap which is given by ritual parents in ritual (see Figure 1). A moed’s initiation takes the form of a typical rite of passage (van Gennep 1960). In general, several days before the initiation, a moed candidate has to be separated from other people. She is not allowed to talk to the living; instead she communicates with deceased ritual masters. The following several days constitute a liminal period. On the day of the initiation, the candidate undergoes a ritual death (Ch. yishixing siwang 儀式性死亡), following which deceased ritual masters and spirit soldiers possess her and report their names. A literate man writes these names down on a piece of red paper which will be put in a new altar. Upon completion of the ritual she will go through a “ritual birth” (Ch. yishixing dansheng 儀式性誕生), coming back to the mortal world no longer a normal person but as a moed. At the end of a moed’s life, a grand funeral conducted by other ritual specialists sends her to another world to be with other dead ritual masters where she will eventually integrate into the group and look for her own successor in the mortal world. In theory, an initiation ceremony can be carried out after three months of training; however, in practice, it takes longer to prepare for this significant ceremony because an initiation rite cannot be held until several conditions have been satisfied. First, a moed candidate has to master the skills necessary to carry out spirit journeys and communicate with all kinds of spirits. Second, she has to wait for an auspicious day in order to obtain more deceased ritual master’s teachings

10 My book has a very detailed description of Memoed Grandma Lotus’s initiation, which was held in a suburb of Jingxi county town in 2000 (Kao 2002, 122–127). Zhuang people do not address each other by the Chinese names on their identification cards or other official documents. Instead, they practice teknonymy, meaning they are addressed using the names of their descendants. In this paper and my other publications, I adopt the names of address of ritual specialists used in ritual contexts or in everyday life. For example, “Grandma Lotus” means that the woman has a grandchild named “Lotus.” Father Success is the name after his child, Success.

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Figure 1: Memoed Mother Bei (photo by Ya-ning Kao in 1998, Xinxu 新墟, Jingxi). The cap, which has a long cloth covering her entire back and a silver-bird on the top, signifies Mother Bei has achieved the highest rank of moed status.

and recruit more spirit solders to assistant her in conducting spirit journeys. Third, the family of the novice (most often this is the novice’s spouse’s family) must be in a position to afford the expense of hosting a banquet for all ritual attendees. Sister Snow’s family purchased five pigs for a banquet of her advancement rite in 2016. In 2005, a ritual cost about 5000–6000 RMB, which would be even higher if not for the fee labor provided by people who volunteer to help (Xiao 2007, 451). Two masters (a Daoist priest and a moed) together enact the process of giving a certificate of ordination (Ch. chuanjie zhawen 傳戒剳文) confirming her credentials as a moed and ritually putting the cap signifying her new status on her head.

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The Daoist priest then chants the “ordination rite” (Ch. shoujie ke 受戒科) and asks her whether she accepts this status. After she concurs, an assistant will read the ten precepts (Ch. shijie 十戒) of the document aloud.11 Then both the Daoist priest and the moed give her the ritual equipment they have prepared for the novice, including five copper chains, a copper plate, a fan and a seal, and dress her in her moed clothing. The masters then erect an altar for the new moed, and also take her to the village shrine to report her new status. After returning from the shrine, she is allowed to carry out spirit journeys with the moed master and eventually integrates into the moed community.

2.2.3 Advancement Rites – Rite of Putting on the Second Cap After several years of practice and cooperation with other senior moeds and Daoist priests, the initiated moed will have become more experienced, and also have recruited more spirit soldiers and attracted more supporters. Eventually, she will be able to go through the rite of “Putting on the Second Cap” to signify the advancement of her status.12 The professional name of this rite is jiaguan 加冠, meaning “adding a cap.” The most experienced moeds are those who have received a third cap with a silver bird13 to symbolize that they have achieved the highest rank of the profession. The process of an advancement rite is similar to that of the initiation rite, and involves a similar ritual isolation and a liminal period followed the advancing moed receiving her new cap. It is also an opportunity for new deceased ritual masters and new spirit soldiers to reveal themselves and be added to the list of spirits residing in the moed’s altar. For the moed’s supporters, these events are also grand opportunities for them to display their patronage and give gifts to their favorite moeds.

11 The ten precepts of the moed rules of ethics include: “to be loyal to the heaven and the earth,” “to be obedient to your parents,” “to pay respect to your masters,” etc. (for details, see Kao 2002, 136). Memoed Mother Bei told me of twelve precepts, including: “don’t be rob and steal,” “don’t curse,” “don’t be greedy,” etc. (Ibid, 136–137). She also said that in everyday life she is prohibited from killing animals and cannot eat beef, dog or chicken heads (Ibid, 137). The content of Mother Bei’s twelve precepts demonstrates the influence of Buddhism. 12 For an investigation of the Rite of Putting on the Cap for Memoed Sister Lotus, see also Huang and Nong (2007). 13 A silver bird on the top of the red cloth cap is an accessory signifying not only a moed’s achievement of the highest level of authority but also indicating her ability to cross between the two worlds of human beings and spirit beings. The bird looks like a phoenix but is a cockscomb and its significance is related to the moed’s taboo against eating chicken heads.

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3 Annual Rites From the time a new moed has passed through initiation and put on the first cap, she is no longer an ordinary person. For the rest of her life, she must annually hold rites to deliver fermented rice wine to her deceased ritual masters, tend to her spirit soldiers, and maintain good relationships with her ritual parents (the moed and Daoist priest who trained her), ritual siblings (fellow students of her ritual parents, see 4.2.2), and supporters. Annual rites are also an important occasion to renew a moed’s power.

3.1 Delivering Rice Wine to Deceased Ritual Masters (Ch. jiao zushi jiu 交祖師酒, Zh. gyao lau zo slay) At the beginning of each lunar year, moeds usually invite their ritual siblings to host a household ritual to deliver sweet rice wine to their deceased ritual masters, a rite which will ensure successful spirit journeys throughout the coming year.14 This rite is an opening ceremony for the year with the purpose of informing deceased ritual masters that the new year is coming. The moed’s apprentices often come to help perform the annual rite and receive the moed master’s advice and training. The rite also deals with any problems facing the moed’s own family members at that time. Together, the moeds undertake a spirit journey to visit their deceased ritual masters and deliver the fermented rice wine to them. The journey takes longer than those staged during household rituals because moeds have to cross the seas that separate deceased ritual masters from the mortal world (Ch. zushihai 祖師海, Zh. hai zo slay) to request their teaching and to renew their own power (Kao 2011b). When they see their masters, the masters possess them to give advice and make requests. During the journey, the moeds call back home the lost souls of the family hosting the ritual and visit places where the family’s problems can be dealt with. In addition, they visit the host family’s ancestors’ tombs to listen to ancestors’ requests and ask for their protection.

14 Sweet rice wine is a fermented (not distilled) wine that is made of glutinous rice (Ch. Tianjiu 甜酒, Zh. lau van, lau: rice wine; van: sweet). This kind of wine is considered the best gift humans can offer to spirits.

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3.2 Rite of Burning Spirit Clothes (Ch. shaoyi 燒衣, Zh. pyau ei) If a moed is not able to deliver fermented rice wine to her deceased ritual masters at the beginning of the year, she has another chance to do so. During the seventh month of the lunar year, the moed conducts a ritual to burn spirit clothes cut from colored paper and deliver fermented rice wine to deceased ritual masters and spirit soldiers. In addition to honoring and worshiping deceased ritual masters, the Rite of Burning Clothes acts as a community ritual during which participants can communicate with deceased relatives.15 It is also a practice which reveals the place of such spirits in the Zhuang worldview. People who died violently cannot become ancestors and their family cannot burn spirit clothes to them at home. Therefore, their family will ask a moed to offer them shelter, turning them into spirit soldiers to help with their spirit journeys. I had the opportunity to participate in the rite as performed in Gemoed Father Success’ house in 2005. That day, Father Success began his spirit journey by summoning his deceased ritual masters and spirit soldiers. During the journey, different spirit soldiers and ancestral masters possessed him and asked for spirit clothes and spirit money. They also had dialogues with his supporters and with his spirit soldiers’ family members. On several occasions family members cried while they talked to their dead relatives. Throughout the process, ritual assistants helped burn spirit clothes for each spirit.

4 The Shaman’s Three Networks In the process of practicing as a ritual specialist, a moed constructs three intertwined networks: a spiritual network, a professional network and a network of supporters. These networks are constructed and developed in rituals involving the moed’s change in status, as well as during annual rites. Each network encompasses different types of interactions: the moed’s spiritual network involves being called by deceased ritual masters and her ability to control spirit powers; in contrast, her professional and supporter networks involve the construction of the moed’s religious group in the mortal world.

15 For more detailed description and analysis of the rite of burning spirit clothes, see Kao 2015.

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4.1 Spiritual Network The first and most important network a moed builds is her spiritual network, created through connecting with deceased ritual masters and spirit soldiers. As we will see, this network also reveals a framework consisting of these two types of spirits. Without these spirits, a moed cannot conduct a spirit journey, and thus cannot establish her status to expand the other two networks through rituals. Thus, both deceased masters and unruly spirits who become spirit soldiers are crucial to the moed’s spirit world. Deceased ritual masters were specialists during their lifetimes who continue to assist their disciples from the afterworld. As mentioned in the section describing the moed’s rites of passage, a deceased ritual master usually chooses one of her own descendants as a disciple to continue her duty in the mortal world. If she does not, there will be no one to look after the spirits of those who died badly and sought shelter in her altar. A list of a moed’s deceased ritual masters and spirit soldiers may include those inherited from her paternal grandmother (father’s mother who was moed) and/or her maternal grandfather (mother’s father who was a Daoist priest), and/or her spouse’s paternal and maternal ancestors. In addition to those related through descent, some of a moed’s deceased ritual masters may also include famous historical figures or other local experts. Thus, the origins of the deceased ritual masters of a moed’s altar vary. For example, the names of some important figures from Chinese history – such as the First Emperor of Qin 秦始皇 and Hua Mulan 花木蘭 – are found written on Memoed Grandma Fragrance’s altar. Another example is that a well-known Zhuang opera performer, Huang Dengwei 黃登偉, appears in Memoed Grandma Peach’s altar. When these historical figures or local experts become a moed’s ritual masters they occupy equal status as her other deceased ritual masters. As mentioned in the section above describing the Rite of Burning Spirit Clothes, spirit soldiers were individuals who died badly and thus were left without a proper place among their family’s ancestors. The term “dying badly” refers to dying unnaturally or violently, such as in a car accident, drowning, falling from a mountain, murder, suicide, execution, dying very young (younger than thirty-six), or during childbirth. People who died badly are not permitted to have a normal funeral inside their house because their spirits are considered harmful. If someone died outside their house or village, their body cannot be brought back; villagers believe that if such a body were to be brought into the house or village, family members would also die violently or badly and their spirits disturb villagers. Because they have not completed the life cycle rituals required to make the transition to where the

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ancestors reside, these spirits are left without their proper place. A solution is to seek a moed’s protection; otherwise, they become wandering ghosts. Thus it can be said that a moed’s altar for their deceased ritual masters also receives these poor spirits providing them with shelter. The deceased ritual masters, spirit soldiers, and moed maintain reciprocal relationships with each other through conducting rituals. Moed cannot complete rituals without the assistance of their spirit soldiers, and in return for their help she makes offerings to them. This has practical implications that demonstrate the difficulties and dangers of being a moed. During the busy season (normally from the eleventh to the third lunar months), a moed is always travelling between households in both the town and outlying villages. She may conduct rituals for several days without returning home to tend to the spirits in her own altar. If the moed ignores the spirit soldiers or does not look after them carefully, they will make trouble for her and her family. For example, a family member may fall ill, livestock may die, accidents may occur around the house, etc. More importantly, unhappy spirits have the power to possess the moed at will and may do so in order to voice their demands. The distinctive characteristics and personalities of each deceased ritual master and spirit soldier are clearly displayed during the Rite of Burning Spirit Clothes. Although the rite as it was performed at Aunt Beauty’s home in 2005 was not as grand as the one that took place at Gemoed Father Success’ house, the two-hour performance was very dramatic, with the spirits possessing Aunt Beauty one after another to ask for clothes. Ritual audience members, often including the spirit’s family members, recognized the spirit soldiers by their particular characteristics, such as voice, dialect, and demeanor. Thus we can see, and as will be described in more detail below in section 5.3, both deceased local masters and spirit soldiers of her spirit network are one means thorough which a moed expands her network of supporters. The deceased local master who settles down in a moed’s altar connects his family, especially his wife, to that particular moed. The same goes for the families of the wandering spirits who become transformed into a moed’s spirit soldiers.

4.2 Professional Network – Moeds and Daoist Priests The second network is the moed’s professional network, which shapes the cooperative relationship a moed has with Daoist priests. This section explores several dimensions of such relationship, which reveals that the professional network of Zhuang ritual specialists is based more on the concept of a cooperative pair rather than arrangement which can at first appear to be a strict hierarchy.

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4.2.1 Partnership The partnership between moeds and Daoists has already been revealed in discussion of how a candidate looks for ritual masters to train her. As described above, to train to become either a moed or a Daoist priest, an apprentice must have a pair of ritual specialist masters; one moed, and one Daoist priest. Together the pair acts as ritual parents to the novice ritual specialist. Both types of ritual specialist – moeds and Daoist priests – must be familiar with the gods of the Daoist pantheon and the spirits of the moed’s journey even though they may not be able to contact or access those sprits and gods themselves. Despite the expansion of the Chinese state on the southern frontier, with its associated male-centered rituals and religious orientation, among the Zhuang, moeds specialize in contacting local spirits through their oral ritual practices, while through their literate ritual practices Daoist priests specialize in communicating with Daoist deities (Wilkerson 2007). In this way, the two act in complementary roles, facilitating a division of labor between dealing with either local or distant concerns regarding the spirit world (Kao 2009). Yet there are semblances of a hierarchical distinction between “literate” and “non-literate” ritual specialists as seen in interactions between Daoist priests and moed. An episode that occurred during Memoed Sister Snow’s advancement rite held in 2016 illustrates this point. In Sister Snow’s house, two memoeds set up their altar on the ground floor while Daoist priests conducted their rituals in front of the household altar on the second floor. At around 1:30 a.m. on August 22, Sister Snow and the other two memoed sisters moved upstairs to ask the Daoist priests for their teachings. All audience members followed the three memoeds upstairs to listen to the song exchanges between the Daoist priests and the memoeds. The memoeds held a cup of tea, knelt down and begged the Daoist priests to receive their tea and to give them advice. The Daoist priests replied in modest and humorous manners, with both groups expressing themselves in song exchanges lasting more than one and half hours. Amid the banter, the memoeds flattered the Daoist priests regarding their power, begging to be taught; in response the Daoist priests replied humbly, complementing the memoeds on their popularity. The performance of the two groups commanded the audience’s attention and certain humorous lyrics made them laugh aloud heartily. Three senior Daoist priests eventually agreed to receive tea, bringing the exciting session to a close around 3 am.

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4.2.2 Sibling Rivalries The following story told by a gemoed from Debao County demonstrates the siblinghood between moeds and Daoist priests: We (moed) call Daoist priests “elder brother.” In the past, elder brothers made a living by being a Daoist priest but younger sisters had nothing with which to make a living. Therefore, elder brother cut off his sleeve and gave it to his sister to make a cap. From then on, younger sisters could conduct rituals to make a living. As you can see, a Daoist priest’s sleeves are shorter than other clothes. In our initiation ceremony, we have to invite Daoist priests because they are higher than us. However, they cannot see what our closed eyes can see. (Xiao Mei 2007, 461)

This story illustrates how a moed’s initiation ceremony and advancement rites are derived from Daoist ritual. Nonetheless, moeds are more popular in Zhuang society for both household and community rituals because they are able to deal with requests of both the living and the dead. The frequency of their interactions with ritual participants reinforces their popularity. Although moeds and Daoist priests often cooperate in grand household and community rituals, moeds interact with ritual participants much more than Daoist priests do. This is because, during a spiritual journey, the souls of the ritual participants travel with the moed through the spirit world. When the moed encounters and is possessed by different spirits, the ritual participants have to answer the spirit’s questions and satisfy their requests by burning spirit money and clothes. The highlight of the household ritual occurs when the moed visits the tombs of the ancestors of the hosting family and the ancestors speak to their descendants in their familiar dialects. In contrast, Daoist rituals are much less interactive and also tend to be less popular. Daoist priests recite ritual texts in southwestern Mandarin to invite Daoist gods to arrive at the ritual site. They also write documents in classical Chinese and send them to Daoist gods. A man of the ritual host family is sometimes chosen by the family to assist the Daoist priest in burning incense sticks or offering wine, but in general these rituals do not draw an audience. During breaks between each part of the ritual, Daoist priests do not have much communication with the family members; most of the time they smoke alone. Be that as it may, however, the highlight of any grand collaborative rituals is when moeds show their respect towards Daoist priests by offering them rice wine or tea and requesting spells and magic from them, as we saw in the example from Sister Snow’s advancement rite above. It is a highlight of the ritual because the moed always express their respect and make requests to

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the Daoist priests in song, and Daoist priests should reply in kind, i.e. by singing. However, not every Daoist priest is like the talented one I saw presiding over Sister Snow’s advancement rite, who was able to exchange songs with memoeds for about one hour. In general, then, while moeds do express their respect for Daoist priests as an integral part of ritual practice, this does not mean they are viewed as occupying a comparatively lower rung in terms of status or hierarchy.

4.2.3 Moed as Military Official and Daoist Priest as Civil Official Both moeds and Daoist priests claim they are officials in a spirit world bureaucracy, with moeds belonging to a military officialdom and Daoist priests representing civil officialdom.16 From dreaming of a deceased ritual master’s teaching, through carrying out a series of initiation and advancement ceremonies, to a special funeral, their lives are a process of transforming an ordinary person into an official, both in life and after death. When a family member starts suffering from a physical or mental disorder that cannot be cured by any medication, experienced family members will trace the line of ancestral masters in their family history. The phrase “our family has been officials for nine generations” is used to explain the destiny of the suffering family member. In the cases of several moeds I have interviewed, during the period of sickness the moed candidate also dreamt of their own ancestors who were ritual specialists, envisioning them as imperial officials. In a spirit journey, moeds sit on a folded blanket or quilt placed on a bamboo mat which represents a saddle, as the journey must be done on horseback. The sitting posture is meaningful because, on the one hand, the horse denotes travel to the spirit world, and on the other hand it specifies the moed’s status as a military official. During a spirit journey the moed holds five copper chains representing a horse in her left hand, and uses them to make the rhythmic sound of a horse running. In her right hand, the moed holds a fan, representing a whip. Red paper cuttings of horses representing transportation for spirit soldiers, deceased ritual masters, and gods are prepared

16 In contrast, Lagerwey (1999) suggests that the division of Han Chinese religion is based on two-set concepts, red/white (Ch. hung/bai 紅/白) and civil/military (Ch. wen/wu文/武). The red rites are conducted by Daoist priests acting as a military official for the living, performing “liturgy for the living”, including rites for expelling ghosts and holding communal rituals (Ch. jiao 醮). The white rites are conducted by Buddhist priests acting as civil officials conducting “liturgy for the dead” (Ch. zhai 齋) or rituals of merit for the deceased.

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beforehand. When the moed makes the sound of a horse neighing during the journey, the ritual assistant immediately burns a paper-cut horse to allow the spirits to change horses. In contrast, in their ritual practice Daoist priests prepare written documents to deliver their messages. Writing documents in classical Chinese and reading ritual texts in Southwest Mandarin reinforces their image as civil officials in the imperial court, different from the image of a moed as a military official on horseback during their spiritual journey. They either stand or sit on a chair in front of their temporary altar to conduct rituals. Their standing posture is the posture of an official at the imperial court. They also hold the audience board of the imperial court (Ch. chao ban 朝板) to visit gods when they conduct rituals (Schipper 1993).

4.3 Network of Supporters The moed’s supporters constitute the third network. The origins of different supporters vary. In a village setting, supporters of particular moeds tend to be organized along lines of kin relations. However, this is not in any way exclusive, as the families of both deceased ritual masters and spirit soldiers that settle down in a moed’s altar might also become supporters of a particular moed. This is the case for wife of Huang Dengwei, the Zhuang opera performer mentioned above who is well-known in Jingxi county town and its outskirts. He died in the 1970s and eventually settled in Grandma Peach’s altar, becoming one of her deceased ritual masters. Since then, Huang Dengwei’s wife has attended Grandma Peach’s rituals and become her supporter. A moed’s network can also be expanded when faithful supporters act in the role of agents introducing new clients to their favorite moed for consultations regarding household or community problems involving unstable and unhappy spirits.17 Finally, moeds may strive for opportunities to conduct rituals in an unfamiliar community as a means of attracting more supporters. Just as the members of her spirit and professional networks are necessary for successful ritual practice, a moed also needs to have supporters that can assist during household rituals; otherwise, the family hosting the ritual may not know how to interact with spirits properly and satisfy every spirit’s request.

17 “Client” refers to those who come to moed’s home or attend her ritual to consult her family or community’s problems. A “supporter” must be a client, but a client will not necessarily become a supporter.

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Several different Zhuang terms are used to refer to a moed’s supporters, depending on the closeness of the relationship they establish and maintain with the moed, what level of religious and ritual knowledge they obtain, and what responsibility they take in rituals.18 The most faithful and helpful supporters are called ma nyang (Zh., Ch. ma niang 嬤娘). These women help with organizing rituals, and setting up offering tables. They also buy gifts of clothes, shoes, and ritual instruments for their favorite ritual specialists to use. They might also prepare offerings and spirit clothes to attend their annual Rite of Burning Spirit Clothes. If in a specific ritual they assume responsibility for listening to the moed’s commands, arranging the offering table, and burning incense sticks, they are called the Lady of the Offering Table (Ch. cha xiang fu 插香婦, Zh. me zong hing: me: mother, zong: table, hing: incense sticks). Another religious term, zou ma (Zh, Ch. zhouma 周媽), is used to address those who participate in rituals occasionally and are overall unfamiliar with the ritual process. Sometimes a moed may even have a relationship through rituals with a few of her faithful senior supporters, calling the person a fictive mother (Ch. yimu 義母, Zh. me iay). For example, Sister Snow has three main groups of supporters and each of them performed different duties during her advancement rite. The first group consists of Sister Snow’s natal and spousal families. For her advancement ritual, her natal family was required to prepare a set of ritual clothing and her husband’s family was expected to host the banquet. The second group is comprised of community members, many of whom assisted in the food preparation and senior female members who helped with rituals. Finally, Sister Snow often visited and conducted rituals in a neighboring town, Tongde, and thus recruited a group of supporters there constituting the third group that contributed money to the ritual. Each of these three groups had representatives who would act as ritual assistants during the advancement ritual. In a town, a group of supporters is more likely to be based upon who lives nearby, but a moed always strives for any chance to recruit new supporters. For example, a new memoed came to Ande town every market day in 2005 and carried out “seeing clothes” rites in a temporary shelter on outskirts of the town.19 Many villagers consulted her when they came to the market. I was later

18 In addition to the terms I elaborate here, moeds have other terms to refer to her supporters, most of which are Chinese loan words. Moeds use xianggong 相公 (Zh. slyang gueng) to refer to middle-aged or elder male audience members and address young men as dage 大哥 (Zh. da go) and young ladies xiaojie 小姐 (Zh. slyao ze) respectively. 19 “Seeing clothes” refers a short spirit journey taking about 10 to 15 minutes and involving the sending of spirit soldiers to identify a client and her family member’s problems.

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surprised to find that this memoed appeared as one of the ritual specialists hosting a rite of Entering a New Temple (Ch. ru xinmiao 入新廟, Zh. kau miu moy) for the agricultural deity Shennong 神農 in Ande.20 The local people said that she was informed by the highest deity in the town, Emperor Ziwei 紫微, that this rite would be taking place and that she should attend this grand event. During the rite, she performed very humbly by kneeling down in front of the other two senior ritual specialists who already had many supporters in town. She also conducted her ritual as energetically as possible to attract audience members who might become new supporters. Town residents felt curious about this new face and tested her by asking for divination.

5 Discussion Through this examination of moed networks, we are able to develop a picture of Zhuang conceptual frameworks of spirit beings and how these differ from spirit frameworks revealed in the ritual practices of Zhuang Daoist priests and ritual practitioners of Han Chinese religious traditions, including shamanic practices. In this discussion, I will explore the differences and similarities between moed and other Zhuang ritual specialists (Daoist priests and vernacular ritual practitioners) and between moed and Han Daoist priests and Han spirit mediums. The particular points of comparison here focus on the differing spatial arrangements that construct the framework of spirits, how the profession of ritual specialist is inherited, and the origins of power plus methods of communication with the spirit world.

5.1 Framework of the Spirit World The majority of Zhuang populations inhabit valley areas in which they carry out paddy-rice agriculture. Zhuang villages are usually situated between a mountain in back and paddy-rice fields in front. In addition, boundaries of households and between different villages are very clear. Households are distinguished by a distinct main door and kitchen stove, while temples dedicated to village gods are always located near the outskirts of the village indicating

20 Duing the rite of Entering a New Temple, Daoist priests conducted a consecration rite (Ch. Kaiguang 開光) while the moed’s task was to deliver offerings to the agricultural deity and other deities in the town.

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the village boundary. In contrast, Han villages are known for the “five-camps” formation (Ch. wu ying 五營) of spirit soldiers that provide protection from outside threats. The main camp is located in a temple dedicated to the village god at the center of the village, while four other, smaller shrines for the camps stand on the margins of the village to the north, south, east and west of the central shrine. The camps are distinguished by colors, general’s surnames, numbers of horses and soldiers, and the sacred instruments used by spirit mediums (Lin 2012, 272). These differences in village layout also reflect differences in how Zhuang and Han communities classify the spirit world. The Zhuang classification of spirits is based on where a spirit dwells – household/village/wild areas. In a spirit journey, the order of spirits that moeds access is tied to the places they are located and range from “near” to “distant” (from household, through village, through valley, and into the otherworld). This form of classification reflects spatial categories in which the severity of danger increases with distance. Possession takes place during the spirit journey when the moed arrives at the geographic location where the spirit resides. Once she leaves that place, the possession ends. This differs from Han Chinese framework of spiritual entities – god/ghost/ ancestors which is constructed to reflect the social categories of bureaucrat/ stranger/kin (Wolf 1974). When Han shamans travel on their spirit journeys, they remain within the village boundaries, visiting the spirits residing in the five-camp shrines. This arrangement is similar to the framework expressed in the rituals of Daoist priests, both Zhuang and Han. Rather than distinguishing between “near” and “distant” Daoist priests arrange spirits by their bureaucratic rankings, from lower to higher authorities.

5.2 Inheriting the Profession In terms of answering the call to become a ritual specialist, Zhuang shamans, Daoist priests, and vernacular ritual specialists in southwest Guangxi are all chosen by deceased ritual masters to inherit their professions. Secondly, among the Zhuang not only moeds but also individuals of all three types of ritual practitioner suffer mental or physical problems before they commit to becoming ritual specialist and find ritual parents. Finally, all require both one shaman as a ritual mother and one Daoist priest as a ritual father to act as masters. In contrast, the positions of Daoist priests and ritual masters among Han Chinese are usually passed from father to son (Lagerwey 1996 and 1008) and Han Chinese spirit mediums are selected not by deceased ritual masters but by specific village deities (Lin 2012).

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5.3 Origins of Power and Methods of Communication Wilkerson (2007) argues that the abilities of Zhuang Daoist priests, vernacular ritual practitioners (mogong), and shamans vary depending on which kinds of deities they can access. Zhuang Daoist priests access deities of different rankings in the Daoist pantheon while vernacular ritual practitioners deal with local deities. Moeds are able to invite and be possessed by all of these deities and more. While conducting a household ritual, moed may become possessed by the ancestor of a family, and by Han Chinese and/or local deities while performing community rituals. This is also one significant way in which Zhuang shaman differ from Han spirit mediums. Among Han shamans, there is a strong gender divide in terms of both authority and the spirits they can access. Han female spirit mediums can only become possessed by ancestors or female deities, while Han male spirit mediums are possessed by figures from the lower ranks of the Daoist pantheon or by village deities (Potter 1974; Lin 2012; Cai 2001). In fact, this gender divide is so strong among Han that even receiving a calling is not enough to overcome it. For example, in a specific case found in northern Taiwan, a Chinese woman was not recognized by senior male shamans as a shaman candidate just because she was female and, in his understanding, not qualified to be a village shaman (Wolf 1990). In contrast, Zhuang shamans may be either female or male and moeds of either gender perform the same functions; i.e. both male and female are equally capable of being guided by their deceased ritual masters and spirit soldiers to access ancestors, deities and ghosts, and also are able to search for and bring back lost souls of the living. The origins of power among Zhuang shamans or Han spirit mediums also vary. Both rely on networks of spirit soldiers to assist during their spirit journeys, but the source of spirit soldiers is different. The Zhuang shaman’s power is demonstrated by the number of deceased ritual masters and spirit soldiers she can summon to help her solve problems and to guide her spirit journey. This number can increase over the years as she recruits and/or gives shelter to new deceased ritual masters and spirit soldiers. These spirits dwell in her altar, which is kept in her household within the village. In contrast, Han spirit medium’s power originates from deities and spirits residing in the five-soldier camps in his village territory. The number is fixed and they do not have the ability to recruit more. Instead, Han shamans use blood sacrifices, either their own or that of animals, as a means to please the spirits and increase their power. Finally, the methods through which Daoist priests and shamans – both Zhuang and Han – communicate with deities or spirits is different. Among

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both Zhuang and Han populations, Daoist priests’ authority, and the power their literacy confers, is expressed by delivering written documents to gods that are often represented as officials of the Chinese state (Wilkerson 2007; Schipper 1985 and 1993). Moreover, they only take place in one direction; the mortal world sends messages to the spirit world making requests. In contrast, when shamans carry out a spirit journey to visit or look for spirits, a dual pathway of communication is opened. Through shamans, spirits are able to communicate messages to the living.

Conclusion Zhuang religious practices related to shamans and other ritual specialists are typical practices of diffused religion (Yang 1961). The difference between supporters and shamans is the freedom to leave the group. Because shamans are tightly attached to the spirit world, they are not free to quit unless they are prepared to have their lives taken by their deceased ritual masters at any time. In contrast, supporters of each of the four categories (see 4.3) can leave the shamanic group or choose to become a follower of another shaman whenever they wish. Yet, Zhuang ritual practices rely on the continued interaction and cooperation of religious groups which are constituted of spirits, shamans and other Zhuang specialists, and supporters. Thus, additional mechanisms are required to support the maintenance and stability of Zhuang religious groups. The three networks point to the framework of the Zhuang spirit world and contribute to the necessity of the moed profession. Firstly, in order to maintain stability between the mortal and spirit worlds, every family needs to deliver offerings and burn spirit clothes for ancestors and deities. Moeds are experts in delivering offerings to ancestors for private households, to deceased ritual masters and spirit soldiers in other ritual specialist households, as well as to village gods, and deities located in specific wild places and ghosts wandering outside households and villages. Secondly, a person whose kvaen are wandering outside his/her house or village is in danger. Moeds are experts in locating and re-settling those lost souls back to their bodies. In her spirit journey, when moed see a lost kvaen, she calls out its age to identify whose lost soul it is and calls it back. If a kvaen is struck by other spirits or stays with the pei that is drawing it away, she uses offerings as a form of exchange to get the kvaen back. For example, in the case that the spirit likes singing, she needs to exchange songs with the spirit. The kvaen is only released after the moed wins the song game. Finally, every family might have certain members who died

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violently. Moeds are experts in transforming those pitiful unnaturally dead or violent spirits into supportive spirit soldiers. This means that in the context of the Zhuang framework of spirits, people hope those family members can be settled in a moed’s altar. Zhuang people rely on moeds to re-settle unstable and harmful spirits. In addition, people are often keen to communicate with spirits directly in order to satisfy their requests and consult them. The strategic continuum of religious behaviors proposed by Sosis (2003, 109) which places believers at one end and skeptics at the other can shed light on the behaviors of Zhuang shamans and their supporters. People born in a Zhuang community will engage in shamanic rituals either actively or passively; individual engagement is varied. In general, more significant the shamanic group members conducting the rituals – such as a leading shaman of a ritual family, the shaman’s family, a leader of supporters and so on – the costlier that ritual will be and more cooperation is needed. Likewise, those significant or leading shamans or supporters have a wider social networks in local society and receive more benefits from both physical and spiritual networks. Shaman’s families and their closest supporter groups contribute most to a shaman’s costliest rituals. The costliest ritual for a shaman is the rite of putting on the cap, which requires the cooperation of the shaman’s natal, spouse’s and ritual families, as well as their supporter groups. In conducting this ritual, the burden for shaman’s families is much heavier than those of other ritual specialist’s and of non-ritual specialist families. Among supporters, the level of individual commitment to a shaman’s rituals varies. Supporters who are more significant to the ritual are also the people who spend more time and money as part of their participation. For example, in a group of supporters, most often it is the lady of offering table who plays the leading role. She is the closest supporter of the shamans and also contributes the most time, labor and resources to support the shaman’s ritual. On the other end of the spectrum, community members who do not regularly participate in rituals will simply send gifts of money in red envelops. The costs and benefits of shamanic ritual are reciprocal. The costlier the ritual is, the more benefits the shamans themselves and the supporter’s group members may obtain. The rituals conducted for shamans are intended to give or enhance the shaman’s power. The longer the distance the spirit journey a shaman carries out; the costlier and grander the ritual is; the more power the shaman receives. The more power the shaman has, the more problems she can solve and more spirits she can access during the spirit journey. A community which has a shaman needs to support their shaman by either giving money or contributing labor in the rite of putting on the cap; in return, the shaman has the obligation to conduct rituals anytime the community or an individual household in the community needs her.

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The leaders of Zhuang shaman’s groups – shamans themselves and the leader of the network of supporters – apply multiple strategies to maintain the stability of the group. The high cost of the group has been elaborated above, to conclude we look at the other strategy: charisma. A charismatic shaman always attracts ritual participant’s attention in grand rituals by interacting and competing with other shamans or other categories of ritual specialist in exchanging songs. Her charisma is based on her eloquence and knowledge of ritual song. A charismatic leader of a group of supporters also helps maximize group power. Popular shamans often have more than one supporter’s group and each group has its leader. A charismatic group leader will coordinate within the group and lead the group to compete with other groups of supporters. This competition plays out in the making and displaying of a large number of paper clothes for their favorite shaman’s spirit soldiers, in giving expensive ritual clothes to the shaman, and in the number of supporters in the group that regularly participate in the shaman’s rituals. In sum, an integration of professional network and competition between shaman’s supporter’s groups via costly ritual practices and performance is an additional strategy to enhance cooperation and stability within a Zhuang shaman’s group. Thus, to answer to the questions posed in the introduction regarding the persistence of shamanic rituals among the Zhuang, it is the framework of the Zhuang spirit world that assures the continued necessity of the moed profession, while the costly shamanic rituals contribute to the stability of the three networks.

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Actors, Spaces, and Norms in Chinese Transnational Religious Networks: A Case Study of Wenzhou Migrants in France Introduction The Chinese diaspora has a long tradition dating back to the nineteenth century and earlier. After China lifted migration restrictions and reopened its gates at the end of the 1970s, the increased flow of Chinese migrants has considerably changed the social landscapes of both their host countries and China itself, while attracting increasing scholarly attention, both Chinese and Western. Scholars analyze this phenomenon from social, historical, educational and political angles and are constructing a panorama of Chinese migrants in the world (Kuhn 2008; Hsu 2000; Kang Xiaoli 2015; Lau-Clayton 2014; Benton 2007). Most of previous studies focused on Chinese communities in America (Chen Hsiang-Shui 1991; Young 2014; McCLain 1996; Zhou Min 2009) and those in Southeast Asia (Freedman 1957; Li Yih-yuan 1970; Zeng Ling and Zhuang Yingzhang 2000; Alip 1974) where have the largest overseas Chinese communities and their history is among the longest in the oversea Chinese societies. Comparatively speaking, the presence of Chinese migrants in Europe is a recent phenomenon.1 Only a few exploratory researches can be found on this issue (Breton 2011; Pang 2008; Baldassar et al. 2015; Sanfilippo and Weinar 2015). One key aspect of the Chinese diaspora is their religious practices. The religious groups that they organized play a major role in reorganization of the oversea Chinese community and reassertion of their identity vis-à-vis the host

1 Gregor Benton has listed six trends of Chinese migration in Europe from early 19th century to the 1950s (Breton 2011, 62–64). However, their number was too small to be noticed by the host societies and they were not really visible as a community in Europe until 1970s. Note: This paper is result of the research project “La Religion des Chinois en France”, coordinated by Fang Ling and Vincent Goossaert, with the financial support of Agence nationale de la recherche and Chiang Ching-kuo Foundation. I am very grateful to Stefania Travagnin and Paul Katz for their comments on an earlier draft. The responsibility for any remaining errors or inadequacies is solely mine. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110547849-009

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country. In recent years, the relationship between globalization and transnational religious networks has drawn growing attention. Thomas Jansen, Thoralf Klein and Christian Meyer’s edited volume analyzes the Chinese-Western encounter and the global dimension in Chinese history from social-political perspectives (Jansen et al., 2014). That book, however, does not deal with overseas Chinese migrants’ religion. For Chinese migrants in Southeast Asia, previous research has highlighted the role of ancestor worship in the reconstruction of migrant identity and the creation of relationships with their native places (Pan Hongli 2006; Zeng Ling 2006). As for Chinese migrants in Western countries, most scholarship has centered on Christian communities. Some studies suggest Christianity produces visible and invisible spaces for networks of Chinese Christian migrants in a global-local context (Huang Yuqin and Hsiao I-hsin 2015); others associate network-building with contemporary capitalism and view Chinese transnationalism as a form of modernity (Ong and Nonini 1997). Scholars examine the successful global expansion of Taiwanese Buddhist organizations such as Foguangshan 佛光山 and Tzu Chi Foundation (Ciji gongde hui 慈濟功德會). Their studies converge on two points: first, the globalization of Chinese religious groups, to a great extent, was driven by the growth of Chinese migrants. Second, those Buddhist organizations resort to a trust system to construct their networks (Chandler 2002; Huang 2013). Wenzhou natives represent an integral component of the migration patterns described above, and have made their presence felt worldwide since the 1980s. Their religious practices largely contribute to the construction of their transnational network. This paper aims to analyze the mechanisms of Wenzhou migrants’ religious networks through three vectors: Where (places of worship on which religious networks anchor), Who (actors who build and use religious networks), and What (religious knowledge and norms which are imported into communities through religious networks). The author suggests Chinese temples and churches represent a public place for Chinese migrants where they continue to practice their usual religion, even if sometimes most like in a substitutional way, and relive their collective memory. Overseas Chinese communities are thereby related to mainland China and other Chinese cultural countries or regions and are constructing a transnational network. In this network, some groups aim at exporting their value system to spread their influence worldwide and some other groups seek to import a value system for a better internal organization and establishing a hierarchy. The “push and pull” effect makes possible the circulation of religious knowledge and norms which help to structure religious organizations founded by Chinese migrants and create an institutionalized authority for the new elites emerging from new communities.

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1 Historical Context Wenzhou has a long history of migration. Situated at the border between Zhejiang Province and Fujian Province, migrants from north China, north Zhejiang and south Fujian came settle down in Wenzhou and brought cultural diversity which has created different local identities. People come in and people come out. Short of agricultural land, Wenzhou has been home to countless emigrants, especially during the modern era. Whether driven by the poverty that ravaged Wenzhou during the 1950s and 1960s, or attracted by the profit of the market economy from the 1990s, Wenzhou natives travel extensively to try their luck. Wherever they go, they perpetuate Wenzhou traditions by building their own communities governed by autonomous regulations. Zhejiang Village in the immediate suburbs of Beijing is a prime example (Xiang Biao 2005). The displacement of Wenzhou natives is hardly limited to the interior of China; they cross borders all over the world. France, alongside Italy (Baldassar et al., 2015), Spain, the Netherlands and the United States, is one of their favorite destinations. The first generation of Wenzhou migrants arrived in France at the beginning of the 20th century,2 being mainly itinerant merchants from Qingtian.3 They are said to have gotten rich by selling objects made of Qingtian stone from throughout the Wenzhou region, especially villages bordering on Qingtian such as Yuhu. Those Eldorado rumors and some Qingtian migrants’ “coming back home in glory” (yijin huanxiang 衣錦還鄉) conspicuous consumption have stimulated their countrymen to follow in their footsteps and go abroad as China opened its doors toward the end of the 1970s (Li Minghuan 1999: 85–86). Several hometowns of overseas Chinese such as Yuhu Village in Wencheng County, Li’ao Village in Rui’an County and Chashan Village in Ouhai District, were created in this way and inhabitants of these villages moved to France in a domino effect. Migrants from Qidu, a village close to Wenzhou harbor, also settled in France. The first generation of Qidu migrants worked as sailors on foreign boats, and this was how they spread around America and Europe. Due to their frequently being illegal migrants, Wenzhou natives have tended to rely on their families, clans or community networks to get to France en masse, especially before Europe was hit by the financial crisis in 2008. Today, France 2 For more on the history of Chinese immigrants in France, see Yu-Sion Live 1991; Ma Li 2012. For studies on Wenzhou immigrants in France, see Poisson 2004; Guerassimoff 2003. 3 Before 1963, when it became a county of Lishui, Qingtian had been for its entire history part of Wenzhou. Many of Qingtian people understand and speak Wenzhou dialect.

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has between 234,000 and 252,000 Wenzhou migrants, probably the biggest Chinese community in France, although this estimate, made on the basis of the INSEE (the National Institute of Statistics and Economic Studies) data, remains hypothetical (Lucchini 2012:267). The first Wenzhou migrants settled mainly in the 3rd arrondissement4 in Paris; as time has passed, they are increasingly residing in the Belleville quarter stretching over the 10th, 11th, 19th and 20th arrondissements and in the department of Seine-Saint-Denis, in particular in the commune of Aubervilliers where the first textile import-export platform is developed with China and other parts of Europe (Ji Zhe 2010). Wenzhou migrants in France mainly work in catering, import-export commerce, and garment-making. Benefiting from a mutual aid system and hard work, most migrants manage to earn a living and even build wealth. Their good performance in the economic realm directly shapes their religious activities. Believing in the principle of do ut des, or “a favor for a favor”, Wenzhou religious practitioners never hesitate when it comes to making donations to their groups and enabling them to enhance their economic dynamics. Thus we can observe that during the 1990s the number of Chinese religious groups grew rapidly thanks to believers’ donations, a period corresponding to the rising tide of Wenzhou migrants. The economic dynamics of these groups also allows them to propose different activities to their members and keep their independence vis-à-vis other groups. At the same time, control over the money can become a controversial issue sparking increasing internal conflicts results followed by schisms in religious groups (Pan Junliang 2017, 287). Apart from Wenzhou people in France, there are also Asian migrants from Indochina, generally referred to as “boat people”. Many are Chinese descendants and speak Cantonese or/and Chaozhou dialect. They arrived in France around the 1970s, just before the Wenzhou migration tide, to flee from communist persecution. Many live in the 13th arrondissement, which is called by some Parisians “China Town”. From the 1990s, a lot of Dongbei people5 were driven out by mass unemployment in the region and journeyed to France to try their luck (Li Peilin and Zhang Yi 2004; Lévy 2015). In recent years, the origins of Chinese migrants coming to France have become increasingly varied, encompassing every corner of China. Without developed community networks like

4 Arrondissements is French administrative division that roughly corresponds to a district. 5 The Dongbei region refers to China’s northeast which consists of the three provinces of Liaoning, Jilin and Heilongjiang. Its industrial sector was once powerful, but suffered huge losses in the liberalization and privatization of China’s economy after 1990s.

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migrants from Wenzhou or Indochina, these new arrivals face considerable difficulties in finding a place in the labor markets for Chinese migrants.

2 Wenzhou Religious Networks As Xiang Biao described in his book on Zhejiang Village in Beijing, the functioning of the Wenzhou community is based on interpersonal relationships (guanxi 關係) and economic dynamics that have developed on the basis of mutual trust (Xiang Biao 2005: 2–12, 448–489). Indeed, the Wenzhou community in France was created thanks to such interpersonal relationships. As soon as migrants arrived, they were welcomed by relatives who had already settled. It is also thanks to them that these newcomers could find work in the community without difficulty. In family or clan networks, trust is built on bloods bond, but it is not the same when it comes to community or transcommunity networks, although it is often through a close relative or compatriot that a person joins such networks, which then develop due to frequentation, exchange and conviviality. Religious groups are one such platform on which members can build their interpersonal relationships. However, the case of Chinese religious groups in France barely fall into the category of NGOs that Robert Weller and other scholars have explored (Weller 2005). Their activities are limited to their community and they have little interaction with local society. Thus they do not represent a substitution or a composition to a civil society. Those groups try to adapt themselves to the political frame, both French and Chinese, but show little, at least not in an obvious way, interest in terms of political claims. They should rather be examined inside the migrants’ community and be seen as a form of selfregulation based on a structuring value, such as territory or lineage. Wenzhou religious groups in France can be roughly divided into two categories: Christian groups and non-Christian groups. In the first category, the earliest Chinese Christian church in France, Eglise évangélique des Chinois à Paris (Jidujiao Bali huaqiao jiaohui 基督教巴黎華僑教會), was created in 1972 and frequented by believers of different origins: Taiwanese, Hong Kongese, overseas Chinese from Indochina and Wenzhou natives. It also was the mother-church of many Chinese churches in France founded by former members who preferred to worship in their own communities. This was the case for the biggest Wenzhou Protestant church, Eglise protestante chinoise de Paris (Jidujiao Bali Wenzhou jiaohui 基督教巴黎溫州教會), which was founded in 1992 and is situated today in the Wenzhou people’s most crowded quarter. From then on, the number of Wenzhou Protestant churches has multiplied and now there are nine. These churches are different from each another

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at certain levels. The Église protestante des Chinois de la Chine du Sud en France (Jidujiao Bali juhuichu 基督徒巴黎聚會處) belongs to Watchman Nee’s “Little Flock” tradition (Lian Xi 2010, 155–178) and has a particular structure, and organization, as well as its own network, with little cooperation with other Chinese churches in France. The leader of Eglise évangélique (Jidujiao Bali fuyin jiaohui 基督教巴黎福音教會) comes from a “Little Flock” church, which is why this church keeps some features of this tradition. Another particularity of Eglise évangélique is that almost all its members come from the same church of Qidu village, with common origin making it function like a transplanted church. The Eglise du Renouveau chrétien à Paris (Jidujiao Bali fuxing jiaohui 基督教巴黎復興教會) is a Pentecostal-like church and belongs to an international organization based in Hong Kong, the Revival Christian Church. Nevertheless, it remains independent at economic and operational levels. The Eglise protestante évangélique chinoise de France (Faguo huaren Jidujiao jiuentang 法國華人基督教救恩堂) was created by a charismatic pastor, Yu Dubing 余督兵, who is famous in Wenzhou. A graduate of Nanjing Union Theological Seminary, he had taken over the presidency of the Yueqing Christian Council before moving to France, and his church has closer relationships with some big Protestant organizations in China. In spite of their particular features and even conflicts (Pan Junliang 2017, 292–293), most of them have set up a common network in order to work together by training young believers and evangelization. The second category mainly encompasses Buddhist and religious groups professing to be related to Buddhism. The first such associations were created by Taiwanese or Hong Kongese international organizations that were trying to expand their influence among overseas Chinese, such as Foguangshan (Jones 1999, 189–198). However, this was not only due to the initiative of these organizations but also that of some overseas believers who needed Buddhist ritual specialists for their daily worship. In the beginning, such believers would contact Buddhist monks from their native regions, but such local temples lacked both international expansion plans and well-organized networks of monks, and could not meet overseas believers’ needs. These believers then turned to more institutionalized organizations. On the other hand, Foguangshan’s monks move around the world by invitation or conference tours they have organized, which enable them to meet overseas believers and set up plans for creating local temples. Other Taiwanese Buddhist organizations have used similar strategies to try to take root in overseas Chinese communities. For example, Zhongtai Temple (Zhonagtai shan 中台山) has created a branch in Rome with the help of local Wenzhou believers in 2012. Recently, another well-known Chinese Buddhist organization, Longquan Temple (Longquan si 龍泉寺), whose leader, the

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monk Xuecheng 學誠, was president of the Buddhist Association of China (2015–2018), has adopted a similar strategy and created its first overseas branch in Utrecht, Holland, in 2015. Drawn by the reputation and organizational activities of Foguangshan, many rich Wenzhou merchants have joined its French branch, and one of them has taken the presidency of its secular twin: the Buddha’s Light International Association in France (Foguanghui 佛光會). Redemptive societies and other new religious movements rarely benefit from such large-scale financial support from overseas Chinese, since there is a natural tendency to try and maintain the community from within. Their overseas expansion mainly relies on members’ personal migration plans. After the members of these groups move to France, they first set up family altars at the homes of believers with sufficient space for staging regular rituals. As their numbers grow, they present to the central committee a petition for building a temple. Once the petition is approved, the information will be announced in a regular meeting and a fund-raising drive launched. In this way, two Yiguandao – 貫道 branches, namely Miaofa fotang 妙法佛堂 from Taiwan and Linguang fotang 霖光佛堂 from Hong Kong, a branch from the Zhenfo zong 真佛宗 and a branch from the Guanyin famen 觀音法門 were founded. These groups usually present themselves as “Buddhist Halls” (fotang 佛堂) and are regarded as such by Wenzhou believers, who would go there to worship Buddha and Bodhisattvas when no Chinese Buddhist temples had been established. However, once believers realize the differences between these groups and Buddhist ones, and more Buddhist temples are built, many end up leaving redemptive societies and new religious movements, or just show up occasionally. Today these groups remain more prevalent among Cantonese or Chaozhounese speaking dominated groups. Belonging to a religious group does not prevent a believer from joining one or several others. The more networks one joins, the more sources one can draw on, be they economic, social or political. Many Wenzhou believers are not limited to one group, a phenomenon particularly common among non-Christian believers who frequent different places of worship following the principle of accumulation as applied to divine protection and good karma. Thus we often see the same Wenzhou believers circulating among Wenzhou Buddhist temples, a pagoda presided over by Cambodian nuns, a Vietnamese Buddhist temple and other Buddhist-related groups. Through these peregrinations, Wenzhou believers multiply their social networks and increase their potential capacity to mobilize the resources. Among Christians, the affiliation of a believer to one church is more visible. Even though splitting off is not a singular phenomenon, a believer who leaves his/her original church to join another one will be considered inappropriate. Following the same logic, the accumulation of religious networks is also

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realized at the group level rather than at the individual level, for example when a church joins an international Protestant organization or establishes cooperation with another Church, with the decision of the leaders of a church having much more influence on the extension of networks. It would not be surprising to see a hierarchy created and leading authority established more often in an institutionalized group. The networks created around religious groups provide essential daily life resources to Wenzhou believers, who share information about housing, jobs, current events in France and news from China. The latter information is particularly valuable for migrants, since they have left their native land and are deprived of parts of their interpersonal networks. Undoubtedly, Wenzhou believers have other networks such as family networks to benefit from common resources, and these networks and religious network overlap to some extent. The affiliation of a believer to a religious group is also a reaffirmation or a recreation of his/her identity as a Qidu, a Wenzhou, or a Chinese. However, religious networks allow them to go beyond their clans and communities to reach resources provided by non-Wenzhou Chinese migrants. Considering that Indochinese and Hong Kongese migrants were followed by Wenzhou people, especially in the economic sector, their experience is precious for later migrants. At the same time, the social networks on which religious groups are based do not necessarily coincide with ethnic networks (Nagata 2005), but can represent a complementary component. Such networks enable Wenzhou people to not only renew their bonds with China, but also establish connections with Taiwan, Hong Kong, and Western countries where a Chinese community is present through actions such as training programs, common worship meetings and pilgrimage. On the other hand, certain religious groups clearly bear their community’s marks and tend to be quasi-exclusive. Even some Protestant churches which are supposed to be proselyte show a big difference between their enthusiastic evangelization discourse and their relative lack of action, preferring instead to operate in a relatively closed fashion. The choice of preaching language is a key strategy to define the difference between “us” and “them” and keep the group’s solidarity. Another name of Eglise protestante chinoise de Paris, the church of Wenzhou dialect (Wenzhouyu jiaohui 溫州語教會), shows that church’s position. Identity becomes a more pressing issue when the second and third generations take over the organization of the church and French identity also needs to be taken into consideration. All in all, people, capital, and information circulate in religious networks that help Wenzhou migrants not only rebuild their identity and adapt to new circumstances, but also to maintain continuous vitality of their communities.

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3 Where: Places of Worship as Anchorages In Wenzhou, as well as abroad, places of worship represent anchorages from which networks can be established or further consolidated. This is in large part because these sites embody community values and stand for a social dimension. It is in these places of worship that collective memories are revitalized and that new elites strive to exert their influence. It is also through them that institutions, whether official or not, approach a community.

3.1 Communal Temples in Wenzhou In Wenzhou, as in most of the villages of China, community life was previously structured around the worship of local deities. Today, even if other social forms are introduced and the organization of local communities can vary, the symbolic side of their cults remains strong. The birthday ceremony of a local deity often takes the form of an economic or cultural holiday, and is a highly dynamic moment. Moreover, it is on such occasions that communal and individual identities are reaffirmed, and the common values of a community emphasized. The most popular deities in Li’ao, the most important hometown of Wenzhou migrants in France, are Lord Yang (Yang fuye 楊府爺) (Lin Yixiu 2009) and Chen Shisi furen 陳十四夫人, also known as Lady Linshui (Linshui furen 臨水夫人) (Baptander 2008). The former’s temple is situated at the top of the Baiyan hill. A procession in his name is carried out on his birthday annually in the hillside. Three temples are dedicated to the latter with regular plays performed on different religious occasions. It is noteworthy that all these temples have been rebuilt or renovated mainly thanks to overseas the donations of Li’ao migrants. The interaction between deities follows a conventional procedure of vows (xuyuan 許願) and thanksgiving in case the wish is granted (huanyuan 還願), and can be divided into two stages. In the case of migrants, before departure they go to temples to ask for protection from the gods, since the clandestine road of migration is dangerous and life abroad full of challenges. In order to prevent unpredictable events, they need the advice of a deity. One example is a temple dedicated to Guanyin in Li’ao, reputed to provide effective answers from Guanyin through a dream given to the believer, represents an irreplaceable starting point for future migrants. They spend the night there in the hope of having a dream that gives them a favorable response. There are other temples, including those with divinatory sticks (qianshi 籤詩) deemed effective, which also attract the attendance of future migrants. As for those men and women

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who are attached to a deity via a ritual form of adoption, they go to see that deity’s medium.6 Often believers make a vow concerning their security or their future abroad in the presence of a deity and communicate with the deity via a medium. After the migrant’s departure, it is the turn of their families to take care of the remaining rituals; they go to temples to consult the situation of migrants en route. Once believers arrive in France safe and sound, their families will give thanks in return: gifts, big candles, incense sticks or plates of offerings expressing the gratefulness they had promised. In subsequent years, once the status of migrants has been regularized and they can find time to return to Wenzhou, they are supposed to go to the temples they first worshipped at to present offerings of gratitude in person, thereby completing a series of ritual communications with the gods. The boom of building temples from the 1980s onwards in the migrant centers in Wenzhou would not have been possible without the donations of overseas Wenzhou migrants (Mayfair Yang 2009). Indeed, in some temples, donations from Wenzhou migrants in Europe constitute more than 70% of construction funds. It is also noteworthy that the bonds between overseas Wenzhou migrants and their hometowns fall into the system of gift and counter-gift. That is one reason why, besides real estate (Zhang Zhicheng 1998: 415–416), they have mainly invested in the construction of temples plus the bridges and roads that lead to them. Even if Wenzhou migrants reside in France, they still maintain their links to local deities in Wenzhou. When they have problems, they ask their families to go to consult these deities. If the responses of the gods involve religious talismans or traditional herbal medicines, their friends or relatives will take care to bring them back from China. Family and friends thus become intermediaries between local deities and a migrant in such a way that the individual, the family, the clan and local society are integrated into an overarching structure and are united around a common value, one that centers on deity worship. The bonds between a migrant and his family, and between a migrant and the gods, are not weakened because of geographical separation. On the contrary, migration reinforces the relationships of gift and countergift between migrants and their families, as well as between migrants and local deities. The end result is that migrants are more indebted to them than ever, and therefore obliged to maintain close ties to both family and local society.

6 For studies on Wenzhou mediums, see Mayfair Yang 2015.

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3.2 The Fahua Buddhist Temple At the same time, however, the religious lives of Wenzhou migrants depend not only on links between Wenzhou and France; they also create new places of worship in France like the Fahua Buddhist Temple, which was founded in 2000 by Wenzhou believers. While other Chinese (or Indochinese) migrants created guild halls (huiguan 會館) or set up sacred sites dedicated to their local deities, Wenzhou believers chose to build their main place of worship as a Buddhist temple. One reason may be that, in modern China, Buddhism has served as a protective umbrella for communal cults accused of fraud or “superstition” (mixin 迷信), although Buddhism itself has at times also participated in attacks on local cults. Buddhism also provided a means for communal cults to be integrated into the system of official religions and eventually escape repression. In Wenzhou, temples to local deities are often referred to as “Buddhist halls” (fotang 佛堂), and their deities called “Buddhas” (Fo 佛). Thus these communal cults are nominally identified with Buddhism. At the same time, Buddhism, a religion of Indian origin, has become a state-approved symbol of religion in China today, with Chinese government discourse presenting Buddhism not only as a source of social stability but also a leading example of the sinicization of a foreign religion, at times even trying to export it to the West. Therefore, it hardly seems surprising that the Wenzhou elites who led the effort to build the Fahua Temple were in contact with and received approval of the Chinese authorities (see below). The Fahua Temple is officially the center of cultural activities belonging to the Association of Chinese Residing in France (Faguo huaqiao huaren hui 法國 華僑華人會, henceforth ACRF), the largest association created by Wenzhou merchants. Today, a Taiwanese Buddhist nun runs the temple and presides over rituals. Believers come chiefly on the first and fifteenth day of each lunar month, as well as mammoth annual festivals such as for the dead and for the Chinese New Year. On New Year’s Eve, thousands of believers rush to the temple to burn incense, write their names in a protective lamp (literally “lamp of light” or guangmingdeng 光明燈), or simply eat a bowl of porridge that is supposed to bring good fortune. Wenzhou migrants represent the great majority of believers, and they seek to practice their tradition in a Buddhist setting. In Wenzhou, it is not uncommon for popular practices to be housed in a Buddhist temple. This is because local forms of Buddhism present themselves as an alternative, even a competitor, for religious functions normally performed by Daoist priests, spirit mediums, and other ritual specialists. Accordingly, one often sees statues of local deities enshrined in a Buddhist temple. It is in this tradition that the Fahua Temple operates. Its Guanyin Hall is clearly a prime space for Wenzhou migrants in France because of the presence

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of divinatory tools. Often, after saluting Buddha in the main hall, believers head straight for this one. When a migrant leaves Wenzhou and sets out, and his family in Wenzhou goes to a temple to seek protection and consult his/her situation en route by divination, his/her family in France does the same in the Fahua Temple. They also follow the same procedure of vow-promise and thanksgiving once the migrant has arrived in France. Apart from the divine answers the Guanyin Hall can provide, the Fahua Temple also responds to other religious needs of its believers, including the “lamps of light” mentioned above being lit provide protection to those who write their names. As for worshippers who want to accumulate good karma, they have to participate in regular rituals. In this functional structure, the Taiwanese nun Ciqing 慈青, plays an essential role. She presides not only at the great annual ceremonies, but is also invited to do geomancy, preside over funeral rituals, and consecrate statues of the deity that believers wish to worship in their homes. Some followers bring their children or grandchildren to the temple and ask the nun to become their master. One striking aspect of such practice is that in Wenzhou this is called “eating rice” (dafanchi 打飯吃), and it is often a spirit medium who plays the role of godfather (or more often godmother). If a child often falls ill and if, according to the result of a divinatory consultation, he/she is advised to “eat rice” from a deity, he/she will be brought to a religious specialist (often a medium) to become an adoptive child of the deity that the medium embodies. The most popular godmother deity in Wenzhou is Fourteenth Lady Chen. Once this has been done, then the child comes regularly to take a bushel of the rice, which is eaten after mixing with rice at home. In the Fahua Temple, whereas the medium is replaced by the Taiwanese nun and the appellation of godmother is replaced by that of master, the function and practice remain remarkably similar. As a sacred site for Wenzhou migrants in France, the Fahua Temple represents a public space for believers. They meet here on the occasion of regular rituals and communicate information. The Fahua Temple is often the starting point of fundraising to build a temple in China. Through it, migrants are connected as a community to their native land.

4 Who: Actors When Wenzhou migrants took the initiative of building a temple, leaders of the ACRF attempted to assume control over this endeavor. They first sought advice from the Chinese Embassy in France, which advised them to create rather a Buddhist temple than a temple dedicated to the local deities of Wenzhou. Therefore,

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it is clear that the Chinese state exerted some influence over the founding of the Fahua Temple. Moreover, during the consecration of the statues of Buddha and Bodhisattvas, senior officials from the Office of Religious Affairs of China and the Chinese Embassy in France accompanied monks from a prominent Chinese Buddhist temple in attendance. Thus, it seems that, by opting for a Buddhist temple, the leaders of the ACRF chose to embrace a larger Chinese identity as well as that of Wenzhou. This identity corresponds to the leadership’s ambitions, since they wish to represent not only Wenzhou migrants but also the entire Chinese community in France. As a result, they seek the support of provincial or even national bodies in China, and to obtain more benefits from these relations. One of the founders of the Fahua Temple, Lin Debiao 林德標, for example, came to France from Li’ao in 1966. He is always keeping a close relationship with his hometown where he donated money to built roads, schools and temples. Lin Debiao took over the presidency of the ACRF in 2005. Soon after, he organized a meeting with the head of Overseas Chinese Affairs Office in China and considered bridging the relationship between China government and Chinese community in France his vocation. In China, the construction of a temple is often initiated by local elites, and this was is also the case for the Fahua Temple. Nevertheless, Chinese elites in France are no longer the gentry of the past who had studied under the Confucian education system. Instead, many have peasant origins, and were among the first Wenzhou migrants in France. They thus climbed the social ladder by virtue of their seniority and economic prowess, not education. These rich merchants seek to play the same intermediary role between a local community and the state as the gentry used to do during temple construction projects, promoting the temple to the state and taking advantage of the presence of official representatives to increase both the temple’s prestige as well as their own symbolic capital. Although the temple is in France, their founders applied to the Chinese state, not the French state, because of their conviction that it is with the former that their status as “elites” will be more valued. In the case of the Fahua Temple, the Chinese government promoted an institutionalized religion in order to have a channel allowing it to contact and possibly exert its influence over a community.7 This channel is all the more important when the Chinese government no longer has administrative control

7 The Chinese government also uses this channel to instill its anti-cult ideology into the Chinese diaspora so as to counter the influence of overseas religious groups that it labels as “evil cults”, especially Falun Gong. Sometimes leaders of ACRF, in informal conversations, warn Fahua temple believers not to join such groups. For Falun Gong’s own legal campaigns overseas, see Huang Weishan’s chapter in this volume.

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over overseas Chinese communities. Rich merchants, on the other hand, in order to gain the support of the Chinese government, have accepted a Buddhist framework for their religious organization, although popular practices are tolerated in the temple as well. These elites also take advantage of the construction of the Fahua Temple to present themselves as representatives of the Chinese community in France, thereby trying to curry more favor from the Chinese government. While the ACRF is in charge of the economic management of the Fahua Temple, the organization of its religious life is entrusted to the Taiwanese nun who plays an indispensable role. Drawing on links to seminaries and large Buddhist organizations in Taiwan, she has established not only a series of regular rituals to cadence the practices of believers who come to worship the Buddha and Bodhisattvas or practice divination, but has also introduced them to Buddhist theories and practices while creating a system of organization by attributing functions to active members, establishing a hierarchy among believers, and creating rules that regulate the management of the temple. The traditional practices of Wenzhou believers have gradually been integrated into an institutionalized framework with the application of the religious norms brought by the Taiwanese nun without believers losing their Wenzhou identity. The Fahua Temple case study also merits comparison with Wenzhou migrant Christianity. Processes of institutionalization have been shaping Wenzhou Protestant churches in France in recent years, albeit with somewhat different actors. Most such churches originally lacked a pastor or preacher, something that can be traced to their roots in Wenzhou, where they often organized around a group of lay leaders. During the initial phases of their development in France, Wenzhou churches more or less retained this practice of laymen management. As time progressed, however, Wenzhou churches in France established contact with Protestant churches in Taiwan, Hong Kong, the United States and other western countries. The latter had developed for a long time, and often possessed an institutionalized structure around a pastor as the prime source of authority. These organizations forged international networks through the establishment of branches or cooperation with local churches, while also sending missionaries to help Chinese Protestant migrants to found their own groups or to teach them how to organize their churches. Through such activities, these churches worked to guide Chinese Protestant migrants (including from Wenzhou) as to their religious norms, whether pertaining to the organization of a church or the training of its leaders. At the same time, some leaders of Wenzhou Protestant churches in France, such as Lin Fuchun 林福春 of Eglise Evangelique Chinoise de France (Jidujiao Faguo huaren jiaohui 基督教 法國華人教會), worked to institutionalize their

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groups and join international networks of Chinese Protestants. Lin Fuchun was born in Qingtian and moved to France in 1970s. She was converted to Protestantism in 1983 through her husband’s family. She was one of the founders of Eglise protestante chinoise de Paris and was in charge of the training of young members. She later left to create her own church, seeking to build a more institutionalized organization. The creation of the branch of the GETS Theological Seminary in Paris in 2004 and that of the International Chinese Biblical Seminary in Spain in 2008 gave these leaders the opportunity to train themselves in theology and church organization. Moreover, at the end of their studies, they could obtain theological and pastoral authority. When these new graduates were ordained pastors or preachers at ceremonies presided over by pastors from Taiwanese, Hong Kong or American Protestant groups, they were henceforth integrated into the international networks of Chinese Protestants. The application of the religious norms proposed by international Chinese Protestant groups encourages the creation of a common network among such churches in France, with the joint worship of some 20 Chinese Protestant groups on January 1, 2015 reflecting a trend towards deeper cooperation. This unprecedented event occurred at the initiative of a group of Protestant churches, many of whose members are of Wenzhou origin. They are very active in organizing trans-church meetings and inviting internationally recognized pastors or preachers to come preach in France. The profile of Wenzhou Protestants elites also tends to be different from that of the Buddhist elites described above. While the former are also successful merchants, they tend to be younger and better educated. Practicing a deterritorialized religion, they are less attached to their native hometowns and less likely to pursue a Chinese identity. That is the reason why they have approached international Protestant groups and integrated their religious norms into their own groups. By adopting these religious norms, they seek to embody religious authority and rise through the hierarchy of the community.

5 What: Religious Norms and Structuring As Julia Huang points out in her article, people travel in the age of globalization and transnationalism (Huang 2002). But that is not all. People also travel with material possessions such as money and immaterial possession such as ideas. The circulation of people then goes together with the diffusion of knowledge and norms often from a space where they are developed to another where they are underdeveloped and needed. That is why in the case of religious practices of Chinese migrants in France, Taiwan, Hong Kong and America play the role of the centre of

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exportation of religious norms. In these countries or regions, without strict state regulation and tight control over religious activities, non-official religious organizations have established their theoretical and practice system and aim for a world expansion against the backdrop of globalization. Among those organizations, Foguangshan and Tzu Chi (Yao Yu-Shuang 2012) have had a great deal of success with global expansion. From 1980s to the present day, Foguangshan and Tzu Chi have founded many overseas branches worldwide (Huang 2013; Chandler 2002), including France. Their headquarters in Taiwan oversees every local branch and makes sure coherent organization of local branches’ activities. Especially Foguangshan, a Sangha-oriented organization supplemented by a layperson society, the Buddha’s Light International Association, regularly sends monks to local temples and manages to generally implement the same religious norms. However, not only organizations, but also individual actors can convey religious knowledge and norms through contact with others. The Taiwanese nun Ciqing of Fahua Temple was converted to Buddhism and became nun during college. Later, she followed Buddhist education in Fagushan 法鼓山. At the same time, she frequented different Buddhist temples, both big and small and is familiar with their internal organization. When master Ciqing arrived in Fahua temple and began to charge its organization, she also brought what she had learnt and seen in Taiwanese Buddhist temples. The nun Ciqing created a volunteer group composed by the most active believers to whom she assigns administrative tasks. They are organized in tandem on daily duties such as overseeing temple, cleaning and ensuring daily offerings. Meanwhile, master Ciqing taught them some simple rituals and use of musical instruments that volunteers may carry out the Sunday ritual in her absence and she also arranged volunteers to work in a group of four for regular rituals. By transmitting religious knowledge, the nun Ciqing delegates to volunteers an authority that places them on the top of ordinary believers, particularly on ritual occasions. Not only believers, but also members of ACRF, considered as leaders of Fahua Temple are integrated into the system of rotation. Every week, five members are expected to come to oversee the temple. Besides the Sunday ritual and those on the first and fifth days of every month, the birthday of Guanyin, Dizang and Buddha’s are celebrated. The Chinese New Year and the Ghost Festival are considered as two biggest events at the Fahua Temple. On these occasions, three Taiwanese monks are invited to preside a seven-day ritual. Furthermore, master Ciqing has also organized pilgrimage-like trips for some active believers, often members of volunteers group, and bought them to Taiwan where they followed a short term training of meditation, recitation and other Buddhist teachings in several Buddhist organizations, especially that of

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Fagushan. When returning from pilgrimage, these volunteers share their experience and the religious knowledge that they have learnt with other believers and in return gain a kind of prestige. Thereafter, they are expected to lead ordinary believers in regular rituals. For Protestant organizations, we find a globalization pattern quite different from that of their Buddhist counterparts. Like Buddhism, Taiwanese, Hong Kongese and American protestant organizations have exerted a great influence in Chinese churches in France. Chinese Overseas Christian Mission, Chinese Coordination Centre of World Evangelism and Evangelical Formosan Church have helped Chinese Protestants in France to create their own churches and paved the way for further development of local Protestantism. Nevertheless, except for two churches, the True Jesus Church and the Evangelical Mission and Seminary International, none of these Protestant organizations seem to have sought to construct a transnational network by founding local branches worldwide. Instead, they choose to send their missionaries to carry out evangelization work in countries where a Chinese community is settled and train local Chinese Protestants who then became their spokesperson. The most significant and visible work that these transnational Protestant organizations have achieved is the foundation of two Chinese seminaries, the GETS Theological Seminary in Paris and the International Chinese Biblical Seminary in Europe in Spain, as I have showed above. The creation of the GETS Theological Seminary would not be possible without the initiative and efforts of the pastor Zhou Shuhui and the support of her institution, Evangelical Formosan Church while we attribute the foundation of the International Chinese Biblical Seminary to a charismatic Taiwanese Protestant, Wu Yong, who had created several missionary organizations. Meanwhile, these two seminaries maintain a close cooperation thanks to their founders’ network with others Taiwanese seminaries, such as Taiwan Theological College and Seminary, China Evangelical Seminary, LOGOS Evangelical Seminary in Taiwan, Christ’s Disciples Training Seminary and Chinese Christian Church Mission Association which provide them with experienced teachers and administrative staff. The GETS Theological Seminary has also joined the Asia Theological Association and received the official certificate of accreditation from ATA. Based on the general pattern of Taiwanese seminary, these two Chinese seminaries in Europe offer various degree programs. The International Chinese Biblical Seminary in Europe is principally dedicated to pastoral training whereas the GETS Theological Seminary is more developed and complete and offers both research-oriented degrees such as Master of Arts in Christian Studies, Bachelor and Master of Theology and Doctor of Philosophy, and ministry-oriented degrees such as Diploma of Pastoral Studies.

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The creation of these Chinese Protestant seminaries represents a win-win game for both Chinese Protestants leaders in France and Taiwanese transnational Protestant organizations. On the one hand, thanks to the development of Internet, it is increasingly easier to find information on Protestantism. The old type of authority, often based on seniority, is facing challenge. The training that these seminaries offered enables Chinese Protestants leaders in France to gain, by the end of their program, a kind of theological authority generally acknowledged in the Protestant world. At the same time, the training allows them to integrate themselves into the general Protestant hierarchy once they are ordained as pastors. On the other hand, Taiwanese transnational Protestant organizations do not need to risk creating a pricey and unsuccessful overseas branch. By offering pastoral training, they manage to attract new Protestant elites and can henceforth exert an indirect influence through their graduates. When those graduates use the religious norms that they have learnt in seminary to structure their own churches, they share the same value system with ones who taught them, which reinforces the relationship between local Chinese churches in France and Taiwanese transnational organizations. Certain local graduates such as Lin Fuchun from Eglise Evagelique Chinoise de France have even been integrated into the management of the GETS Theological Seminary. Their churches thus became knots in the global network of these Taiwanese Protestant organizations.

Conclusion With the increased flow of Chinese migrants in Western countries, an unprecedented major social phenomenon is emerging. If we choose to view a network as consisting of a set of actors and nodes along with a set of ties of a specified type that link them (Borgatti and Halgin 2011, 1169), then the circulation of capital, people, knowledge, texts and norms situate China and Chinese communities residing abroad in a religious continuum, regardless of whether it concerns a practitioner or place of worship (Yang Fenggang 2002, 130). Situated in this continuum, overseas Chinese migrants like those from Wenzhou continue to preserve as well as reinvent their traditions, but also need to reorganize their community to adapt themselves to new circumstances. They abide by a traditional system of values or adopt a new one. A variety of actors are engaged in this process including states or their agents, international organizations, as well as moral or religious authorities. Whereas China always represents political appeal for traditional territorial organizations such as guild halls, overseas religious groups generally turn to

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Taiwan, Hong Kong or America to learn religious norms. Some groups are even exporting to China religious norms that they have learnt, because few religious organizations are able to develop a fully institutional form under strict governmental control. Furthermore, most of religious organizations are content with their local development and barely have the intention of spreading outside China. It is also possible that they hesitate to do so to avoid catching the government’s attention. Only organizations with certain official backing are expanding to the overseas, which is in line with the Chinese government’s project to export ideology. When a Wenzhou migrant in Netherlands, Hu Zhiguang 胡志光, asked Longquan Temple to send monks for regular residence in the temple that he, with the support of other Chinese migrants in Netherlands, built in Utrecht, the abbot of Longquan Temple and president of the Buddhist Association of China responded favorably to Hu’s request. The first overseas branch of Longquan Temple, the Longquan Great Compassion Temple (Longquan dabeisi 龍泉大悲寺) was thus founded in 2015 with monks and nuns Xuecheng sent in charge of the daily organization of the temple. However, if we take a close look at evangelization strategy and the organization form of Longquan dabei Temple, we see they are, at least partly, inspired by Taiwanese Buddhist transnational organizations, especially Foguangshan. The predominant place of Taiwan in exporting religious norms makes that island a “sacred site” for Chinese migrants in France. Leaders or active members of Buddhist groups, Protestant churches and Redemptive Societies such as Yiguandao and Mile dadao 彌勒大道 all regularly make pilgrimage to Taiwan to follow advanced training. In Tzu Chi, for instance, this kind of training gives participants a feeling of being part of an elite. When they return to France, they are expected to transmit the knowledge that they have learnt and lead the daily ritual. Thereby active members work their way up through the hierarchy in the group. Meanwhile, the pilgrimage to Taiwan enables participants to learn the fundamental value of their group: charisma of the founder, the history of the group and their headquarter. But the religious adherence does not eclipse ethnic identification. Members of Chinese religious organizations in France, both Buddhism and Protestantism, are almost purely Chinese. Thus, Chinese identity remains the most encompassing label to attract followers and transnational organizations often play this ethnic card because it is the main channel through which they can approach their communities as a whole. The strength of these migrants’ Chinese identity clearly shapes their interactions with France’s own religious traditions. Chinese Christian migrants are a nearly invisible community in France. As they have little contact with mainstream French society, most French people are not even aware of their existence.

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Only a few French Christians are interested in how their Chinese fellow believers interact with the host society, although their perception is largely shaped by reports boasting of the enormous, rapidly growing number of Chinese Christians. They believe Chinese Christians in France must be very proud of the spectacular growth of their community and look down upon France as a Christian society in decay. In fact, this is far from the case, since Chinese Christians in France barely concern themselves with their French fellow believers. Moreover, French Christians have noticed that Chinese Christian migrants in France rarely join French-speaking churches, and attribute this to a possible language barrier. This is certainly one reason, yet what is invisible to French Christians is the ethnic identification strategy of Chinese churches in France, which may be a more powerful motive. This strategy aligns with the nationalism promoted by the Chinese government. Migrants’ political viewpoints do not quite coincide with those of Chinesespeaking churches in France, since many Chinese Christians are dissidents. Yet both strategies reinforce the identity of overseas Chinese migrants and bind them to Chinese cultural values. Given that French society promotes the integration of citizens and migrants into a unique cultural sphere governed by a sole set of ideological values, such as laicity, this alternate ideological strategy tends to be perceived negatively by the public at large. As a result, second and third generation Chinese migrants in France often find themselves caught up in an identity conflict, with their spontaneous sense of belonging to the French culture on the one hand and the loyalty to the Chinese culture expected by their parents on the other. In short, the shaping of a migrant community is directed towards both native place identity as well as transnational institutionalization, blending the intervention of external forces such as the state and major international organizations, as well as internal forces such as the agendas of elites and average worshippers. All of these actors seek to impose standards that are favorable to them in terms of exerting influence. It is in this game of competing strengths that the community finds its way of development.

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Weishan Huang

Globalization as a Tactic – Legal Campaigns of the Falun Gong Diaspora Introduction As a global consciousness about issues such as voluntary development, affordable transportation, mass migration, and communication technology has expanded, religious groups have emerged as active agents contributing to the construction of global networks and forces that differ from the logic of economic globalization. At the same time, these religious agents have applied a global mentality to their missions. A global mentality refers to a sense of living in an interactive global community. This study looks at the implementation of a religious organizational project in global sites, such as international law, as a strategy that advances a religious movement’s goals. Much of the scholarly literature at the intersection of globalization and religion contributes to the discussion on migration and religion. Among such literature, the discussion related to the new religious movement Falun Gong’s legal campaign highlights the way in which international migration under globalization has generated debates regarding national diversities and solidarity in Western countries. Immigrant communities with a language and culture of their own have taken root, bringing new challenges for nations with consolidated political unity (Archibugi 2003, 4). The case study of Falun Gong (FLG hereafter) illustrates how this process of migration encompasses not only transnational civil society but also sovereignty-sharing states. A case study of FLG and its global legal campaign will also be used to demonstrate how the significance of ideas and practices, such as the concept of universal human rights, relate to a particular religious experience and discourse. These forms of lived cosmopolitanism/globalism, such as the concept of global humanity, have been strategically promoted on the micro level of this religious movement. FLG is a new religious movement, mixing Buddhist and Daoist teachings and qigong 氣功 practices, originally emerging from China in 1992, with exiled members overseas in more than 40 countries after 1999 (Ownby 2010; Palmer 2007). Among the studies of FLG, less attention has been paid to its “right-based” discourse and how it plays a critical role in the field of transnational civil society by a religious movement. In the case of FLG’s legal campaigns, classic religious themes are replayed, most notably religion’s relationship with the state. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110547849-010

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I will first clarify the framework of globalization that will be employed before examining the details of FLG’s global expressions and movement. There are diverse forms and methods of globalization. Historically, globalization as a process has been continuous with modernity, the capitalist world system, and with the world system of national states. Globalization serves as an analytical category that indicates that these processes, while continuous, have entered a qualitatively new phase. In this article, the methods of globalization include the areas of both increasing globalizing norms on human right and expanding the internationalizing legal system. Eduardo Mendieta summarizes theories of globalization that can be divided into four types in accordance with their (1) diffusionism or integrationism, (2) theoretical reflexivity, (3) degree to which they offer insights into the autonomy of social subsystems without creating a hierarchy or teleological model that may be merely a function of unanalyzed theoretical biases, and (4) degree of empirical concreteness and theoretical complexity. In this paper, I treat a global religious network from the East as a cultural subsystem and study how it corresponds to different levels of social differentiation. Could we treat religion as a field of contestation (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992; Beyer 2006) or a differentiated societal system (Luhmann 2013) in modern society that gains its form and meaning based on the larger social context in which it operates? Among the scholarship on FLG,1 I will focus on the works related to the movement’s legal campaigns. The People’s Republic of China’s (PRC hereafter) political labeling of FLG as an evil cult and its mass persecution of qigong groups, has led Western societies to condemn the PRC’s action as a violation of human rights. The PRC regime responded to this accusation with the counter argument of rejecting interference into its internal affairs by the Western values of “human rights.” For example, Edelman and Richardson’s article analyzes “the legality of the PRC campaign against FLG within the frameworks of the legal and political systems developed in PRC China” (Edelman and Richardson 2003). Robert Bejesky (2005) not only studies FLG’s lawsuit against Jiang Zemin in the framework of international law but also broadly covers the issues of human rights abuses, genocide, and universal jurisdiction. The concept of “justice” or “rights” is not a new concept in the Chinese tradition. In Paul Katz’s book, Divine Justices, he views “the pursuit of justice in Chinese cultures as a cogent cultural system covering a wide range of options for achieving legitimation and dispute resolution”– an ethos Katz termed the

1 To name few here: Keith and Lin 2003, Lu 2005, Schechter 2000, Tong 2002b, Ownby 2010, Penny 2012.

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“Chinese judicial continuum.” Katz writes that the variations in seeking justice, including mediation (with judgment being made by elders and other elites), going to court (judgment made by officials), and preforming rituals (judgment made by the gods), can be done in succession (Katz 2009, 7, 47). In the case of FLG, pursuing legal actions have multiple meanings, such as decreasing persecution, raising awareness of the status of practitioners in China, and trying to embarrass the Chinese government during legal procedures, which I will elaborate on later. However, for many FLG practitioners, going to court is not only a tactic but also part of performing rituals, a process of waiting for ultimate judgment realized by Buddhist Dharma.

1 Legal Aspects of Human Rights: Reframing Human Activities There are emerging expressions of global mentality expressed by both secular and religious human beings. (Casanova 2014). Hans Kung calls it an emerging human awareness, encompassing basic human values and demands which could be legally codified (as a human right or basic right) in a world community (Kung 1993, 89). In this section, the established legal framework of human rights on an international level will be elaborated. Aligned with the development of global mentality, is the sense that ways of life and morality have changed. By recognizing the legal status of “conscientious objection,” as Held and Vincent stress, many Western states have recognized that an individual has moral obligations beyond that of his or her obligations as a citizen of a state (Held 2003, 186; Vincent 1992, 269). The changing concept of human rights and human rights law, has positioned individuals, governments and non-governmental organizations in new systems of legal regulation (Held 2002, 189). After World War II, the government of liberal international sovereignty engrained its powers, constraints, and rights in international law. Those international laws can go beyond the transitional conception of their proper scope and boundaries, and can sometimes even contradict national laws. Within this context, the state may lose entitlements to sovereignty if they violate the values embedded in the liberal international order, and these violations may no longer be a matter of morality alone. The possible violation becomes a breach of an international legal code, a breach that may result in challenging, impeaching, and remedying it (Held 2002). According to Held, these are changes which alter the form and content of politics, nationally, regionally, and globally in the

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international law (Held 2003, 189). The changes, as Crawford and Marks stress, “signify the enlarging normative reach, extending scope, and growing institutionalization of international legal rules and practices – the beginnings of a universal constitutional order in which the state is no longer the only layer of legal competence to which people have transferred public powers” (Crawford and Marks 1998, 2). It means that an individual’s moral obligations are extended beyond that of a citizen of a state. The human right to free exercise of religion and freedom from discrimination are elaborated in the first two articles of the United Nations declaration on the Elimination of All Forms of Intolerance and Discrimination Based on Religion or Belief (the Declaration Against Intolerance).2 The United Nations’ declarations have served not only as a noble and symbolic idea, but also have been translated into many international conventions or treaties. The declaration against intolerance defines the rights of free exercise and freedom from discrimination as follows: Article 1. 1. Everyone shall have the right to freedom of thoughts, conscience and religion. This right shall include freedom to have a religion or whatever belief of [one’s] choice, and freedom, either individually or in community with others, and in public or private, to manifest [one’s] religion or belief in worship, observance, practice, and teaching. 2. No one shall be subject to coercion which would impair [one’s] freedom to have a religion or belief of [one’s] choice. 3. Freedom to manifest one’s religion or beliefs may be subject only to such limitation as are prescribed by law and are necessary to protect public safety, order, health or morals or the fundamental rights and freedoms of others. Article 2. 1. No one shall be subject to discrimination by any state, institution, or groups of persons or person on the grounds of religion or belief. 2. For the purpose of present the Declaration, the expression “intolerance and discrimination based on religion or belief” means any distinction, exclusion, restriction or preference based on religion or belief and having as its purpose or as its effect nullification or impairment of the recognition, enjoyment or exercise of human rights and fundamental freedom on an equal basis.

2 Resolution Adopted by the General Assembly on November 25, 1981 [on the Report of the Third Committee (A/36/684/36/54).] (Accessed in 2009)

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As Casanova asserts, we have witnessed increased universalization and globalization of human rights that deterritorializes state-based jurisdiction. The human person is (becoming) the carrier of inalienable rights, and freedom of conscience as the most sacred of these personal rights. The world system of states and its supranational rules and institutions limit state territorial sovereignty and undermines the traditional statist principle of non-external interference in the internal affairs of a state (Casanova 2000). The globe itself becomes the physical space and mental territory within which the nation-state and everything embedded within its territory becomes circumscribed. Yasemin Nuhoglu Soysal’s study, Limits of Citizenship, points out that a new and more universal concept of citizenship has unfolded in the postWorld War II era, one whose organizing and legitimating principles are based on universal personhood rather than national belonging. It is to consider two institutionalized principles of the global system in regard to immigration: national sovereignty and universal human rights. The notion of human rights as a codification of abstract concepts of personhood has become a pervasive element of world culture (Soysal 1994). The universalization and globalization of human rights deterritorialize their state-based jurisdiction. The human person becomes the carrier of inalienable rights, with freedom of conscience the most sacred of these personal rights. Meanwhile, global humanity becomes a selfreflexive and self-referential unit, the reflective point of reference for societies and peoples (Robertson & Chirico 1985). In accordance with this concept, my research will examine the symbolic meanings of FLG’s lawsuit against former Chinese president Jiang Zemin. The research methods of this paper include a textual analysis review of United Nations reports, International Non-governmental reports, newspapers, as well as participant observation in New York of FLG’s human right campaigns and in-depth interviews regarding these street campaigns. The data collection of FLG’s legal campaign heavily relies on court documents and website material from both FLG’s and other websites and newspapers. The observation and interviews were conducted between 2004 and 2005.

2 FLG and Its Global Trials 2.1 The New Arrival and Persecution FLG stepped on to the world’s stage on April 25, 1999 as 10,000 to 15,000 practitioners gathered quietly and unannounced outside the central government offices in Beijing, China, to present a mass appeal requesting the acceptance of

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their practice by the Chinese government. FLG was introduced in China in 1992 by Mr. Li Hongzhi. FLG boasts 100 million followers, 39 general instruction offices, 1,900 ordinary instruction offices, and 28,000 practice sites, all forming within seven years (Schechter 2000, 41).3 FLG, which can be translated as “Practice of the Dharma Wheel,” is a type of qi gong, a central element of traditional Chinese medicine. Like other forms of qi gong, FLG uses meditation and exercise to help its practitioners achieve a proper relationship to the cosmic forces that circulate within the body and through the world. Practicing these exercises is believed to bring physical health and spiritual enlightenment. In the movement’s early days, Li Hongzhi was associated with the official China Qi Gong Research Society. Through this group, Li established the Falun Dafa Research Society to provide a formal link between his teachings and the qi gong network in China. The society allowed him to create training centers and contact locations to propagate his teachings. However, in 1994, a conflict arose between the Qi Gong Research Society and Li over the small amount of fees he was charging for his lectures and teachings. Refusing to raise his rates, Li left the society in 1995, thus placing himself outside of the officially sanctioned network of practitioners. In late 1995, Li announced that he had completed his teaching in China, and he began traveling the world to teach his FLG principles and practices. How did FLG come under oppression for two decades? Some scholars and practitioners suspect that perhaps because of the movement’s phenomenal growth and its effectiveness in organizing its April 1999 demonstrations, by the summer of 1999 the Chinese government branded it an evil cult and declared that it must be destroyed for the safety of the Chinese nation and people. FLG practitioners see this as the beginning of its religious persecution.

2.2 Resistance in Diaspora In this section, the tactics of sit-in protests and cultural performance in FLG over the years will be explored. Since the persecution began, one of the three important missions (Three Things) of FLG practitioners is to declare the truth about Falun Dafa and its plight.4 In the early stage of the confrontation with the Chinese government, practitioners adopted cultural outreach as its 3 This is also a controversial description. 4 The three things Master Li asked practitioners to do are to study the Fa (the teachings of Falun Dafa), to send forth righteous thoughts, and to clarify the truth about Falun Dafa and about the persecution of the people of the world.

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strategy to remove the label of an “evil cult” that had been given to them. The strategy of outreach was to present themselves through cultural performances in people’s daily life. The idea was to demonstrate that there is no mystery or secret about FLG practice that needs to be hidden from the world. In an interview, one core FLG practitioner points out that the Chinese government had stage-managed a terrifying image of FLG self-immolation in Tiananmen Square. This drama of delegitimization planted in people’s minds a dreadful image that colored popular perception of FLG’s human rights claims, associating it with Jonestown and the People’s Temple. So FLG staged counter-dramas of peaceful silent protests, joyous cultural parades, festival-like performances, and art exhibitions. These events were done openly for all people to see. The representations and acting out of lawsuits against Jia and other high-profile politicians were always a central part of street processions. FLG’s presence in New York is marked by highly visible political activism. Although qigong practice is popular throughout Asia, FLG presents an unusual case of a spiritual group developing into a mass movement that is reminiscent of the Taiping Rebellion, the Boxer Rebellion, and the White Lotus movements in 19th century China – with the Chinese government reacting in violent suppression in each case. With the Chinese government’s 1999 declaration of FLG as an evil cult, there was a nation-wide suppression on FLG practitioners. FLG groups around the world have worked assiduously to mobilize public opinion against the Chinese government and to advocate for religious freedom and human rights in China. New York is a key node in this global campaign. FLG members meditate daily on the sidewalk across the street from the Chinese consulate on 42nd Street. Performers in the Times Square subway station enact religious persecution dramas, constructing cages to hold live FLG practitioners, display graphic photographs of purported violence and abuse victims in China, and distribute literature on China’s policies and practices. FLG representatives also contact the faculties of New York-area universities to open “dialogues” about FLG’s situation. Members also canvass the city’s numerous street fairs, parades, and processions. FLG bases many of its important activities in New York City because it is the center of global communications and public relations. Based on my interviews, practitioners feel they can bring pressure on the Chinese government while simultaneously promoting FLG’s role as a peaceful meditation practice. New York City, where the master was exiled and resides, is the chosen city for the mission of clarifying the truth. Practitioners from around the world take vacations and fly in at their own expense to participate in New York-area demonstrations, group meditations, and street photos campaigns. While the meditation groups across the city are primarily comprised of New York-based Chinese immigrants, both

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Chinese-Americans and non-Chinese are drawn to the spiritual practice. FLG’s political advocacy work in New York City includes a large contingent of Chinese FLG practitioners from other countries such as Hong Kong, Taiwan, and Singapore. As the home of the reclusive master Li, New York is also seen by many practitioners as a pilgrimage site and a key location for promoting FLG’s identity and message, particularly about challenging China’s religious policies. Practitioners petition local government officials, state assemblymen and senators, federal representatives, and even the U.S. President to recognize FLG as a peaceful meditation group and to denounce China’s persecution. Regional, national, and international conferences and protests in New York City draw large crowds of practitioners and core group leaders. The city itself has become an important locality for many transnational social movements.5

2.3 Legal Actions FLG practitioners have filed lawsuits against former President Jiang and the 610 Control Office in over 61 countries up to the year 2005, with different legal results in each country. I will use a case in the U.S. as an example to consider the sociological meaning of these legal actions. According to the court documents I collected and the website “Justice for FLG”,6 on October 18, 2002, plaintiffs, Chinese FLG practitioners, filed a class action lawsuit in the United States District Court, the Northern District of Illinois, against Jiang Zemin and the FLG Control Office (610 Control Office). The lawsuit was described in the Epoch Times, an activist newspaper in favor of FLG, as a civil action for compensatory and punitive damages for offenses committed in violation of both international and domestic law.7 Based on the court document, plaintiffs, who have resided in China in the past, or are currently residing in the PRC, are members of and represent a designated class of FLG practitioners, who claimed that “they were subjected to torture, genocide, and other major human rights abuses as current residents

5 For the study of transnational religious networks, one can also read Junliang Pan’s chapter in this volume. 6 A website, Justice for Falun Gong, later disappeared when I tried to access it in 2014. The document was found later on the minghui website. http://en.minghui.org/html/articles/2003/ 2/6/31815.html (accessed in 2017). 7 That is instituted pursuant to specific statutory authorization, explicitly the Alien Tort Claims Act (28 U.S.C. § 1350) and the Torture Victims Protection Act (106 Stat. 73 (1992)). www.flgjustice.org (accessed in 2009).

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and citizens of the PRC, together with their immediately affected family members, or as visitors to that country.”8 It is noteworthy that individual plaintiffs included both United State citizens and foreign residents of the United State who report being subjected to discrimination based on their belief and practice of Falun Dafa and their attempt to protest during defendant Jiang’s visit to Iceland in June of 2002. The grounds of action pleaded in the complaint include “torture; genocide; the right to life; the right to liberty and security of the person, and to be free of arbitrary arrest and imprisonment; the freedom of thought, conscience and religion, and the freedom to hold opinions without interference and to associate freely; violations of the above-cited rights and protections as embodied in customary international law, and conspiracy to commit violations of civil rights within the jurisdiction of the U.S.” 9 In the U.S. in 2002, the former Mayor of Beijing, Liu Qi 劉淇, was sued for genocide and crimes against humanity in relation to the persecution of FLG in China. Although he fled the country after the court summons, a default verdict found him guilty. The first goal of legal action is to stop the persecution. Although practitioners have little chance on stopping the repression, they hope to use this means to remove the negative image that China’s government has placed on them. These campaigns, filed by FLG lay practitioners, are intended to follow the “teachings” of their master, which is to focus on three missions: to clarify the truth, to spread the truth, and to practice the law (drama/ fa). According to their practitioners, Falun Dafa’s law is greater than the secular law. Because of persecution in the secular world, practitioners feel that they are forced to use this secular mechanism to protect their sacred practice. The first lawsuits started on June 6, 2002, when FLG practitioners in New York filed a lawsuit against the local China Press and the Sing Tao Daily, accusing them of publishing slanderous articles against FLG. The First Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, which protects the freedoms of speech, religion, press, petition, and assembly, became the focus of the main argument for both sides involved in the lawsuit. The FLG’s lawyer claimed, “The freedoms protected by the First Amendment to the Constitution are for the American people, not for the mouthpieces of a foreign force in the U.S. Moreover, the so-called freedoms these foreign forces exercise on American soil are in fact trampling on American citizens and depriving them of freedom of their religious beliefs, and they

8 Ibid. 9 www.flgjustice.org (accessed in 2009).

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are totally against the First Amendment to the Constitution.”10 FLG practitioners clearly argued that the First Amendment is designed to protect American citizens on its soil. In other words, it is a statement to re-stress the jurisdictional boundary of a state, especially when this case is involved with a “foreign force,” the Chinese regime. However, in other lawsuits against former President Jiang, we find that the essence of citizenship in the above argument has been replaced by “personhood.” In the preliminary statement practitioners filed in the Northern District Court of Illinois, the plaintiffs are described as members of and represent a designated class of FLG practitioners who have been subject to torture, genocide, and other major human rights abuses as U.S. citizens or alien residents of the U.S. In other words, not all the plaintiffs are citizens of United States. They are members of FLG who have resided in China in the past or are presently residing in the People’s Republic of China. Some plaintiffs are anonymous (with alphabetic designations of A, B, C, D, E, F. . .) in order to protect them and their family in China.11 According to the same preliminary statement, the defendants in this case allegedly violated human rights, preserved in several international treaties, as well as being firmly accepted parts of customary international law, and jus cogens. These include the right to not be arbitrarily arrested, imprisoned and deprived of life; the right to not be subjected to torture and genocide; the right to hold and exercise views and beliefs freely and without interference; the right to liberty and security of the person; and the right to associate with others and to practice religious and spiritual beliefs without restriction. The exercise by the plaintiffs of these internationally recognized human rights, enshrined in both treaty and customary international law, and universally recognized as part of the law of nations, purportedly has been seriously and maliciously abridged by the policies and actions of the defendants and their co-conspirators acting under color of law, clearly outside the scope of their lawful and legitimate authority. Among the specific human rights treaty standards allegedly violated by the defendant are the Convention against Torture, the Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, the Genocide Convention, and the United Nations Charter.12

Many of these same moral doctrines are expressed in customary international law, as expressed in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights.13 These

10 See http://www.clearwisdom.net/emh/articles/2002/8/31/25987.html (accessed in 2009). 11 The anonymous plaintiffs can provide notarized or witnessed affidavits when the Court requests. 12 In the Plaintiffs Memorandum on Preliminary and Jurisdictional Issues for the Northern District of Illinois (http://www.upholdjustice.org/ Accessed 2017). 13 Court document of the Plaintiffs Memorandum on Preliminary and Jurisdictional Issues for the Northern District of Illinois (http://www.upholdjustice.org/ Accessed 2017).

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violations of international law, with injuries imposed upon the alien plaintiffs because of these violations, place the legal action within the constraints of the jurisdictional standards.14 After the complaint was filed, the U.S. district court issued an order providing that the service of process could be accomplished by delivery of a copy of the summons and the complaint to any of the federal security agents guarding President Jiang during his visit in Chicago in October of the same year. The plaintiffs served process on federal security agents in this matter. Since the filing of this case, neither President Jiang nor the defendant from the 610 Control Office has responded to the complaint, or made any appearances in court. On December 11, 2002, and May 8, 2003, the United States challenged the service of process as defective because it violated both the principle of the separation of powers and the immunity of the United States and its officers from judicial proceedings. Referenced in their pleadings, according to a FLG practitioner, are the many attempts on the part of the government of China to get this case dismissed via diplomatic channels, in lieu of defending the case in a court of law. Plaintiffs submitted ample responses to these concerns on April 14, 2003 and May 19, 2003. On June 12, 2003, 38 members of the U.S. Congress filed an amicus brief in support of the Plaintiffs. Based on the argument of the plaintiffs, jurisdiction over President Jiang, as the former head of state of the PRC, is seen as an exception to the head of state immunity doctrine and to the Foreign Sovereign Immunities Act (FSIA hereafter).15 The legal argument is to incorporate “the principles of the Convention Against Genocide which excludes from immunity acts of genocide by any and all government officials, including heads of state, and by other international standards that recognize the culpability of heads of state and other government officials for major abuses that violate jus cogens standards of international law.”16 Therefore, former President Jiang committed acts which reside beyond the limits of his legitimate and legal authority as head of state. Similarly, the Torture Victims Protection Act covers all officials violating the Act, whatever their position is, whether they are current or former bureaucrats.

14 Those are spelled out in 28 U.S.C. § 1350, which embodies the provisions of the Alien Tort Claims Act and the Torture Victims Protection Act, as well as in 28 U.S.C. § 1343(4), 28 U.S.C. § 1331, and 42 U.S.C. § 1985. http://www.upholdjustice.org/ (accessed in 2017). 15 The Foreign Sovereign Immunities Act, 28 U.S.C. §§ 1602 et seq., broadly provides sovereign immunity to foreign states and their instrumentalities, subject to limited statutory exceptions. https://www.supremecourt.gov (accessed on July 20, 2017). 16 See http://www.upholdjustice.org/ (accessed in May 2017).

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In March 2003, Jiang Zemin stepped down as president of China. In June 2003, twenty-three Democratic Party members of the U.S. House of Representatives submitted to the court an amicus curiae brief. The brief contended that the Foreign Sovereign Immunities Act contains the applicable procedures for service of process in this case, that the United States should not have intervened in a dispute arising from such service, and that “some of these arguments do not appear to be arguments on behalf of U.S. interests but on behalf of the People’s Republic of China.”17 On September 12, 2003, the court dismissed the claims against defendant President Jiang based on the expressly stated view that former heads of state enjoy immunity for torture and genocide in U.S. courts. On September 30, 2003, the plaintiffs filed a motion to the court to reconsider, noting the ways in which the Court’s decision is inconsistent not only with international trends since World War II in international law, but also with American jurisprudence. The plaintiffs’ motion to reconsider was denied on October 6, 2003. The plaintiffs were in the process of appealing the September 12, 2003 and October 6, 2003 decisions. Oral arguments were held at the 7th Circuit of Court of Appeals in Chicago on May 27, 2004. On September 8, 2004, the 7th Circuit Court of Appeals affirmed the decision of the U.S. District Court for the Northern District of Illinois. The plaintiffs’ Petition for Certiorari was filed with the U.S. Supreme Court on February 7, 2005, and docketed on February 9, 2005. FLG practitioners have filed lawsuits against former President Jiang and the 610 Control Office in over 61 countries up to the year 2005 under the organization of The Global Coalition to Bring Jiang Zemin to Justice. Overseas, there have been successful cases against Chinese officials. For instance, in the southern African nation of Zambia, they have been made fugitives of the justice system. On November 4, 2004, a civil lawsuit was filed at the High Court of Zambia against Su Rong for the murder, torture and degrading treatment of FLG practitioners that he committed as former head of the Jilin Provincial 610 Control Office of the Communist Party and currently as the Gansu Province Communist Party Secretary. Defendant Su was visiting Zambia as a member of a Chinese delegation. The plaintiffs are Mr. Zhao Ming and other FLG practitioners from Jilin and Gansu provinces.

17 Brief of Amicus Curiae Relating to Issues Raised by the United States in Its Motion to Vacate October 21, 2002, Matter and Statement of Interest or, in the Alternative Suggestion of Immunity at 4 (June 9, 2003), Plaintiffs A, B, C, D, E, F v. Zemin.

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The lawsuit movement has also been processed in different counties. The second successful case is as follows: in November of 2004, a complaint against Mr. Huang Ju, the former leader of the “610 Control Office” in Jilin province and current Vice-Premier of China, was filed by Falun Hong’s practitioners for the crimes of torture. Based on the report in the Irish Times, five FLG Practitioners demanded the Irish Commissioners to investigate allegations that the Chinese Premier had been implicated in acts of torture.18 Huang visited Ireland between the 16th and 18th of November. Lawyers representing five members of the group called a meeting and urged the Commissioner to investigate Huang Ju, who was on only a threeday official visit to Ireland during the weekend. Diplomatic immunity does not apply to allegations of torture in this case (McConnell, and Coulter 2004). On the 17th of November, an article was published on the front page of the Irish Times, the largest newspaper in Ireland, which brought attention and embarrassment to the Chinese official. In another recent successful case, New York Federal Court has ruled in favor of FLG in 2016 by dismissing the defendant’s motion by the China Anti-cult World Alliance (hereafter CACWA), an oversea organization targeting practitioners of FLG. The members of CACWA threatened “to kill” and “dig out practitioners’ hearts, livers, and lungs.” When facing the charge for the violation of civil rights, the defendants, the members of CACWA, filed a motion to dismiss all federal claims but the case was ruled in favor of FLG members.19 Although this article analyzed the earlier media articles and NGO reports to establish the patterns of a religious movement’s legal campaign, I must mention that the recent development of similar campaigns is geared to filing lawsuits against Jiang within the domestic legal systems in various provinces of PRC.

3 Analysis of FLG Legal Campaigns 3.1 Law of the Dharma and Law of the State “When gods go about doing something they definitely take everything into consideration. . . ,” Li Hongzhi said during an experience-sharing conference (Li Hongzhi 2005). It is a sentence often quoted by FLG practitioners. What is the

18 The Irish Times. (http://www.irishtimes.com/news/arrest-of-chinese-vice-pm-sought-overtorture-claims-1.1166679) (accessed in May 2017). 19 See http://en.minghui.org/html/articles/2016/3/25/156037.html (accessed on July 20, 2017).

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relationship between beliefs about the law of Dharma and the attitudes toward the secular law made by states? A recent article written by a FLG practitioner reflects on this issue. The practitioner, said to be a follower in Mainland China, expressed his concerns regarding practitioners’ interaction with lawyers whom they hired to file a lawsuit against Jiang. One concern is that some practitioners cannot differentiate the authentic FLG practitioners from paid lawyers. Paid lawyers, who are referred to as ordinary people (changren 常人), do not mobilize for the cause of the FLG’s movement; therefore, practitioners should not release lawyers’ names to the public or inquire about something that lawyers are not obligated to do in their paid work. They are only hired to provide professional legal services. The second point concerns how the final outcome of the cases actually depends on practitioners’ righteous thoughts (zhengnian 正念), not the skills of lawyers. Thus, in the process of filing lawsuits, practitioners are urged to view these opportunities as part of the process of cultivation as well. There are always parallel discourses, both religious and secular ones, that are within this global legal movement. In the perception of many practitioners in this legal campaign, this is a religious campaign using secular means. They constantly refer to the Chinese Communist Party as a demon (xiemo 邪魔). In some articles published in the Epoch Times, the authors refer to how the persecution of FLG in China is similar to the persecution of Christians in ancient Rome. As for the secular discourse, it focuses on how human rights and religious rights are related in legal discussion, such as Alien Tort Claims Act, Torture Victims Protection Act, and the Anti-Atrocity Alien Deportation Act. The key element of FLG faith, its fundamental principle, is the cosmic quality of Zhen-Shan-Ren (Truthfulness, Benevolence, and Forbearance). Practitioners have portrayed their movement as the campaign of virtue versus evil. FLG claims to offer a more efficient alternative to attaining the superior Buddhist Law by focusing not only on the spiritual mind; it also attempts to transcend the profane body. Cultivation takes precedence over qi-gong practice, because gong will not grow if one carries out only the qigong exercises without cultivating one’s mind and nature (Xinxing 心性). Because there is an inner logic connecting the human mind and body, one can gain virtue (De) from one’s benevolent behavior by having honorable thoughts, and this De can materialize and become part of one’s physical body. Faith can socialize individuals to certain values and worldviews; these help to develop their political attitudes. Faith is also one of the major sources for the symbols and stories that practitioners use, usually containing powerful narratives of sacrifice that make their personal sacrifices meaningful and worthwhile. FLG practitioners believe that the confrontation between themselves and the Communist Party is a war between “virtue” and “evil/ or a demon.” Falun Dafa’s law is considered greater than secular law. But because of persecution in the secular

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world, practitioners feel that they are forced to use secular means to protect their sacred practice. This is their last resort.

3.2 Strategic Aims on the Micro-scale of Legal Movement How to analyze FLG’s legal campaign? I have examined the case of a religious immigrant group that sides with the political and moral values of the receiving country by adopting its legal system as an instrument of resistance against the government of its sending country. Even if there is little chance of proceeding due to the difficulty in serving papers to President Jiang due to the fact that a former head of state enjoys immunity, the lawsuit was designed to cause maximum embarrassment to China’s government and to the delegation during their visit to the United States. The pursuit of justice that cannot be pursued locally is thus elevated on to the global stage, in this case, the courts of various countries. The second strategy of the legal campaigns and protests of FLG practitioners is to carefully differentiate the notion of the state of China from the dictatorship of President Jiang, who is truly responsible for all of the persecution. In response to PRC’s publicity that FLG is an unorthodox group that is ultimately interested in politics or in gaining control of politics, practitioners purposely launched a campaign pursuing the individuals, including former President Jiang and senior officials, who ordered and executed the persecution, but they do not hold the “state” responsible.20 Third, unintentionally, this campaign has shifted the movement in the direction of “universal jurisdiction.” Based on the setup of international convention and tribunals, the global community has reached the consensus that crimes against humanity and war crimes can no longer be tolerated.21 Will transnational justice raise fears about sovereignty? Whether it does or not, it will force would-be tyrants to think twice before replicating any code of conduct which violates human rights. Will this development of the idea of universal jurisdiction be viewed as a challenge to national sovereignty or a new political tool? Other cases exist, like that of Manuel Noriega, the dictator of Panama, who was seized by the United States in 1989 and convicted in 1992 of drug

20 Even when the Nine Commentaries was published and promoted, Falun Gong practitioners differentiated the state from the Communist Party. 21 Cases like examining crimes in the former Yugoslavia and Rwanda, please see also Bruce Broomhall report 2001.

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trafficking. Augusto Pinochet,22 the former Chilean strongman, spent a year and a half in British custody on a Spanish warrant before being allowed to return home, where his legal problems continued until his death (Crossette 2001, 8). In 2001, four Rwandans were convicted by a jury of 12 Belgians for their part in the 1994 Rwandan Genocide. The legal foundation for the prosecution was Belgian legislation adopted in 1993 to comply with international obligations. Those international obligations was part of the Geneva Conventions to prosecute war crimes and crimes against humanity.23 The legislation applied to all Belgian residents, not just to citizens.24

3.3 Territorial Nation-States and De-territorialized Religious Movements We can see from the above cases that the U.S. courts have been reluctant to open the door to suits against foreign states. Universal jurisdiction is a controversial principle in international law and has seldom been exercised. Universal jurisdiction is exercised when “states claim criminal jurisdiction over persons whose alleged crimes were committed outside the boundaries of the prosecuting state.”25 This concept means that prosecution takes place regardless of nationality, country of residence, or any other relation with the prosecuting country. Such a concept might question the sovereignty of the modern state. In the discussions among the general advocates of universal jurisdiction, certain crimes pose a threat to the international community for which any state ought to be able to prosecute the responsible individual. Therefore, no place should be a haven for war criminals or heinous human rights viola-

22 Spain attempted to try former dictator of Chile Augusto Pinochet for human rights abuses not on the grounds of universal jurisdiction, but rather on the grounds that some of the victims of the abuses committed in Chile were Spanish citizens. Spain then sought the extradition of Pinochet from Britain, again, not on the grounds of universal jurisdiction, but by invoking the law of the European Union regarding extradition. 23 Based on a conviction report, see Broomhall 2001. 24 Because most prosecutions can be justified under less controversial theories of law, so far there has been only one prosecution for crimes against humanity through universal jurisdiction, which cannot be justified under another theory of law. This is the Belgian prosecution of participants in the Rwandan genocide. In addition, Belgium claimed jurisdiction over Israeli Prime Minister Ariel Sharon for his alleged roles in the Sabra-Shatila Massacre in Lebanon conducted by a Christian militia, ostensibly under his control. 25 http://www.reference.com/browse/wiki/Universal_jurisdiction (Accessed on July 20, 2017)

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tors. Other opponents argue that, all states being equal in sovereignty, as affirmed by the United Nations Charter, no state has standing to try a crime, no matter how heinous, in another state’s jurisdiction if they have no sovereign interest in the matter. Legal jurisdiction is commonly exercised by a state in relation to crimes committed on its territory (territorial jurisdiction). States can also exercise jurisdiction over crimes committed by their nationals abroad (extraterritorial jurisdiction), The term jurisdiction can mean the right and power to interpret and apply the law. It identifies authority or control of a state as well as the extent of authority or control of a state. It could also designate the territorial range of authority or control. Venue, or the proper place for a trial, is normally where a crime was committed or where a court has jurisdiction to try an offence. Traditionally, venue was laid in the country where an offence was committed, but many exceptions to this rule have developed (Colangelo 2007, 121–201). In particular circumstances, states can also exercise jurisdiction over acts committed by foreign nationals, even on foreign territory. This form of jurisdiction tends to be much more controversial (Cryer 2005). There are three bases on which a state can exercise jurisdiction in this way. The least controversial is where a state can exercise jurisdiction over acts which affect the fundamental interests of the state, such as espionage against it, even if the act was committed by foreign nationals on foreign territory. (Watson 1993, 2) The most controversial type of jurisdiction of all, at least with regard to some of its applications, is universal jurisdiction. This is where a state exercises jurisdiction over a crime, not because of any links between it and the crime, but rather because the crime is considered a crime against the human race as a whole, which any state is authorized to punish.26 Although FLG practitioners have urged the United Nations to investigate the torture and killing people for organs in the concentration camps in Sujiatun 蘇家屯, China, universal jurisdiction must be distinguished from the jurisdiction of an international tribunal.27 Since, lacking sovereignty, the powers of an international organization are derivative of those of its member states, the legal jurisdiction of an international tribunal is dependent on powers of jurisdiction

26 http://www.reference.com/browse/wiki/Universal_jurisdiction (Accessed on July 20, 2017). 27 Universal jurisdiction must be distinguished from the jurisdiction of an international tribunal, such as the International Criminal Court, the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda and for the former Yugoslavia, or the Nuremberg Trials. In these cases, criminal jurisdiction is exercised by an international organization, not by a state.

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possessed by the states which established it, and the extent to which they decided to transfer these powers to the international tribunal. FLG practitioners hope to stop the persecution immediately and file their lawsuit under the Alien Tort Claim Act and the Torture Victims Protection Act in a U.S. federal court against Jiang Zemin and the Chinese government’s FLG Control Office. The lawsuit campaign against former President Jiang and other Chinese officials has spread to over 60 countries worldwide. According to Kenneth Roth, the Executive Director of Human Rights Watch: “With growing frequency, national courts operating under the doctrine of universal jurisdiction are prosecuting despots in their custody for atrocities committed abroad. Impunity may still be the norm in many domestic courts, but international justice is an increasingly viable option, promising a measure of solace to victims and their families and raising the possibility that would-be tyrants will begin to think twice before embarking on a barbarous path.” (Roth 2001, 150–154)

As Roth reports, the Torture Convention of 1984, which has ratified by 124 governments by year 2001 including the United States, requires states either to prosecute suspected torturer found on their territory, regardless of where the torture took place, or to extradite the suspect to a country that will do so. Similarly, the Geneva Conventions of 1949 on the conduct of war, ratified by 189 countries including the United States, require each participating state to “search for persons who have committed grave breaches of the conventions and to “bring such persons, regardless of nationality, before its own courts” (Roth 2001, 152). The challenge is not the availability of international law, such as extraterritorial jurisdiction, but the willingness or motivation of some governments to fulfill this duty against those in high places.

Conclusion: Religious Human Rights under the Condition of Globalization Luhmann has correctly pointed out that one of the most important indicators of the existence of the world society was the growing awareness of human right violations (Verschraegen, 2002.). In the beginning of this article, I used the concept of global mentality to describe the sense of global consciousness. Globalization has been recognized by scholars as a process that leads the world to become a single worldwide system or an institutionalized world order (Robertson 1991, 51). Casanova stresses that this identifiable process will grow with the world capitalist system but it frees capitalism from its territorial-juridical

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embeddedness in state and national economies, and thereby fosters its further development, quantitatively as well as qualitatively, unencumbered by extrinsic political, cultural, or moral principles (Casanova, 2000). With the development of this global consciousness, the religious agents have applied a global mentality to their missions. The previous discussion looks at the implementation of FLG’s organizational project in global sites, adopting international law, as a strategy that advances the religious movement’s goals. FLG’s rights-based campaign departed from the migrant practitioners who were the citizens in various countries and created a global civil society that tended to challenge the nation state of China. Global civil society is a transnational space, a transnational network of associations, movements, organizations, and communications that transcend the territorial nation-state, but it is not itself a territorially organized society or domain. In relation to this phenomenon, Casanova proposes the rise of a religion of humanity. It seems that his observations on the global expansion of human rights doctrines and related movements at the end of 20th century has to some extent been confirmed. One significant character of FLG’s human right campaign is to “play global,” a tactical move on a global scale based on its resistance to the national state of a country of origin (China). As a counter-stigma campaign, it cannot pursue this cause locally and thus is elevated on to the global stage. In this movement, a legally marginalized group in China is allowed to contest the political hierarchy outside of its country of origin. The legal campaign has loosened the human right movement in the direction of “universal jurisdiction.” As mentioned earlier, the universalization and globalization of human rights deterritorializes their state-based jurisdiction. The globalization of universal human rights and constitutional objection is evident in recent conflicts between religious groups like FLG and state power. The FLG uses global legal and constitutional supports to remove the state-imposed stigmatization of its continuing mobilization, strategies, and its legal campaigns worldwide. We see FLG practitioners today who have taken individual faith into a collective movement which leads them to lobby the U.S. House of Representatives or the Senate and to bring the “disputes” to the international level by filing lawsuits in both district and superior courts. One of best explanations of why FLG practitioners launch many global campaigns in the United States is that the U.S. provides a friendly environment for religious movements, a structural opportunity. The First Amendment says that “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof. . .” Thomas Jefferson subsequently argued that this was meant to construct a “wall of separation” between church and state and to protect religion from government interference. Because of the anti-establishment

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clause, religious people in the United States are free to form groups and to practice their faith without interference from the government. The anti-establishment clause also ensures that the United States does not have a state religion. In this article, the methods of globalization include the areas of both increasing globalizing norms on human rights and expanding the internationalizing legal system. In the case of FLG, pursuing legal actions have tactical meanings, such as slowing down persecution, raising awareness of the status of practitioners in China, and trying to shame the Chinese government during legal procedures, which I have elaborated on earlier. Seeking for a verdict in the secular court and waiting for the judgement by a higher law, Dharma, are both ways to seek justice. For many FLG practitioners, going to court is not only a tactic but also part of performing rituals, a process of waiting for ultimate judgment realized by the Buddhist Dharma.

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Chang, Maria Hsia. 2004. FLG: The End of Days. Haven and London: Yale University Press. Colangelo, Anthony. 2007. “Constitutional Limits on Extraterritorial Jurisdiction: Terrorism and the Intersection of National and International Law.” Harvard International Law Journal 48, no.1: 121–201. Crawford, James and Susan Marks. 1998. “The global democracy deficit: an essay in international law and its limits.” in Re-imagining Political Community: Studies in Cosmopolitan Democracy, edited by Daniele Archibugi, David Hels and Martin Köhler, 72–90. Stanford, California: Stanford University Press. Crossette, Barbara. 2001. “Long-Range Justice Raises Fears for Sovereignty.” New York Times, July 1, p. 8. Cryer, Robert. 2005. “International Criminal Law vs State Sovereignty: Another Round?” The European Journal of International Law 16, no.5: 979–1000. Edelman, Bryan. and James Richardson. 2003. “FLG and the Law: Development of Legal Social Control in China.” Nova Religio 6, no.2: 312–331. Goosaert, Vincent and David Palmer. 2012. The religious question in modern China. 1st ed. Chicago, Ill: University of Chicago Press. Held, David. 2002. ‘Law of States, Law of Peoples: Three Models of Sovereignty.” Legal Theory 8: 1–44. Held, David. 2003. “Violence, Law and Justice.” In Debating Cosmopolitics, edited by Daniele Archibugi, 184–202. New York: Verso. Katz, Paul. 2009. Divine justice: Religion and the Development of Chinese Legal Culture. 1st ed. Oxon: Routledge. Keith, Ronald and Zhiqiu Lin. 2003. The “FLG Problem: Politics and the Struggle for the Rule of Law in China.” The China Quarterly 175: 623–642. Küng, Hans. 1993. Global Responsibility- In Search of a New World Ethic. 1st ed. Eugene, Or.: Wipf & Stock Publishers. Levitt, Peggy. 2007. God Needs No Passport. 1st ed. New York: New Press. Li, Hongzhi 李洪志. 1993. Zhongguo Falungong (xiuding ben) 中國法輪功(修訂本). 1st ed. Hong Kong: Falun Fofa Pub. Co. Li, Hongzhi 李洪志. 1995. Zhuan Falun 轉法輪. 1st ed. Beijing: Zhongguo shijieyu chubanshe. Li, Hongzhi 李洪志. 2005. Gedi jiangfa qi meixi guoji fahui jiangfa 各地講法, 七 – 美西國際法 會講法. Published in Minghui.org Taipei: Yihchyun. Lu, Yunfeng. 2005. “Entrepreneurial Logic and the Evolution of FLG.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 44, no.2: 173–185. Luhmann, Niklas and André Kieserling. 2013. A Systems Theory of Religion. 1st ed. Kieserling, A. ed. Stanford: California. McConnell, Daniel and Carol Coulter 2004. “Arrest of Chinese Vice-PM Sought Over Torture Claims.” Irish Times, November, 19. Available online from http://www.ireland.com/news paper/front/2004/1117/1909611588HMCHINESE.html (accessed on July 2017) Mendieta, Edoardo. 2001. “Society’s Religion: the Rise of social Theory, Globalization, and the Invention of Religion.” In Religion/Globalization: Theories and Cases, edited by Dwight Hopkins, Lois Lorentzen, Edaurdo Mendieta and David Batstone, 46–65. Durham: Duke University Press. Munro, Robin. 2002. “On the Psychiatry in China and its Political Abuses.” Columbia Journal of Asian Law 14, no.1: 106–120. Ownby, David. 2010. FLG and the future of China. 1st ed. New York: Oxford University Press. Palmer, David. 2007. Qigong fever. New York: Columbia University Press.

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Penny, Benjamin. 2012. The religion of FLG. 1st ed. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Robertson, Roland. 1991. “After Nostalgia? Wilful Nostalgia and the Phases of Globalization.” In Theories of Modernity and Postmodernity, edited by Bryan S. Turner, 45–61. London: Sage. Robertson, R., and J. Chirico. 1985. “Humanity, globalization, and worldwide religious resurgence: A theoretical explanation.” Sociological Analysis 46: 219–242. Roth, Kenneth. 2001. “The Case for Universal Jurisdiction” Foreign Affairs 80, no.5: 150–154. Schechter, Danny. 2000. FLG’s Challenge to China. New York: Akashic Books. Simma, Bruno and Dirk Pulkowski. 2006. “Of Planets and the Universe: Self-contained Regimes in International Law.” European Journal of International Law 17, no.3: 483–529. Soysal, Yasemin Nuhoglu. 1994. Limits of Citizenship: Migrants and Postnational Membership in Europe. Chicago: University of Chicago. Tong, James. 2002a. “An Organizational Analysis of the FLG: Structure, Communications, Financing.” The China Quarterly 171: 636–660. Tong, James. 2002b. “Anatomy of Regime Repression in China: Timing, Enforcement Institutions, and Target Selection in Banning the FLG.” Asian Survey 42, no.6: 795–820. Verschraegen, Gert. 2002. “Human Rights and Modern Society: A Sociological Analysis from the Perspective of Systems Theory.” Journal of Law and Society 29, no.2: 258–281. Vincent, John. 1992. “Modernity and Universal Human Rights.” In Global Politics, edited by Anthony McGrew and Paul Lewis, 269–292. Cambridge: Polity Press. Wacquant, Loïc and Pierre Bourdieu. 2005. Pierre Bourdieu and Democratic Politics. 1st ed. Cambridge, UK: Polity. Watson, Geoffrey R. 1993. “The Passive Personality Principle.” Texas International Law Journal 28, no.1: 1–46. Witte, John and John D. van der Vyver 1996. Religious Human Rights in Global Perspective. Volume 1. 1st ed. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff Publishers. Xu, Jian.1999. “Body, Discourse, and the Cultural Politics of Contemporary Chinese Qigong.” Journal of Asian Studies 58, no.4: 961–991.

INGO Reports Speigel, Mickey. 2002. “Dangerous Meditation: China’s Campaign Against Falungong.” (available at http://hrw.org/reports/2002/china). Roth, Kenneth. Foreign Affairs, Sept/Oct, 2001. http://cf.linnbenton.edu/artcom/social_sci ence/clarkd/upload/The%20Case%20For%20Universal%20Jurisdiction.pdf

UN Reports Nowak, Manfred. “Report of the Special Rapporteur on torture and other cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment” (Document Numbers: Manfred Nowak, A/ HRC/13/39/Add.5) http://www2.ohchr.org/english/bodies/hrcouncil/docs/13session/ A.HRC.13.39.Add.5_en.pdf

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Special Rapporteur on the Commission on Human Rights on freedom of religion or belief, http://www.ohchr.org/english/issues/religion/index.htm. Special Rapporteur on the Commission on Human Rights on the right of everyone to the enjoyment of the highest attainable standard of physical and mental health, http://www.ohchr.org/english/issues/health/index.htm. Special Rapporteur on extrajudicial, summary, or arbitrary executions, http://www.ohchr.org/ english/issues/executions/index.htm. Special Rapporteur on the promotion and protection of the right to freedom of opinion and expression, http://www.ohchr.org/english/issues/opinion/index.htm. Special Rapporteur on torture and other cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment, http://www.ohchr.org/english/issues/torture/rapporteur/index.htm. UN Report of the Third Committee. Resolution Adopted by the General Assembly on November 25, 1981 [on the Report of the Third Committee (A/36/684/36/54).] Working Groups and Special Rapporteurs have addressed alleged human rights violations involving FLG practitioners in their reports issued from 2000–2006. A collection of these reports from 2000–2003 is available at: http://www.specialtribunal.org/reports/un.

FLG Websites http://en.minghui.org/html/articles/2003/2/6/31815.html www.flgjustice.org http://www.clearwisdom.net

Index Aboriginal peoples 12, 25–27, 32–33, 35–36, 93 animal protection ix, 4, 91–101, 103–109, 111 annual rites; see rites/rituals beef cattle (cainiu 菜牛) 104, 106, 108 Berlant, Laurent 115, 128 Bourgon, Jérôme 3, 11, 17–18, 20, 23, 27, 30–32 Buddhism ix, ix, xiii–xiv, 3–7, 14, 18, 23, 26, 37–38, 40–47, 50–52, 54, 57–58, 61–63, 68, 91–104, 106–111, 113–123, 118, 125–135, 137, 140–143, 147–148, 151–152, 156–177, 180, 186, 190, 197, 210, 214–215, 219–225, 227, 229, 231, 233, 235, 246, 252 – Buddhist activism ix, 91–92, 98–99, 107–108, 111, 173 – Buddhist ethics 61–63 – cyber-Buddhism 119–120, 131 bureaucratic metaphor 22 charisma ix, 7, 66, 80, 83, 89–90, 113, 115–117, 121, 126–127, 129–130, 132, 147, 174, 182, 205, 214, 225, 227 Chen Yingning 陳櫻寧 134, 142, 144–145, 168–170, 172, 175–176 China Society for the Protection of Animals (Zhongguo baohu dongwuhui 中國保護 動物會) 4, 91–92, 95–103, 106–107; see also CSPA Chinese Christianity; see Christianity Chinese legal culture; see law Christianity – Chinese Christianity 67–68, 80, 85–86 – Christian fellowship; see fellowship citizenship 237, 242, 252, 254 City God (Chenghuangshen 城隍神) 15, 20–21, 27, 29, 32 – City God temple 20–21, 32 clean mouth (qingkou清口) 55 colonial history 24–26, 29, 31–35, 47, 50, 68, 132 commensality 4, 70, 84 https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110547849-011

common law; see law communal eating 66, 74, 80 continuum ix, 2–3, 11–12, 17, 19–23, 28–29, 117, 135, 174, 182, 204, 226, 235 costly signals 179, 182, 207 courts 7, 11, 16–17, 19–20, 24, 26–28, 31, 34, 36, 198, 235, 237, 240–245, 247–252 crimes 15–16, 18, 21–22, 30, 32, 34, 36, 241, 245, 247–249 CSPA; see China Society for the Protection of Animals (Zhongguo baohu dongwuhui 中國保護動物會) culinary systems 69, 71 cult xiii, 7, 28–29, 35, 217, 219, 221, 228, 234, 238–239, 245 customary law (xiguan fa 習慣法), see law cyber-Buddhism; see Buddhism Daoism xiv–xv, 3, 6, 14, 30–32, 34, 37–38, 40, 45, 57, 61, 123, 134, 140–148, 152, 155–156, 165, 169–171, 175, 180–181, 184, 186–191, 193–198, 200–203, 206, 219, 233 – Daoist priests (Ch. daogong 道公, Zh. bou dao) 180–181, 184, 186–187, 190, 194–198, 200–203 dead ritual masters (Ch. ba 巴; Zh. ba) 179, 181, 183, 185–188, 190–194, 197–198, 201–203; see also deceased ritual masters deceased ritual masters; see dead ritual masters (Ch. ba 巴; Zh. ba) Delivering Rice Wine to Deceased Ritual Masters (Ch. jiao zushi jiu 交祖師酒; Zh. gyao lau zo slay) 191 Dharma assembly (fahui 法會) 117, 122, 253 Dharma treasures (fabao 法寶) 122, 127 dianzi fojing 電子佛經 120 dietary codes 68, 70, 84 dispute resolution 11, 17, 19, 24, 28, 234 Douglas, Mary 68, 70–71, 84–86, 88 Dragon Flower Sect (Longhuapai 龍華派) 50, 52, 55

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electronic media; see media Emperor of the Eastern Peak (Dongyue dadi 東嶽大帝) 15, 22, 27, 29 empathetic responsiveness (ganying 感應) 116 enchantment xiv, 113 ethnographic participant-observation approach 183 Eucharist 81–83, 86–90 executions 23–24, 32, 193, 255 extra-territorial jurisdiction; see jurisdiction Falun gong 法輪功 x, 7, 130, 221, 233–235, 237–247, 249–255 family 4, 6, 15, 28, 67, 70–71, 74, 80–81, 83, 86, 95, 117, 121–122, 143, 148, 153–160, 163–164, 170, 179–180, 185–189, 191–194, 196–199, 202–204, 213, 215–216, 218, 220, 223, 229–230, 241–242 – family networks; see networks – family rituals; see rites/rituals fasting 38–40, 44, 52, 53, 68; see also vegetarianism (zhai 齋); qi 齊, poṣadha. fellowship – Christian fellowship 76; see also Christianity – food fellowship ix, 3–4, 65–66, 72–81, 83, 85–86 – spiritual fellowship 82 female, see woman/female – female alchemy (nüdan女丹); see woman/ female Feng Zikai 豐子愷 xi, 4, 91, 94, 99, 101, 103–104, 105, 107–108, 110 Fischler, Claude 68, 71, 84–86, 88 five pungent plants (wuxin 五辛) 39, 41, 50, 54 Fojiao nüqun zhuankan 佛教女眾專刊 165, 169, 172–173 folk religion (minjian zongjiao 民間宗教) 58, 62, 70, 88, 183, 206–207 folk beliefs (minjian xinyang 民間信仰) 58, 183, 205 food – food fellowship; see fellowship – food-rite; see rites/rituals

gender (nannü 男女) ix, xv, 5–6, 9, 28, 32, 39, 45, 61, 63, 68, 85, 110, 133–141, 144, 146, 151–153, 156, 158, 161–163, 166–177, 180, 202 – gender equality (nannü pingdeng 男女平等) 5, 133–134, 136–142, 146, 150–156, 158, 161–163, 165–166, 168–172 grain food; see steamed rice (fan 飯) Haichao yin 海潮音 100–101, 109, 176 Han Shizi 寒世子 91, 95, 104, 106, 108–109 Hengbao 恒寶 (Buddhist nun) 166–169, 173; see also Buddhism Husheng bao 護生報 91, 94–95, 104, 108–109 Holy Communion 81–84, 86 Homology 20 Hongyi 弘一 94, 110, 117, 126, 128, 171; see also Li Shutong 李叔同 Huang, Philip C.C. 12, 14, 27, 30, 33 human rights 34–35, 137–138, 233–237, 239–240, 242, 246–248, 250–252, 254–255 – religious human rights 250, 254 hypermediation; see media identity 6, 19, 22, 35, 42, 45–46, 51, 57, 68, 71–72, 84, 88–90, 110, 114, 126, 132, 136–137, 140, 143, 177, 180, 182, 209–210, 216, 221–223, 227–228, 230, 240 ideology of justice 14–16, 19, 22, 27–29 immigrant 25, 34, 76, 211, 230–231, 233, 239, 247 immortality – the study of immortality (xianxue 仙學) 143–146, 150–151, 155, 169, 172, 176 indigenousness 67 – indigenous churches 67, 87–88 – indigenous concepts 70, 134, 144 – Indigenous peoples; see Aboriginal peoples initiation rite 184, 186–188, 190 internet 120–122, 128–130, 132, 226–252 intimacy 80, 115, 120

Index

Jiang Yonglin 姜永琳 3, 11, 17–18, 27, 33 Jue you qing 覺有情 141, 161–165, 172–173, 176–177 jurisdiction 21, 241–243, 249 – universal jurisdiction 234, 247–251, 254 – state-based jurisdiction 237, 249 – territorial jurisdiction 249–250 – extra-territorial jurisdiction 249–250, 253 justice 2, 11–12, 14–20, 22–31, 33–35, 101, 103, 138, 234–235, 240–244, 247, 250–253, 255 – judicial continuum ix, 2–3, 11–12, 17, 19–20, 28–29, 235 – judicial deities 20–21, 27 karaoke 5, 117–118, 131 kitchen xi, 3, 72, 75–78, 80, 85, 200 law – common law 16, 26, 29, 31 – customary law (xiguan fa 習慣法) 12, 16, 26 – Chinese legal culture ix, 2–3, 11–14, 17–18, 22–24, 27, 29–30, 33, 35, 253 – legal pluralism 12, 16, 23–26, 31–32, 34–35 legal pluralism, see law legitimation 3, 11, 17, 28, 31, 234, 237 Li Shutong 李叔同; see Hongyi 弘一 lived religion vi, 1, 10, 129 Lü Bicheng 呂碧城 4, 91, 95–96, 98–101, 109–110, 144–145, 147–149, 151, 165, 171–173, 176–177 meat dishes (hun 葷) xi, 39, 69, 75 media xiv, 5, 8–10, 44, 92, 113–117, 119, 123–124, 126–132, 245 – electronic media ix, 114, 119, 119–121, 127–128 – mediation 3, 5, 11–12, 16–19, 22, 24, 27–28, 114–115, 117, 120, 126–127, 131–132, 235 – hypermediation 114 migrants x, xiv, 73, 83, 209–213, 216–223, 226–230, 251, 254 – migrant workers; see migrants

259

miracle 119, 121–123, 125, 128, 132 model of costly beliefs and practices 179, 182, 207 morality books (shanshu 善書) 59, 94, 143 natural law 16–32 networks – family networks 70 – networks of supporters 6, 179, 181, 184, 190–192, 194, 198–200, 203–205 – online networks 117, 120–121, 127, 129 – professional networks 179, 192, 194, 198, 205 – spiritual networks 179, 204 non-killing 4, 53, 92–95, 99, 107–108 Nüdan Hebian 女丹合編; see woman/female the numinous (ling 靈) 122 oaths (lishi 立誓) 15–17, 20, 25, 28 online networks, see networks ordination rite (shoujie 受戒) 186, 188–190 oxen (niu 牛) xiv, 53, 91, 103–104, 106 Palmer, David 9, 58, 61, 115, 125, 129–130, 134, 175, 233, 253 Passover 81, 83, 86 persecution 7, 43, 58, 212, 234–235, 237–241, 246–247, 250, 252 personalist approach 85–86 photography v–vi, 131, 239 poṣadha, see fasting, vegetarianism prison temples 12, 23 professional networks, see networks prohibition of butchering 32, 42–43, 101–102 proselytizing xiii, 119, 123, 170 protecting life (husheng 護生) 4, 91–92, 94, 96, 98–99, 107 pungent plants; see meat dishes (hun 葷) Pure Land (jingtu淨土). 119, 122, 128, 174 – Pure Land School (jingtu zong 淨土宗) 93, 95 purity 45, 47, 51, 54–55, 57, 71, 84, 88

260

Index

qi 齊, see fasting, vegetarianism qigong 氣功 116, 125, 130, 233–234, 239, 246, 253–254 Qinghai Wushangshi 清海無上師 58 radio 5, 114, 117–118, 127 releasing animals (fangsheng 放生) 8, 43, 98, 110, 122 religious categories (zongjiao leixing 宗教 類型) 183 religious human rights; see human rights retribution (baoying 報應) 14–15, 18, 22, 25, 30, 51, 104 rites/rituals – annual rites 6, 179, 181–182, 184, 187, 191–192 – family rituals 39, 60 – food-rite 68–69 – Rite of Adding a Cap (Ch. jiaguan 加冠) 186, 190 – Rite of Putting on the Cap (Ch. shangmao 上帽; Zh. gai mao) 187, 190, 204 – Rite of Putting on the Second Cap (Ch. jiaguan 加冠); see Rite of Adding a Cap (Ch. jiaguan 加冠) – Rite of Burning Spirit Clothes (Ch. shaoyi 燒衣; Zh. pyau ei) 192–194, 199 – rites of passage 6, 179, 181–182, 184, 186–187, 193, 207 Sabbath 67, 72, 74–75, 77–78, 83–84, 86 Song of the Three Treasures (Sanbaoge 三寶歌) 117 secularization 2, 9, 12–14, 30–31, 33, 35–36, 114, 127, 252 shamans (Ch. wu 巫, Zh. moed or gyaem) x, xiii, 6, 179–186, 192, 200–207, 231 Shanghai Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (SSPCA) 92, 99, 109 sins 18, 81 sound 74, 85, 90, 118–119, 123–124, 129, 184, 197–198 – soundscape 115, 117, 184 spirits – spirit journeys 185, 187–193, 197, 199, 201–204 – spirits of the dead (Ch. gui 鬼; Zh. pei) 185

– spirits of the living (Ch. hun 魂; Zh. kvaen) 185 – spirit soldiers with horses (Ch. bing ma 兵馬; Zh. beeng ma) 179, 183, 185–186, 188, 190–194, 197–199, 201–205 – spiritual fellowship; see fellowship – spiritual networks, see networks steamed rice (fan 飯) xi, 69–70, 72, 75, 77, 80, 83–84, 86, 220; see also grain food structuralist approach 84–86 state-based jurisdiction; see jurisdiction subtle energies (qi 氣) 40, 122, 125, 149 sympathetic resonance; see empathetic responsiveness (ganying 感應) Taixu 太虛 97–98, 134, 157–159, 165–166, 170, 175–176 technology 8, 9, 99, 114–117, 121–123, 126–131, 233 – technoculture 5, 115–116, 127 territory 202, 213, 237, 249–250 – territorial jurisdiction; see jurisdiction Three-self Patriotic Movement (TSPM) 67 Tianning Temple 天寧寺 120–121 True Jesus Church (Zhen Yesu jiaohui 真耶穌 教會) 4, 66–67, 72, 82, 89–90, 225 underworld indictments (gao yinzhuang 告陰 狀; fanggao 放告) 15, 17, 28–29 universal jurisdiction; see jurisdiction veganism 52, 54, 58, 122–123 vegetable and meat dishes (cai 菜) xi, 69–70, 72–73, 75, 77, 80, 83–87 vegetarianism (zhai 齋) – vegetarianism to repay the favor (bao’en zhai 報恩齋) 44, 47 – blood pond vegetarianism (xuepenzhai 血盆齋) 45 – vegetarian bandits (zhaifei 齋匪) 48–49 – vegetarian assemblies (zhaihui 齋會) 44 – Vegetarian Sects (Zhaijiao 齋教), xiii 3, 46–47, 49–51, 60–62, 64 – Description and Origin of the Vegetarian Precept (Zhaijie shuyuan 齋戒述 原) 52–53

Index

– vegetarian halls (zhaitang 齋堂) 44–47, 63 – vegetarian women (caigu 菜姑) 45, 62 – vegetarian [feast] of the Nine Emperors (jiuhuangzhai 九皇齋) 44 – flower vegetarianism (huazhai 華齋) 51–54 – vegetarian demon worshippers (chicai shimo 喫菜事魔) 48 vernacular ritual practitioners (Ch. mogong 麽公; Zh. bou mo) 180–181, 183, 187, 200, 202 vernacular ritual practitioners (Ch. shigong 師公; Zh. bou slay); see vernacular ritual practitioners (Ch. mogong 麽公; Zh. bou mo) Wang Yiting 王一亭 91, 97–99, 109 water 52, 82, 98, 120, 122, 123, 130 The Way of Former Heaven (Xiantiandao 先天道) 42, 52–53, 63 Weber, Max 12, 14, 18–19, 33, 36; see also Weberian Weberian; see Weber, Max website 7, 67, 90, 120–121, 124, 237, 240 WeChat 5, 113, 119–120, 122, 124, 129 Western Hunan 29, 35–36, 185 WiFi 113–114 woman/female (nüxing女性) xiii, 6, 28, 32, 45–46, 48, 57, 61, 77, 80, 85, 128, 134–141, 143–149, 151–153, 155–156, 158, 163–1689, 171–176, 180–181, 183–185, 199, 202, 207, 228 – woman question (nüxing de wenti女性 的問題) 138, 166, 173

261

– the new woman (xin nüxing新女性) 5, 133, 136 – woman’s realm (nüjie女界) 133, 138, 140, 164–165, 177 – women’s rights (funü renquan 婦女 人權) 133–134, 137–140, 145, 147, 159, 169 – female alchemy (nüdan女丹) 143–151, 153, 175–176 – Nüdan Hebian 女丹合編 145–146, 148, 173, 175 World Animal Day 4, 91–92, 95–96, 99–103, 106 World Buddhist Householder Grove (Shijie Fojiao jushilin 世界佛教 居士林) 98 Xiandao yuebao 仙道月報 143, 152, 172 Xu Qian 徐謙 94 Yang Wenhui 楊文會 158, 160–161, 166, 173 Yangshan banyuekan 揚善半月刊 143–145, 148, 150–151, 155, 172, 174 Ye Gongchuo 葉恭綽 91, 98, 101, 103, 109 Yiguandao 一貫道 xiii, 3, 47, 52–56, 58, 60–64, 215, 227 Yinguang 印光 95, 98–99, 109–110, 134, 158–160, 164, 166, 170, 174, 176–177 Yuk Hui 116 Zhuang 壯 people x, xiii, 6, 179–189, 191–207, 209 Zito, Angela 113–115, 132