Practicing Scripture: A Lay Buddhist Movement in Late Imperial China 0824839277, 9780824839277

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PRACTICING SCRIPTURE

PRACTICING SCRIPTURE A Lay Buddhist Movement in Late Imperial China

.

Barend J. ter Haar

University of Hawai‘i Press HONOLULU

© 2014 University of Hawai‘i Press All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America 19 18 17 16 15 14

6 5 4 3 2 1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Haar, B. J. ter, author. Practicing scripture : a lay Buddhist movement in late imperial China / Barend J. ter Haar. pages cm Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-8248-3927-7 1. Wuwei jiao (Sect) 2. Buddhist laymen—China—History. 3. Buddhism—China—History. I. Title. BQ9242.H33 2014 294.3'92—dc23 2014013014

University of Hawai‘i Press books are printed on acid-free paper and meet the guidelines for permanence and durability of the Council on Library Resources.

Designed by Erika Arroyo Printed by Sheridan Books, Inc.

. To my ancestors and my living kinsfolk They matter

Contents . Acknowledgments ix

 Introduction 1

 Patriarch Luo: From Soldier to Religious Teacher 12

 Charismatic Teachers against the Current 50

 Spirited Debates and Sudden Conversions 85

 Religious Beliefs and Ritual Practices 118

 The Routinization of Charisma 151

 The Movement under Duress 189

 Rediscovering Lay Buddhism 219

Notes 235

Bibliography 273

Index 291

Acknowledgments .

A

s I researched and wrote this book, I incurred many debts. Some I have probably forgotten, and I sincerely apologize to those who are not mentioned as a result. Some debts I still recollect vividly, and I would like to list them here. My debt to the Taiwanese scholar Wang Jianchuan is the most important of my intellectual debts. His own research on the Dragon Flower Gathering on Taiwan was extremely important to me, but he has also set an example for all of us working in the field by his ongoing efforts to make rare primary sources on local religious culture available to the scholarly community. Over the last few years, I have profited from having some exceptionally able students at Leiden University with whom I could talk through my intellectual and empirical concerns. I would especially like to mention Yves Menheere (now a PhD student at Taiwan National University). My former colleague in Leiden, Jonathan Silk, also provided very important comments on the first two chapters of this book. Paul Katz, as a reader on behalf of University of Hawai‘i Press, has been as incisive as ever, and Glen Dudbridge, one of my predecessors in Oxford, made a crucial comment during a talk. Pauline Brereton again edited my English, for the fourth time. As always, this book could not have been written without access to various libraries. On this occasion, I was able to profit from the library of the Sinological Institute at Leiden University (for most of the project), as well as the library of the Institute for Chinese Studies at Oxford University (for the final stages). The staffs of both institutions were extremely helpful in meeting my requests for materials. A special thanks is due to the Berlin State Library (Staatsbibliothek Berlin) for what must be one of the most generous long-distance loan schemes anywhere in the world. I began my intellectual journey in this domain as a PhD student at Leiden more than two decades ago, in the days before e-mail and Skype, when one could communicate only by snail mail or at conferences (if one could afford to attend them). At the time, I felt intellectually enormously stimulated and supported by Susan Naquin (then at the University of Pennsylvania and now at Princeton University), from whom I received many handwritten letters commenting on the evolving manuscript that was eventually to become my dissertation and first book. Once more, I wish to express my sincerest thanks to her. Similarly, getting to know Hubert Seiwert (at Leipzig University) many years afterwards was a ix

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Acknowledgments

special pleasure, not least because of his important contribution to religious freedom in Germany. I also received various valuable comments and materials from his PhD student Nikolas Broy. This book could have included even more discussion, especially on the very recent past and present situation of the movement, including its ritual practices. I hope to address some of these lacunae elsewhere. For now, this book must stand as it is: a detailed treatment of the social and religious history of a single religious movement from the late sixteenth century into the middle of the twentieth century. I hope that I have been able to present all of this information—on what I find a fascinating social and religious phenomenon—in a way that is useful and revealing. Many flaws still remain, some of which I might have addressed, had I been more perceptive or spent even more time on the book; others are the result of personal editorial and intellectual decisions. None of these flaws should be blamed on the readers mentioned earlier, for they have done their very best to protect me against mistakes.

1 Introduction .

T

he lay Buddhists described in this book defined themselves through their rejection of the most common sacrifices of traditional China, animal flesh and alcoholic beverages. They were the founders and followers of one of the most successful religious movements of late imperial Chinese history, from when it was established in the late sixteenth century, in the marginal prefectures of southern Zhejiang, until the middle of the twentieth century, when communist repression dealt it a crippling blow. This movement was most commonly called the NonAction Teachings (wuweijiao ⛵⠆ᬭ), and I use this autonym (self-appellation) as an overall label throughout this book. Among the other appellations it used during the Qing period and thereafter were the Great Vehicle Teachings (dachengjiao ໻Ьᬭ) in Jiangxi and parts of Fujian and the Dragon Flower Gathering (longhuahui 啡㧃᳗) in most of Fujian and on Taiwan.1 The Non-Action Teachings was a highly self-conscious movement that actively insisted on its right of free practice. Members of the movement created a foundation myth in which Emperor Zhengde ℷᖋ (r. 1505–1521) of the Ming dynasty (1368–1644) bestowed the right of free religious practice upon their mythical founder. In addition, they produced an imperial proclamation by which Emperor Kangxi ᒋ❭ (r. 1661–1722) of the Qing dynasty (1645–1911) once again granted the same right of free practice. Adherents exhibited this proclamation in their halls and sometimes took a copy of it to the local magistrate in an attempt to defend their religious privileges. At other times, they even tried to force a local magistrate to release imprisoned members of their movement by holding a kind of demonstration. The movement produced a substantial number of written sources, including religious texts and their own historiography, which allow us to document their history and religious views from an internal perspective. Outside observers have also contributed important materials, especially during persecutions. From the late nineteenth century on, we have information gathered during direct observations in the field—rarely proper ethnographic fieldwork, but at least sometimes inspired by a genuine interest in the movement, rather than the task of repression. Until the nationwide religious repression by the Chinese Communist Party in the 1950s, the Non-Action Teachings could be found throughout the provinces of Jiangsu, Zhejiang, Jiangxi, Fujian and Taiwan. The founders rejected the worship of statues and ancestors because such representations were merely pieces of 1

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wood or lumps of clay. Although rejection of superfluous ritual practices was at the root of their autonym Non-Action, they did not reject ritual altogether and did not deny the existence of ancestors. They were devout lay Buddhists who refused to eat meat because it involved the slaughter of living beings (causing bad karma) and to drink alcoholic beverages because it led to a loss of selfcontrol (causing attachment). Th roughout this study, I refer to these two dietary prescriptions collectively as vegetarian. Meals from which meat and alcoholic drinks were omitted are called vegetarian fasts, although overall rejection of food, or complete fasting, was not practiced. The movement used the single religious affi liation character pu ᱂ (universal, general), which was given to every adherent as part of their personal name to indicate that they had been initiated. They worshipped the writings of a soldier-turned-lay-Buddhist known as Patriarch Luo 㕙 (fl. early sixteenth century). Ideally, every local group possessed a copy of Luo’s texts, known as the Five Books in Six Volumes (Wubu liuce Ѩ䚼݁ ‫)ݞ‬, and venerated them in a special ritual. In time, adherents hoped to attain the Pure Land of Amitābha, which they identified with the Dragon Flower Gathering. This gathering did not so much refer to meetings with a messianic Maitreya, who was to appear as a savior in the very near future, as it did to more orthodox meetings that were foretold at the conclusion of the present age (or kalpa) of mankind governed by the Buddha Shakyamuni, when Maitreya, as the buddha of the new age, takes over. Little is known about the historical figure of Patriarch Luo beyond his professional background as a soldier and his birth in a coastal county in Shandong. Even his real name and dates of birth and death are uncertain, although he may well have been called Luo Qing 㕙⏙. He composed five texts in six scrolls, hence their eventual name of the Five Books in Six Volumes. He mixed personal experiences and religious views, expressed in vernacular Chinese and supported by a wealth of quotations from the Buddhist canon. Luo Qing expressly intended his anthology as a summation of Buddhist teachings. His writings had a tremendous impact throughout the late imperial period, although highbrow officials and literati (and, for that matter, modern scholars) often had a hard time understanding his impact because they felt Luo Qing’s writings were crude in terms of ideas and not very well written. The Non-Action Teachings in southern China was not the only religious movement inspired by Luo Qing or his writings, but it certainly was the most widespread and influential. Their connection with Luo Qing was not direct person-to-person contact but the result of missionary activity by traveling Buddhist monks and laypeople using his Five Books in Six Volumes. The founder of the southern movement is usually seen as Ying Ji’nan ឝ㑐फ (1527/1540–1582), who claimed to be the reincarnation of Luo Qing. He had been a Buddhist novice as a child, before being thrown out of the monastery and becoming a silversmith’s apprentice. The most prominent leader of the next generation was Yao Wenyu ྮ᭛ᅛ (1578–1646), who, in his turn, claimed to be the reincarnation of Ying Ji’nan (renamed Yin Ji’nan ↋㑐फ in Yao’s tradition). He had been a herder

Introduction

3

of ducks and a peddler of food. Together with Luo Qing, Ying Ji’nan and Yao Wenyu were worshipped by the movement as the three patriarchs. Until the early 1950s in some regions, descendants of Yao Wenyu continued to be widely respected because they were felt to embody the charisma, the combined attraction and legitimacy, of their ancestor. Members of the educational and political elites vehemently disapproved of the Non-Action Teachings, most commonly because of its rejection of ancestor worship, and the unsophisticated nature of Luo Qing’s writings. In the relatively tolerant decades of the late Ming and very early Qing, the movement spread across the provinces of Jiangsu, Zhejiang, Fujian, and Jiangxi. It also succeeded initially (and again in the Republican period) in drawing some patronage from lower officials and relatives of local elite families. Religious persecutions, in the course of the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, put an end to this spread and the movement’s chances of gaining an elite audience. From that time on, membership appears to have been largely restricted to nonelite social groups. So, who were they, and why were they attacked so vehemently? As already mentioned, some of the patrons and early members came from educated and even official backgrounds, but the two patriarchs, Ying Ji’nan and Yao Wenyu, as well as most early leaders and later adherents, came from lowly backgrounds. They had access to literacy, either through being literate themselves or growing up and/or working in an environment in which literacy was relevant, such as a Buddhist monastery or a local government institution (e.g., the offices of a local magistrate or a Confucian school). They were rarely simple farmers. Although they were not properly initiated Buddhist monks, they claimed the right to interpret the Buddhist message and even asserted that they were superior to the monastic elite or the educated classes. Among the adherents there was some organizational cohesion, which guaranteed a certain stability of practice and belief over time and space, although it would be an exaggeration to see the Non-Action Teachings as a centrally organized movement. Throughout the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, the Qing government repeatedly came down on local groups without destroying the larger movement. Local officials usually felt that the practitioners posed no threat to local order and left them alone, as long as no violent incidents forced them to take action. By the late nineteenth century, the movement faced an entirely new challenge. When Christianity started making its first inroads in Zhejiang in the late nineteenth century, it attracted some of the followers of the Non-Action Teachings. At the same time, in the aftermath of the terrible destruction in the Lower Yangzi region caused by the rebellion of the Heavenly Kingdom of Great Peace, the movement was still, or again (which is unclear), able to spread, and by the Republican period, its numbers were quite strong. On Taiwan, it flourished under Japanese occupation because the island lacked strong monastic Buddhist institutions and thanks to the relative absence of a persecuting state. From the early 1950s onward, the situation changed dramatically, both on the Chinese mainland and on Taiwan, for different reasons. On the mainland,

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ongoing communist repression of new religious movements, initially at the behest of Buddhist monks, caused untold damage to the Non-Action Teachings. Some local halls survived, but many were closed down, and there is a telling dearth of information about the current state of the movement. Although no such persecution took place on Taiwan, the movement lost much ground there as well, possibly because it came to be associated with the old social order; it also had to compete with new monastic and lay Buddhist movements. Because of the absence of outright persecution, however, many of its internal sources, buildings, and artifacts have been preserved on Taiwan, allowing us a depth of insight into the movement’s origins and development rare in Chinese religious history. The Non-Action Teachings combined several unique features, even apart from the rejection of statues and ancestor worship. On the one hand, the movement constructed itself around the transmission and recitation of the Five Books in Six Volumes, which was not a narrative scroll like most Precious Scrolls (as explained elsewhere in this book) but a personal religious account interspersed with quotations from Buddhist texts. The text did not derive its authority by claiming to be the word of the Buddha, but as an anthology that united the essential works of the entire Buddhist canon. This was the first movement in Chinese history to worship such a very personalized religious anthology rather than a single religious scripture. On the other hand, the movement defined the initiation of all adherents as a “separate transmission outside the teachings,” which referred to the oral transmission of a deeper truth that cannot be put into words. From a Buddhist monastic perspective, this transmission among laypeople could never be recognized as valid, leading to tensions between these lay groups and elite monks. At the same time, the movement also embraced the aim of entry into the Pure Land or Western Paradise of Amitābha to guarantee one’s salvation from the pains of transmigration. Thus, a written text was central in ritual practice, but initiation into proper membership was inspired by the claim of an oral transmission of an inner truth.

A window on local life One of the most remarkable sources on the early Non-Action Teachings is a collection of individual conversion accounts from the seventeenth century, the Causes and Fruits of the Seven Branches. The following example illustrates the importance of the writings by Luo Qing, as well as the surprisingly independent position of the movement’s female adherents. A handsome lady, Xiao Yan 㭁㡋 (or Xiao Beautiful), made fun of an ugly woman, Yu Qiao ԭᎻ (or Yu Skillful), who was known for her literary skills. The handsome lady was awakened to the illusory nature of the distinction between beauty and unattractiveness by Yu Qiao through a deft exchange of religious poems. Xiao Yan tried to regain some ground by inquiring what kind of books the other lady had read, no doubt expecting that she was better educated and could therefore score some points over her adversary. Yu Qiao retorted that she had read Patriarch Luo’s Five Books in Six Volumes. This work was believed able to re-create the entire cosmos and was considered on

Introduction

5

a par with the Journey to the West, the famous vernacular novel. Curiously, this last statement is put in the mouth of the handsome Xiao Yan, although at this point in the account she was not yet properly converted, indicative of the ex post facto constructed nature of this account. Yu Qiao agreed with this judgment and added the following description of the work. Now, for the Five Books in Six Volumes of our teacher, [the latter] has selected old texts that are the essence of Heaven. Our teacher does not at all claim of himself that he alone is worthy or falsely assert that he himself is extremely worthy. Furthermore, this classic has not [only] been provided with colophons through the generations, and transmitted until today, [but has] been personally perused by the dragoneyes of the Zhengde Emperor. Excellent civilian and martial ministers have provided punctuation. Countless great scholars of this dynasty have been unable to read [i.e., fathom] it completely. Who would dare to add or delete even one character? . . .2 The two women compared the Five Books in Six Volumes with a literary masterpiece of their own time that they and many of their contemporaries saw as an allegory written by the patriarch of the Complete Perfection tradition of Daoism.3 An added appeal of the Journey to the West to these two ladies or their ghostwriter may have been that, in the novel, the early Tang emperor, Taizong (r. 629–649), had actively supported the westward journey of the Tang monk Xuanzang ⥘༬ to India, much as the adherents of this movement believed that they had once received the patronage of the Zhengde emperor (r. 1505–1521). The absence of any relationship between good looks or a person’s command of the written canon, on the one hand, and the quality of his or her religiosity, on the other, may seem rather obvious to us. But in a society that saw (and often still sees) a direct relationship between ethics and aesthetics and between writing and morality, this was not the case. Good-looking people were considered good people; good handwriting was seen to reflect a good person. According to this anecdote, instead of looks (and, as we shall see later, education), only by reading and/or reciting the Five Books in Six Volumes could someone achieve the right kind of understanding. The ritual recitation of this work was one of the core religious activities of the Non-Action Teachings, and in many ways the following investigation is “the history of a reading experience” resulting in a religious way of life that was intended to celebrate this work and live out the instructions expressed in it. Thanks to the richness of our sources, such as this collection of conversion tales, studying the Non-Action Teachings provides a rare window into traditional society at the local level in less privileged regions. Through the lives of the founders and ordinary adherents of the movement, we obtain glimpses of life on the hilly and mountainous peripheries of the regional cores of the Fujian coast and the Lower Yangzi delta. We encounter, first and foremost, the soldier Luo Qing, although most of what we know about him is mythical in nature. Intriguingly, the myth presents him as a soldier who, instead of using arms, defended the nation

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with an ability to carry on a doctrinal debate and with a display of religious devotion that enabled him to change arrows into flowers. Much more is known about the silversmith’s apprentice Ying Ji’nan and the food peddler Yao Wenyu, who were among the early leaders of the movement, and we get to know others, such as students who dropped out of the rat race for the civil ser vice examinations, an opera singer, and a tailor. Furthermore, we can actually reconstruct some of the history of the movement, its internal debates and fissures, the creation of internal orthodoxy, a late revival, and finally the persecutions that it suffered until the late twentieth century. During the late imperial period, there were several ways of becoming a Buddhist practitioner. One could independently recite a scripture about the salvific power of the Buddha Amitābha, or just recite his name, in the hope of entering the Pure Land. One could become the personal follower of an inspiring local Buddhist monk. People maintained the Five Injunctions of Not Killing (busha ϡ↎), Not Stealing (butou ϡً), No Licentiousness (buyin ϡ⎿), No False Speech (buwang ϡམ), and No Spirits (bujiu ϡ䜦) to varying degrees. In addition to reciting the names of Amitābha or his assistant, the Bodhisattva Guanyin, one might recite another Buddhist sutra or a specific spell. The act of joining the Non-Action Teachings went much further in terms of lifestyle than any of these options, providing a clearly ranked hierarchy of knowledge that gave access to a more intense Buddhist lifestyle than the average local monk or priest might have been able to provide. Rejecting statues and ancestor worship and giving up meat and alcoholic beverages were decisions that went against the dominant ritual discourse and had far-reaching social consequences. Adherents could be very active in shaping their personal lives by thinking autonomously about topics of ritual and doctrine, becoming critical of the dominant mode of thinking in those days (“Classicism” or ru ‫)ۦ‬, and even sometimes questioning conventional male-female relationships. The Non-Action Teachings perceived itself as a distinct entity and as faithful to the original (true or imagined) teachings and practices of their patriarchs. Joining them was an exclusive choice, meaning that one left most of one’s former religious culture behind. For these reasons, as should become much clearer in the course of this book, I wish to apply the term movement to the different local groups that shared in the beliefs and practices of the Non-Action Teachings. Individual groups (or rather their halls or tang ූ) might have different local names, but overall the names for the movement are consistent within larger regions, and so are the characteristics of individual groups. I therefore consider groups with different names part of the larger movement, as long as they shared a sufficient number of characteristics. The Non-Action Teachings was an important religious movement in its own right, but it also deserves further study from a broader comparative perspective. Some core beliefs and practices of this movement bear a close resemblance to Christian tradition (especially Protestantism), such as the rejection of ancestor worship and the physical representation of divine force—an attitude that I have termed iconophobia. Such similarities are remarkable enough in themselves, but they are also relevant to the history of the Christian mission in China. The popu-

Introduction

7

larity of the movement throws a new light on the old debate over whether the Christian rejection of ancestor worship contributed to its initial lack of success in converting Chinese. This rejection was a major bone of contention between the Jesuits (who redefined ancestor worship as a civil cult of commemoration) and the Dominicans or Franciscans (who saw ancestors as deities or demons and therefore contradicting the monotheistic character of their faith). The so-called rites controversy, which developed from this debate, poisoned the relationship between these orders and led to considerable irritation on the part of the Chinese emperors when Vatican emissaries came to tell them what to think. Interestingly, by the late nineteenth century, adherents of the Non-Action Teachings in Zhejiang were among the earliest converts to Roman Catholicism and Protestantism, not only because they noticed some of these similarities but also because the Christian missionaries could provide a form of political protection that was not available to indigenous religious groups. The rejection of ancestor worship by the Non-Action Teachings shows that this cannot have been the principal reason for Christianity’s supposed lack of appeal in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries—if lack of appeal is the right term in the first place, in that a substantial Christian following maintained its faith over a long time. As a new religious movement, Christianity was no less successful than the Non-Action Teachings. What is equally interesting are the striking resemblances between the histories of the Non-Action Teachings in China and early Protestantism in western Europe: for instance, in the way the movement resisted the dominance of the ritual specialists, the central place given to reciting the scripture, and a critical attitude toward ritual and morality. Unlike different Protestant groups in a politically divided Europe and in the British colonies of North America, however, the Non-Action Teachings and other new religious movements in China were never able to establish themselves as free churches. They lived under the continuous pressure from the central state that was exerted on almost all new religious groups, especially in the Qing period, with its ongoing persecutions throughout the eighteenth and the first half of the nineteenth century, and again in the People’s Republic of China, from the early 1950s onward. Only in Hong Kong, Taiwan, and most overseas Chinese communities have such movements been able to function without too many restrictions.

The state of the field The field until now The place of the Non-Action Teachings in the historiography of new religious groups has traditionally been determined by some local groups’ involvement in two specific violent incidents. The traditional negative label of the White Lotus Teachings as a rebellious and messianic movement was also applied to the NonAction Teachings. The first incident, in 1748, is known as the incident of the Old Official Vegetarians. Local adherents of the movement in northern Fujian wanted

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to free one of their leaders from prison, leading to a procession to the county capital that was broken up before it reached the city. One of their leaders and Patriarch Yao were vaguely identified as Maitreya. Although the latter is best known to us as a Buddhist savior, the precise significance of this identification remains unclear in the extant sources. The second incident, in 1895, is notorious among students of the Christian mission in China. In that year, adherents of the Dragon Flower Gathering in Gutian County in northern Fujian attacked British missionaries because they felt insulted by them. The result was a bloody massacre of men, women, and children, eleven in all. The ensuing investigation showed that the attackers were mostly recent converts attracted by the anti-opium message of the movement. Many of them were executed. As a result of this incident, the NonAction Teachings as a whole came to be labeled a secret society, and the 1895 incident became part of the “history” of secret societies, where violence is “expected” of groups classified as such. I analyze both the 1748 and 1895 incidents in much more detail in Chapters 6 and 7, but there is little doubt that the local groups involved did belong to the larger movement of the Non-Action Teachings. Since the late Ming period, officials, literati, and elite Buddhist priests alike placed the Non-Action Teachings on a par with the White Lotus Teachings as a dangerous new religious group. By the mid-sixteenth century, labeling a religious group or teacher with the name White Lotus Teachings already meant that the group or teacher was considered dangerous, potentially rebellious, and socially disruptive. Later historians, however, have tended to assume that this outside label was actually the proper name of a real and widespread religious movement. Closer analysis demonstrates that the label was attached to widely differing social and religious phenomena on the basis of highly biased assumptions and often unfounded fears of the state and its representatives. The label is the product of persecution and cannot be considered a reliable analytical category.4 An essential assumption of the present investigation is that we can no longer follow this tradition of labeling; it is time to take a fresh look at movements that have been stigmatized with the label White Lotus Teachings. This has implications for our scholarship, for much of what we thought we knew should no longer be considered proper scholarly knowledge. The Non-Action Teachings was not so much focused on resistance or deviance, let alone rebellion, as on an intensified and improved form of lay Buddhist practice. Their supposed heterodoxy was entirely constructed by outside elite observers, but this view was not shared by either the adherents or most other people living in the communities around them. Local officials in the imperial bureaucracy and even communist officials in the early 1950s tended to see them as innocent lay Buddhists, and violent incidents (in the imperial period) and a paranoid state (as was increasingly the case in the 1950s) were required to force the bureaucracy to take this “threat” seriously. The present case study relates the Non-Action Teachings to the surrounding religious world of lay Buddhism and the local ritual specialists of southern Zhejiang and northern Fujian, as well as local Christianity—which entered southern China twice, first in the early seventeenth century and again in the late nineteenth century. Where traditional ob-

Introduction

9

servers see deviance, I see innovation and creativity. The Non-Action Teachings allows us a glimpse at a world as it was made by the believers themselves, rather than an elite construct based on elite sources. The person of Luo Qing or Patriarch Luo, the Five Books in Six Volumes, and the different religious movements that draw their inspiration from his writings have been the focus of much scholarly attention since the late nineteenth century. Western scholars, such as the missionary Joseph Edkins and the sinologist-cumethnologist Jan Jacob Maria de Groot, encountered them in their work in Shanghai and Xiamen (Amoy), respectively. During his fieldwork, de Groot’s interest in religious culture attracted the attention of local Chinese. When a persecution of new religious groups was threatening, a local leader gave his religious texts to de Groot for safekeeping. De Groot then translated and summarized this material, which forms the heart of his discussion on the Non-Action Teachings, or the Dragon Flower Gathering, as they were called locally. Luckily, he also interspersed his translations with comments on the actual performance of their rituals, based on numerous visits to local groups, providing what is still the best description of the movement in any language.5 When the Japanese occupied Taiwan from 1895 to 1945, they also encountered the Non-Action Teachings or Dragon Flower Gathering. Although their religious policies went through phases of relative tolerance and repression, the picture for lay Buddhist groups was on the whole fairly positive. They remained an important manifestation of local Buddhism until the return of the island to the Chinese Nationalists in 1945, but since then they have gone into steep decline for reasons that are not yet well understood.6 On the island, the enormous rise in academic interest in Chinese religious culture since the late 1980s has resulted in a wealth of local studies and source publications. For our understanding of the Non-Action Teachings, the research by Wang Jianchuan ⥟㽟Ꮁ, in particular, accompanied by massive projects to make new sources available, has been of tremendous importance.7 However, as Lin Meirong ᵫ㕢ᆍ and Zu Yunhui ⼪䘟✛ pointed out in 1994, our knowledge of this and other old-style vegetarian movements on Taiwan is rather limited.8 Most research is historical and textual in nature, and we still lack detailed (“thick”) ethnographic descriptions. The present investigation only partially addresses this problem because I did not carry out actual fieldwork among the surviving communities of believers either on Taiwan or on the Chinese mainland.9 The religious situation in the People’s Republic of China is still too unstable to undertake unhindered fieldwork without the risk of endangering the very groups that I am studying. Since the 1950s, Japanese scholars such as Sakai Tadao 䜦ѩᖴ໿ and Sawada Mizuho ╸⬄⨲〖 have published extensively on new religious groups from a textual perspective. Sawada Mizuho’s work, in par ticular, has served as a baseline for subsequent scholarship, including that of Taiwanese and mainland Chinese colleagues.10 Most interpretations of the early history of the reception of Patriarch Luo’s writings go back to his initial analysis and the sources he originally pointed out, based on his unparalleled private collection of Precious Scrolls. Important articles on the Non-Action Teachings have also been published by Asai

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Motoi ⌙ѩ㋔.11 Since much of the early work has now been superseded by more recent Chinese and even some Western work, whose authors had much better access to archival sources and the original religious scriptures, I have not made much use of Japanese scholarship for the present investigation. Once the Cultural Revolution was over in 1976 and the yoke of MarxistMaoist interpretations could be left behind, the quality of mainland research improved rapidly. On some topics such as new religious movements, mainland scholars continue to be restricted from expressing themselves completely freely. However, the situation is improving, and recently a source publication with quite sensitive materials was published without any problems.12 An important contribution by mainland scholars has been their work on the Qing archives, bringing to light invaluable information on new religious groups. Especially important has been the encyclopedic work of Ma Xisha 侀㽓≭ and Han Bingfang 䶧⾝㢇 published in 1992.13 Others have since followed in their footsteps, although later work often appears to be a rehash of the same archival materials, with a few additions and changes of perspective. Mainland Chinese scholarship still suffers from the old stereotypes on the White Lotus Teachings and their modern derivatives. As a result, a wide variety of historically and typologically unrelated groups are combined within the same master narrative.14 In the West, important research on the Non-Action Teachings and other new religious groups has been done by Daniel Overmyer, Susan Naquin, Richard Shek, and Randall Nadeau, a student of Overmyer’s. The relevant PhD dissertations by Shek and Nadeau have remained unpublished. Overmyer’s fi rst book, published in 1976, was an early milestone of nuanced research in the field. In 1999, he published his equally important study of religious Precious Scrolls, including the Five Books in Six Volumes.15 Nadeau’s dissertation on the Non-Action Teachings was very useful in preparing this investigation, although I had access to a much larger source base, thanks to recent source publications from Taiwan and mainland China. Finally, we should mention the impressive study by the German historian of religions Hubert Seiwert, published in 2003, the culmination of more than a decade of research. It is a wide-ranging and nuanced analysis of new religious groups as a larger religious and sociological phenomenon in itself, rather than in terms of state or elite perceptions.16 Unlike Seiwert, however, I believe that we have not yet succeeded in properly defining the pa rameters of this phenomenon. In my opinion, we wrongly exclude a wealth of lay Buddhist and Daoist groups and networks that were not persecuted (yet were quite similar) and include a wealth of nonmessianic and/or nonrebellious groups because they happened to be persecuted by the Qing state. Sociologically and historically, the history of persecution is not the same as the history of religious innovation.17

W h a t c a n we s t i l l c o n t r i b u t e? The richness of this scholarship raises the question of what can still be added. For one, although my predecessors have found valuable and sometimes uniquely detailed materials, more can be added. Furthermore, individual Chinese and Japa-

Introduction

11

nese scholars usually focus on sources that they have discovered themselves and the reanalysis of a small selection of already known sources in light of this new material. The present investigation aims to integrate all known evidence on a single movement, as well as introducing substantial new sources. These hitherto unused sources include a collection of conversion stories from the late Ming and very early Qing, two distinct traditions of ritual manuals, various Christian sources, a Precious Scroll by a late Qing revivalist of the movement, and a variety of brief local sources (ranging from local gazetteers to post-1949 compilations on local customs and police records). Bringing all of these sources together into a single narrative should enrich our understanding of the Non-Action Teachings considerably. In addition, important contributions can be made on a methodological level. First of all, now that the term White Lotus Teachings has been shown to be a label, there is no longer any a priori reason for trying to contextualize new religious groups largely in connection with other phenomena labeled as White Lotus Teachings. Recontextualizing new religious groups yields surprising new results. I believe that the groups inspired by Luo Qing and his work did not form one coherent tradition but that they did lack a messianic orientation and should therefore not be studied on the same level as other groups that did have such an orientation. This is a fundamental difference between virtually all Chinese, Japanese, and Western secondary literature and my present endeavor. For this reason, I devote considerable attention to the purported messianic nature of the Non-Action Teachings later in this book. We first need more case studies of single groups based on a critical attitude toward traditional stereotyping and labeling, without setting out to prove that these groups really deserved to be persecuted. I also adopt a more critical approach toward our historical sources than is in evidence in much of the Chinese language research to date and in Western or Japanese publications derived from it. On the one hand, I dismiss evidence as overly mythological because it was produced much later and cannot be accepted as a historical record. On the other hand, the mythmaking process is itself always an important source of information on the mythmakers, in this case the Non-Action Teachings, and therefore needs to be given serious attention as a historical phenomenon in itself. The best example of this approach is the study of the historical and mythical figures (plural!) of Luo Qing, to which we turn in the following chapter.

2 Patriarch Luo: From Soldier to Religious Teacher .

T

he Non-Action Teachings had a very strong sense of connectedness to the early-sixteenth-century teacher and writer Patriarch Luo, whom they saw as the direct successor to the famous Sixth Patriarch, Huineng ᜻㛑. They venerated his writings and created an elaborate hagiography around him. Patriarchs Ying and Yao claimed to be his reincarnations. Because of the importance of the Five Books in Six Volumes and its author, in this chapter we investigate both the author and his works. What little is known about the historical figure of Luo Qing from the early sources is summarized first, showing that much of what we think we know is already part of a mythmaking process. This process has little to do with his real life and much to do with his growing significance as a religious figure. I also discuss some selected aspects of his writings, although we lack the space for a full analysis. The second part of this chapter deals with the spread of Patriarch Luo’s writings to the south, based mostly on one very detailed source. In the third part of this chapter, I summarize the imagined biography of Patriarch Luo as it circulated among the adherents of the Non-Action Teachings. According to this narrative, he rescued the nation from a barbarian military threat by changing arrows into lotus flowers and went on to defeat barbarian monks in religious debate. Finally, the patriarch obtained religious freedom from the emperor for those who followed his Five Books in Six Volumes. I treat this mythmaking process as an important historical phenomenon that may tell us little about the historical figure of Luo Qing but quite a bit about the reception of the patriarch and his works in the Non-Action Teachings.

The historical Patriarch Luo and his teachings The historical figure Patriarch Luo describes his route toward enlightenment in great detail in his writings but provides limited information on his age, social background, or geographical provenance. Although modern research provides such information, none of it dates back to sources contemporary to his life, and it is closely tied to the needs of a specific religious tradition.1 Instead of claiming that our account is historically accurate, we should probably settle for the less ambitious claim that 12

Patriarch Luo

13

we can reconstruct several versions of his life that were shared by different teachers and groups inspired by his writings. The author makes a few factual comments about himself at the end of his fifth book, the Precious Scroll of Deep Roots and Concluding the Fruit as Firm as the Lofty and Unmovable Mount Tai. From these comments, he was a hereditary soldier from Jimo County in Shandong who served in a border garrison in Miyun. The Ming founder, Zhu Yuanzhang, had systematized the Yuan practice of hereditary status, and this system was still functioning, at least in part, in the early sixteenth century.2 Jimo is famous as the location of Mount Lao, a well-established center of the Daoist Complete Perfection tradition. The Miyun garrison was north of Beijing, and a later source tells us it was a trade hub, suggesting that new religious ideas and texts could have spread from here through traders as well as soldiers.3 The author writes in the first person in colloquial Chinese: I (wo ៥) practiced leaving the family (normally the term for becoming an ordained monk), at home [I] took the bodhisattva vow of respecting monks, nuns, lay men and women (i.e., the four groups or sizhong ಯⴒ), practicing seven day retreats (daqi ᠧϗ) and suppressing the demons (lianmo ✝儨). [I] engaged in ascetic practice without skirting away from it. [I] developed a heart of great goodness and opened (kai 䭟) the five books of scriptures (wubu jingjuan Ѩ䚼㍧ो), to save you (ni Դ) from the bitter sea of endless rebirth to transcend the ordinary world and never to return.4 This text tells us that the patriarch did what monks in a monastery would do, but at home, probably because of his obligations as a hereditary soldier and/or duties to his family. Neither the colophon nor the original Five Books in Six Volumes gives the author’s family or personal name.5 Because all later sources agree that his family name was Luo, this much can be accepted, but his personal name differs considerably according to our sources. He is most commonly referred to respectfully as Patriarch Luo, which I therefore use most of the time in the remainder of this investigation. In 1585, the prominent late-Ming monk Hanshan Deqing ᝼ቅᖋ⏙ (1546– 1623) visited the patriarch’s region of birth near Mount Lao. There he learned that the patriarch was called Luo Qing ⏙ and had become very influential. Deqing devoted much time and energy to try to draw these local adherents back into the fold of monastic Buddhism by reconverting them and organizing projects to deal with local famines.6 Another prominent monk, Mizang ᆚ㮣 (fl. 1581–1593), writing around the same time, called him Luo Jing 䴰, which sounded similar. The adherents of the Non-Action Teachings gave him the personal name Yin ಴, which sounds similar to the other two versions. An oral biographical tradition probably existed on his life, slowly changing his original name in the process. His purported descendants assigned a completely different name to him, Luo Menghong (written 㕙ᄳ/໶匏), which I discuss further below; it is accepted as correct by most Chinese scholars on new religious groups. This more literary

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name is definitely of a much later date and does not fit the patriarch’s simple social background.7 Mizang adds that the patriarch was a soldier on the ships transporting tribute grain from the Lower Yangzi region to the capital, but this, too, may reflect his late Ming following among laborers on that fleet, rather than historical fact.8 Still, all early sources agree that he served in the army, and we may choose to take this as a fact. It certainly was an essential element of all later mythology. Beyond these biographical tidbits, all other information is dated much later and inherently unreliable.9 His dates of birth and death as customarily given in the secondary literature derive from a poem that was inserted into his Five Books in Six Volumes in the late sixteenth century at the earliest. According to this poem, he was born on January 1 (the first day of the twelft h moon month) of the year 1443 of the Western calendar. He died at the ripe old age of eighty-four on March 1, 1527 (the twenty-ninth day of the first moon month). The poem does not give his personal name, only the family name Luo.10 Most likely, the dates were created in the late sixteenth century to provide a more complete biography. Precise dates became necessary because people claimed to be his descendants (in the north) or reincarnations (in the south). The elaboration of Patriarch Luo’s biography shows an ongoing process of myth creation that is itself an important historical phenomenon. Most historians take this new information to be historically reliable rather than as evidence of the patriarch’s growing religious importance. Deconstructing each detail of these later additions would be too time consuming, but I will discuss some examples to clarify why I have not used this information in my own account. The prominent Chinese historians Ma Xisha and Han Bingfang, whose work has formed a point of departure for everybody working in the emerging field of new religious groups in China, call the patriarch Luo Menghong 㕙໶匏,11 based on an early-seventeenth-century edition of the Five Books in Six Volumes published by Wang Haichao ∾⍋╂, the Collected Explanations on the Five Sutras (wujing huijie Ѩ㍧᳗㾷).12 Most of this quasi-historical information on the patriarch’s life can be found in the first book of Wang Haichao’s edition, the Scroll on Bitter Practice and Insight in the Way (kugong wudao juan). It contains several prefaces, with additional materials at the end, including a hymn for his grave pagoda north of Beijing. The first preface, dated 1598, was written by a Presented Scholar whose family originated from Shandong, the poet and calligrapher Zhu Zhifan ᴅП㬗 (1564–1624), with the alternative name Zhu Lanou ᴅ㰁ጢ.13 We cannot be sure that Zhu wrote the preface, but it is not implausible; he also wrote a preface for, and commentary on, another book related to a new religious group, the Newly Cut Romance of [Mister] Three Teachings who Clarifies Delusions and Guides towards the Straight with Comments by Mr. Zhu Lanou (Xinjuan Zhu Lanou xiansheng piping Sanjiao kaimi guizheng yanyi ᮄ䧿ᴅ㰁ጢ‫⫳ܜ‬ᡍ䀩ϝᬭ䭟䗋⅌ℷⓨ㕽). This book takes up ideas and figures from the Three-in-One Teachings by Lin Zhaoen ᵫ‫ܚ‬ᘽ in Putian, Fujian.14 That he helped publish another book from the late-Ming world of

Patriarch Luo

15

new religious groups supports the possibility that his preface to the Five Books in Six Volumes is genuine. The second preface, dated 1613, carries the name of Zhou Rudi ਼བⷹ (1550– 1615), another Presented Scholar from Shandong. It is called “Record of Memories of the [Five] Books and Scrolls of Patriarch Luo from northern Tan Prefecture.” Tan Prefecture is an old name for the border garrison at Miyun. Zhou Rudi came from Jimo in Shandong, the same county as Patriarch Luo, and clearly was aware of local traditions on the patriarch. He notes that the border garrison was a trading center, which may have been a crucial factor in the initial spread of the patriarch’s teachings. The preface is the first source calling the patriarch Luo Menghong 㕙ᄳ匏 (i.e., not the further embellishment meng ໶). According to Zhou Rudi, the patriarch came from a Classicist background. Because he was unsuccessful in the civil ser vice examinations, he turned to preaching to help others and then attained enlightenment in a grotto (with the suspiciously familiar name of the Peach Blossom Grotto) in Tan Prefecture or Miyun. Finally, Zhou Rudi gives his date of birth as 1441 and death as 1527 (almost the same years as in the poem). At the end of the preface, he reveals his source of information as a fourth-generation descendant of the patriarch.15 Written almost a century after the death of the patriarch, Zhou Rudi’s preface is fascinating testimony to the growing mythology around the patriarch but not a reflection of established historical facts. His remark on the patriarch’s social background is also patently wrong: the author of the Five Books in Six Volumes rarely refers to any of the classics or other works from the literary canon that students would have read in preparation for the examinations. At the end of the same book, even more interesting biographical materials have been added, each of them signed by name. Yet another Presented Scholar, Wang Bingzhong ⥟⾝ᖴ, is named as the author of a laudatory hymn for the patriarch’s grave pagoda. This name, meaning “holding loyalty,” is not mentioned in the records of Ming and Qing degree holders and is probably a fiction. Other signatories are a monk in charge of the local bureau for controlling the Buddhist monastic community, a eunuch, a military official, a prefectural student, a Daoist priest, and a Buddhist monk, Daning ໻ᆻ.16 We encounter Daning again in our discussion of the southern transmission of the Five Books in Six Volumes because he was ferociously attacked by the late-sixteenth-century Buddhist monk Mizang. None of this material is attested in any edition predating Wang Haichao’s edition, which was printed in 1628–1629. Although this is fascinating material on the impact of the patriarch in the late Ming period, it tells us nothing about his actual life and times. Instead, the mythmaking process reflects his followers’ desire for more facts about the patriarch’s life in what was, after all, a thoroughly historically minded society. It is also part of the reading experience that is so central to this investigation. For a few decades following the fi rst publication of Patriarch Luo’s original writings in the very early sixteenth century, we hear very little about him or his teachings, but around the middle of that century, his writings

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became increasingly popular. The mythmaking process was a response to this increasing popularity, which was primarily based on the reading (and no doubt reciting and memorizing) of these texts, rather than oral transmission by the patriarch himself. Nobody had actually met the patriarch in real life, so a biography had to be invented, on the basis of oral traditions, to accompany these texts. The only certainty is that someone has written down his religious views and experiences in five works that eventually became known as the Five Books in Six Volumes because one of these works had two volumes. The oldest edition of the Five Books in Six Volumes seems to date back to 1509, but the earliest extant datable edition is from 1518. The work continued to be copied or printed, sometimes even reworked, throughout the following centuries.17 Clearly, the impact of the author of the Five Books in Six Volumes on late imperial China is comparable with that of some of the great teachers and preachers of the Reformation in Europe during the sixteenth century. The author’s systematic account of his own road to religious enlightenment is in the first of the five books, the Scroll of Bitter Practice (kugong juan). This account is entirely without quotations and in easy-to-follow vernacular Chinese.18 The first big step in his learning process was following a master who told him to recite the name of Amitābha. This was essentially an oral practice without textual study. After eight years, he was so frustrated by his lack of insight into how he would eventually ascend to the Pure Land that he left his teacher in search of more answers. Now came a formative moment in his life, for in a neighboring house the old mother had died, and monks were reciting scriptures, specifically the Graded Ritual of the Diamond Sutra ( jin’gang keyi). He listened to them at night and heard the line “One must accept in faith, pick it up and investigate it oneself.”19 His heart was instantly fi lled with joy; “he requested a copy of the Graded Ritual of the Diamond Sutra and read it in its entirety in three years.” Interestingly, he uses the vernacular term “to read, to see” (kan ⳟ) and not an equivalent that meant reciting or studying. Thus, he really meant reading by means of the eye, rather than by sound and through his ears.20 In terms of practice, however, he continued to be afraid of rebirth and was not happy with his progress in understanding this text. He continued with a variety of practices, all of which he found unsatisfactory, much like the historical Buddha, who had also tried alternative ways before finally reaching the middle path. None of these other practices involved reading, and no texts are referred to in his description. Finally, after thirteen years of trying, he became aware that everything is empty. He describes this final step as follows: I had searched until this point and came to realize that I was a truly empty dharma nature, but I still did not know the state of being at ease in all directions and I also did not know how to calm down when I was about to die. The matter of life and death is big and I did not wish to set my search aside. Life and death are impermanent; how could I escape the moment between breathing in and out, the bitterness of going under. Day and night I worried and in my dreams I was

Patriarch Luo

17

in tears and pain. This startled and moved the Old True Emptiness to show great compassion. A band of white light was set free from the Southwest that enveloped and illuminated my body. In my dreams it enveloped and inspected, but after it had inspected it went forth and my worries did not stop. Facing the Southwest I sat upright in meditation and suddenly the flower of my heart blossomed and the ground of my heart was opened up, making totally clear the evanescent light of the land of origin (i.e., one’s original nature, often described in spatial terms). Only at this point did I achieve a state of being at ease in all directions, and only now did I attain unfettered peace. The author describes his conclusion that everything is truly empty and void in a remarkable metaphor: “This namelessness cannot be put in any written form, even with the water of the ocean as ink and Mount Sumeru as brush.” At first sight, this metaphor does not prioritize writing, stressing the inability of ink and brush, of whatever size and shape, to capture the ultimate emptiness of all things. Yet, the very nature of this image presupposes an audience that primarily thinks in terms of writing. In English, it is common to describe the state of mind Patriarch Luo reached as enlightenment, although the original Chinese term is better translated as “ insight” (wu ᙳ). However, the metaphor of light plays a crucial role in the patriarch’s description of this state of mind, making the Western term enlightenment surprisingly apt, not in the sense of receiving a light, but of radiating one’s light out into the world. This light then is the Pure Land of the West. This light then is Extreme Pleasure and Comfortable Support. This light then is the world hidden in the lotus flower. This light is the home region of the Old Buddha. In the second half of this much longer enumeration, the pattern changes slightly, from bodies, locations, or worlds to states of emptiness: As for this numinous light, when the four [Buddhist] elements [earth, water, fire, and air] disperse [at death], you will not live and not be destroyed, and it will shine in all ten directions. As for this numinous light, when the four elements will disperse, the divine penetration will be wide and great, and it cannot be measured. The text goes on in a similar vein for many lines. The light of his insight penetrates and illuminates all distinctions and ways of being as empty. The light metaphor is striking and must have been highly meaningful to its audience. The Chinese traditionally conceived of seeing with the eyes as emitting light. In addition, any devout Buddhist who recited a Pure Land sutra would be aware that,

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according to The Sutra on the Buddha of Infinite Life, Amitābha, too, emitted light that illuminated the entire universe.21 True understanding comes from this all-penetrating-light, rather than through reading and writing. Patriarch Luo reached his insights after a long period of soul searching. He taught about the insufficiency of both the ritualistic worship of Amitābha and the exclusive recitation of this Buddha’s name. Instead, he wanted people to rely on individual disciplined practice, as the Buddha and the Pure Land are within oneself rather than outside somewhere in the material world. He disapproved of the notion that only properly ordained monks could attain real understanding. Insight into the ultimate emptiness of everything, including all forms of ritualistic cultivation, can be transmitted through a ritual of opening an inner eye that can penetrate everything. The importance of the self, as the basis of religious experience, is absolutely crucial to the Non-Action Teachings.22

T h e i m p o r t a n c e o f t h e Fi ve B o o k s i n S i x Vo l u m e s The titles of the Five Books in Six Volumes are usually abbreviated because they are very long. However, here I mention them in full in their traditional sequence, including the abbreviations I use in this study: 1. Scroll on Bitter Practice and Enlightenment in the Way (kugong wudao juan 㢺ࡳᙳ䘧ो) (one volume, no subdivisions) (abbreviation: Scroll of Bitter Practice [kugong juan]) 2. Scroll of Lamenting the World and Non-Action (tanshi wuwei juan ௚Ϫ⛵ ⠆ो) (one volume; thirteen subdivisions [pin ક]) (abbreviation: Scroll of Lamenting the World [tanshi juan]) 3. Scroll of the Key to Destroying Heresy and Manifesting Evidence (poxie xianzheng yaoshi juan ⸈䙾乃䄝䩄࣭ो) (two volumes; twenty-four subdivisions) (abbreviation: Scroll of Destroying Heresy [poxie juan]) 4. Precious Scroll of Orthodox Faith and Removing Doubts without Cultivation and Spontaneously (zhengxin chuyi wuxiu zizai juan ℷֵ䰸⭥⛵ׂ㞾 ೼ᇇो) (one volume; twenty-five subdivisions) (abbreviation: Scroll of Orthodox Faith [zhengxin juan]) 5. Precious Scroll [as Firm as] the Lofty and Unshakable Mount Tai of Concluding Karma from Deep Roots (weiwei budong taishan shen’gen jieguo baojuan ᎡᎡϡࢩ⋄ቅ⏅ḍ㌤ᵰᇇो) (one volume; twenty-four subdivisions) (abbreviation: Scroll of Mount Tai [taishan juan]) As the text of the Scroll of Destroying Heresy is almost twice as long as the next two scrolls, it was split into two volumes. The first reference to the Five Books in Six Volumes as a group is in the books themselves, for instance, in the brief autobiographical comments quoted earlier. The text only mentions the “Five Books of Scriptures” (wubu jingjuan) and does not yet specify the number of volumes. The author suggests elsewhere in the Five Books in Six Volumes that he is using the term part in a very specific meaning,

Patriarch Luo

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based on the Buddhist tradition of referring to five important groups of sutras as the five principal parts of the Buddhist teachings that were divulged by the Buddha at different stages in his teaching career. According to early Buddhist theorizers, this also reflected a hierarchy of texts, but I have found no indication that Patriarch Luo had a similar intention.23 Since “five parts” yields a rather cumbersome translation, I prefer to use the term books, in the sense of books as parts of a larger whole, for instance, in the Christian or Hebrew Bibles. In the first section of his fift h book, Scroll of Mount Tai (taishan juan), the author is quite explicit about the importance of his writings as a summation of Buddhist teachings. One is reborn in the world of the living to run a stretch, but does not succeed in turning around. The dumb-witted people suffer untold bitterness, pitifully, as if in a dream. [What I write here] is evidence based on extensive perusal and compilation (lanji 㾑䲚), and these are not empty words. So, I (wo ៥), the householder, have preserved an ego all day long. I (wo ៥) have kept my ego thirty years, forty years, and fift y years. When the dharma (i.e., the Buddhist teachings) was explained [I] did not value it and did not listen to it in my heart. Towards the outside world [I] claimed to be strong and spoke nonsense, giving rise to the disease of doubt. Completely obscured, [I] backed off from the way. Male and female Bodhisattvas of the ten directions (i.e., lay believers), if you hear nonsense and produce the disease of doubt [as I did for so many years], quickly listen to my Five Books of Scriptures, in order to rescue you from your disease of doubt and [understand] that nothing really exists. If [I] am not speaking true and veritable words, my body should turn into puss and blood this very moment.24 The first person is used explicitly twice in this text; the author is using a more vernacular register of writing in which this is far more common than in classical Chinese writing. The author seems to be looking back at his overall opus as a summary of the Buddhist canon. The self-imprecation he employs was a common method of swearing to the truth in Chinese religious practice, including the violent punishment for transgressions of the oath. At one point, the ritual manual of the Non-Action Teachings also makes clear that the movement saw this text as a summation of the Buddhist canon as a whole.25 The dialogue of the two sharpwitted women, with which I started this investigation, made the same point, and, indeed, the Five Books in Six Volumes has remained the central text of the Non-Action Teachings to this very day. In his Five Books in Six Volumes, Patriarch Luo detailed a very individualistic route toward obtaining true understanding, unlike the more traditional Buddhist approach of the Song and Yuan periods, which stressed legitimate transmission from a properly recognized teacher. This text may well be the first (extant) more or less autobiographical writing in which an inspired teacher, outside mainstream Buddhism, wrote down his Werdegang in such detail and in vernacular Chinese.

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It was also probably intended to serve as a model for others, and given their many reprints, these books clearly touched a nerve in their audience. They were written in a mixture of vernacular Chinese interspersed with lengthy quotations from Buddhist scriptures in classical Chinese. The argumentation is often repetitive and fragmentary, with quotations out of context and even partly incorrect.26 Although educated elites often despised the poor quality of the language, the combination of personal experience and authority, derived from the Buddhist canon, in the Five Books in Six Volumes was innovative and convincing to many. The Non-Action Teachings transmitted a major edition of the Five Books in Six Volumes, titled Essence of the Dharma Which Opens Up the Heart (kaixin fayao 䭟ᖗ⊩㽕). This edition contained an extensive commentary by the monk Lanfeng 㰁乼 and was reprinted with further additions in 1596 by the monk’s pupil, the Man of the Way Wang Yuanjing ⥟⑤䴰 from Suzhou. Judging by his name, which lacks the usual religious affi liation character pu ᱂, he was not connected to the Non-Action Teachings.27 We discuss Lanfeng more later. This 1596 edition has formed the basis of our academic understanding of the Five Books in Six Volumes because it used to be the most widely available edition, thanks to the Non-Action Teachings itself. The Taiwanese scholar Lin Chaocheng has recently made available a collated edition based on editions from the early sixteenth century, showing the accretion and changes since the original version was produced.28 The printing history of the Five Books in Six Volumes has been studied extensively by successive Japanese and Chinese scholars. Although entire print runs were sometimes destroyed (for instance, in 1618), and financing would have been difficult (one edition was started in the late sixteenth century and printed only in 1628–1629), it was reprinted and copied many times through the centuries.29 The Non-Action Teachings raised the importance of this text to a wholly different level by focusing on the whole and treating it as a physical object of worship to the extent of creating a separate ritual for it. Very likely they were also the first to started referring to the books by their physical appearance, changing from the author’s own appellation of “Five Books of Scriptures” to Five Books in Six Volumes. The complete set of a Ming edition forms a pile of several decimeters high when the volumes are placed on the altar, creating a very substantial presence. During the ritual of “Lighting the Candles,” the Five Books in Six Volumes would be recited from the actual scrolls in their entirety for several days. In terms of their self-understanding, the Non-Action Teachings worshipped the entire Buddhist canon in the form of an anthology intermingled with a highly personal account of religious experiences, the Five Books in Six Volumes. This was a major change to previous practices in which a layperson would specialize in a single text, or part of a text, revealed by the Buddha and then leave the rest of the canon largely untouched. Moreover, as far as our documentation allows us to see, they did not recite it individually on a daily basis as part of a kind of catechism, but always collectively in the ritual of “Lighting the Candles.”30

Patriarch Luo

21

The impact of Luo Qing’s teachings The impact of Luo Qing’s writings in northern China, in the course of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, was considerable, although in the long run other new religious groups, such as the Broad Yang Teachings, became more prominent in the north. Here I first briefly discuss this northern impact, referring to the cult of Luo Qing’s grave and the role of his writings as a model for authors of new scriptures or as a target to be attacked. By analyzing a late-sixteenth-century Buddhist attack on the popularity of Luo Qing’s writings, I will try to understand the southward propagation of the Five Books in Six Volumes. According to the author of this attack, Luo Qing and the people who were influenced by his writings fundamentally misunderstood the proper form for the transmission of a Chan-type enlightenment. I therefore also discuss the way the Non-Action Teachings incorporated different practices and stories that we conventionally consider to be part of the Chan Buddhist tradition.

The northern impact of Luo Qing and his works Although clearly Luo Qing and his Five Books in Six Volumes initially found an eager following in the north, the evidence is insufficient to reconstruct a fullblown movement, if such a group ever existed.31 From the early seventeenth century on, some people in northern China with the family name Luo claimed to be his descendants.32 We cannot verify this assertion, but the very fact that it was made is evidence of the patriarch’s growing prestige.33 Stories circulated in Shandong about the patriarch who had meditated alone in a cave until he died (or was transformed to a higher plane of existence). His purported grave, with a pagoda, near the border garrison of Miyun, became the object of local worship. None of this led to the formation of a religious group, and in the early eighteenth century the grave was destroyed at the orders of the central Qing government.34 Whereas the grave cult of Patriarch Luo remained localized in scope, his writings became widely influential. A northern Chinese Precious Scroll from 1564 heavily criticizes the ideas of Patriarch Luo and the Non-Action Teachings, including their equation of the cosmos with the self, their rejection of incense burning and paper money (i.e., ritual money and not the real thing), and their rejection of buddhas and other divine beings as forms of attachment.35 We do not know whether the text is referring to the southern movement discussed in this book or more generally to the message of the Five Books in Six Volumes. At the very least, this attack confirms the popularity of the patriarch’s writings around the middle of the sixteenth century. Other late-Ming religious teachers, active in northern China, constructed a teacher-pupil genealogy going back to Patriarch Luo. Much of this lineage is most likely fictional, but again it testifies to his religious significance at the time. These self-styled pupils wrote texts, which are known, for instance, as the “Two Volumes of Scriptures” (ercejing Ѡ‫ݞ‬㍧), “Three Volumes of Scriptures” (sancejing ϝ‫ݞ‬㍧), “Six Books” (liubu ݁䚼), or even “Seven Books” (qibu ϗ䚼), always using the same type of title but with different

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numbers.36 In addition, the names “Two Volumes of Scriptures” and “Th ree Volumes of Scriptures” take up the later appellation of the Five Books in Six Volumes that appears to have been an innovation of the Non-Action Teachings. Even the founder of another widely popular new religious group, the Broad Yang (hongyang ᓬ䱑) Teachings in northern China, Han Taihu 䶧໾␪ (also known as Piaogao 亘催; ca. 1570–1598), felt the impact of Patriarch Luo’s writings. The titles of several scriptures ascribed to Han Taihu were inspired by the individual titles of the Five Books in Six Volumes and contain numerous references to the patriarch’s writings. Han Taihu’s writing style is fundamentally different: he wrote new texts with barely any quotations, whereas Patriarch Luo quoted copiously from the Buddhist canon. The Broad Yang Teachings is based on a messianic narrative around the Unborn Venerable Mother and the banishment of her children to Earth, but Patriarch Luo never tells any story beyond his own search for enlightenment.37 Han Taihu lists three previous religious incarnations of the Sandalwood Buddha, namely, the Pole Bearing Monk, who carried 5,048 scrolls of scriptures to the Thunderclap Monastery; the Tang Monk (the name of Xuanzang ⥘༬ in the narrative tradition of the “Journey to the West”), who went to the Thunderclap Monastery to fetch these scriptures and bring them to China; and Patriarch Luo, who wrote the Five Books and Six Volumes. This is, of course, an impressive genealogy, once again showing the status of the “Journey to the West” narrative that we also saw in the anecdote of the two ladies who equated the novel itself to the Five Books in Six Volumes, as discussed in our introduction. Han Taihu depicts himself as the last in this line of incarnations. He goes on to state that the teachings of the Five Books and Six Volumes “delude people and exhort them to transform” and “that the entire All-under-heaven knows them, yet how could they be compared to my Gate of the Muddled Origin?”38 Clearly, Patriarch Luo’s reputation was such that Han Taihu could not avoid mentioning him, even though the patriarch’s doctrinal influence on him was probably negligible. Finally, we need to mention a movement that actually worshipped Patriarch Luo among the laborers on the fleet that transported tribute grain from the Lower Yangzi region to the capital and that seems to have started in northern China. The late-sixteenth-century monk Mizang already classified the patriarch as a grain-transport laborer, and a late-Ming local gazetteer from the Grand Canal region specifies that his adherents were living close to the canal. Eighteenthcentury sources record that these laborers worshipped Patriarch Luo, recited sutras, and shared a vegetarian lifestyle. They venerated the Five Books in Six Volumes, as well as other Buddhist texts such as the Diamond Sutra, but did not produce religious scriptures of their own. We know little of their further beliefs, but they did not embrace the radical religious program of the Five Books in Six Volumes. It seems that they worshipped the patriarch more as one of their Shandong compatriots than anything else. By the mid-eighteenth century, the movement functioned mostly as a mutual support institution for followers, among whom laborers on the Grand Canal tribute fleet dominated. This social context also limited their geographical spread to the economic zone of the Grand Canal.

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With the increasing repression of new religious groups in the second half of the eighteenth century, the movement faded away and was replaced by more straightforward interest groups of transport laborers.39 As far as I know, this is the only other new religious movement based on the figure of Patriarch Luo that survived the late Ming period. It always remained completely separate from the NonAction Teachings of Patriarchs Ying and Yao. Only after it had transformed itself into an interest group, best known in the literature as the Green Gangs, did it incorporate the foundation myth of the Non-Action Teachings, with which it had undoubtedly come into contact in the Lower Yangzi region. After doing so, this group also made substantial changes in the quasi-historical details of the myth.40

T h e s o u t h e r n r e c e p t i o n o f t h e Fi ve B o o k s i n S i x Vo l u m e s The Non-Action Teachings movement, as founded by the Patriarchs Ying and Yao, was directly based on the writings of Patriarch Luo, which were transmitted to the south by the 1550s or even earlier. Around 1553, the Buddhist monk Zongben ᅫᴀ, from Ningbo, had already written: “They teach people that the Buddha need not be worshipped, incense need not be burned, injunctions need not be kept, and the sutras need not be recited.” 41 Sadly, he does not more precisely identify the people about whom he is writing. Not much later, we find an attack on the Five Books in Six Volumes by Zhuhong ⼽ᅣ (1535–1615), one of the most famous Buddhist monks of his time, active in the Hangzhou region. In an introductory booklet on the Pure Land, with a preface from 1584, he criticized the “fellows of the Five Books in Six Volumes” for their claims of Non-Action and their rejection of the worship of statues.42 He continued to attack these books and their followers throughout his career, for the last time in a 1615 collection of notes that was published posthumously. According to him, they used quotations of Shakyamuni and thought they had some knowledge. As a result, they worshipped the “Man of the Way Luo” (no doubt our patriarch) and wrote commentaries on his Five Books in Six Volumes, turning themselves into the laughingstock of their contemporaries.43 Zhuhong seems to be referring to the commentaries by Lanfeng, republished, for instance, in 1596 as the Essence of the Dharma Which Opens Up the Heart (kaixin fayao) and the main edition used by the Non-Action Teachings from the seventeenth century. Clearly, by the late sixteenth century, the Five Books in Six Volumes had built up such a following that the Buddhist establishment in southern China was getting really worried. Mizang on Lanfeng, the commentator of the Five Books in Six Volumes The most detailed example of this concern is in the writings of the Buddhist monk Mizang ᆚ㮣 (fl. 1581–1593), titled Survey of Sutras and Books Left Out of the Canon (yijingshu biaomu 㮣䘌㍧᳌῭Ⳃ) and containing two relevant discussions. First, Mizang attacks his contemporary Lanfeng, a monk who authored a now lost work titled “Collection of a Pure Vessel” (binghu ji ‫ބ‬໎䲚). Then he attacks the Five Books in Six Volumes in a separate discussion.44 The two essays are

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usually read as evidence on the spread of Luo’s teachings as a whole, but in my opinion they are much more interesting because they provide specific information on the early history of the Non-Action Teachings in the south and the precise route through which it descended from the historical figure Luo Qing and his writings. Mizang starts out with a description of Lanfeng’s claim to enlightenment, which he felt was unjustified and led to uncontrolled preaching. In his words: The master’s appellation was Lanfeng. At the time, he achieved some illumination (guangjing ‫ܝ‬᱃) through silent meditation, and without a [proper] master he took it for a breakthrough by shouting, and thereupon considered it illumination into the Way. He became very elated and was possessed by demons. Thereupon he lifted his fingers and raised his hands, and made all kinds of nonsensical statements. North and south of the Feng Hills, he called himself “Ironmouth” and was totally shameless. This extremely derogatory language obscures the fact that most of Lanfeng’s activities fall within regular Buddhist practice. Normally speaking, Lanfeng would have meditated on a “formulation” (huatou 䁅丁). These phrases were derived from so-called public cases (gongan ݀Ḝ), which provided a wider narrative context, or rather legitimacy, by connecting the phrases to a famous teacher, but rarely offered a full explanation. The formulations served as a focal point for years of meditation, with the aim of forcing the practitioner to transcend all dualistic thought, or even thought per se, by providing a flash of insight rather than an intellectual understanding.45 After the meditator achieved this insight, it had to be confirmed by a teacher whose own enlightenment had also been properly recognized, ideally creating a lineage going back to the Chan patriarchs of the Tang period—and from there ultimately to the historical Buddha himself through a direct line of oral transmission. In the fragment here, Mizang first observes that Lanfeng had declared himself to be enlightened after achieving a breakthrough in meditation. The “shout” he mentions refers to the shouting by his teacher (or, in this case, his own) with the purpose of startling a practitioner into enlightenment. To make such a claim without the appropriate validation by a recognized master was an evident breach of protocol and therefore highly problematic to an elite monk such as Mizang, but much less so to others, who were primarily interested in obtaining the core experience involved in “public cases” and not in issues of legitimacy. The second critical remark, referring to Lanfeng’s nonsensical language, is more obscure, but I think it refers to his subsequent practice of public cases with their oft en cryptic formulations. Calling this activity “shameless” again refers to the breach of protocol, not to shameless behavior in the modern sexualized sense of the word. Mizang also informs us that at one point Lanfeng lived in a monastery in Suzhou, in the middle of the Lower Yangzi region. He had read Lanfeng’s works in 1581, when staying in a monastery in Hangzhou, providing a datum ante quem for the man’s life. He also notes that Lanfeng’s “evaluative hymns” (pingsong 䀩䷠)

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on the Five Books in Six Volumes of Man of the Way Luo (luodao 㕙䘧) had greatly assisted in the spread of that work. Mizang on the Non-Action Teachings In his second discussion, Mizang directs his attention to the Five Books in Six Volumes, starting with an attack on the author. During the Zhengde-period (1506–1522) there was a grain-transport soldier named Luo Jing 㕙䴰 from Jimo County in Shandong. In his early years he was holding fasts, and one day he encountered a heretic master who transmitted an oral spell to him of the dharma-teachings ( famen koujue ⊩䭔ষ㿷). He sat in meditation for thirteen years and suddenly saw a light in the southeast. He then considered this attaining the Way. As in Lanfeng’s case, Mizang’s main point of criticism was someone’s claim of enlightenment without proper validation by a recognized master. He refers to the enlightenment experience of Luo Qing and how the latter equated his newly acquired insight to a ray of light, which I discussed earlier. Mizang makes one minor mistake here, for Luo Qing described himself as facing southwest, rather than southeast as stated by Mizang. What Mizang means by the “oral spell of the dharma teachings” remains unclear; this is not mentioned in the original Five Books in Six Volumes. Mizang continues his attack by lambasting the quality of Luo’s writing. Given his mistakes, he was clearly relying on his memory of what he had read in the Hangzhou monastery in 1581, rather than on the physical texts themselves. [Luo] falsely quoted statements from the sutras as evidence. He called his Scrolls ( juan) Five Books (wubu Ѩ䚼), entitled “Bitter Practice and Enlightenment in the Way,” “Lamenting the World and Non-Action,” “The Key to Destroying Heresy and Manifesting Evidence,” “Loft y and Unshakable Mount Tai.” One [of the five titles] I have forgotten. The scroll “Destroying Heresy” has a first and a second volume (ce ‫)ݞ‬, hence they are called Five Books in Six Volumes (Wubu liuce Ѩ䚼݁‫)ݞ‬. The term Five Books goes back to the original text, as we have seen, but the term Six Volumes is used here for the first time in an extant written source. Most likely it had already been circulating under this title for a while, but this cannot be confirmed in other sources. It was never written on actual printed editions until many centuries later and seems to have been a typical oral appellation stressing physical appearance. Mizang continues with a lament of the impact of these texts, which also provides important empirical information. At the time there was the monk Daning ໻ᆻ who personally received [Luo Qing’s teachings] and served him as his master. Lanfeng also

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privately cultivated himself and assisted [Daning]. They caused [Luo’s] teachings to flourish today within the realm and it cannot be wiped out anymore. Non-Action (wuwei ⛵⚎), Great Vehicle (dacheng ໻Ь), and Non-Recitation (wunian ⛵ᗉ) are all names for these teachings. We may begin by noting that Mizang was active largely in the south and that the autonyms (names chosen by a group to refer to itself, rather than labels applied from the outside) Non-Action and Great Vehicle in southern China usually referred to one and the same movement.46 The third name is not attested elsewhere. It may reflect one of the tenets of Patriarch Luo—namely, that reciting the name of Amitābha was pointless (hence the translation Non-Recitation)—but it can also be read as the translation of the technical term a-smŗti or “non-mindfulness.” 47 In the latter sense, it was the aim of Buddhist meditation and therefore also meaningful in this context. Mizang considers them alternative names for the same tradition, which he links to the teachings of Daning and Lanfeng and ultimately to Patriarch Luo himself. The fact that Lanfeng’s edition of the Five Books in Six Volumes became standard in the Non-Action Teachings further confirms that Mizang is referring here to this specific tradition. In a seventeenth-century conversion account from the Non-Action Teachings, a Buddhist monk asks his visitors whether they happened to be followers of Teacher Lanfeng. They answered in the affirmative.48 They perceived themselves as descending intellectually from Lanfeng, although I suspect that this was inspired by the edition of the Five Books in Six Volumes they used, rather than a direct personal connection. In the following passage, Mizang gives us a description of some of the teachings and practices of the followers of Lanfeng, which bear interesting resemblances to those of the Non-Action Teachings. Some take a solemn oath accompanied by self-imprecations in the silent night in the third watch (geng ᳈, i.e., the double hour around midnight) to transmit an oral spell in secret. Others firmly close the six gates, clench their fists, and close their mouths, to recite silently,49 and rescue the people of today out of the sea of bitterness. Some claim that whoever or whatever man sees with his eyes, hears with his ears, and walks upon with his feet all becomes Buddha. Everything the great Buddha or small Buddha, a male Buddha or female Buddha do is a Buddha-affair, so why divide between pure and profane, what to select or reject, and with what to cultivate? But when their lives are about to end, they are not one bit worried and consider it to be returning home. All of these are their teachings. Mizang’s comments are, of course, intended as criticism and can hardly be taken to form a balanced description. Nonetheless, we can provide some meaningful context to his remarks on the basis of our knowledge of the practices of the NonAction Teachings.

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The first comment mentions the transmission of a spell accompanied by an oral oath, including self-imprecations listing the supernatural punishments that would befall those who did not keep the oath. At the first level of the initiation into the Non-Action Teachings, the adherent received a poem of twenty-eight characters, accompanied by an oath and a self-imprecation. The poem was not to be revealed to the uninitiated.50 Such oaths were an extremely common practice in premodern China.51 Around 1604, a Fujianese official described the spread of the movement and their practice of “a spell at night in a secret room.”52 In the second comment, Mizang describes a practitioner engaged in inner meditation, which is common in both Daoist and Buddhist practices. Its purpose is described as saving people from the sea of bitterness, in other words, from a life of suffering determined by one’s karmic burden and endless transmigration. It is such a broad description that it fits most forms of meditation, including that of the Non-Action Teachings. However, it also fits the movement’s ritual practices, which explicitly involve the circulation of Qi and the closing of the Six Gates.53 The third comment recalls an old accusation made two centuries before against the historical White Lotus movement of the Song and Yuan period, namely, that its followers believed the Buddha to be present in everybody, making the worship of an external Buddha superfluous. As we will see, this view is entirely in line with the ritual iconophobia and pro-lay position of the Non-Action Teachings. Whereas in the case of the White Lotus movement of an earlier age we are almost exclusively informed through external and unsympathetic observers, in the case of the Non-Action Teachings we have internal evidence, to be analyzed in later chapters, that fully confirms this point of view. Mizang then continues with a lament on the success of these people in expanding their following: They camp together like ants and gather like wild geese, singing gathas ( jie ‫ )؜‬and intoning the name of the Buddha. One cannot describe or sum up the ways in which they mix together in heretic licentiousness, or the ways in which they are lusting after and blinded by baseness and filthiness. Yet the simple men and women enjoy participating and they give free rein to their covetous and licentious feelings. Despite prohibitions to prevent people from converting to it,54 this has remained unsuccessful. Although their teachings are not the White Lotus [Teachings], the damage they cause is even worse than the White Lotus [Teachings]! Mizang was not attacking just a few isolated individuals, but a real social movement of groups of people engaged in collective religious practice. Singing or reciting gathas is an important part of the ritual practice of the Non-Action Teachings, as we learn from the life stories of the Patriarchs Ying and Yao, as well as from the ritual manuals, although hardly unique to them. Mizang does not link the sixteenth-century groups to the lay Buddhist White Lotus movement of several centuries before, but is comparing these groups to the White Lotus Teachings in

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the term’s newly acquired and much broader meaning of “dangerous religious phenomena.” In his concluding comments, Mizang informs us about further writings by the monk Daning: Daning wrote two further volumes [entitled] “Filial Piety and Righteousness,” as well as the “Record of Returning into the Void” and the “Gatha of the Dharmaboat.”55 His pupil lives at the Goat-blood Ford in the north of Nancheng County in Jiangxi. In addition, he wrote [Precious] Scrolls ( juan) [titled] “Understanding the Meaning of the Heart Sutra” and “Understanding the Meaning of the Diamond [Sutra]” in several volumes. All of them are texts in the vein of mountain songs or wild tunes. Daning is usually considered a direct pupil of Luo Qing, but the only hard evidence for this relationship is a laudatory poem ascribed to him that purports to go back to a meeting of Luo Qing’s followers in 1518. It has been appended to one of the Five Books in Six Volumes in the Wang Haichao edition, first printed in 1628–1629. As I have already argued, this material is part of the sixteenth- and early-seventeenth-century mythmaking process and not reliable historical evidence.56 People at the time clearly believed that Daning was a pupil of Luo Qing and could transmit his teachings in a faithful way. The book titles Mizang mentioned can no longer be identified, but there is a curious similarity between one of the titles ascribed to Daning and a specific work used by the Non-Action Teachings. In 1582, on the fifteenth day of the seventh month, Patriarch Ying held his final gathering with his followers. Among the texts he mentioned was Mingzong’s Precious Scroll on Filial Piety and Righteousness (mingzong xiaoyi baojuan ᯢᅫᄱ㕽ᇊो). This book has two volumes, the first dealing with Filial Piety and the second with Righteousness. The patriarch clearly did not write this text; it was already in existence. He may have acquired it when he was still an ordinary convert, and it may well be the book “Filial Piety and Righteousness” ascribed to Daning.57 The author of the undated preface to a late-Qing printed edition of the text, transmitted by the Non-Action Teachings, refers to a Five Books of Scriptures by Patriarch Luo (Luozu wubu jingjuan 㕙⼪Ѩ䚼㍧ो), which he qualifies as “Patriarch Daning’s heart lineage” (daning zuxinzong ໻ᆻ⼪ᖗᅫ). Somehow he also connected Mingzong’s Precious Scroll on Filial Piety and Righteousness to Daning and his lineage, which certainly fits Mizang’s analysis.58 Sadly, we lack more reliable evidence. All in all, Mizang’s two accounts describe a vibrant lay Buddhist milieu in southern China. Adherents had taken up the Five Books in Six Volumes by Luo Qing and incorporated new texts (such as the book ascribed to Daning) and an exegetical commentary (by Lanfeng). Mizang read Lanfeng’s works in 1581, meaning that Lanfeng had been active during the 1570s or even earlier. In terms of ideas and practices, the groups Mizang described sound surprisingly similar to the historical White Lotus movement during the southern Song and Yuan (not to

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be confused with the groups later labeled as such). Moreover, specific details of Mizang’s second attack on Luo Qing and his southern followers correspond surprisingly well to the actual practices and beliefs held by our movement in the late-Ming period and after. Mizang’s comments also indicate that the primary contact point between north and south was texts, rather than a series of missionaries. The figures of Daning and Lanfeng are mentioned in the context of the transmission of texts and not as traveling preachers. Only after the texts had reached Jiangxi does he mention the names of actual teachers again, although we know next to nothing of their background. Mizang’s principal objection is that Daning and Lanfeng have arrogated the autonomy of self-reflection (the “I” as a text one can study by oneself ) and the interpretation of texts, rather than deferring to teachers whose enlightenment has been properly validated within an established lineage of similarly validated enlightened teachers. The remarks by Zongben, Zhuhong, and Mizang indicate that the NonAction Teachings already existed as a full-fledged movement by the time Patriarch Ying became active in the late 1570s. Although Patriarch Ying claimed to be the incarnation of Patriarch Luo, he was by no means the founder of the southern movement because he was converted within an existing network in southern Zhejiang that already used the religious affi liation character pu. Much later, Patriarch Yao would write a poem lamenting the parallel existence of the teachings of Luo, Yin (the family name by which Patriarch Ying was known in Yao’s lineage), and Yao, suggesting that decades later there were still three independent yet interrelated traditions.59 In the second half of the sixteenth century, the Five Books in Six Volumes made their appearance in a preexisting southern lay Buddhist milieu, and an entirely new movement took shape, combining ideas from this text with the southern customs of the religious affi liation character pu as part of one’s personal name and the conclusion of a sacred oath to accompany the transmission of the teachings. Although Ying Ji’nan and Yao Wenyu were not the real founders of this movement (who remain anonymous), these two men eventually acquired so much respect and legitimacy that, by the Qing period, they nonetheless came to be seen as the true patriarchs.

T h e C h a n d i m e n s i o n o f t h e N o n - Ac t i o n Te a c h i n g s Mizang and his colleagues did not use the terms Chan or Buddhism and simply stated that these people’s practices and beliefs were distortions of the proper forms of practice and belief. We may still choose to call them Chan and/or Buddhist because these terms play such an important role in our own scholarly discourse, but the fact remains that these categories are largely ours and not theirs. As Robert Sharf has pointed out in his discussion of the much-vaunted syncretism of Pure Land and Chan Buddhism, the Pure Land ideal of entering rebirth in Amitābha’s Western Paradise, in order to be guaranteed Buddhahood, has never really formed the core of an institutionally separate Chinese tradition of Buddhism. Instead, it was always part of a larger repertoire of Buddhist beliefs and practices that were also often warmly embraced by those we are accustomed

30

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to labeling Chan monks. There have been rhetorical claims to the contrary, for instance, in the late-Ming and Qing periods. According to Sharf, these were inspired by the need to revitalize a contemporary Chan monastic community, perceived as degenerate, by means of imbuing them with the purity of Pure Land lay practice. Sharf points out that the notion of Chan and Pure Land as separate institutional units is a distortion produced by looking at Chinese Buddhism through the lenses of Japanese Buddhist historiography.60 On the other hand, as shown later in this section, adherents of the NonAction Teachings actually used the term Chan. Moreover, their initiation rituals show important similarities to monastic practices in the transmission of religious understanding that we traditionally label Chan in the academic field of Buddhist studies. I think that, given Mizang’s criticisms of the movement, briefly investigating how the Non-Action Teachings drew on elements of the Chan style of transmission is worthwhile. I do so around three crucial elements of this style: the construction of a lineage, the transmission of an inner truth, and stories around the ultimate example of the Chan style of transmission, Huineng or the Sixth Patriarch. This Chan style of transmission ideally formed part of a larger Buddhist lifestyle. Again, the qualification as “Buddhist” is our own analytical distinction. Since I find it convenient to use some kind of label, I will continue to use this term for people who took the Three Refuges and consciously maintained the Five Injunctions. Taking the Three Refuges in the Buddha, the Dharma (i.e., the Buddhist teachings), and the Sangha (i.e., the Buddhist monastic community) implies relying on the force of these Three Treasures to escape the cycle of life and death. But being a Buddhist was first and foremost a way of living, which at a minimum meant observing the Five Injunctions of Not Killing, Not Stealing, No Licentiousness, No False Speech, and No Spirits for at least some of the time. In Chinese ritual life, the sacrifice of meat and alcoholic beverages was essential in the worship of ancestors and local deities. Rejecting these sacrifices made a major religious statement. A Buddhist lifestyle was therefore an important religious choice that could not be easily followed by many people, certainly not as a fulltime way of life. Fully ordained monks (and the very small group of nuns) would have gone through elaborate initiation rituals and had to subscribe to a much more elaborate set of injunctions, but many of those who were customarily labeled monks or nuns had not gone through these rituals and were not always so strict about these larger sets of injunctions. Some lay Buddhists may therefore have been much stricter in their lifestyle than local monks or nuns, except that laypeople were usually married and monks or nuns were not. Buddhist activities could, for instance, be the recitation of sutras, spells, or the names of Buddhist figures such as Amitābha or Guanyin; charitable activities; funerary rituals; and support of Buddhist institutions in order to obtain merit. Being a lay Buddhist would require a lifestyle with a more frequent and/or intensive practice of some of these activities. An individual might also practice Buddhist activities on an ad hoc basis, without taking the Three Refuges: for instance, in the context of a

Patriarch Luo

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funerary ritual or as part of mourning rites. These activities would not, however, make someone a Buddhist believer. The labels Chan and Pure Land could be fruitfully applied as terms referring to part of this overall repertoire of activities, not in the sense of mutually exclusive categories, but as partially overlapping fields of activities. An exclusively Chan approach probably never existed, although, conversely, many lay Buddhists would have practiced only activities directed at entering the Pure Land. In this investigation, I propose using the term Chan to refer to specific practices of transmission and the goal of enlightenment and using the term Pure Land as the ideal of rebirth in Amitābha’s Western Paradise. But neither covered the entire spectrum of Buddhist life, and neither represented an independent religious institution. As Sharf has pointed out, Chan practitioners might define this Pure Land as an internal state of mind that was the result of attaining enlightenment and might define some of the customary practices of recitation or visualization as means for attaining this state of mind, on the same level as different forms of meditation. By contrast, many lay Buddhists probably still saw the Pure Land as a more concrete location outside themselves. The practices required of them for entering the Pure Land would have been much easier to fit into their daily lives than the Chan format of transmission, which was largely restricted to a monastic context and, because of its intensive time requirements, nearly impossible for most ordinary people. Therefore, on a local level Chan and Pure Land may, after all, have seemed like concrete religious choices. I will therefore continue to use these two terms in the following discussion not as institutionally exclusive institutions, but more as two repertoires of religious practice that can be drawn on in varying ways. This usage also means that no single institution or person owns either repertoire and is entitled to claim orthodoxy, at least not from an academic analytical point of view. This “ownership” of the right form of practice was precisely what Mizang claimed for himself and other monks who had received a legitimate recognition of their enlightenment. By inserting themselves into a lineage of legitimately enlightened teachers, they sought to become part of a line of transmission that connected back to historical Song and Yuan lineages, through them to the illustrious Six Patriarchs from Bodhidharma 䘨ᨽ (fl. 533?) to Huineng ᜻㛑(638–713), and ultimately to the Buddha himself. During the early-Ming period, the lineages of the Song and Yuan period had been interrupted, and late-Ming elite monks, such as Mizang, saw in this a serious decline of Buddhism, taking the discontinuance of lineage transmission as symptomatic of the overall state of Buddhist religious culture. Throughout the late Ming and early Qing, the monastic community had fierce debates about the legitimacy of two competing Chan-type lineages until the Yongzheng Emperor (r. 1722–1735), himself a Chan-style lay Buddhist, intervened and imposed his solution.61 The core problem, as Mizang saw it in the two accounts discussed, was caused by unauthorized claims to enlightenment. Whether in response to this type of criticism or not, the mature Non-Action Teachings would adopt the Chan

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notion of a “proper” lineage to develop their own format of ritual transmission of an inner truth or understanding. The Non-Action Teachings offered all followers a ritualized transmission of the teachings that no longer required extensive practice with a teacher, but rather regular practice of the movement’s rituals. During the initiation ritual, the postulant was accepted into the movement’s lineage, guaranteeing the proper transmission of the founders’ charisma. We find the notion of the lineage expressed very clearly in the late-sixteenth-century biographical poem on Patriarch Luo preserved in Lanfeng’s Essence of the Dharma Which Opens Up the Heart edition of the Five Books in Six Volumes, which mentions that after the patriarch’s death, “the flame” continued to be transmitted and that one branch (yizhi ϔᵱ) was established.62 The publishers of this edition called themselves the dharma successors of Lanfeng from the Orthodox Tradition of Linji 㞼△. The early Qing editors, who were definitely adherents of the Non-Action Teachings, called themselves pupils of the Orthodox School without Extreme.63 From Patriarch Ying on, the Non-Action Teachings strictly followed the genealogical model of higher (pai ⌒) and lower level branches (zhi ᵱ) for all of its adherents. During the ritual of the Vegetarian Fast, the patriarchs, as well as their direct pupils and the first generations of descendants of Patriarch Yao, were summoned to attend the meal.64 Other early sources confirm this construction by the movement as one single lineage. A late-Qing version of the manual from Changshu contains not only the list of the patriarchs and their pupils who were to be summoned during the ritual but also a long list of local pupils.65 On Taiwan, the spirit tablets of deceased adherents and their ancestors are placed in the hall with which they were affi liated and not in a separate ancestral shrine. The religious lineage replaced kinship. Although the Non-Action Teachings shared the Chan genealogical model, it did so with one unique difference that can be traced right back to the lay Buddhist movements of the Song period. This was the use, from the sixteenth century until the present, of the same affiliation character pu, with the meaning “general, universal,” in the personal names of all adherents. Before this, the character pu itself was used in the same function by the White Lotus movement of the Song and Yuan period. The context of this naming custom did change from the Song to the late-Ming period, for from the early sixteenth century onward any ordinary kinship group, without officials as ancestors, could create lineages through the worship of shared ancestors going back more than three generations. This model took off with great success in southern China, especially in Fujian and Guangdong. Within this context, using a single affiliation character for all adherents, instead of separate characters for each generation, became an even stronger statement than before for a southern religious group. The Chan lineage was based on the claim of an oral transmission between a teacher (who was already enlightened) and a pupil (who wanted to obtain enlightenment) that went back directly to the Buddha. This claim allowed people to draw directly on the Buddha’s original charisma and functioned as a source of enormous legitimacy. During and after the late-Ming period, belief in oral transmission was expressed by means of a poem ascribed to the first of the Six Patri-

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archs, Bodhidharma himself.66 This poem was widely circulated and appears, for instance, in the 1633 preface to the Separate Transmission outside the Teachings ( jiaowai biechuan ᬭ໪߹‫)ڇ‬. This book had been written by a lay Buddhist to counter what he perceived as misinterpretations of the proper transmission and validation of Chan enlightenment that were current in his time. The preface by a Buddhist monk gives the following version of the poem: Do not set up written characters (buli wenzi ϡゟ᭛ᄫ). A separate transmission outside the teachings ( jiaowai biechuan ᬭ ໪߿‫)ڇ‬. Directly point to the human heart (zhizhi renxin ⳈᣛҎᖗ). See your nature and become a Buddha ( jianxing chengfuo 㽟ᗻ៤ԯ).67 The preface explains how after the death of the Sixth Patriarch Huineng, his robe and begging bowl were no longer transmitted. Instead, Chan adepts “sealed the heart with the heart” (yi xin yin xin ҹᖗॄᖗ). This phrase played a crucial role in the Non-Action Teachings and signified the direct transmission of the lineage from heart to heart.68 Sadly, as our author continues, “more recently, heretic teachers explain the dharma and encroach upon the ancestral gate. The tradition from the West (i.e., of Bodhidharma, who came from India) has become more like an oral slogan transmitted by ladies from the Seventh Family Village.” 69 The author may have been thinking of the Non-Action Teachings, one of the most important lay religious movements in his region during his lifetime. The Non-Action Teachings called the transmission of special lore at the first three levels of initiation the “separate transmission outside the teachings” ( jiaowai biechuan ᬭ໪߹‫)ڇ‬. At the first two levels, two small sutras were transmitted that were never written down in the movement’s ritual manuals because they were seen as esoteric knowledge that could be transmitted only orally from teacher to pupil.70 These two texts were thought to provide freedom from the Gate of Death and from Impermanence (wuchang ⛵ᐌ), the demon who escorted the recently deceased to the underworld.71 This combination of a Chan ritual format with such down-to-earth goals is typical of the movement. We should, however, not dismiss this as merely reflecting the “popular” nature of the movement, for most monks had very similar concerns. This poem cannot be found in full in the writings of Patriarch Luo.72 This is in sharp contrast to the descriptions of the ritual and social practices of the NonAction Teachings, whose initiation ritual was explicitly constructed around the paradigm of transmission outside the teachings. During the first three stages, the adherent was gradually initiated into the wordless sutra and received the heart seal. The edition of the Five Books in Six Volumes most commonly used in the movement was named Essence of the Dharma Which Opens Up the Heart (kaixin fayao), and this title already says it all. The phrase “making the heart clear and seeing one’s nature” (mingxin jianxing ᯢᖗ㽟ᗻ) was an essential element of the initiation of the Non-Action Teachings.73 Yet it appears only once in the Five Books in Six Volumes.74 In that Patriarch Luo was enlightened autonomously, without official recognition by

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a teacher, it is perhaps unsurprising that this poem, and the notion of transmission of a heart-seal, did not receive much attention in his own works.75 All in all, the poem traditionally ascribed to Bodhidharma may well have been known to Patriarch Luo, but it acquired its paramount importance only within the subsequent southern Non-Action Teachings. Such differences again confirm that the movement did not passively adopt the Five Books in Six Volumes, but incorporated them within a much more explicit Chan type of ritual transmission. The central myth of Chan-style lineage transmission was the story of Huineng, which people would have known from the Platform Sutra and derivative stories.76 The Five Books in Six Volumes also cites from the Platform Sutra, including passages describing the discovery that the illiterate cook Huineng, of barbarian descent, was enlightened and the educated and highly respected Shenxiu ⼲⾔, from an aristocratic background, was not.77 In an interesting parallel, Patriarch Luo’s final road toward enlightenment was triggered by hearing monks recite the Graded Ritual of the Diamond Sutra, which is quite similar to the story in the Platform Sutra of Huineng, who was enlightened by hearing the Diamond Sutra. Huineng was merely an illiterate cook and Patriarch Luo was a simple soldier, but they both possessed a higher insight than more prestigious and properly initiated figures. Huineng’s story would have considerable appeal to the adherents of the Non-Action Teachings as well because it legitimated the belief that anybody could become enlightened. According to a Christian account of the movement from circa 1658, “nowadays those who transmit the teachings of Luo Ying 㕙㣅 [i.e., Patriarch Luo] all practice the secret words (miyu ᆚ䁲) of Huineng and the instruction of accepting the robe and the begging bowl.”78 Patriarch Yao once identified a female pupil as the incarnation of Huineng, who had reincarnated as a woman as the result of a karmic mistake. According to him, Huineng had six toes, and so did she.79 In the Causes and Fruits of the Seven Branches, one very devout practitioner is likewise called an incarnation of Huineng.80 In that same source, followers of the movement are repeatedly referred to as Chan Fellows (chanke ⽾ᅶ) and behave in the same unpredictable way as Chan monks.81 According to Joseph Edkins, writing in the mid-nineteenth century, adherents even believed that the patriarch was called Luo Huineng.82 The ritual manuals of the Non-Action Teachings refer regularly to Bodhidharma practicing in the Shaolin Monastery, bemoaning that his oral transmission had been broken after the death of Huineng, and claiming that it was taken up again by the movement.83 During their investigations of the movement on Taiwan in the early 1990s, Taiwanese anthropologists also asked the adherents about their self-awareness as adherents of the Dragon Flower Gathering. According to them, they were the proper followers of the so-called southern tradition of Chan represented by Huineng, as opposed to the monks who followed the northern tradition of Shenxiu.84 Clearly, the story of Huineng continued to matter in the movement; he was the last legitimate teacher before the recovery of the oral transmission by the Non-Action Teachings. At one point in the early history of the Non-Action Teachings, its own transmission threatened to be broken. When Patriarch Yao died in 1646, he left behind

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an only son who was still an infant. A struggle broke out between two groups, one led by a follower from Jiangxi with the rank of Recruiter and connected with the childless first wife of the patriarch. He argued that the Th ree Vehicles (sancheng ϝЬ) had been closed and proposed a new institution, the Direct Pointer (zhizhi Ⳉᣛ),85 a name stemming from the previous verse traditionally ascribed to Bodhidharma.86 His implication seems to have been that the most enlightened person within the movement should become the new leader, which would have been completely in line with the movement’s history until that time. After a fierce debate, this proposal lost out to another point of view: to continue the charisma of the patriarch in the flesh by means of his infant son and dharma descendant (fajuan ⊩ⴋ), Yao Duo (ྮ䨌) or Yao the “wake up bell,” son of the patriarch’s second wife.87 In this way, the Chan model of lineage transmission was supplemented by a transmission through descent, though only at the highest level of the movement. The following chapters show that the critique of empty ritual by early teachers and patriarchs in the Non-Action Teachings attracted many followers, especially among those who had the leisure and intellectual ability to reflect on the different levels of truth at which Buddhist doctrine operated. There may also have been a sociological reason for adopting Chan-style practices that extended well beyond the attraction of the message itself. Chan was the tradition of the rich and prestigious monasteries and of the educated layers of society. The timeconsuming full-time practice of Chan was not accessible to lower social classes who had to work daily for their economic survival. Supporting Chan critiques and doing it better than the official monastic tradition was a way of gaining cultural capital, if not in the eyes of the elite, then, at least, in the eyes of the rest of society. Because society at large, and not the very small male educated elite, provided adherents with recognition, joining the Non-Action Teachings was one way of participating in a tradition that was socially prestigious.

Patriarch Luo rescues the nation Patriarch Luo was tremendously important to the Non-Action Teachings movement, both as the author of its sacred writings and because both Patriarchs Ying and Yao claimed to be his incarnations, thus embodying his personal charisma in the flesh. The movement transmitted a long narrative account of the patriarch’s life, depicting him as a successful teacher and the champion of the Chinese empire against barbarian invaders and barbarian monks. The account tells us much about the self-image of the Non-Action Teachings and how they saw themselves as loyal servants of the imperial state. Furthermore, it summarized the teachings in a narrative, possibly more accessible, form for the adherents. The narrative belongs to the larger genre of the hagiography of a divine figure, such as a saint, deity, Buddha, or Bodhisattva. It pays close attention to the patriarch’s miraculous deeds and his near-martyrdom. His adherents worshipped Patriarch Luo in the same sort of way a saint is worshipped in other religious cultures. Crucial episodes of the narrative are very similar to stories from

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the late-Ming version of the Buddha’s own biography. The purpose of Patriarch Luo’s biography was to set his life in a larger cosmic framework to demonstrate that the Buddha not only talked but also was able to act. Certainly in a religious culture where performing ritual and practicing religion were always more important than the precise contents of these beliefs, what a religious figure had done during his or her lifetime was at least as important as what he or she had said.88 In the Chinese context, the cosmos and the world of humans were directly connected in the figure of the emperor, the Son-of-Heaven, who had received the Mandate of Heaven to rule over earth. The emperor’s prominent appearance in the biography is therefore no coincidence. The story of Patriarch Luo was told, in a simplified form, during the initiation rituals of the Non-Action Teachings. Whatever label or analytical term we attach to the narrative of Patriarch Luo’s life, we should keep in mind that for the adherents of the Non-Action Teachings, this narrative was as historically accurate as any other biography.

The story of Patriarch Luo The Non-Action Teachings transmitted a detailed account of its three founding fathers, the Overall Record of the Circumstances under Which the Three Patriarchs On-High Traveled Around and Taught (taishang sanzu xingjiao yinyou zonglu ໾Ϟϝ⼪㸠ᬭ಴⬅㐑䣘). The biography of Patriarch Luo is titled “The initial transfer in Shandong” (Shandong chudu ቅᵅ߱ᑺ), followed by a chapter on Patriarch Ying, “The turning around of the boat in Jinyun” ( jinyun zhouzhuan ㏝䳆 㟳䔝), and a chapter on Patriarch Yao, “The third return in Qingyuan” (qingyuan sanfu ᝊ‫ܗ‬ϝᕽ).89 The term transfer is common in Buddhist rituals, for instance, the transfer of hungry souls to a higher incarnation or even the Pure Land of Amitābha. The terms turning around and return refer to the two reincarnations. Like many rituals and vernacular literary texts, the biographical scroll begins with a description of the origin of the universe, culminating in the distribution of “the inexhaustible single numinous true nature” to all forms of life. Although this “true nature” is present in everyone, we lose track of it and can no longer obtain enlightenment or meet with a luminous teacher. As a result, humankind has lost itself in the cycle of rebirth, unable to return to its cosmic beginning. After this statement, Patriarch Luo is introduced, in different types of rhymed passages marked in the layout. After Patriarch Luo had suffered for thirteen years, He perceived his nature and clarified his heart ( jianxing mingxin 㽟 ᗻᯢᖗ), on a par with the Buddha. Suddenly he saw through his Pure Nature, And all through heaven and all over earth he emitted a bright radiance. Patriarch Luo’s household was in Shandong, he was a person from Laizhou. I (wo ៥) live in Jimo County, one mile from the city.

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There was a mother who gave birth to me, and I had two brothers. My formal name by which my dad and mum called me was Luo Yin 㕙಴. My ancestors had of old always been a military household. I went to the Brocade Clothes Garrison in Beijing to serve as a soldier, And suddenly there was an old mother without someone to take care of her. Until this moment, in the army my guts were trembling and my heart was scared. I considered that in this world of the living rebirth as a human is hard to achieve, When you cannot follow a bright radiance, your eyes will be all in tears. So now I have completely set aside my job as a soldier, Both day and night I recite Amitābha, unwilling to let go. Curiously, after starting in the third person, the narrative suddenly shifts to the first-person “I” and continues in this way for a while, before reverting again to the third person. Eventually, the patriarch acquires his insight in the Way of NonAction, from which the movement took its name. He ends his account with a gatha ( jie ‫)؜‬, which confirms his understanding as follows: I now recognize the face with which I was born from my mother. The masses of the people do not recognize truth. My original face (benlai mianmu ᴀ՚䴶Ⳃ) is not blocked, And from the natural nothingness appears a true (or real) person. Patriarch Luo became enlightened in the roots (zong ᅫ or lineage) of the heart, How the ten thousand things all become nothing. If you have even a shred of [attachment] left, You will still fall and drown [into the cycle of rebirth]. In inner alchemy traditions, one has to nurture the inner child to return to one’s primal energy (qi ⇷), a state of being the newborn child still possesses. In a Chinese religious context, the “original face” (benlai mianmu) refers to the belief that the ability to become enlightened is innate in everybody and only needs to be set free through some form of guided religious practice.90 One day an officer of the Brocade Clothes Garrison in Beijing had a dream that there was a True Man in Beijing who might protect him, and he asked his soldiers to find out and report back who this could be. He then went to pay his respects to Patriarch Luo, holding incense in his hands. The patriarch replied that he was merely “someone who holds fasts and keeps a vegetarian diet.” The officer explained that 108,000 Red Haired Tatars (hongmao dazi ㋙↯䶗ᄤ) had attacked the city walls of Beijing and killed many soldiers and horses. “I beseech

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the patriarch to display his great compassion, help the court and establish a great merit,” he said. The patriarch ordered the officer and his soldiers to take five sticks of incense and pay their respects. They were to recite the name of the Buddha three times and beseech heaven to have pity. They proceeded to the battlefield, where the barbarian soldiers (fanbing ⬾݉) were greatly frightened by this man, who radiated light and energy (qi ⇷)— obviously no mere mortal. The patriarch shot three arrows, and the barbarian soldiers saw three lotus flowers floating down from the sky. Impressed by this miracle, they retreated to their own country. The patriarch was summoned to appear before the emperor, who inquired about his magical abilities. He denied he possessed such powers, whereupon the emperor asked how he had been able to repel the barbarian soldiers. The patriarch explained that he, followed by the entire army, had taken five sticks of true incense and prayed to the heavenly dragons for protection. The emperor then asked him to demonstrate the shooting of arrows, but this time it did not work as before because there was no true devotion on the part of the emperor and his ministers. Patriarch Luo took up his bow, His two eyes were fi lled with tears, Life and death depended on this moment, Impermanence [who fetches those who are to die] was in front of him. When one arrow hit the sky it did not follow feelings, Lotus flowers fi lled heaven’s heart. Life and death were hard to discern this morning [of the audience], And before he knew it, Impermanence was in front of him. When one arrow hit the sky and did not see the [proper] roots, The lotus flowers fell into emptiness. While the bow and arrows all remained behind, Each of the lotus flowers ascended to the blue sky. As soon as our emperor saw this he was frightened in his heart And wished to behead Lord Luo, his crime was not light. When Patriarch Luo heard this he just said: “In vain I have spent a meritorious act, now crime is upon me, If I had known earlier that this day I would be in such misery, I would certainly have hidden myself deep in the mountains. My ruler has ordered his ministers to obey, Long shackles and iron locks are fi xed upon my body. He has ordered the prison officials to withhold water and food, To starve this person to death.” The emperor ordered the patriarch to be beheaded, but when the jailer tried, his sword broke into pieces. The patriarch asked the jailer to have pity on him and loosen his shackles, to allow him to read sutras and recite the name of the Buddha. This would enable him to build up good karma and repay the jailer, enabling him to escape the bitter wheel of transmigration.

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The patriarch then became enlightened in his heart and explained to the jailer that he had “Five Books of Scriptures” (wubu jingjuan Ѩ䚼㍧ो) he wished to circulate in the world to spread the teachings on behalf of the Buddha-patriarch. The jailer asked for permission from Lord Zhang Yong, who greatly rejoiced when he understood that this was the same man who had repelled the barbarian soldiers and had then been imprisoned. He went to pay his respects with incense, candles, and fruit, worshipping Patriarch Luo as a “Patriarch who had come again, but could not be recognized by mere mortals with eyes of flesh.” He asked for instructions, accompanied by an oath: “[If the patriarch were to bestow the favor of] pointing to and clarifying his heart (zhiming xindi ᣛᯢᖗഄ), he would never forget this favor. If he ever were to break his fasts and injunctions, and set aside the dharma of the Buddha, his body would immediately turn into blood.” I have already mentioned that this type of sacred oath accompanied by a violent self-imprecation was a familiar practice. The heart as the location of one’s original nature had to be clarified for one to become self-aware. This was a fundamental Buddhist notion that the Non-Action Teachings also adopted. The patriarch then gave his instructions, which were a simple summary of the basic tenets of Chinese lay Buddhism presented in a more vernacular style. Gatha: His lordship should inspect himself so his heart becomes pure, In keeping fasts and maintaining a vegetarian diet he should remain single-minded. And then [the patriarch] said: Now that you have received the Way of Non-Action, You need to be fair in your heart in everything. In the Three Refuges and the Five Injunctions you need to be pure and straight, With this you have a place to return to and you have taken an oath as testimony. You need to set aside all coveting and unfounded thoughts, For all lack of clarity blocks the True Person. When you subjugate the Six Thieves,91 The ten thousand dharmas will return to one single truth. The four heavenly kings will constantly keep watch over you. Chaotic words and incorrect statements should not be practiced. With each step you need to stick to the Buddha’s land. In your speech and traveling around you need to see the original truth. When you have reached home raise your eyes high, It is pureness which is your ancestral home. Important here is the repetition of the territorial metaphors of the “place to return to” and the “ancestral home,” which do not refer to a physical place, but to one’s original nature. The physical nature of these metaphors makes more sense in Chinese because the heart, in which this original nature is located, is literally

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called the “heart-field” (xintian ᖗ⬄; alternatively xindi ᖗഄ) and can therefore be imagined as a place to which to return. After receiving these instructions, the patriarch asked Lord Zhang Yong for permission to send for two of his pupils to help him write down his texts. Once they had arrived, the patriarch asked Lord Zhang Yong to invite the Lord of the Fief of Wei and Minister Dang (dang shangshu ‫[ ܮ‬using the abbreviated form instead of 咼] ᇮ᳌) as witnesses.92 All of this happened while he was still in prison. The process of revelation is described as follows, again with different layout to indicate different poetic styles. The patriarch lived in Laizhou Prefecture in Shandong, Born and raised in Jimo County, In Chengyang she in Zhumao City.93 He served his replacement duty as soldier in the Miyun Garrison. After studying the Way in Amber Prison, And bitterly cultivating in front of the Horse Supervisor Platform, He became enlightened into his Bright True Nature in front of the Numinous Mountain, Fortunate Grace and Fortunate Retribution wrote everything down according to his oral presentation. The first book was the Scroll on his Peregrinations, how he bitterly practiced and saw the Way. The second book was the Scroll on Lamenting the World, lamenting on killing the heart of man. The third book was the Scroll on the Keys, destroying the crooked and manifesting the right. The fourth book was the Scroll on Right Belief, simply bringing testimony to all people. The fift h book was the Scroll on Mount Tai, loft y and steadfast. The sixth book was the Scroll on Purity, the same inside and outside. Bitterly practicing and seeing the Way comes first of all, Lamenting the World and Non-Action are deep and unfathomable, Steadfast like Mount Tai is returning home, When you have deep roots and finish off your karma, you can return to the origin. The wondrous intentions of our Buddha Tathagata are deep, The [world] outside is divided into the nine degrees [of the bureaucratic system], but inside there is only one heart, When the single [lotus] flower blossoms it is originally without any other, But the deluded and stupid masses falsely divided the origins. Lord Zhang Yong then proposed to the Lord of the Fief of Wei and Minister Dang that they inform the emperor that there was a Man of the Way of Non-Action in the imperial prison who had produced the Five Books through his enlightenment.

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They submitted the texts to the emperor for his inspection. Much impressed by their contents, he summoned the patriarch to the palace with a Saintly Edict (shengzhi 㘪ᮼ). On arrival, the patriarch was instructed to recite his complete text, but once again the emperor was frightened by this extraordinary person and had him thrown into prison. Only after the patriarch had spent three more years in the imperial prison did things finally take a turn for the better. One day, seven barbarian monks arrived from abroad. They presented an old copper statue of a Buddha and asked the court to interpret its significance. If the court proved unable to do so, they wanted Beijing to be “returned” to their nation (suggesting a Mongolian origin) and “our” (i.e., the Ming or Chinese) nation to become subordinate to theirs. A Saintly Edict went out to ask all officials to provide the right interpretation, and Zhang Yong once more brought Master of the Way Luo (luo daoren 㕙䘧Ҏ) to the emperor’s attention. After he had been brought, a dialogue developed. Each time the monks asked a question, the patriarch answered by explaining a par ticu lar aspect of his teachings. He identified himself as a Man of the Way of Non-Action who did not recite sutras because the true sutra is in one’s nature, which is equal to heaven. He did not worship statues of the Buddha because no statue was capable of “ferrying across” or transferring (du ᑺ), and only you, yourself, could transfer you. People used incense only for the initiation because afterward they would become aware that they already had five sticks of incense within themselves, namely, the injunctions ( jiexiang ៦佭), meditation (dingxiang ᅮ佭), wisdom (huixiang ᜻佭), knowledge (zhijianxiang ⶹ㽟佭), and release ( jietuoxiang 㾷㛿佭).94 Patriarch Luo rejected sacrificing flowers and raising banners with similar arguments. Rejection of raising banners seems to refer to a specific Tibetan Buddhist practice that had become increasingly important among the Mongols by the late-Ming period. Music and lighting candles or oil lamps were equally unnecessary because they, too, were already present in various natural phenomena. Buddhist rituals (usually referring to rituals for the dead and for hungry ghosts) were not necessary because man’s nature was already a ritual space in itself. Similarly, sutra halls were not necessary because the great emptiness was already a sutra hall. Th is iconophobic attitude is completely faithful to the original contents of the Five Books in Six Volumes. The barbarian monks were convinced and asked to be rescued from their delusions. After a brief speech by the patriarch, they took the forty-eight vows (shiba yuan ಯकܿ丬) of Amitābha and promised that if they broke them, their bodies would change into blood. They returned to their own country immediately. Then the emperor ordered Zhang Yong, the Lord of the Fief of Wei, and Minister Dang to bestow the title of Patriarch of Non-Action (wuwei zushi ⛵⠆ ⼪᏿) on Patriarch Luo. Even more important, the patriarch had his sacred texts reproduced with imperial permission. In the words of the biography: “As for the Precious Scrolls of the Five Books, printing blocks were made, and an imperially manufactured dragon plaque was made to assist the text of the Five Books. It was proclaimed to the All-under-Heaven that [officials] were not allowed to obstruct.” All of this was accomplished in the thirteenth year of the Zhengde

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reign (1518).95 Later groups of the movement frequently referred to this imperial support. Although clearly not a reliable historical account in the modern (Western) sense, the story is intended as history, and parts of it roughly fit what we know of late-Ming history. Two of the patriarch’s supporters in court cannot be identified, but the figure of Zhang Yong is well attested. He was a eunuch who lived from 1465 to 1529. He was well known as an opponent of the infamous eunuch Liu Jin ࡝⩒ (d. 1510) and therefore respectable in the eyes of late-Ming and Qing educated people. He played a crucial role in suppressing rebellions by Ming princes. He was also given assignments in the capital garrison and on the northern border, fitting the claim of a connection between him and Patriarch Luo.96 Although none of this proves that he was actually involved in supporting Luo Qing and his teachings, late-Ming, and even Qing, eunuch support for new religious groups is extremely well attested.97 The figure of Minister Dang cannot be identified, but curiously, a publishing house with his name that was supposedly active in the late-Ming imperial period published writings by new religious groups and continued to be mentioned in the following centuries.98 Apparently, the unusual family name Dang functioned as a conventional pseudonym for activities by new religious groups. The big events of late-Ming history that frame the story are the military invasion by the Red Haired Tatars or barbarian soldiers and the visit by the seven barbarian monks.99 Both events can be given a plausible historical context. Until the end of the reign of the Zhengde Emperor (1505–1521), the Ming emperors actively continued the role of the Mongol khans of the Yuan dynasty by acting as patrons of Tibetan Buddhism. Zhengde’s nephew and successor, the Jiajing Emperor, stopped the formal tribute mission from Tibet, although informal missions continued as a cover for trade and sometimes caused disturbances in the capital, Beijing. The Mongol leader Altan Khan (1507–1582) and his successors took over the Ming emperors’ role as patrons of Tibetan Buddhism. A prominent part of the public image of Tibetan monks was as magical teachers, which probably derived from their practice of esoteric rituals of foreign provenance.100 Thus, by the late-Ming period, there was a real sense of threat from Tibetan Buddhism, not necessarily stemming from Tibet itself, but from Mongol territory, and more in their role of magical figures than as doctrinal specialists. Most curious is the conflation of the Mongols with another barbarian threat of the late-Ming period, the Red Haired Barbarians (hongmao fan ㋙↯⬾), the Dutch. This detail allows us to place the Patriarch Luo story in the late-Ming period, when the Dutch began to turn up on the Chinese coast from late 1622 and their presence was at its most notorious.101 It also suggests that the people who inserted this element in the biography of the patriarch must have lived in the south in that the threat of the Red Haired Barbarians was especially relevant to people from Fujian, on whose coast they often appeared as traders and as a general nuisance. The coalescing of two totally unrelated barbarian threats, one on the inland border in the north and the other on the seacoast in the far south,

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shows how the narrative function of these attacks is symbolic: to help to create Patriarch Luo’s master narrative as someone who had rescued the empire from barbarian enemies, combining the worst threats of the late-Ming period into an almost demonic creature, the Red Haired Tatars. The biography of Patriarch Luo begins by connecting him to the origins of the cosmos, after which it briefly describes his life and early religious studies. The most attention is devoted to his career as a soldier and to how he rescues the empire from a barbarian invasion and subsequently from barbarian monks in a polemical debate. After this, he is imprisoned out of fear. In prison, he becomes enlightened and writes his Five Books in Six Volumes. After he defeats the barbarian monks with arguments based on his religious beliefs, he is finally set free, and he is granted the right to spread his teachings throughout the empire. At no point is it suggested that the patriarch’s activities or teachings might go against the interests of the imperial state.

O r i g i n s a n d i m p ac t o f t h e s t o r y o f P a t r i a r c h L u o The mythmaking process around Patriarch Luo may be even more important historically than the very few hard facts we have on his real life. The biography or biographies created around him tell us much about the cultural and religious expectations of his audience, such as the claim that he had once studied for the civil ser vice examinations, recorded in Zhou Rudi’s 1613 preface to the Wang Haichao edition, the Collected Explanations on the Five Sutras. As Zhou notes, this claim was made by people who purported to be the patriarch’s descendants, and for local families, some form of study for the civil ser vice examinations was always the most prestigious route to social recognition that could be imagined.102 Buddhist antecedents The core elements of the Non-Action Teachings version of Patriarch Luo’s biography echo well-known Buddhist narratives or hagiographies of the late imperial period, especially the then-current biography of the Buddha, composed somewhere in the mid-Ming period. This shows how thoroughly the mythmaking process modeled the patriarch after the lives and deeds of central figures in Buddhist religious culture. This process had already begun in the Five Books in Six Volumes. The very first experience of hearing the recitation of the Graded Ritual of the Diamond Sutra, which set Luo Qing on his way toward enlightenment, paralleled the experience of the Sixth Patriarch Huineng, who was set on a similar track toward enlightenment by listening to the recitation of the Diamond Sutra.103 Similarly, his formative thirteen years of “bitter practice” (kuxing 㢺㸠) were modeled on the life of the Buddha, who had spent six years of ascetic practice before deciding it was not the right way.104 Incidentally, Patriarchs Ying and Yao would also go through such a period of “bitter practice,” and one of Patriarch Ying’s pupils developed a theology of suffering as a necessary condition for ridding oneself from karma.105 Finally, the glowing terms in which Luo Qing

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described his own insight, as a powerful light that could penetrate everywhere, directly recall the Buddha’s equally radiant description of the light of Amitābha in his Pure Land.106 The completed hagiography of Patriarch Luo, as it was transmitted in the Non-Action Teachings, fits in a long tradition in which important religious leaders demonstrated their religious prowess in competition or even battle. The most famous example is the Magic Competition, about the true Buddhist teachings, between Sariputra on the one hand and Raudraksha and his heretics on the other, involving both magical deeds and doctrinal argument. This par ticular story was already extremely popular in oral traditions in medieval Dunhuang. The visual record shows that Raudraksha and his heretics, who were the losers in this competition, were depicted as barbarians.107 Similarly, the mid-Ming biography of the Buddha also records his victory over six heterodox masters who had secured the younger brother of King Bimbisara as their patron. They fought a battle of magical abilities in front of the king himself, which the Buddha won effortlessly.108 The story of Patriarch Luo’s victory over the barbarian soldiers is also paralleled in the mid-Ming biography of the Buddha. In one of the stories, his nephew Devadatta orga nized an attack by archers on the Buddha’s life. When the Buddha arrived late, Devadatta went to meet him halfway and shot an arrow as soon as he saw him. His arrow changed into a flower and fell to the ground, causing the archers to throw down their bows and arrows and prostrate themselves in front of the Buddha. They received his instruction and became devout lay followers.109 The similarities between the archers and the barbarian soldiers (who fled) and especially the barbarian monks (who converted) is evident, except that in our account it is Patriarch Luo who shoots the arrows that then change into lotuses. The story of the botched execution of the patriarch recalls the fate of Guanyin, easily the most popular Bodhisattva of the late imperial period. In the widely popular narrative of her female transformation, Miaoshan ཭୘, she was about to be executed at the command of her father. At first the executioner was unable to kill her with his sword, and only when she asked the Buddha to let her die did she pass away at the very moment the executioner strangled her with a bowstring. When they attempted to destroy her corpse by ordering countless arrows to be shot at it, a tiger carried it off into the forests.110 Of course, she did not really die, but the further developments of the story do not concern us here. The story of the patriarch’s unjust imprisonment echoes the story that frames The Sutra on Contemplation of Amitāyus (guan wuliangshou jing 㾔⛵䞣໑ ㍧). In this major Pure Land sutra, the Buddha was gathered with his pupils, while far away, King Bimbisara was imprisoned by his son in a room with seven walls in the expectation that he would die of hunger and thirst. His wife managed to get food to him, and he miraculously survived. A pupil of the Buddha even visited him to expound the Dharma. The angry son now wanted to kill his mother with his sword, but his advisors convinced him that killing one’s mother is even worse than regicide. He imprisoned her as well, but could not stop the

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Buddha’s pupils from continuing to visit his father. The king was thus able to continue his spiritual progress until he reached the stage of nonreturner, when one can no longer fall back into the ordinary cycle of life and death. His wife was then given direct instructions by the Buddha, who revealed to her the method of contemplating the figure of Amitābha, which is described in the remainder of the sutra.111 The story of Patriarch Luo does not follow the sutra to the letter, but the similarities are clearly there. We can no longer trace the precise mechanism by which the life of Patriarch Luo was created, and we have no information about the degree of self-awareness with which this mythmaking process took place. What we can assume, however, is that constructing his life in this way implied a vision of the patriarch as being more than a mere mortal. He was placed on a par with the great figures of late imperial Buddhism, such as the Buddha himself, the widely popular Bodhisattva Guanyin, and Bimbisara, who was one of the Buddha’s most famous converts. To the audience of the patriarch’s biography and the Five Books in Six Volumes, his life must have resonated consciously, or unconsciously, within this larger set of well-known religious stories. The impact of the story The story of Patriarch Luo became the basis of a remarkable legitimation document created by the Non-Action Teachings, the “Proclamation to Protect the Way/Sutras,” to be discussed in Chapter 6. The patriarch’s defeat of the foreign monks is summarized in a late-Qing commentary to the Sutra of Heaven, and it is alluded to in a 1652 preface by an adherent of Patriarch Ying.112 The initiation rituals of the movement refer to the story a number of times.113 In the account from the Causes and Fruits of the Seven Branches with which we started, the two ladies who are disputing about their beliefs pointed with pride to the fact that the Zhengde emperor and his highest ministers had read the Five Books in Six Volumes, which directly refers to this narrative.114 Thus, there can be little doubt that the story circulated within the movement from early on. Our most detailed reference to the story stems from a most unexpected source, namely, an early-Qing Christian manuscript, Sections to Awaken from Delusions (xingmipian 䝦䗋㆛), which was hand-copied in 1658 by an unidentified convert called Andele 䃇ᖋࢦ or Andreas.115 The manuscript probably stems from Jesuit circles in northeastern Fujian, where the Non-Action Teachings had had a prominent presence at least since the early seventeenth century.116 It discusses a variety of supposedly incorrect religious practices and beliefs, including two mythological narratives from the Non-Action Teachings concerning the Sixth Patriarch Huineng (discussed earlier in this chapter) and Luo Ying 㕙㣅, as the patriarch is called in the same source. The narrative goes at follows: Those who receive the teachings take Luo Ying as their patriarch. Originally he had been arrested and investigated by the court, because he had transmitted Buddhism to eunuch Zhang Yong, whereupon he

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had been invited to the palace and incited the empress-dowager to worship the Buddha and various kinds of evil behavior. He was sentenced to death, but locked up in a secure prison. He stayed in prison for thirteen years and created texts to exhort the world. Nowadays those who transmit these teachings take them as their sutras and recite them. At the time, it so happened that this country was invaded by barbarians. It was without means to oppose the enemy. Prisoners who had been sentenced to death were taken to fight them. Luo Ying was among them. When they went on the campaign, they were victorious. The court transmitted an edict that those who had been victorious would all be pardoned from the death penalty. Luo Ying also obtained a pardon. Today, those who worship the secret teachings and the Non-Action Teachings all say that Luo Ying had the merit of deities fighting with him (or: a divine battle). Those in the teachings say of themselves that their most worthy one is the Buddha. The unknown author of this summary goes on to lament that Luo Ying cannot have been the only one to take part in the campaign and that equal merit should, therefore, have also accrued to these others. The author refers to the barbarians as yi ་, instead of the term fan ⬾ from the written version of the myth, which suggests that he was working from an oral version narrated to him by (former) adherents of the Non-Action Teachings, rather than copied from a written version.117 Most of the story fits the larger narrative as summarized here, except the reference to the worship of Buddhism by the empress-dowager and the recruitment of convicts as soldiers. For us, the interest of this narrative lies in the detailed confirmation of an early date for the biography of Patriarch Luo. Finally, indirect evidence on the impact of Patriarch Luo’s biography is that it may well have influenced similar stories that circulated in other socioreligious movements of the late imperial period.118 The ser vice the patriarch performs for the emperor against the barbarians is a crucial element in his mythological biography and is also central in the myth of origin of the southern Chinese ethnic groups we know today as the Yao or She.119 They were once widespread in both northern Fujian and southern Zhejiang, where the Non-Action Teachings under Patriarchs Ying and Yao became so successful.120 Whether they influenced the Non-Action Teachings or vice versa can no longer be ascertained. A very similar story of ancestral figures supporting empire became part of the foundation myth of the Triads at the beginning of the nineteenth century. Possibly the Non-Action Teachings inspired the Triads because an early version of their myth included a founder named Yao Bida (ྮᖙ䘨). This name is extremely close to the names of the fourth generation of the Yao family during the first half of the eighteenth century, who all had the generation character Bi (ᖙ), which seems to me to be too much of a coincidence.121 In addition, the She/Yao used imperial charters to support their claim of sociopolitical legitimacy, analogous to the Non-Action Teachings’ use of such documents.

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Concluding remarks In this chapter, I have presented two histories of the teachings by Patriarch Luo. One was an attempt to reconstruct the life of Luo Qing and the way his teachings, or rather his Five Books in Six Volumes, were transmitted to the south. The other was based on what we would usually set aside as mythological information that is therefore “incorrect.” This second account was created by the Non-Action Teachings. Although I have classified it as hagiography, this makes it no less relevant to the movement. On the contrary, the hagiography of Patriarch Luo lifted his life to the same higher plane as that of buddhas and bodhisattvas, who were as real to late imperial Chinese as their own families or the emperor. Adherents of the movement saw the mythological information as historically accurate, and some of it was convincing enough to enter modern academic discussions. After all, historians are just as eager for concrete biographical information as believers. Unfortunately, hard facts are almost absent in the case of Luo Qing, and the information on Patriarch Luo is largely mythical. Still, understanding the mythmaking process is as important as reconstructing the historical facts in what it reveals on the cultural and religious background of the believers. Moreover, it tells us something about the agency of the Non-Action Teachings by showing how members created narratives and documents, such as the “Proclamation to Defend the Way/Sutras,” to obtain the freedom of religious practice they thought was due to them. In historical terms, the influence of Patriarch Luo was mainly in terms of his writings. By the time of the Non-Action Teachings, these were referred to as a physical unit, stressing their appearance as Five Books in Six Volumes, rather than Luo Qing’s original term for them as “Five Books of Scriptures” (wubu jingjuan) or names that would reflect the contents of these texts. We do not know for certain whether the stress on six physical volumes stems from the Non-Action Teachings, although it occurs most frequently in connection with this movement. Its members did eventually take this view of the patriarch’s writing one step further and developed a special ritual for worshipping and reciting it. The Five Books in Six Volumes is an anthology interspersed with autobiographical remarks (or vice versa), without claiming to be a new scripture. It does not contain a new mythological narrative, and there are no positive references to a messianic message. The authority of the anthology was located in the power of Luo Qing’s religious experiences integrated with extensive scriptural support. The anthology also showed how the Buddhist canon could be meaningful in an individual’s personal religious development. The religious groups that sprang from the reading and worship of the patriarch’s works were fundamentally different from other new religious movements of the late imperial period, which worshipped entirely new scriptures in the form of the Precious Scrolls, which often contained elaborate narrative contents, rarely or never quoted from the traditional Buddhist sutras, and might refer to messianic prophecies (without necessarily being actively messianic in their intention).

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In the course of the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, the readers and users of the Five Books in Six Volumes felt a need to expand the patriarch’s biography. They did so in varying ways: practices and stories around his purported grave, north of Beijing in the garrison town of Miyun; the claim of a Luo family in Shandong that they were his descendants; and the detailed hagiographic biography developed by the Non-Action Teachings of southern China. There is no reliable evidence of a direct oral connection between the patriarch and later adherents or opponents, even though this is certainly possible, at least in the vicinity of Beijing; instead, the dominant reference is to his writings. For this reason, I characterize the impact of Luo Qing, or Patriarch Luo, first and foremost as a reading experience. This is not to deny the importance of oral traditions, such as those around his grave or the stories told by his purported descendants, but as far as we can tell, these oral traditions played little or no role in spreading the patriarch’s message to the south. However, calling the reading experience central does not mean that oral communication played no role. Indeed, many, if not most, adherents of the Non-Action Teachings may have had no or limited literacy. Nonetheless, the core experience was the appropriation of Patriarch Luo’s written word. The Non-Action Teachings in southern China is one of the few examples of a larger religious movement that came into being around a body of newly created texts. We should not underestimate the importance of this innovation. Not even Buddhism, at least in China, orga nized itself around a clearly delimited body of texts, despite the evident importance of some texts. As far as we know, the White Lotus movement of the Song and Yuan period was not organized around its own texts. The White Cloud Tradition of the same period did have a few texts written by its religious founder, but we have no evidence about their actual usage within the movement. In both movements, members of the monastic establishment and conventional Buddhist scriptures occupied a prominent place, whereas both monks and conventional sutras are virtually absent from the Non-Action Teachings, which used traditional Buddhist writings only through the intermediary of the Five Books in Six Volumes and their different ritual per formances. Although texts were important in the Non-Action Teachings, they were not read in search of abstract meanings. The purpose of the anthology was to make the Buddhist canon directly accessible, not to explain it. As Paul Griffiths has noted, the nature of their reading was not “consumerist,” but religious.122 In other words, the aim of adherents was not to extract information from their sacred text(s), and they did not necessarily read any other texts; they treated the Five Books in Six Volumes as an ultimate source of meaning that would be sufficient in and of itself. They saw it as the summation of the Buddhist canon. They did not develop their own exegesis of the Five Books in Six Volumes; they used a commentary that was probably written during the 1570s or slightly earlier by the sixteenth-century monk Lanfeng, who was not even a member of the movement. Unlike consumerist readers, these religious readers were not necessarily able to

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read; they became familiar with their sacred text, the Five Books in Six Volumes, either by recitation or by listening to someone else reciting it at regular intervals. They did not necessarily “understand” the text in the sense of being able (or wanting) to summarize it in their own words; they saw it as a complete resource that could be digested only by means of immersion.

3 Charismatic Teachers against the Current .

T

he Non-Action Teachings originated in two counties in Chuzhou Prefecture, on the southern margins of the Lower Yangzi macroregion. The prefecture was relatively poor and underdeveloped.1 Local elites were much less successful in the examination system than their counterparts elsewhere, suggesting that they had less financial means at their disposal to allow their sons to devote themselves exclusively to studying for the civil ser vice examinations. It may also suggest that Classicist (or Confucian) ideology was less dominant locally. In addition to agriculture, mining and cultivating tea and indigo were important ways of making a living in the region. Because metals, tea, and indigo needed to be sold on the market, this led to trade, which was then accompanied by forms of long-distance cultural exchange.2 Southern Zhejiang may have been located on the periphery of the very wealthy Lower Yangzi region, but it was not isolated. Some groups of people did have contacts outside the region, and the Non-Action Teachings was one of these groups. Two men played an important role in the early movement, Ying Ji’nan ឝ㑐 फ (1527/1540–1582) and Yao Wenyu ྮ᭛ᅛ (1578–1646). Both came from poor backgrounds and had been orphaned at a young age. Once they converted, they became passionate missionaries of their beliefs, despite ongoing state repression. Both claimed to be the incarnation of earlier leaders, Ying Ji’nan of Patriarch Luo himself and Yao Wenyu of Patriarch Ying. By making these claims, they imbued themselves with the authority and legitimacy of Patriarch Luo, who was, after all, the author of their most sacred texts, the Five Books in Six Volumes. They were accepted as important leaders by a substantial segment of the early Non-Action Teachings movement, though not by all, as we shall see in Chapter 4. The two men were not afraid of persecution and eventually went knowingly to their violent deaths. Patriarch Ying chose to flaunt his beliefs in front of a local magistrate and ended up in prison, where he was beaten to death. Despite the misgivings of his followers, Patriarch Yao also returned to his home county, knowing that the local power holder might arrest him to seize his presumed wealth. The result of their perseverance and the determination of their fellow adherents and pupils in spreading the teachings was that despite frequent incidents of repression and persecution, the Non-Action Teachings became one of the most important lay religious movements of the late imperial period. 50

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The success of Ying Ji’nan and Yao Wenyu in building a following suggests that the two men had exceptional ability to bind people to them and their claims. Going knowingly to their deaths further strengthened this connection in the eyes of their followers and would have begun the mythmaking process that earned them their central place as patriarchs of the mature movement. This could be labeled charisma, in the original sense given to the term by Max Weber.3 In our narrative of their lives and hagiographies, we will encounter several episodes in their careers where the charisma-building activities are particularly clear. Our main source on the early history of the Non-Action Teachings is the Overall Record of the Circumstances under Which the Three Patriarchs On-High Traveled around and Taught (taishang sanzu xingjiao yinyou zonglu ໾Ϟϝ⼪㸠ᬭ ಴⬅㐑䣘; abbreviated as Overall Record). It was first published in 1683 and then republished during the late-Qing period, which is the extant edition.4 It provides a hagiographical account of the life of Patriarch Luo (discussed in the preceding chapter), a rough account of the last few years of the life of Patriarch Ying, and an almost year-by-year account of the last two decades of the life of Patriarch Yao. Surprisingly, much information in the last two chapters can be verified independently in contemporary sources, suggesting that, on the whole, this is a reliable account of the actual events. The text was probably edited between 1676 (the last date mentioned in the main text) and 1683 (the date of the preface), during which process the family name of Patriarch Ying was changed to Yin. The book continued to circulate in the following centuries.5

Patriarch Ying: from failed novice to determined preacher The Non-Action Teachings in southern China did not start with Ying Ji’nan. We do not know exactly whom Mizang attacked in the late sixteenth century, but we do know that Ying Ji’nan joined an existing network of lay believers. Even though he was not the actual founder of the movement, he was certainly the first person who is documented in some detail and therefore deserves pride of place. In his dogged persistence in spreading the message, even in front of a local magistrate’s offices, he also typifies the earliest generation of followers of the Non-Action Teachings.

A d r i ve n l i f e According to the Overall Record, Patriarch Yin Ji’nan ↋㑐फ, as this source calls him, was born in Jinyun County in Chuzhou Prefecture. Recent historical investigation has shown that his family name was not Yin ↋, but Ying ឝ. In this region, the family name Ying is extremely common, and at one point people with this name even used the lineage affi liation character Ji 㑐.6 The name Ying is retained in a number of early sources the movement produced, such as Cheng Pushen’s 1652 preface to the Essence of the Dharma Which Opens Up the Heart (the movement’s version of the Five Books in Six Volumes) and the movement’s ritual manual dating back to the early eighteenth century.7 We again encounter the name Ying in a collection of conversion stories, the Causes and Fruits of the

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Seven Branches, analyzed exhaustively in the following chapter.8 Despite the editing of the Overall Record by the lineage of Patriarch Yao, one instance of the name Ying has remained in use.9 I refer to this patriarch by his original name of Ying throughout this book. In 1775, a group was apprehended with an independent biographical scroll (no longer extant) on the patriarch, Precious Scroll of the Peregrinations of Patriarch Ying (yingzu xingjiao baojuan ឝ⼪㸠㝇ᇇो). The scroll called the patriarch by the family name Ying and gave his place of birth as Lishui (instead of Jinyun) and his date of birth as 1527 (instead of 1540).10 In fact, his birth was precisely one month after the death of Patriarch Luo as recorded in the Overall Record. In traditional China, it was believed that the soul of a child entered the fetus one month before his or her birth, so Patriarch Ying’s birthdate in this source was really too perfect to be true. Unlike Chinese scholars, I interpret this date as an indication that the information in this source had been doctored. Besides these factual data, no other information is preserved from the Precious Scroll of the Peregrinations of Patriarch Ying. We therefore have no choice but to rely on the Overall Record as the most detailed source we possess. Patriarch Ying lost his mother at the age of three and his father at the age of seven.11 He was then raised by an aunt. She also died young but urged him to study reading and writing. His uncle then sent him to the Gold Sand Monastery to become a monk. There he made a nuisance of himself by claiming that not just incense alone but also mere sincerity could penetrate the heavens. The abbot threw him out, and he was left to wander about in distress when he was roughly eleven years old. Whether he had followed his aunt’s advice and learned some reading and writing by this stage remains unclear. Friends took him to Xianju, a county in nearby Taizhou Prefecture, where he became apprenticed to a silversmith, Transformation Teacher Ding (Ding huashi ϕ࣪᏿). This figure is identified in the list of Patriarch Ying’s pupils as Master Ding (dingzi ϕᄤ, with the religious name Pushen ᱂ᜢ). The smith was originally from Yongkang in the same prefecture. Ying Ji’nan stayed with him for a long period, during which he was enlightened and formally initiated by the Original Teacher Lu (Lu benshi ⲻᴀ᏿). He received the dharma name Puneng ᱂㛑. Original Teacher Lu can be identified in the list of Patriarch Ying’s pupils as Lu Hui ⲻ䓱 (religious name Puseng ᱂‫)ڻ‬, again from Yongkang. At his initiation, Ying Ji’nan, now called Ying Puneng, claimed to everyone present that he was the incarnation of Patriarch Luo. At first the crowd was angry at his claim of enlightenment, and they became even angrier when he took the place of a Buddha statue that they were worshipping. Only after a brilliant speech full of dazzling and somewhat cryptic metaphors was the crowd finally convinced of his enlightenment and willing to recognize him as the incarnation of the patriarch.12 He then became the movement’s penultimate teacher, transforming even his teachers into dharma pupils.13 His act of usurping the position of the Buddha statue as the center of worship is less radical than it might at first seem. After all, anybody who is enlightened and recovers his or her original Buddha

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nature becomes a Buddha. Although this story may well have been constructed ex post facto, it reflects a core point of Buddhist teachings dating back to at least the eleventh century. In sitting on the Buddha’s seat, Patriarch Ying only took the notion of finding one’s Buddha nature in oneself to its logical conclusion. Throughout his final years of preaching, Patriarch Ying continued to display the same unconventional behavior. The following segment of his rhymed biography illustrates his lifestyle and also serves as an example of the style of writing of the Overall Record:14 In the fourth year of the Wanli period (1576), he went up to Tiantai [from Yongkang or Xianju]; Before the yamen there were all sorts of evil karmic roots (i.e., ordinary people with bad karma) and he arranged their preordained fates. Unexpectedly the magistrate arrested and interrogated him, put out a proclamation and opened the gates. In disarray and flurried, he carried the holy texts on his head and orally claimed a Saintly Edict (shengzhi 㘪ᮼ or an imperial edict). The magistrate hurriedly kneeled, but when he opened [the bundle] up and looked, [it was only] red clothes containing the holy texts. “For what reason do you make fun of a magistrate?” He punished him with forty beatings of the stick And the carry ing of a cangue. [The patriarch] underwent demonic disasters and cruel punishment for six years. The passage is not entirely clear, but it seems that the patriarch was preaching to people in front of the Tiantai County office. The holy texts are not explicitly identified but are most likely the Five Books in Six Volumes. An alternative explanation for the Saintly Edict is the story of Patriarch Luo’s rescue of the nation and the Zhengde Emperor’s bestowal of imperial recognition on the movement. During his final lecture in 1582, Patriarch Ying spoke about a Precious Scroll on the Saintly Disputations (shenglun baojuan 㘪䂪ᇊो), which probably contained the story of Patriarch Luo’s disputations defending the nation against barbarian monks. Whatever the precise contents of this scroll, clearly the patriarch made a very strong religious statement claiming to possess the ultimate truth and thereby thoroughly upset the local magistrate. After the patriarch’s term in prison had ended, he again took up a life of preaching. [After his term ended, the magistrate] had him deported to the [yamen-]hall of Jinyun and that county set him free. Only carry ing chicken-baskets he sold them, exhorting and transforming the crowds. He sold a chicken-basket at three coins for three, [whilst] the price [should have been] one tael for one piece.

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People scolded him for being a true idiot, but it brought him good karma. In the third month, close to the Qingming Festival [of sweeping the graves] he had sold off what he had brought with him by means of his carry ing pole. Toward the middle of the seventh month, he radiated the Way and someone with ministerial colors was converted by him. This startled and shook the people of the western district and they all came to him to inquire about the way. He spoke for seven days and also seven nights, [people’s] shouting and colorful clothes reached as far as the horizon. He transferred (du ᑺ) a crowd of 3,000 to 6,000 people, who all came to the releasing of the memorial [with the names of the initiated]. He also encountered a Brilliant Talent (xiucai ⾔ᠡ) from the realm of the classicists who blasphemed the dharma, And who minutely petitioned to the Prefectural Worthy Yang, who sent people to arrest him. Whether day or night, he was tortured and beaten in many ways. When they had finished asking questions, of only one person, [the] Wenzhou [magistrate] sent him off. At the postal station of Shuangmen, when they saw that the crime and the criminal did not correspond, He was again sent on to Chuzhou Prefecture for consideration by his Lordship Li. The six years of hardship were now about to be full; later I will again provide more details. Patriarch Ying’s final years were full of hardship. He understood them, as did the author(s) of his rhymed biography, as equivalent to both the six years of hardship that the Buddha had gone through before attaining enlightenment and Patriarch Luo’s thirteen years of hard practice. It is not clear whether he was kept in the Tiantai County prison all of this time; mention is made only of public punishments, such as beatings and the squeezer. The period of six years probably refers to his final years as a whole, including the time he sold chicken baskets and his final moment of glory, when he converted people in Wenzhou. The way he meets his end differs from the description in the prose text, as discussed at the end of this subsection, suggesting that our source has combined different accounts. What is clear is that he first landed in trouble by referring to the message of Patriarch Luo as a “Saintly” or imperial instruction, which led to the official’s initial humble response and his subsequent anger at discovering just a self-exalted preacher. What is also clear is that the patriarch had acquired some followers, though not yet many of them. The final list of Transformation Teachers, who were his closest disciples, included three from Tiantai County. Patriarch Ying remained a marginal religious teacher for most of his career. Only in 1582 did he finally find a prominent backer, which immediately increased

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local people’s interest in him. This poetic treatment of the events stresses a succession of arrests that had been triggered by a lowly local degree holder. Nonetheless, the very fact that he drew such attention at all suggests that he had been successful in drawing attention to himself and building a larger following. Another account from the Overall Record, which actually comes before this rhymed biography, tells things slightly differently, but the net result is the same. At the Yulanpen festival (i.e., the Ghost Festival on the fifteenth day of the seventh month) of 1582, the patriarch was in the residence of the Pavilion Elder (gelao, an honorary title for former chancellors) Zhang ᔉ䭷㗕 in Wenzhou. I later analyze this par ticular information further. The patriarch was carry ing out a ritual to establish his lineage and codify his personal exegesis. Normally speaking, the residence of a former chancellor or his descendants should have been a safe place, but before he could start explaining the teachings more fully, something untoward happened. The moment that Prefect Li, the Tigerhead, came to Hangzhou, an examinations official reported that he had looked in the direction of Chuzhou at night and had seen the Imperial Star manifest itself. [He said:] “I have read a report by the prefect that a Saintly Lord (shengzhu 㘪Џ) has already appeared. So why don’t you turn around and start guarding the city walls and moats?” After he had finished speaking these words, the prefect boiled over with rage and returned to his [Chuzhou] office, where he had several tens of iron shackles sealed, and then sent one battalion of brave soldiers with real armor and real swords to have [the patriarch] arrested in Wenzhou. A yamen runner, who was himself a vegetarian (zaichizhai ೼ৗ唟), raced from Chuzhou to Wenzhou overnight to warn the patriarch, but the patriarch accepted his fate as necessary for demonstrating the pureness of his teachings. In his own words: “When you cultivate without being persecuted, one’s way and virtue/ potency cannot be very deep. True metal must be refined a 100 times, before it can turn into gold. Joy is the fruit of suffering.” His death was followed by seven days during which heaven and earth remained dark, as he had previously predicted.15 A crowd came out to watch his arrest by soldiers who came from Chuzhou to fetch him. After he died in prison, as the result of terrible beatings, on the fourth day of the eighth month, his followers, led by a female pupil, put someone else’s corpse in his place for the customary public display and buried him near his home village.16 The female pupil remains anonymous but was most likely the same one discussed further below. His final words make clear that suffering was the main way that the patriarch had chosen to rid himself of bad karma. After his death, his followers understandably wondered why their master had chosen to accept death and reject the protection of patrons—such as the family in whose residence he had been holding his final ritual gathering. His female pupil, Transformation Teacher Qiong Pufu ⪞᱂⽣, then preached to the adherents on “the meaning of coming from the

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West” (xilai dayi 㽓՚໻ᛣ) and “the road of returning to Paradise” (huixiang jile lujing ಬ৥Ὁῖ䏃ᕥ), in other words the Pure Land ideal of Amitābha.17 She also gave a lecture on the necessity of his death. Furthermore pupils asked: “The Patriarch-teacher is a Lord of the Teachings of man and Heaven, why did he have to undergo this disaster, why?” She answered: “The teacher sacrificed his body and made a vow, not to use patrons but to manifest his divine power, wishing to make all living beings accomplish the method of bearing with insults. Thus one will see every deluded or enlightened, wise and stupid being, to be widely transferred [to the other shore of the Pure Land]. Do not think lightly [of people] or slander them, if you compare with them, then evil voices will rise instead and how could there be a moment of insight. The kind of person who sees his [original Buddha] nature will be able to listen to other people’s slander and vilification as if he is drinking sweet dew. If the heart is pure and cool of itself, it will not give rise to feelings of annoyance, and you can complete the power of settling wisdom. If it can no longer happen to you that the six thieves (i.e., the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body and mind or the organs of perception, which cause delusions) steal the four family jewels (probably referring to the Four Noble Truths that form the basis of Buddhist teaching), then the power of the vow of merit will increase from here.18 She elaborated still further on the theme, but the basic point is clear: only by passively undergoing persecution of various kinds can one become truly empty. Suffering is not necessarily something to strive for, but it has to be accepted with total equanimity. Whether Qiong Pufu actually held this lecture in the form that has been recorded in the Overall Record can no longer be verified, but at the very least this lecture established the religious significance of Patriarch Ying for the later movement, and some kind of lecture would certainly have taken place. When we consider that charisma is very much an attribute constructed by an individual’s following, then this commemorative lecture should be considered a crucial moment of charisma production, telling the followers who were left behind how important the patriarch had been who had suffered for them. In this speech, we see Qiong Pufu creating the kind of strong relationship that is characteristic of, and essential for, charismatic attraction. I return to this par ticular teacher in more detail in the following subsection. Despite everything, the circumstances of the patriarch’s demise illustrate the group’s success in finding local protection. Not only were they able to hold their ritual in the residence of a prominent local family but also a yamen runner successfully warned them of the prefect’s intentions in advance. Had the patriarch wished, he could have gone into hiding and waited until the prefect had been transferred elsewhere. The prophecy the examination official reported could

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have been a coincidence, but it might have been the result of the growing attraction of Patriarch Ying’s teachings to people in the lower levels of the Hangzhou provincial administration. It could also refer back to the claim Patriarch Ying made in 1576 in Tiantai, when he declared that his writings were a Saintly Instruction. We can identify three persons in our account of the patriarch’s final days with considerable certainty. I discuss the figure “with the ministerial colors” in the following section. Prefectural Worthy Yang was Yang Bangxian ἞䙺ឆ, who served as the Wenzhou prefect from 1574 on. Li “the Tigerhead” was Li Shi ᴢᆺ, who served as the Chuzhou prefect around 1580–1582.19 Their heavy-handed approach in dealing with Patriarch Ying as a local nuisance was normal administrative practice for maintaining public order. Patriarch Yang’s followers, however, were convinced that Prefect Li had come to a horrible end. They believed the nine previous generations of the prefect’s deceased ancestors had visited his household to complain in a dream that the “Emperor-on-High” (i.e., the Jade Emperor himself ) had ordered underworld officials and demon soldiers to have them shackled for eternal imprisonment in hell. Prefect Li was first punished with incurable and extremely painful illnesses before dying in a fire, all of which were common punishments for crimes such as rape, murder, oath breaking, or lack of filial piety. The prefect’s wife succeeded in rescuing herself by shaving off her hair and becoming a Buddhist nun.20

E s t a b l i s h i n g a c e n t e r i n We n z h o u Patriarch Ying’s final gathering at the Zhang residence Before he was arrested, Patriarch Ying gave a final lecture in which he listed his movement’s core texts. As this turned out to be his final public preaching, what he said must have possessed great authority, at least in the group’s construction of its own history. On the fifteenth day of the seventh month (i.e., during the Yulanpen Festival, a communal and family festival in which the deceased ancestors are worshipped and rituals are carried out for their benefit), at the Residence of Pavilion Elder Zhang in Wenzhou, [Patriarch Ying] sent up (sheng ᯛ) [to Heaven] a memorial [listing] the Transformation Teachers and Recruiters (huashi yinjin ࣪᏿ᓩ䘆). He taught about the Precious Scroll on the Saintly Disputations (shenglun baojuan 㘪䂪ᇊ ो), Mingzong’s Precious Scroll on Filial Piety and Righteousness (mingzong xiaoyi baojuan ᯢᅫᄱ㕽ᇊो), the Sutra of Heaven and the Sutra of Binding (tianjing jiejing ໽㍧㌤㍧), as well as the Five Books in Six Volumes. He explicated them one after the other. After each [textual explanation] he transformed [the listeners]. Everyone was given a prediction of Buddhahood (shouji ᥜ㿬) and he determined their names and selected their appellations (hao 㰳).21

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I return to these texts later, but the list certainly fits in well with the movement’s subsequent development. Patriarch Ying held his gathering at the household of a prominent local figure, who is identified as a former chancellor, Pavilion Elder Zhang (zhanggelao ᔉ 䭷㗕). During the sixteenth century, there was only one person in Wenzhou Prefecture who fitted this profi le, Zhang Cong ᔉ⩕ (1475–1539), an important chancellor of the early reign of the Jiajing Emperor (1521–1567). He had supported his emperor in one of the most vitriolic political debates of the early 1520s. Although long dead by 1582, he and his family still enjoyed considerable local prestige many decades later.22 The Zhang residence was located on a prominent hill in the city, next to the county offices. Several smaller buildings commemorating imperial favors bestowed on him have survived until today, bearing witness to the lasting prestige of his household even after his death. The hill was surrounded by several monasteries, and on its top stood a Buddhist pagoda said to date back to the mid-Tang period. There was also a Pool for Setting Free Life that the former chancellor had built, which served to celebrate the Buddhist value of Not Killing. His grave was located on this same hill.23 We do not know precisely who provided patronage to Patriarch Ying in 1582, but given the Buddhist landmarks around the residence, it is quite plausible that people from this household had been interested in his message. On the other hand, its location next to the county offices would have made it impossible for the local magistrate not to notice any goings-on. As in Tiantai in 1576, Patriarch Ying was challenging fate in Wenzhou in 1582, and it is hardly surprising that things went so disastrously wrong. Patriarch Ying’s martyrdom clearly contributed to his charisma and enabled his pupils to spread his teachings more successfully. Although the patriarch started out as just another member of the southern Teachings of Luo, thanks to their missionary zeal, he and his pupils were becoming visible as members of an independent religious movement by the late sixteenth century. In her final speech after the patriarch’s death in 1582, the female Transformation Teacher Qiong Pufu affirmed the importance of missionary work in no uncertain terms, after first stressing that Buddhas and Bodhisattvas always thought of benefiting others. If you can only rescue yourself that is what the Buddha called cutting off the seed of the Buddha. If you can broadly exhort all others this is named Bodhisattva of the Great Vehicle or just like a big cart. When you can rescue both yourself and others, one says that this is obtaining retribution of innumerable merit, with which you can reach the Buddha-territory. Therefore the Gatha to Exhort to Practice of the Great Compassionate Bodhisattva says: “If you can exhort two persons to practice, this is much finer than [only rescuing] yourself. If you can exhort over ten people, its virtue and merit will already be immeasurable. If you can exhort a hundred or a thousand [people], you will be named a true Bodhisattva and if you can even exceed the number ten thousand, then you will be an Amitābha.”24

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We know that this teacher was important from events surrounding the selection of the patriarch’s successor. Even before the final meeting in 1582, the patriarch was complaining that those who can attain the Way are few, so “my Unborn Venerable Mother” (wo wusheng laomu ៥⛵⫳㗕↡) is looking worried at the “talents of the dust” (chencai ้ᠡ, most likely a metaphor for the denizens of the world of red dust, i.e., the earthlings).25 He had fully cultivated himself, but sadly the World of Extreme Pleasure (a reference to the Western Paradise) was extremely mysterious (xuanzhiyouxuan ⥘Пজ⥘, a famous phrase from the Book of the Way and the Virtue). At this point, the “patriarchal mother” (zumu ⼪↡, who can only have been his wife, since his mother died when he was young) wanted to receive his “dharma treasure,” the crucial lines that prove someone’s enlightenment. He denied her this, because it was “a secret dharma that should be transmitted between saints.” She is otherwise never mentioned in this account of the patriarch’s life. Immediately afterward, it is noted that he “later transmitted it to Qiong Pufu,” the disciple who delivered the lengthy sermon in which she made religious sense of the patriarch’s death. In the later tradition, the “dharma treasure” was transmitted through the initiation ritual known as the “Special Transmission outside the Teachings” ( jiaowai biechuan ᬭ໪߹‫)ڇ‬.26 The Overall Record includes a list of Patriarch Ying’s most trusted pupils, which indicates that he was mainly successful in southern Zhejiang, followed by neighboring counties in Fujian and Jiangxi, with just one person from southern Zhili (modern Anhui and Jiangsu).27 We know that several pupils, such as his original teacher, the silversmith Ding Zi, and the person who formally initiated him, Lu Hui, already belonged to the Teachings of Luo before they reconverted to the lineage of Patriarch Ying. The list of followers served to fi x the inclusion of these pupils within the ranks of those who would be saved, probably from the endless cycle of life and death. At the same time, the list also expressed the success of the patriarch in gathering a following and bears witness to his charismatic attraction. When we plot the geographical information in a map, it becomes immediately clear that this was still a very local network, centering on Jinyun County. Most likely the pupils who originally came from further afield, especially Ruichang (in Jiangxi) and Northern Zhili and to a lesser extent from Ningde in northern Fujian, were also living in this area. The movement in southern Zhejiang In the following decades, Wenzhou, as the location of Patriarch Ying’s final success as a teacher, became an important center of the movement, rather than his native Jinyun County. Wenzhou was a harbor town with a regional naval function, meaning a garrison presence and substantial incoming and outgoing administrative and commercial traffic. The first evidence of Wenzhou’s importance to the movement comes from a small-scale incident in 1604, which took place in Jianning Prefecture in northern Fujian.28 A certain Wu Jian ਇᓎ, who came from the Wuyi Mountains and may have been an indigo or tea cultivator, was arrested at the instigation of two local students—men with low examination degrees. He

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Geo graphical Distribution of Patriarch Ying’s Pupils ()

was set free because an official felt he was just a “vegetarian fellow, what could he do and how could he have other ambitions?” In his eyes, a vegetarian movement, probably the Non-Action Teachings, was not deserving of any suspicion. It appears that Wu Jian had made predictions about an imminent change (geng ᳈) of the world order and had been foretelling people’s future incarnations by means of a mirror, inspired by the karma mirror used by King Yama in the underworld to show the souls of the deceased what they had done in previous lives to deserve their future incarnation.29 Local histories add one more religious detail, without providing any further context: that he “carried the appellation (or signal) of the Old Buddha” (chi gufo hao ᣕসԯ㰳).30 The precise nature of the change he predicted remains unclear; for all we know, he was just an ordinary fortune-teller. After his release, the situation quickly spiraled out of control. Wu Jian tried to take revenge on the two students who had denounced him. This escalated into a showdown with a local magistrate who wanted him and his followers to disperse. When Wu Jian and his group started burning down the villages of those who did not submit to him, everybody became afraid of confronting him. In the end, a brave local went in with his personal band of supporters and succeeded in killing him and many of his followers.31 The significance of this incident for us, however, is not in the events surrounding the vengeful Wu Jian,32 but the testimony concerning local vegetarians, added by the author of our source as a kind of afterthought.

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The author of our source is a little-known official from the region, Dong Yingju 㨷ឝ᪻, who was sufficiently worried to add the following complaint about these vegetarians with whom Wu Jian had initially been compared. His informant was a local woman who was so incensed about the movement’s rituals that she revealed its secrets to him. The trustworthiness of Dong’s summary or this woman’s original statement remains an open question. Nowadays, in Taiyu ⋄᎐ in Funing, a certain place in Xinghua, Xutai ᕤ㟎 in Lianjiang, and Zhongdun 。๽ in Changle, they regularly venerate the Lord of the Teachings from Wenzhou. They put an evil spell over lords and fathers. Ma Quanshi 侀ܼक is the one who spread the teachings in Zhongdun, and Zheng Qishi 䜁ϗᆺ from Jiadeng jia ௝ⱏ⬆ in Min (=Fuzhou) supported and venerated him. Their magical techniques are the same as those of Wu Jian. They make people sell all of their possessions to support the group. They say: “When chaos comes and you are rich and well-positioned, your karmic burden (ye ὁ) would be everywhere.” They forbid people to worship ancestors and deities, in order to end one’s feelings. They only worship the Lord of the Non-Action Teachings. At dusk and night, they collect men and women in a secret room, with one stick of incense in their hands, they light it and pronounce a spell, they put out the candle and sit. . . . [Ma] Quanshi once said to people: “In my teachings you fi rst have a small trouble and later you will have great fortune. Th is year a big ship will welcome you to depart in the third month. If it comes later, it will be the eighth month.” His followers looked out for the ship day and night. The places mentioned are all on the Fujian coast, suggesting that commercial maritime traffic from Wenzhou was responsible for spreading the teachings. However, I was unable to identify any of the personal names in other sources. Ma Quanshi was arrested, but he had his followers in prison and continued his teaching activities, coming and going at night unbeknownst to the magistrate. He told his following: “My present trouble has passed, my great fortune will arrive.” Sadly, our author does not report what happened next. Ma Quanshi’s stay in prison is strikingly similar to the story of Patriarch Luo, who was also unjustly imprisoned but continued his religious activities. As for the boat ritual, we lack proper context for this par ticu lar case, but a ritual for transferring the souls of the dead to the Western Paradise or Pure Land, in the dharma boat of Guanyin, was very popu lar in southern China and can still be witnessed on Taiwan.33 J. J. M. de Groot mentions that local groups of the movement in Amoy in the 1880s also practiced this ritual, which they called the transfer of the Prajñā Boat (banruochuan 㠀㢹㠍) or the Boat to Wisdom. Th is boat with Guanyin at the tiller was thought to carry departed souls to the Western Paradise.34

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Classifying these vegetarian believers in coastal Fujian is not easy because no religious names are given. They rejected the worship of ancestors and deities and had a leader who was called the Lord of the Non-Action Teachings and resided in Wenzhou. The description of the incense- and candle-burning ritual recalls the ritual of Lighting the Candles that was central to the movement’s activities (to be discussed in Chapter 5). I am unable to reconcile the rejection of personal wealth with anything we know about the movement. In combination with the prediction of the advent of chaos, it might point to a millenarian message, but there is nothing else to confirm this interpretation. It might also be an extension of the Buddhist warnings against forming attachments to any forms of personal belongings. Still, I feel confident that we are dealing with a local manifestation of the Non-Action Teachings that form the subject of this investigation. The Lord of the [Non-Action] Teachings from Wenzhou may have been a local successor to Patriarch Ying, who had enjoyed high-level patronage there during his final months of preaching in 1582. The Causes and Fruits of the Seven Branches confirms that Wenzhou was one of our movement’s early centers. As many as six of its forty-three conversion accounts took place in Wenzhou and/or involved people from Wenzhou,35 which is equaled only by Qingyuan with two certain and four possible cases.36 An important member in the early movement was Liang Youtai ṕট⋄ from Wenzhou, who successfully defended the teachings against accusations of heresy by a local candidate-magistrate.37 In another account from the same source, local adherents defended the teachings against a fierce attack by a Buddhist monk who, during a meeting with the head of the Wenzhou garrison in attendance, accused it of being a heterodox movement.38 The need for this specific type of defense of the teachings confirms that the movement had already attracted considerable local attention. Wenzhou remained a prominent center of the movement throughout the Qing dynasty, when the Yao patriarchy even established their second ancestral hall there. This account, dating from 1604, is not the only early account to point to the local spread of the Non-Action Teachings or at least of groups worshipping the Five Books in Six Volumes in southern Zhejiang and northern Fujian. One such group in Pujiang County in Jinhua Prefecture, to the north of Chuzhou Prefecture, was led by Zhang Yingzhu ᔉឝ᷾. During the 1610s, they founded three sutra halls and worshipped the Five Books in Six Volumes, using an edition by the Dang Family, most likely the one from 1595.39 Our source blames them for using “coarse” language to propagate teachings ascribed to the Buddha, though they really worshipped NonAction and placed their teachings above those of the Classicist Teachings (rujiao ‫ۦ‬ᬭ, often translated as Confucianism).40 Unfortunately, we do not learn any more details that could conclusively link the group to our own movement. A certain Ms. Wang ⥟’s network in Lishui County in Chuzhou Prefecture is even more interesting.41 In 1581, at the age of nineteen, she had been taught by someone called Teacher Lou ပ in Yongkang County and went on to give lectures on the Five Books in Six Volumes and the Heart Sutra. There is a very likely candidate for this Teacher Lou among Patriarch Ying’s pupils, if we allow that Ms. Wang (or her interrogators) had the name of the teacher slightly wrong.

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Patriarch Ying himself had been initiated by Original Teacher Lu (Lu benshi ⲻ ᴀ᏿) in this very same county of Yongkang. The family name Lu could easily have been misunderstood as Lou, and the other details fit very well indeed.42 Sadly, our sources do not allow us to go beyond this kind of educated guesswork, but at the very least the cases of Zhang Yingzhu and Ms. Wang confirm the early presence in southern Zhejiang of groups that worshipped the Five Books in Six Volumes. The subsequent fate of the lineage of Patriarch Ying The history of the lineage of Patriarch Ying, following his violent death in 1582, is not very clear. Surprisingly, the internal historiography of the Golden Pennant Teachings ( jinzhuang jiao 䞥ᐶᬭ, also known as the Golden Hall Teachings or jintangjiao 䞥ූᬭ, which are homophones in the local language variant) provides one remarkable piece of information. From the late-Ming period on, this movement became one of the most important competitors of the Non-Action Teachings in southern Zhejiang and Fujian (as well as later on Taiwan). According to its own internal texts, its earliest leaders started their religious careers in the lineage of Patriarch Ying, using his original name rather than the variant Yin, which would become common in the lineage of Patriarch Yao. This detail already indicates that we are dealing with an old and independent transmission, rather than a late invention at a time that his name had been altered. The founding teacher of the Golden Pennant Teachings in southern China was Dong Yingliang 㨷ឝ҂ (1581–1637). According to the movement’s internal sources, he had been sold as a slave to the Gao family in Yanzhou and became the reading partner of a daughter of relatives, Li Yuying ᴢ⥝㣅.43 Despite some variations, these sources agree that both Dong and a prominent early member, Cai Wenju 㫵᭛᪻ (1584–1654), had first joined the Non-Action Teachings (referred to as Dragon Flower or Teachings of Patriarch Ying). Both had transferred to the Golden Pennant Teachings in 1619 and became leading members.44 Curiously, the Causes and Fruits of the Seven Branches that was produced in the late-Ming and early-Qing Non-Action Teachings also treats this figure with considerable respect, using one of his alternative names, Dong Qingcao 㨷䴦㤝. He is described as a slave of a Buddhist abbot in Yanzhou who became religiously very close to a girl in the Gao household. We are clearly dealing with another version of the same story circulating in the Golden Pennant Teachings. Dong Yingliang, alias Qingcao, is considered extremely knowledgeable in the Causes and Fruits of the Seven Branches and is said to be a leading pupil of Patriarch Ying’s, with the alternative religious name Patriarch Who Resides in the Way.45 The mythology of the Golden Pennant Teachings includes the story of Luo Ying, using a version of the patriarch’s name that is attested only in the very early Qing. Moreover, it claims that Dong’s own teacher was also imprisoned but had been set free, thanks to the intervention of the Daoist Heavenly Master on one of his regular visits to the imperial court. Furthermore, they claimed to possess “Six Volumes” of scripture, which must have been inspired by the Five Books in

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Six Volumes.46 Although we can easily dismiss the historical reliability of such accounts about Dong Yingliang’s or his teacher’s doings, they do point to a relationship between the early Golden Pennant Teachings and the Non-Action Teachings through the lineage of Patriarch Ying. In religious terms, the two movements were very different, but they operated in the same regions and may have drawn from the same pool of potential followers. As a result, there would have been crossover between the two movements, for instance, in the cases of Dong Yingliang and Cai Wenju.

T h e m ove m e n t ’s c a n o n i c a l t e x t s By the time of Patriarch Ying’s final gathering in Wenzhou in 1582, the movement’s core or canonical texts had already been established. Of course, the passage from the 1683 Overall Record could be a later mystification, but there are a few indications that this record is reliable. During the course of the movement’s history, more texts would be composed, some of which already existed by the time of the Overall Record, but they were not retrospectively included. The texts recited by Patriarch Ying at his final gathering have remained important throughout the movement’s entire history and turn up frequently in the records, with only minor variations, whenever Non-Action Teachings groups were rounded up in the course of the Qing dynasty.47 Of these texts, the Five Books in Six Volumes hardly needs any further explanation, although we would love to know which edition Patriarch Ying used. He may already have had access to Lanfeng’s Essence of the Dharma Which Opens Up the Heart (kaixin fayao 䭟ᖗ⊩㽕), which was reprinted in 1652 by his last known religious descendant, Cheng Pushen ⿟᱂Ԍ.48 We know that this edition existed some time before Mizang first read it in 1581 in a Suzhou monastery, which was one year before the patriarch’s death. It may have circulated long enough for Ying Ji’nan to have seen it, or he may have had access to another edition unknown to us. One text seems to have been lost, the Precious Scroll on the Saintly Disputations (shenglun baojuan 㘪䂪ᇊो). Its title suggests that it may have referred to Patriarch Luo’s defense of the faith against Tibetan monks in the court of the Zhengde Emperor. This text now forms the first chapter on Luo Qing in the Overall Record and contains that patriarch’s mythological biography. In other words, this Precious Scroll on the Saintly Disputations is not lost at all, but the work in which it was eventually incorporated could not have existed at the time of Patriarch Ying’s death. The Sutra of Heaven and the Sutra of Binding are two brief texts, written in the form of poems, that form an intrinsic part of the movement’s rituals. The preface to the 1885 reprint specifies that the two texts are “the Esoteric Instruction of Old Man Luo and had been secretly spoken by Patriarch Yin[g]” (luoweng zhi aozhi, yinzu mimi suo shuo 㕙㖕П༻ᮼ↋⼪⾬ᆚ᠔䁾).49 The patriarch’s authorship cannot be confirmed by other evidence, but the central importance of these two writings is certain. The first deals with the promise of salvation by Amitābha in the Pure Land or Heaven, which is where every adherent wanted to end up after

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death. The second deals with the individual’s fate in hell as a kind of warning to less serious adherents.50 None of this material contains any messianic references. Mingzong’s Precious Scroll of Filial Piety and Righteousness is known in an extant version, Mingzong’s Precious Scroll on Filial Piety and Righteousness Reaching the Foundation (mingzong xiaoyi daben baojuan ᯢᅫᄱ㕽䘨ᴀᇊो). No link is made between this book and Patriarch Ying, but the undated preface connects the text to Patriarch Luo and his Five Books in Six Volumes. The title refers to a fictional figure, Yang Mingzong ἞ᯢᅫ, who is also associated with the 1885 reprint discussed earlier and with the Proclamation to Protect the Way/Sutras that is discussed in Chapter 6. The author of the preface was a merchant who had been practicing a form of lay Buddhism without true illumination. He then came across the Five Books in Six Volumes by Patriarch Luo (Luozu wubu jingjuan 㕙⼪Ѩ䚼㍧ ो) in the monk Daning’s version and later received this par ticu lar precious scroll from an unnamed monk. The purported translator of the book came from Xin’an (i.e., Huizhou), famous as a center of commercial activities, suggesting he had a merchant background like the author of the preface.51 Evidently, this is not an Indian sutra but a late Chinese fabrication. Its title is remarkably similar to the two-volume “Filial Piety and Righteousness” ascribed to the same Daning in the polemical account by the late-sixteenth-century monk Mizang cited in Chapter 2.52 Whether historically correct or not, all indications are that this text might have predated Patriarch Ying and go back to an early phase of the southern spread of the teachings of Patriarch Luo. The Precious Scroll on Filial Piety and Righteousness sets out the teachings in typical sutra style, with the Buddha preaching in reply to questions from his pupil. There is the customary alternation of prose and poetry that we know from sutras. The text traces the growth of a person, from conception to birth, which is the ultimate justification for the fi lial piety that we owe to our mothers. All of this is quite conventional. The descriptions are placed in a Pure Land context, but in his cosmological discussions, the unknown author also mentions the Patriarch without Extreme, or Patriarch Luo, who is seen as the ultimate original state from which everything is born. The text speaks of the Unborn Father and Mother (wusheng fumu ⛵⫳⠊↡), which is the “origin of all Buddhas and the home of each person,” “the dharma body of without extreme,” and “the ruler of the All-under-heaven,” and concludes by saying that “therefore it is called the King inside the Dharma, the original manifestation of the Old Amitābha.” Here and elsewhere in this text, Amitābha is made into the beginning and end of all things.53 In a sense, the importance of fi lial piety is directly connected to the beginning of life, both inside the mother’s body and on a cosmic level. These notions are not revolutionary and are in Luo Qing’s Five Books in Six Volumes.54 These different works formed the movement’s core repertoire, even though more texts were added later, such as the history of the three patriarchs in the Overall Record of the Circumstances under Which the Three Patriarchs On-High Traveled Around and Taught, the Causes and Fruits of the Seven Branches that tells of the conversion of early adherents during the late Ming and very early Qing, and the ritual manuals (which quote the Sutra of Heaven and the Sutra of Binding).

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Local groups might possess additional texts, but they were not necessarily part of this core repertoire. Furthermore, the religious content of these texts is quite conventional in their advocacy of righteousness and fi lial piety within the context of rebirth in the Western Paradise of Amitābha and the fear of punishment in hell.

Patriarch Yao: from food peddler to religious leader Patriarch Yao Wenyu ྮ᭛ᅛ (1578–1646) came from Qingyuan County, a little further south than Jinyun County, where Patriarch Ying had been born.55 He was born five years before Patriarch Ying died, so he eventually claimed that Patriarch Ying had initially split off part of his “numinous nature” (lingxing 䴜ᗻ) to allow him to be born while his previous incarnation was still alive. Yao Wenyu did not speak until he was five sui (roughly four, according to Western counting), when Patriarch Ying died and his spirit could finally enter him in a complete form.56

The early years Like Patriarch Ying, Yao Wenyu lost both parents early in life. There is no indication in his religious biography that he ever learned to read and write, although it seems plausible that he had at least learned some texts (such as the Five Books in Six Volumes) by heart at some point in his life. He kept a vegetarian diet and was poor, and he herded ducks for a living. The daily slaughter of living creatures hurt his sensibilities, so he went off in search of another occupation. At the Zhunti Pavilion (zhunti ge ⑪ᦤ䭷) in Qingyuan County, he encountered a Person of the Way (daozhe 䘧㗙) who converted him.57 He received the dharma name Pushan ᱂୘. Much later, his family still recalled this important event, and in the early Qing they were involved in building a hall in the locally prominent Monastery of the Heavenly Inscription (tianmingsi ໽䡬ᇎ). Yao Duo 䨌, the patriarch’s only son, provided a poem for this occasion.58 Most likely, the Zhunti Pavilion where his father had been converted was on the premises of this monastery. Zhunti was one of the manifestations of Guanyin, and people worshipped her as an overseer of the registers of life and death in hopes of extending their life span or warding off illness.59 The Yao family name was common in Qingyuan County, with several lineages. Some of them must have been of moderate wealth and status, unlike Yao Wenyu’s direct ancestors.60 Four other persons carried the same lineage affi liation character wen as Yao Wenyu, strongly suggesting that they all belonged to the same larger clan.61 Perhaps he belonged to an impoverished branch of the larger kinship unit. From his son’s time onward, his descendants were very successful in the civil ser vice examinations, suggesting that although his immediate family may have been poor, they still possessed an ideal of educational progress. At the suggestion of the anonymous Man of the Way at the Zhunti Pavilion, he made his living with a small food stall on a busy thoroughfare. Here he had an enlightenment experience circa 1613 at the age of thirty-six sui. From this moment, his life becomes traceable on almost a yearly basis. First he stayed at Patri-

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arch Ying’s grave for a year; then he had a fruit stall in Chuzhou city for three years, after which he traveled in search of the way for another three years. He did not succeed in attracting followers, and he labeled this period as his own six years of hardship, parallel to Luo Qing’s thirteen years and Ying Ji’nan’s six years of hardship.62 In 1620, he came to the Wuyi Mountains in northwestern Fujian, bordering on Chuzhou Prefecture in southern Zhejiang. He eventually built a personal following of both men and women, some of whom had already been converted to the overall movement. Like Patriarch Ying, he initially took over parts of an existing network. He also obtained the support of a Transformation Teacher (huashi ࣪᏿) from Liancheng County (Tingzhou Prefecture, a Hakka region in southwestern Fujian) who had accumulated some capital from planting indigo. Most likely, this man owned land that was subcontracted to the actual laborers, for if he had been only a subcontractor himself, he would never have made sufficient profit to support Patriarch Yao and his activities. This connection suggests that Patriarch Yao may have originally gone to this mountainous region as a seasonal worker in the indigo industry,63 and it was here that his preaching attracted the attention of this Transformation Teacher. A hall (tang ූ) was founded in the house of a follower. By 1621, he had enabled 3,784 people to “ascend the Pass” (shangguan Ϟ䮰), which meant that they were now certain that they would be saved when the present kalpa eventually came to an end. It is especially interesting that he was active in the Wuyi Mountains area, which is also the first region (under its bureaucratic name Guangze) where we find Fujianese pupils of Patriarch Ying. Several adherents from this region are also attested in the conversion accounts in the Causes and Fruits. When the Jesuit missionary Guido Aleni came to Fujian, he made some of his first converts to Christianity among people who had already been practicing vegetarians for a long time in these mountains.64 It was evidently a well-established center of activities by new religious groups, perhaps because the isolated location provided much-needed protection from the prying eyes of upper-level elites and state officials. In the Wuyi Mountains, Yao Wenyu started out as a normal adherent and only gradually became a prominent leader. A chart of his pupils that dates back to 1627, early in his career as a teacher, shows that he still shared his position of leadership with two other figures, Puli ᱂⧚ and his younger sister Pubo ᱂⊶ (their family name remains unknown), with himself at its center. Puli was a follower who had made his house available seven years previously, in 1620. At the time, Patriarch Yao had claimed that Puli’s wife was an incarnation of Huineng, the famous Sixth Patriarch in the Chan tradition. She had the dharma-name Puxiang ᱂佭 and was also listed in the 1627 chart as a formal pupil of Puli’s. The patriarch had also predicted that Puli’s sister, Pubo, and wife, Puxiang, would be reborn as men, in their socioreligious logic a reward for many years of active lay Buddhist practice.65 More cynically, the identification of Puxiang as an incarnation of Huineng, and the prediction, could be seen as these three people’s reward in exchange for their crucial help to Patriarch Yao when he was starting a lineage of his own. It confirms that his position was not supreme, which is also confirmed

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by numerous anecdotes in the Causes and Fruits, according to which, during the last decades of the Ming period, many adherents were spreading the teachings independently.

B e c o m i n g Pa t r i a r c h Y i n g After Yao Wenyu’s initial success in converting people, several events legitimated him as the true successor of Patriarch Ying.66 He had originally converted in the lineage of the prominent female Transformation Teacher Qiong Pufu, whom we have already encountered holding a big commemorative lecture in 1582 after the death of Patriarch Ying. In 1621, almost forty years later, she recognized Patriarch Yao as a teacher. Yet another Transformation Teacher, Puji ᱂㿬, from Yongfeng County ∌䈤, tried to persuade him to join his own network, but the patriarch succeeded in convincing him that he was the incarnation of Patriarch Ying. This was a highly significant event because Puji was not just anybody. He featured in one of the few known conversations between Patriarch Ying and his followers, and he was included in the list of his trusted pupils.67 Further confirmation of this figure’s status at the time comes from Cheng Pushen’s 1652 postscript to the Essence of the Dharma Which Opens Up the Heart.68 Puji later disappeared from sight when he left for Korea, possibly as a soldier or trader, so it would have been easy to “construct” him as someone who had recognized Patriarch Yao’s claims.69 We will never know how reliable this depiction is, since it is based on the Overall Record, a partisan source produced by the patriarch’s own followers. What is clear is that Patriarch Yao took many years to move from a marginal existence as a local peddler of food and fruit to a full-time life as a missionary for the Non-Action Teachings. It was his stay in the Wuyi Mountains in 1620 that provided him with a crucial window of opportunity, without which we would never have heard of him. Many of his early converts had already been converted previously, and he spent much time and effort in wooing them to transfer to his own lineage. An example of this process is his offer to help in the household of a Recruiter (a mid-level rank in the movement) and his wife, whom he wanted to “transform” (hua ࣪). When they were reluctant to carry out a ritual of burning candles due to lack of money, he pushed them to perform it nonetheless. That day he went into the hills to gather fi rewood, and when they performed the ritual, he was seen sitting on the altar. The bewildered Recruiter went into the hills, followed by the master from the altar, and there they found the real master asleep on a pile of firewood! Apparently, his spirit had left him in his sleep. Thereupon, they talked about the way. From this the husband concluded that Yao Wenyu must be the incarnation of Patriarch Ying, but his wife maintained that a Recruiter could not change affi liations so easily. They decided to wait and joined Patriarch Yao’s lineage later.70 Patriarch Yao did not succeed in taking over Patriarch Ying’s entire network, and not all of the branch lineages accepted his authority. In the words of Patriarch Yao himself:71

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That the Luo lineage does not put its trust in the way of the Yao lineage is as if tea is being taken for spirits and does not intoxicate people. That the Yin[g] lineage does not enter the teachings of my lineage is as if a stone is taken for a gem and is not considered rare. That branch-lineages do not return to the dharma of the Yao lineage is like when a stone sinks in the ocean, it is bitter without end. That my lineage does not keep to my preaching is like when the sun is in the sky, but is obscured by clouds and haze. In the long run, Patriarch Yao’s lineage was able to impose itself on the movement. By the last years of the Ming dynasty, Yao Wenyu had made enough of a name for himself that when he died, the movement could survive and coalesce again around his second wife and infant son.

T h e p a t r i a r c h a n d h i s f o l l o we r s In 1627, Patriarch Yao’s followers pressured him, still a single man, to marry (at forty-nine sui). That he had not already married was not a matter of principle, but more likely insufficient financial means. Around 1622, he had defended the ideal of marriage with children against a critical Buddhist monk. When he did marry, some still thought it strange for a “teacher of mankind and Heaven” (rentian zhi shi Ҏ໽П᏿) to do so.72 Interestingly, he had already adopted a son before he married, who is referred to as both a stepson ( jizi 㑐ᄤ) and an adopted son ( yizi 㕽 ᄤ). This son was called Jin Foshou 䞥ԯ໑, Golden Buddha Longevity, no doubt expressing the hope that he would bring good fortune. Sadly, he and Yao Wenyu became embroiled in a row over family finances ( jiaji ᆊ㿜), and the stepson even betrayed him at the very end of his life. In 1640, the patriarch’s followers wanted him to throw his son out of his household, but he was unable to take this drastic step. During his extended visit to Hangzhou that same year, he asked his pupils whether they thought his son was good or bad. They thought the son was a bad person, but the patriarch answered that if this was the case, he as a teacher could not have come this far.73 It seems that the patriarch never had a son from his first marriage, but when he eventually married a second time, that union produced his only known biological son, Yao Duo 䨌 (ca. 1645–ca. 1683). We know little about the early followers’ social background, except that there is no mention of any farmers. The known professions of adherents in the networks of Patriarchs Ying and Yao included several merchants from Xin’an (Huizhou), a silversmith from Yongkang, an indigo merchant from Liancheng, and a yamen runner. The patriarchs traveled around, staying with followers in their private houses, and probably profited from the personal networks of local adherents to spread the teachings further.74 Some followers were literate enough to consult the Five Books in Six Volumes; others provided the fi nancial means to support the patriarchs and publish crucial texts. The movement certainly started off in a marginal region, and probably many of the followers, including the two patriarchs,

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were of humble descent. Yet, at least some adherents had a professional background, and later on we also find members of the educated classes among them. We are on safer ground when we analyze the geographical provenance of the adherents on the basis of a list of followers who had been admitted to the Dragon Flower Gathering as of 1627.75 The enormous geographical spread of the network of Patriarch Yao’s pupils probably reflects his personal travels but confirms that the movement already sprawled over several provinces by this time. Most of his Fujian and Jiangxi converts may stem from his years of working and teaching in the Wuyi Mountains, a place full of migrants working in the tea and indigo industries. His converts in what is now Anhui may stem from his journeys to the north. Strikingly, at this early stage he did not have many followers in Qingyuan, even though he came from there. One reason for Patriarch Yao’s long-term success was his ability to attract patrons, such as the indigo merchant and later even a local magistrate. The need for patronage from officials and men of some standing was always urgent because the movement was under constant threat of persecution. Being a missionary was not very lucrative, at least initially, and it was certainly not a safe profession. In 1632, during a boat trip through several prefectures, for instance, Patriarch Yao and his followers were constantly harassed by officials, elites, and local bullies and only narrowly escaped further harm.76 That same year he healed magistrate Zhao Bi 䍭⩻ of Qingyuan County, his own place of birth.77 The magistrate indicated that his official position prevented him from joining the movement, but he did protect them as well as he could for the following thirteen years. One day, circa 1636, when the patriarch was about to celebrate his sixtieth birthday, he visited the magistrate in advance. He informed him that more than a thousand people from elsewhere might come to visit him, as it was the “day of the old stupid one’s mother’s troubles” (laoyu mu nan zhi chen 㗕ᛮ↡䲷П䖄). The magistrate warned him that because his residence was close to the county capital, the meeting might come to the attention of a higher-level official. Instead, they should hold the meeting at a more distant place.78 Later, during the volatile years of dynastic transition in 1645, local soldiers arrested the patriarch, and once again Zhao Bi had the opportunity to help him, this time as the vice prefect (tongzhi ৠⶹ) of Jianning in northern Fujian, where the Ming dynasty was still formally in charge.79

T h e f i n a l ye a r s As an increasingly prominent and visible religious figure, Patriarch Yao also had to participate in charitable activities. In 1642, he used the “incense gifts” he received to further a variety of traditional Buddhist charitable works, such as providing people with clothes and food during a famine, burying corpses left behind on the road, building bridges, and paving roads.80 His contribution of five hundred pieces of silver toward building a bridge is recorded in a local historical work; the actual project was an expansion with the very Daoist-sounding title of Small Penglai (a mythic island of immortality) and the Pavilion of Repairing

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Geo graphical Distribution of Patriarch Yao’s Pupils ()

Heaven. Th is last name recalls the story that the ancient deity Nüwa ཇၻ had once repaired the pillars of Heaven, clearly a metaphor for the repair of this bridge. Only a few years later, in 1648, the patriarch’s son Yao Duo—or more likely his mother in her infant son’s name—again contributed to the restoration of the same bridge.81 As a result of these charitable works, the patriarch’s “good name” spread. These same years saw a violent dynastic transition that lasted much longer in Fujian than further north because Ming pretenders there were able to hold out for a few extra years.82 The local power holders in Chuzhou Prefecture at the time

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were Liu Chengyi ࡝䁴ᛣ in Qingtian County and Ming loyalist Yang Dingqing ἞ 哢॓ in Longquan County, according to the Overall Record.83 Both needed funds to support their private armies. In 1646, Patriarch Yao contributed to Liu Chengyi’s funds because he respected his “righteousness” ( yi 㕽). On his way back to his place of residence in Qingyuan, he passed through Longquan, where he attracted the attention of Yang Dingqing, who felt insulted that he had not contributed to his funds as well, the more so since Patriarch Yao’s own stepson had joined him. His stepson now claimed that the patriarch had immense landed properties and tremendous riches. In addition, the patriarch was said to possess a magical precious mirror that enabled him to drive out demons, causing him to have many followers—a conventional accusation against charismatic figures who supposedly obtained their following not through the strength of their personalities or teachings, but through magical techniques.84 Yang Dingqing sent some of his staff to pressure the patriarch into contributing.85 The claims about the patriarch’s wealth were clearly based on his success in attracting followers and gifts, which would have been reinforced by his charitable acts during the preceding years. The patriarch and his family had already fled to northern Fujian some time before. Here a loyal follower, Tribute Student Wang (wang gongsheng ⥟䉶⫳), tried to prevent him from returning home in Qingyuan. However, despite knowing that his fate had already been sealed, the patriarch left after seven days, as he told his followers: “When I, Tathagata [= the historical Buddha], was incarnated as a mortal, I was bound to suffer ten great disasters. First in the Luo household, I took on three, later when I arrived in the Ying household I have taken on another four. In conclusion I will meet three great disasters. From its very nature, it should be that the Buddha will take it on in my place. How could it be that ordinary people would take it on in my stead.”86 On the road he met with Yang Dingqing’s deputies and told them that he could not comply with their master’s request. He took leave of his family, holding his year-old son in his arms and assigning him to be the founder of his lineage (literally, “I leave this one branch, and plant a root for all Buddhas”). In terms of his teachings, he may have felt reassured by his certainty of rebirth in the Western Paradise or at least of being included on the roll of the Dragon Flower Gatherings, to be held by Maitreya at the beginning of the next kalpa in the distant future. Facing death voluntarily was a powerful statement of sincere beliefs, and this was certainly how his death would subsequently be constructed. The patriarch was forced to appear before Yang Dingqing but still refused to contribute any money. The local warlord had the household of the patriarch in Qingyuan plundered, but they found very little. Despite his own mother’s entreaties, Yang felt that he could not afford to free the patriarch, whose large following might cause problems in the future. The patriarch died in prison like Patriarch Ying before him, a fate that he had already foreseen.87 Yang Dingqing and his family, as well as Patriarch Yao’s stepson, who was in his ser vice, were killed by the Qing armies soon afterward.88 By this time, the movement was active in large parts of the Lower Yangzi region, southern Zhejiang, northern Fujian, and Jiangxi. During the Qing dynasty, the patriarch’s descendants were able to build on his reputation to create an elaborate tribute network.

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The religious environment The patriarchs not only dealt with patrons and local power holders but also competed with other religious specialists and teachers. The Overall Record describes these confl icts in surprisingly honest detail, sufficient to reconstruct some of the underlying religious or ritual issues. Once again we can confirm some of the historical details in outside sources.

Religious opponents and competitors Our record of Patriarch Yao’s opponents and competitors starts with an incident in circa 1625–1626, when he faced competition, followed by outright attacks, from a local ritual specialist named Chen. This man practiced the ritual of the Five Penetrations (wutong Ѩ䗮), which was most likely exorcist in nature. He “stirred up” (shan ᠛) many people, including two brothers with the mid-level rank called Recruiter in the Non-Action Teachings. One of them secretly entered the patriarch’s bedroom. When the patriarch noticed him, he shouted that he could never be hurt by the thunder spell of his “heretic master” (xieshi 䙾᏿). The man ran back to the ritual specialist, who then tried the same thing himself. This time, the patriarch was sitting amid heavenly dragons, and the specialist realized that this was not an ordinary man and left. The two brothers did not return to the patriarch.89 In 1640, a certain Recruiter Kang from Guangdong exhorted a young woman to join the movement. Subsequently, she also mastered the Method of Five Penetrations, which is described in negative terms as possession by an evil demon, clairvoyance, and the ability to work a voodoo-like magic. In reality, she may have been a medium or exorcist specialist. On one occasion, she foresaw that her husband was about to return home from a trip and went outside to welcome him. Her husband exploded with anger because she had overstepped the boundaries of ritual propriety by going outside unaccompanied. Somewhat later, she sent the patriarch an envelope supposedly containing a dharma treasure ( fabao ⊩ᇊ) with the message that he should carry it on his person without opening it. He opened the package, which contained seven strands of head hair. The patriarch saw this as a form of magic intended to hurt him and accused her of being a “demonic possession.” He advised his follower to get rid of his wife.90 These accounts reflect some form of religious competition, but there is also another dimension. The events read like accusations of witchcraft made by the patriarch and his inner circle against fellow adherents. Like other cultures, China had a tradition of accusing one’s enemies of practicing evil magic (or witchcraft), not necessarily because they had really done so, but simply because of an underlying conflict. We know that such accusations were common in northern Fujian, usually remaining on the level of local rumors and gossip, as in this par ticular case, but sometimes escalating into conflicts that ended before the local magistrate.91 Interestingly, the patriarch did not use any form of ritual defense or magic but was portrayed as being impervious to such attacks. It was a battle of faith and not of ritual power. In 1627, Patriarch Yao set up his second Dragon Flower Gathering (a practice that is analyzed in Chapter 5) and warned about “external enemies who can be

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defended against and internal demons who are hard to ward off.” The first part of the statement possibly refers to the incident with ritual specialist Chen, which had occurred one year earlier, and the second to a much more serious conflict with Wang Changsheng ∾䭋⫳ that same year. The latter was present at the second Dragon Flower Gathering and afterward went to see the Heavenly Master on Dragon and Tiger Mountain and had an exchange with him. The Heavenly Master was unable to comprehend him—at least according to the undoubtedly biased author of our source. More important, Wang seceded from the movement with a number of Yao’s followers and founded his own teachings. His name Changsheng (“Long Life”) derived from the name of his subsequent movement, the Long Life Teachings (changshengjiao 䭋⫳ᬭ). His real name seems to have been Wang Yang ⥟ӄ, and he came from Jiangxi.92 Precisely why he seceded is unclear. We do not know much about the Long Life Teachings. In 1644, the local magistrate of Yongkang rounded up a group by the same name because it “stirred up chaos.”93 Yongkang was close to the center of the movement in Quzhou Prefecture, slightly north of Chuzhou. In the autumn of 1768, the movement again came to the attention of the authorities during a search for sorcerers in the great queue-cutting panic that had hit the entire Yangzi region, as well as the Grand Canal area.94 Typically, the adherents founded small halls, used the religious affi liation character pu, lived a vegetarian lifestyle, and recited sutras and the name of the Buddha (most likely Amitābha). They believed that these activities would prolong their lives. They worshipped Amitābha and Guanyin. Because they sacrificed fruit, they were also called the Fruit Teachings. Among their texts were the Heart Sutra and Diamond Sutra. Their founder, Wang Pushan ⥟᱂୘, was buried in Xi’an in Quzhou Prefecture, where followers maintained his grave as a kind of pilgrimage center. The movement had spread to Suzhou, Wujiang, Pinghu, Jiaxing, and, of course, Xi’an itself.95 One member had more noteworthy texts, including a “Precious Sutra of Tathagatha Pujing Inspecting the Teachings” (pujing rulai jianjiao baojing ᱂䴰བ՚⁶ᬭᇇ㍧), a “Precious Classic of the Incarnation” ϟ⫳ᇇ㍧, and even a text that explicitly referred to avoiding the apocalypse. Officials at the time identified none of these texts as rebellious, and they played no further role in the movement.96 The text on the incarnation probably referred to Wang Changsheng’s claim to be Confucius, who had come back to earth to ferry people across.97 During the suppression of new religious groups during the 1950s, the Way of Long Life was recorded as having over 200 halls and 20,000 adherents in Zhejiang alone.98 Wang Changsheng’s breakaway from the fledgling Non-Action Teachings had clearly led to the creation of an independent and viable lay Buddhist movement that was located close to the core region of the Non-Action Teachings. The movement was similar in its religious practices, with the possible exception of a more concrete focus on achieving long life. The next challenge for Patriarch Yao came from the Recruiter Lai Ziming 䋈 㞾ᯢ. He had once been a follower of the Non-Action Teachings, probably in Patriarch Yao’s own branch.99 As far back as 1641, the “miasmas” caused by Lai Ziming, who “had performed evil” (xingxie 㸠䙾), had made a Mr. Tang (most likely Tang Kejun ⑃‫ܟ‬シ) very ill. It was even claimed that this man, who was one of

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the most prominent members of the movement at the time, had died in 1644 as a result of these events.100 Most likely, this accusation should be interpreted as an attempt to lay the blame for someone’s misfortune on an enemy of the group—in other words, by making an accusation of witchcraft. The actual contents of Lai Ziming’s teachings remain unclear, but the activities of his follower Li Ziming ᴢᄤᯢ in 1645 are described in the Overall Record as follows:101 He said of himself that he was good at letting his spirit go out. [On its travels, his spirit] had seen all Buddhas and relatives in the lineage in the three kalpas of the home region. He drew pictures of them and prepared many sacrificial offerings. He invited many hundreds of the followers (zhong ⴒ) to come to [his] hall for clarification of the Way. The gist of this passage seems to be that Li Ziming claimed to have seen the “relatives in the lineage” residing in the perfect Buddha world of the three ages of the past, present, and future Buddha. Adherents of the movement probably would have been eager to know whether their efforts were worth all their exertions and whether their relatives were now safe in the promised land. During a confrontation, Patriarch Yao tested him on his understanding of the cosmos, a test Li Ziming supposedly failed. Curiously, the patriarch claimed that he had then fi lled the space around them with locks—an exorcist measure. He (and possibly also Li Ziming) was arrested by local soldiers when he reached Songqi in western Fujian, but, luckily, his long-term patron Zhao Bi investigated the case and set him free.102 We reencounter Lai Ziming later in official Qing sources. One laconic account in a Ninghua County history (likewise located in western Fujian) simply states that in 1648 he was arrested and killed because he had amassed a following of several hundred people and “occupied” a village. No mention is made of any violent actions by him or his followers, and it would seem that he was dealt with primarily because of his success in proselytizing. The source identifies him as a “secret demonic bandit” (mimi yaozei ⼩ᆚཪ䊞), which tells us nothing of his actual teachings.103 Still, it is not surprising that the Qing authorities did away with him rather summarily; at the time their hold on Fujian was by no means secure. Several years later, in 1656, Lai Ziming’s two wives still enjoyed a sizable following and were engaged in activities that the local military perceived as rebellious.104 This time, the sources are more forthcoming with information. On this occasion, at least, the group’s activities differed considerably from what we know about the Non-Action Teachings. One local history gives this account of their beliefs and practices. [After the death of Lai Ziming,] his wives propagated it as the Piece of the Middle Teachings. Of the meat of a pig, they only take one cut of its middle, reject the rest and do not eat it.105

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This appears to be local gossip, possibly inspired by some dietary or sacrificial custom peculiar to this group. No further context is provided, and this type of wasting of meat is extremely implausible. The taking of life also does not fit a Buddhist background. They recited heterodox scripture(s), constructed an altar and concluded a covenant. They worshipped the bushel. They told those who followed their teachings that snakes and tigers would not hurt them, that they would not be wounded by the destructions of arms or soldiers, if they wished wealth, children or a long life, everything would go as wished for.106 Unfortunately, we do not learn the title or contents of the scripture(s), but this information suggests a conventional ritual to ensure communal well-being, with the bushel symbolizing the community.107 Because there is no indication of a millenarian or messianic message in any of the sources, I do not think that any of this necessarily refers to apocalyptic disasters, the more so since the wish for wealth, children, and a long life is extremely conventional. The performance of exorcist rituals aimed at removing all demonic influences would have been entirely appropriate, given the continued unrest and uncertainty in Fujian in the 1640s and 1650s. The local history adds that they also believed that an army would be coming from elsewhere to assist them. The stupid people believed it. Some donated their family possessions to provide for the followers. The total number of deluded followers reached several hundreds of people. Some said that a great army was about to suppress them. The heterodox gang said that thanks to the arrival of their ten thousand horses and thousand soldiers, [the Qing army] would retreat and dissipate of itself.108 The Qing authorities interpreted this claim as a reference to the armies of Zheng Chenggong, but given the incident’s inland location, they more likely expected the arrival of “heavenly armies,” such as those customarily believed to assist the exorcist specialist in his fight against demons. The exorcist nature of their ritual is further indicated by a description of the two wives as ritual performers in the official memorial. “[They] carried a Golden Dragon Cap on their heads, wore ritual clothes ( fayi ⊩㸷) with the Eight Trigrams on them, held a command flag in their hands, and recited heretic rituals (xiefa 䙾⊩).” The term fa, translated in this context as ritual, is a common term for vernacular rituals, which often have an exorcist character. When the local military commander sent in his soldiers, the followers ran off in all directions, and only a small group used improvised weapons to put up resistance within a wooden palisade in the hills. The two wives were apparently captured alive, as well as eighteen other followers, all with fancy titles such as “Dragon Sons, Dragon Daughters, Generals of Dragon and Tiger Mountain, Heavenly

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Master, and Vanguard.” The titles “Generals of Dragon and Tiger Mountain” and “Heavenly Master” indicate a Daoist inspiration, and the fairly passive fighting behavior, accompanied by ritual, suggests that they expected Heavenly Armies to assist them in their fight. Although there is no mention of a savior or the end of times, the very concrete and martial nature of their ritual practice recalls the demonological messianic paradigm in which the end of days was imagined as a violent, military threat that had to be combated by exorcist means.109 The persistent recurrence of exorcist ritual traditions as the counterpoint to Patriarch Yao’s activities indicates that he was working in a religious environment dominated by local ritual traditions. We never read of debates with Buddhist monks, as we would expect if there had been a strong Buddhist institutional presence. This suggests that he was bringing a relatively new message of lay Buddhist practice to the area, rather than proposing a revolution in an already existing Buddhist-inspired culture. His visit in 1640 to the most famous Buddhist monasteries in Hangzhou also shows how he saw himself as part of this larger Buddhist culture, not in opposition to it.110

The struggle for religious recognition In the course of warding off opponents and competitors and of spreading the teachings, Patriarch Yao also demonstrated his numinous powers in more traditional ways. Already in 1622, the son of a convert had shown “improper intentions” toward two female followers. His father must have been an important follower, as the patriarch had previously held a large conversion ritual in his house. The master gave the women a Seal Which Moves the Protecting Dharma (dong hufa shouji ࢩ䅋⊩ফ 㿬), whereupon the son “died from blood streaming out of his nine apertures.”111 This time, the patriarch’s ritual powers sufficed. Possibly, this seal is of the same type as the Numinous Gatha, which is transmitted to high-ranking adherents, provides dharma protection, and should be used only in times of real distress.112 After some ten years of intense teaching, the patriarch had acquired a widespread following, which apparently provided sufficient financial support for building a Shrine of the Great Ultimate (taijici ໾Ὁ⼴) in 1631. An auspicious day was selected for erecting the pillars and putting up the roof beam, always a major moment in any building process, at which a protective ritual would be carried out. On this occasion, there is no mention of such a ritual. Many people gathered to watch. The teacher shouted several times, “Protect the Dharma” (hufa 䅋⊩), and suddenly dark clouds gathered and torrential rain descended on the spectators. Nobody could see a thing, and precisely at the moment when the beam was put in place, it became bright again.113 Waiting for good weather before erecting the roof beam would have been more sensible. Although not explicit in this case, it is possible that the rain referred to the presence of heavenly dragons, in protection of the faith or even as assistants in the building process. Our source notes only that “people all thought it extraordinary.”114 Effective rituals and remarkable miracles were traditionally crucial in attracting a following and political patronage. In 1632, “Heaven sent four divine

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tigers” to nearby Tangqi County in Jinhua Prefecture, where Patriarch Yao intended—but apparently was not permitted—to hold a Thousand Buddhas Gathering. The beasts rampaged for forty-nine days (the formal length of the ritual), and nobody could move about.115 The local magistrate issued a proclamation that anybody who could drive the tigers away would receive a large official reward. The patriarch instructed one of his followers to report to the magistrate that he would not need to spend official funds to catch the animals, but only had to give his permission for the patriarch to hold a merit-making ritual in the county offices. After the ritual had been carried out, the tigers were no longer seen. The magistrate then put out a proclamation that nobody was allowed to hinder Yao Wenyu and his followers. The patriarch carried out the ritual of Lighting the Candles (mingla ᯢ㷳) for the benefit of all, which according to the ritual manuals is the recitation of the Five Books in Six Volumes.116 Interestingly, this event more or less enacted how Patriarch Luo had once served the empire, but this comparison is not explicitly mentioned in our source. In the same year of 1632, the patriarch went on a trip to the prefectures of Huizhou and Ningguo further to the northwest of Chuzhou. On his journey, he had several close escapes from the authorities and local elites. They illustrate not only the degree of potential repression that such a movement faced but also the variety of ways in which travelers could deal with this danger. During a boat trip, for instance, he feigned death to avoid inspection by the local military. Outside the prefectural capital of Huizhou, local bullies tried to extort money from the group with threats of violence, but outside the “dharma hall” ( fatang ⊩ූ), he called loudly to the prefectural City God to tie up these bullies until such time as the Tathagata (the Buddha) would personally visit this place. After this, the bullies left him and his followers alone. When his company arrived for a candlelighting ritual in Jingde County in Ningguo Prefecture, local bullies reported them to the son of a local Presented Scholar (the highest examination degree), who submitted a report to the local magistrate. This time, the patriarch instructed his followers to hurry up with the preparations, and they finished the ritual before the people arrived to arrest them.117 Interestingly, we can identify the Presented Scholar as Guo Jianbang 䛁ᓎ䙺, who had obtained his degree in 1622 and then refused to accept a position as long as the eunuchs were still in power.118 After they had continued their journey to the prefectures of Jiaxing and Huzhou in the center of the Lower Yangzi region, the patriarch held another candlelighting ritual. Many people from outside the movement came to watch, and they said that a “true patriarch” (zhenzu ⳳ⼪) had come. At the time, there was a drought, and he called out from the dharma hall to the local City God, as well as the God of the Earth, asking them why they did not memorialize to the Jade Emperor and the Buddha Tathagata to bring rain within three days. Everybody was greatly shocked by these words. He had already given instructions beforehand that his boat be prepared so that he could leave immediately after the ritual ceremony. Although the local followers tried to make him stay, only the Protectors of the Dharma stayed behind to receive “the sacrifices of the vegetarian feast” (zhaigong 唟կ). It did rain that night, but only within the immediate surround-

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ings of the hall, causing local people to come with incense and candles to see the “living Buddha” (huofo ⌏ԯ). At this point, local officials finally got wind of the events, but he had already departed.119 The instruction to the City God and the God of the Earth is followed by the words “be quick and do not tarry” (rusu mochi བ䗳㥿䙆), a standard phrase in vernacular ritual instructions. All of these activities were the normal achievements expected of a successful ritual specialist, but local people clearly thought of him more as a Buddha or miracle worker. The patriarch continued to the Shanghai region, where an important incident illustrated his more open attitude toward women. Among other ritual centers, he visited that of a young female Transformation Teacher. Both she and her husband were devout practitioners. When the teacher arrived and the greeting ritual was over, he asked her whether she had seen the sign of Protection of the Dharma (hufa) three days before. As it turned out, she had seen a pair of “bronze incense burners” hanging from the sky three days before.120 Probably because of her sharpness in replying to the patriarch’s questions, and because the person in charge of the ritual center had recently died, the patriarch bestowed on her the highest rank of “Overall Command” (zongchi 㐑ᬩ). However, behind his back, everybody was critical of his decision, for “how could a woman take care of a ritual center?” The teacher stuck to his decision, and the woman lived past age eighty, dying in 1676 after a life of pure and clear practice.121 Once back in Qingyuan, the patriarch healed the local magistrate Zhao Bi from a demonic possession. This turned out to be a momentous event because it led to the magistrate’s patronage of the patriarch, as already mentioned. Bi’s spirit (lingxing 䴜ᗻ) had been kidnapped by an evil monster, and while he and the monster were still on their way, a man in ordinary clothes (i.e., neither a member of the examination elite who would have been wearing silk clothes nor a Buddhist or Daoist monk or priest) approached the monster and its prey and yelled at it. The monster vanished. The magistrate asked the man who he was, and he replied that he was called Yao. The magistrate recovered immediately from his ordeal. He then sought out the patriarch, and they became acquaintances who could have good conversations about the occult.122 Someone who had been in the magistrate’s immediate neighborhood and had heard his mumbling during the actual state of distress must have had previous knowledge of Yao Wenyu or else the identification could not have been made. We have already seen several times, most clearly on the 1632 journey, that often people working in local yamens were sympathetic to the patriarch and warned him of unpleasant events in advance. Similarly, as far back as 1582, a yamen runner had tried to warn Ying Ji’nan of a magistrate out to arrest him. Patriarch Yao accepted the overall religious framework of the day, such as the existence of witchcraft, local deities, and the City God, but he saw his own powers as superior, as would any other Buddhist or Daoist ritual specialist.123 The ritual specialist, Mr. Chen, took followers away from him and entered into a direct contest of numinous power—or at least that is how the movement interpreted it. Wang Changsheng and Lai Ziming both seem to have come from inside the movement and then started their own competing groups, with varying

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degrees of success. The patriarch certainly demonstrated his powers, for instance, punishing the young man with improper thoughts, driving away local bullies, and freeing the magistrate from demonic possession. He also proved himself impervious to magical attacks. However, we do not encounter him in any ritual competition in which he managed to be more powerful than anybody else. The focus is on the strength of his devotion, and most of the Overall Record is devoted to ordinary Buddhist teachings and practices.

Contemporary witnesses We have no direct testimony about Patriarch Yao’s missionary activities by outside observers, at least not accounts that mention him by name. Two detailed descriptions, from Jiaxing in the Lower Yangzi region, were written in the 1630s, in the same period that he visited this region.124 One description mentions “Nine Books in Six Volumes” instead of the Five Books in Six Volumes but otherwise gives a plausible account that stresses the movement’s enormous local appeal. There are also the White Lotus Teachings. Only one person serves as the teacher, but many people are his pupils. Each month they have a gathering, where they sit on cushions and recite scrolls. The congregation (zhong ⴒ) calls aloud the name of the Buddha in unison. The scrolls are crude and common, and full of wrong views. As for the socalled Nine Books in Six Volumes ( jiubu liuce б䚼݁‫)ݞ‬, their teachings do not enshrine ancestors or respect the Classicist (ru) rituals, and they also do not base themselves on the two teachings (literally, instructions) of the Buddha (Buddhism) and the Way (Daoism). Overall they take Non-Action as the guiding principle. . . . When they die they are not inhibited by the Yin and Yang [Masters] (i.e., the geomancers who decide the proper time and location of burial). They do not prepare coffins or wreaths, but lead their followers to circle the bed [of the deceased], calling the name of the Buddha several times. Then they simply take it into the fire. People are pleased that it is so cheap, and the poor follow [these teachings] closely. The account mentions the name of the movement, Non-Action, and reiterates one of the most commonly mentioned objections to the movement, its rejection of the crucial rituals for the ancestors and for the dead. Even more interesting, it adds a highly plausible detail about antiritualistic funerary practices that are not documented elsewhere, except in some of the accounts from the Causes and Fruits of the Seven Branches, to be analyzed in Chapter 4. At this point, the discussion is interrupted by another text in smaller print, written by a certain Tu Shuzhang ሴনゴ, a minor local figure mainly known for his fi lial piety and labeled in the sources as a Classicist (or Confucian) teacher.125 Those Nine Books in Six Volumes [mentioned earlier] have been compiled through plagiarization. In each volume, one saying is connected

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in rhyming pairs, quoting on and on tens and hundreds of sections. The male patriarchs and female teachers in high seats with folded hands, while the stupid masses chatter, worshipping in groups and quietly accepting [instruction?]. They offer flowers and hold up incense, one sings in the lead and the others harmonize in the background. They gladly continue from deep in the night long into the day. Female groups and male bands taking turns, they talk about private things and send gifts, getting so intimate that they become adulterous. . . . Tu Shuzhang continues by associating the movement with a violent local incident, but without providing any background information that would allow us to analyze this event. All in all, these two accounts present us with an excellent account of the local popularity of the movement that formed the background of Patriarch Yao’s missionary journey described above. They also confirm the practice of having both male and female teachers, as for example the female Transformation Teacher whom Patriarch Yao appointed head of a Shanghai hall. The growing popularity of the Non-Action Teachings led not only to competition with other new religious groups and ritual experts but also to uneasiness among local elites and local officials. They would come down on local vegetarian believers and confuse different groups with each other. One of these new religious movements was Christianity, and in the hope of preventing this kind of repression and confusion, its adherents wrote polemical texts about the Non-Action Teachings. Christian missionary efforts at the time were carried out by two orders, the highly elitist Jesuits and the Dominican-Franciscan friars. The Jesuits were active in northeastern Fujian and the Lower Yangzi region, especially around Hangzhou and Shanghai. Thanks to the patronage of prominent literati and clever cultural brokering by Matteo Ricci (1552–1610) and others, they had been able to establish their presence legally. The Dominican-Franciscan friars entered northeastern Fujian as well, arriving illegally from the Philippines. At the time, neither of these two groups reached the Chuzhou region where Patriarch Yao was active, but their influence did reach northwestern Fujian. The annual Jesuit letter back to Europe of 1626–1627 describes how, during the previous years, the Jesuit priest Giulio Aleni converted the seventy-two-yearold leader of an ascetic religious community who had abstained from meat, fish, and alcoholic drinks in honor of his deities (“idols”) for forty years and had lived with his disciples high in the mountains for twenty years. The master had come to Fuzhou with his disciples to recover from an eye disease that threatened to blind him. The entire group was then converted by Aleni.126 Many years later, during the difficult transition of local power in Fujian from Ming loyalist resistance to Manchu rule in 1648, two other Jesuit missionaries visited these communities, which were now identified as three sacred spots (tria fana) in the Wuyi Mountains in Chong’an County. The later source specifies that previously only two of the three locations had been converted and that all of their followers had belonged to a “fasting sect” (totus ille populus fuit secta ieunantium). They had been so “obstinate” in their desire to fast that Aleni had permitted them to continue this practice, but now in the ser vice of the true God.127 The same letter dating

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from 1626–1627 mentions an old woman who possessed a certificate that guaranteed her rebirth in the Pure Land, another common lay Buddhist practice.128 Strictly speaking, we do not know the religious affiliation of these people. However, the Wuyi mountain range was one of the core regions of the early NonAction Teachings movement, and the reference to fasting, rather than to Buddhist monks (or bonzes, as the Jesuit sources call them) and/or monasteries, fits the movement perfectly. No other new religious group is known in this period in this region that took fasting equally seriously. Moreover, here and around this very time, Yao Wenyu made the transition from an ordinary follower of the movement to an independent teacher. Apparently, people were searching for the right religious lifestyle, much like today’s followers of new religious groups, who also join different groups in succession in their quest for a group that fits their needs. At the time, officials often classified Christianity (usually referring to the Jesuit mission) and the White Lotus Teachings or the Non-Action Teachings in the same category. In response, during the late Ming several members of the educated elite wrote essays in defense of the Christian faith that also betrayed some knowledge of the Non-Action Teachings.129 In 1658, an otherwise unknown Christian convert, Andreas (Andele 䃇ᖋࢦ), copied a collection of essays on lateMing religious life, “Sections to Awaken from Delusion” (xingmipian 䝦䗋㆛), whose author remains unknown. It includes two detailed discussions of the NonAction Teachings showing intimate inside knowledge that must derive from direct contact.130 The two accounts describe the situation in northern Fujian, with the local term “Old Official” (laoguan 㗕ᅬ) used for one of the functionaries. The first of the two accounts calls the Non-Action Teachings by a less-known alternative, the Pure and Silent Teachings (qingjingjiao ⏙䴰ᬭ).131 The second account, titled “NonAction Teachings,” begins with a summary of the teachings in strongly colloquial language. The author explicitly addresses the adherents of these teachings. Your (ni Դ) teachings follow the teachings of Luo Ying. They call themselves Non-Action Teachings, and are also called Great Vehicle [Teachings]. They do not set up incense or lamps, do not worship Buddha statues, and take the Buddha-dharma as their heart and the heart is the Buddha. They set up (li ゟ) the teachings as Non-Action and take emptiness as the Way. They abstain from killing [i.e., from meat] and keep fasts, [try to] escape from transmigration and [claim to] have insight in [the cycle of] life and death. They cultivate their nature and wish to return to emptiness. They incite and confuse the people of the world, taking the Buddha as a worthy one and venerating themselves as that Buddha. They have nothing and practice it,132 and possess the power of understanding oneself. They are not overlooked by a Creator (a typical Christian term) and have obtained freedom (ziyou 㞾⬅). Directly after this passage follows a detailed Christian critique centering on the absence of an omnipotent Creator or supreme God in the Non-Action Teachings, an accusation that was applied to all Chinese religious traditions of that time.

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The author disagrees vehemently with the assumption of the Non-Action Teachings (or, for that matter, any other Daoist and Buddhist tradition) that nature essentially is a closed system that does not require the intervention of a Creator or Lord of Heaven. The factual detail and emotional tone of our unknown author’s remarks suggest that competition and confusion between local Christianity and the Non-Action Teachings was a pressing concern. Moreover, the detailed comments by the anonymous author of “Sections to Awaken from Delusion” fully confirms the iconophobic picture of figures like the Patriarchs Ying Ji’nan and Yao Wenyu that we get from the Overall Record and other early sources.

Concluding observations In this chapter, I have discussed the lives of Patriarchs Ying Ji’nan and Yao Wenyu, based on a single source, the Overall Record of the Circumstances under Which the Three Patriarchs On-High Traveled around and Taught. This source was produced, in its final form, within the Yao lineage. As a result, our picture of the movement has undoubtedly been skewed, but there can be no doubt about the historical and religious importance of these two figures. Although Patriarch Ying’s lineage soon disappeared into the mists of history, his network spawned the lineage of Patriarch Yao, and some of the later followers from the Ying lineage joined another new religious movement and took leading positions. My trust in the Overall Record is inspired by its honesty in transmitting information about internal disputes, much of which can be confirmed in external sources. This honesty has allowed me to describe the early development of this religious movement in rare detail. The dominant role played by its leading teachers, such as the two charismatic patriarchs, is typical of the early developmental stage of most religious movements. They provided a lifestyle for others to follow and delivered their often iconoclastic interpretations with great confidence. Patriarch Ying showed extremely assertive behavior from the moment he was initiated, immediately claiming to be an incarnation of Patriarch Luo and then flaunting his religious convictions in front of the local magistrate’s office. Patriarch Yao also asserted himself early in his career by claiming to be the incarnation of Patriarch Ying and by his incessant public lecturing. In this way, both patriarchs were able to build a rapidly expanding following and eventually accept violent death as a result of their religious convictions. The equanimity with which they accepted their fate boosted their charismatic attraction in the eyes of their followers. Without doubt, the biographies in the Overall Record are the product of charismatic text production—in the sense of Raphael Falco’s argument about the way in which mythmaking actively produces charisma, rather than the other way around.133 In other words, the Overall Record is not an innocent primary source that merely states the facts; the facts themselves have been shaped and arranged in such a way as to demonstrate the two teachers’ charismatic nature. Both the commemorative lecture given by the female Transformation Teacher, Qiong Pufu, in 1582 after the death of Patriarch Ying, and her recognition of Patriarch Yao as a teacher almost forty

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years later, in 1621, were crucial moments of mythmaking and charisma production. We do not know whether these events occurred precisely in the way they are described, but in the collective memory of the Yao lineage, they were certainly both remembered as crucial moments of charisma production. In reality, both patriarchs were only two among a number of active religious teachers who continued the ideals of Luo Qing’s Five Books in Six Volumes under the overall label of the Non-Action Teachings. Other sources indicate that numerous other teachers were spreading very similar teachings across the same regions. Moreover, these examples of competition and conflict also indicate that the borders between this movement and other religious groupings were not entirely fi xed. However, in the end, following another ritual specialist or religious teacher often meant taking leave of the movement as well. Whereas people could usually freely choose from a broad repertoire of religious options, this did not apply to the Non-Action Teachings.134 The choice of joining the movement was an exclusive one that dominated and reshaped their entire social and religious lives. Only then would it be possible to keep the Three Refuges and Five Injunctions and lead the right kind of devoted life.

4 Spirited Debates and Sudden Conversions .

I

n our introduction, we met two ladies who were having a lively conversation about the irrelevance of good looks and written education. The original story stems from a seventeenth-century collection of conversion accounts, Causes and Fruits of the Seven Branches (qizhi yinguo ϗᬃ಴ᵰ, hereafter Causes and Fruits).1 In each account, one or more persons are converted to the Non-Action Teachings by means of spirited debates about one or another religious point. These people had joined the movement on the basis of explicit and conscious decisions in terms of beliefs and practices, justifying the term member rather than mere followers or adherents. The very existence of this source reflects the special nature of the Non-Action Teachings as a self-conscious community, rather than a loose group of individual devotees. The seven branches in the title refer to the movement’s lineage structure, in which all adherents were assigned to a par ticu lar branch. Some adherents were identified as followers of Patriarchs Ying and Yao, but most were listed as pupils of other early teachers in the same tradition. Thus, we can obtain an excellent overall view of the social and religious life of the larger movement in the final decades of the Ming dynasty. Most personal names mentioned in the doctrinal anecdotes are consistent with those in the ritual manuals as analyzed in the next chapter, but not with the two lists of Patriarch Ying and Yao’s followers in the Overall Record.2 Three autonyms are used: Great Vehicle (dacheng ໻Ь), Dragon Flower (longhua 啡㧃), and Non-Action (wuwei ⛵⠆).3 These three names are confirmed by many other sources, both inside and outside of the movement. We can therefore safely assume that we are dealing with one manifestation of our larger religious movement, with some peculiarities due to the early stage of the movement as described in this source. During the movement’s later rituals, these people were invited to every Vegetarian Fast, indicating a strong sense of historical continuity. The male members of the movement, as described in the Causes and Fruit, use the religious affi liation character pu ᱂ and female members the character miao ཭. This gendered use of the religious affi liation characters pu and miao is slightly atypical of the later Non-Action Teachings, but otherwise the material clearly covers the same type of religious movement. The various accounts describe the movement as it was active during the late-Ming and very early-Qing periods, before the lineage of Patriarch Yao had established itself as the dominant form 85

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of the Non-Action Teachings. The gendered use of the religious affi liation characters pu and miao is also attested by an early-Qing outside observer, who complained about a group of lay Buddhists as “those who falsely divide the men with pu and the women with miao.” 4 He was most likely referring to the group that is described in the Causes and Fruits. On present-day Taiwan, fully initiated adherents of the Non-Action Teachings receive the character pu, and both men and women with more modest ambitions can adopt the character miao.5 It is possible that the two systems originally functioned alongside each other and were not deemed mutually exclusive. This is suggested by one comment in the Causes and Fruits that identifies the daughter of a convert as the daughter-in-law of Patriarch Yao. In the account, she is called Miaolian ཭㫂, and in the patriarchal lineage, she is known as Pulian ᱂㫂.6 Whether the gendered use of miao implied that women were less important members of the group remains unclear. Chinese religious tales traditionally describe visits to the underworld, miraculous healings or rescues, dreams, or other activities in which the positive or negative result is related to the quality of a person’s way of life and devotion. Practical benefits, such as long life, good health, or children (and their reverse in the case of punishment), are standard elements of such tales. In the Causes and Fruits, the conventional belief in concrete and practical benefits is completely absent.7 Unlike conventional religious tales, the stories describe conversions to a long-term way of life. They rarely mention someone’s concrete misery—such as a terrible illness or ugliness—and the solution is never quick. Instead, all accounts feature a lengthy conversation and/or exchange of religious poems between adherents and potential adherents (sometimes even outright opponents), ending with a conversion. The atmosphere between the partners in the conversation is not necessarily friendly, and at times we get the feeling that a conversion was not a done deal in real life. Stylistically and linguistically, the accounts diverge considerably from miracle tales as well. Each account starts with a religious poem, either a “fi lling poem” (ci 䀲, but without noting the original tune to which the poem has been written) or, less frequently, a “lyrical poem” (shi 䀽, in regular couplets of seven characters per line). Each account is concluded by a gatha-poem, which testifies to someone’s newly acquired understanding of the teachings. The conversations are in a mixture of simple standard written Chinese (wenyan) and colloquial language. The latter seems to be actual spoken Mandarin (guanhua ᅬ䁅), rather than the language of the vernacular literature of the late-Ming and Qing periods. Mandarin was the lingua franca spoken by bureaucrats all over imperial China, which fits the fact that the people who populate these accounts often led a peripatetic existence, away from their places of origin. Many of the protagonists had studied for the civil ser vice examinations. Despite the use of colloquial materials, however, the accounts are not easy to read and have not been adapted for a general audience.

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The practice of conversion The main purpose of the Cause and Fruits was to demonstrate the power of the teachings through personal conversion experiences, rather than to provide a systematic exposé on the movement, whether as a social and religious organization or in terms of ritual and theology. In a way, each account is testimony to the power of beliefs, and the following accounts are just a few examples of this power. One of the teachers who receive special attention in the Causes and Fruits is the very well-to-do early patron of the movement, Li Shizhong ᴢᰖᖴ (Pufei ᱂㨽).8 He had joined the movement early on as one of the first. The possessions of his household were rich and sufficient, pointing to his origins as a Merit Student (a lower examination degree). The front of the residence of that Mr. Pufei was next to several bridges, a running creek with double bends and five willow trees. [There were] ten mou of flowers and pavilions. The study of Chan filled his breast and in his house he had once carried out a Candle Gathering, so in the ranks of the Buddha he was the fourth one in erudition. He was capable of converting the masses. In his marriage with a wife and concubine(s) he had seven sons and eight daughters, and hence he had delegated the heavy burden of the Buddha completely to Yang Shichun or Lord Pubu to assist him. The account continues with an example of the clever way he could reply to difficult questions and ultimately convert his adversary.9 In later sources, a Candle Gathering or Lighting the Candles is a ritual at which the entire Five Books in Six Volumes is recited. It is easy to appreciate the importance of such a wealthy patron in the movement’s early development, although most accounts in this collection stress the relative unimportance in religious terms of wealth, status, or literacy. A single account in the Causes and Fruits usually features one to four members of the movement, who then convert one or more other persons, often total strangers. The men tend to encounter each other on the road or at social gatherings, but the women meet mostly at home. The most remarkable accounts are those in which a nonbeliever gate-crashes a home and starts an exchange that ultimately leads to his conversion. The fact that nonbelievers gate-crashed religious gatherings suggests that the local atmosphere may, at times, have been tense; such intense lay Buddhist activities were prohibited by law, and such a gate-crasher could not be easily ejected. Take, for example, the nonbeliever Du Liansheng ᴰ䗷䰲, a merchant from Wenzhou Prefecture, an old center of the Non-Action Teachings.10 He was widely known locally for his physical strength and evil karma, his dissolute behavior, and his deceitful practice of gambling. One day there was a “Buddha affair” (foshi ԯџ, i.e., usually a funerary ritual) performed in the household of Hong Zhengchun ⋾ℷ᯹.

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Several of the friends (short for zhong daoyou ⴒ䘧ট or “the crowd of friends of the Way,” i.e., fellow believers) had arrived first. Liansheng then went to sit in their middle in a very evil way, like one enters the tent in the army [for a briefing]. It now was as if a tiger had entered someone’s household, frightening and dispersing the friends. With a loud voice he said: “What’s the point of your eating vegetarian food, tell me that. I also eat vegetables.” He said this seven or eight times and nobody answered. Finally, Liang Youtai ṕট⋄, still a young boy some fifteen years old, succeeded in supplying the right answers. In the end, the merchant was converted by a brilliant poem by the illiterate Su Ruyu, who would later also become a manager of the ancestral hall. In another instance, a man and woman had just married. At the end of the ceremonies, the new wife was wondering what her husband would be like. She had not yet seen him during the rituals because traditionally she would have been covered with a red cloth and then have been whisked away almost immediately to the couple’s future bedroom. As it turned out, both were religious people, and they were able to have a meaningful conversation—one imagines that the intermediary to this marriage may have taken their beliefs into account. At this point, a “corrupt Classicist” ( furu 㜤‫ )ۦ‬came knocking on their door, and they let him in. He complained that they did not have alcoholic beverages at such a festive occasion, after which follows a long defense on their interdiction of such drinks.11 Another example was that of a thief in Wenzhou eavesdropping on a quarreling couple next door. The elderly husband disagreed loudly with the religious practices of his devout wife. Precisely at the moment when she pointed out to her husband that King Yama likes those who keep fasts and reject killing, the thief started to cry. The couple heard his wailing through the wall of their house and asked him what was going on. The thief was converted and started practicing from the next day onward.12 As in these examples, the Causes and Fruits usually refers to small-scale collective practices of just a few people, whether at home or in a small studio.13 In the story about Li Shizhong, his house was so big that “he once organized a candle gathering” there, but it was still a meeting in a private home.14 The only place that seems to have had an independent hall was Qingyuan, possibly reflecting the success of Patriarch Yao or his local predecessors. Thus, two wives of prominent adherents in Qingyuan walked to a gathering and talked on the road, before they arrived at the “Buddha Hall.”15 Also in Qingyuan, a military officer gatecrashed a gathering in the Íncense Mountain Hall (xiangshantang 佭ቅූ), which was already full of adherents: “high and luminous ones fi lled the seats, in the lotus flower palace superb Friends [of the Way] were like clouds.”16 Even in the relatively free religious world of Taiwan, independent halls were still little larger than private homes.17 The existence of a separate hall in Qingyuan is confirmed by one of the most intriguing functions in the Causes and Fruits, that of “Acting

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Manager of the Ancestral Hall” (daili zutang ҷ⧚⼪ූ).18 This title reminds us that the movement was not only a religious entity but also a social movement. Conversions created networks of teachers and pupils. Successful teachers received recognition in the form of special appellations, in the same way that the later movement provided higher initiation ranks.19 This early hierarchy of teachers and pupils becomes evident in the ritual manuals as well as in the doctrinal anecdotes of the Causes and Fruits. For instance, during the ritual of the Vegetarian Fast, the movement’s first generations of teachers and pupils were always (and still are) invited to attend the banquet. They are also the protagonists of the Causes and Fruits. One of them is the Lord of the Group of the Left, the wellknown Tang Kejun ⑃‫ܟ‬シ or Puxiao ᱂䳘. He is also listed as the first Overall Command (zongchi 㐑ᬩ), appointed by the Saintly Ancestor while he was still alive. This would become the highest possible initiation rank in the mature movement of the Qing period. Tang Kejun appears several times in the Causes and Fruits20 and is the only protagonist who is also mentioned prominently in the Overall Record.21 Among the teachers and pupils summoned during the Vegetarian Fast was another very prominent figure who “carried out the transformations on behalf of the teacher” (daishi xinghua ҷ᏿㸠࣪), namely, Li Mingfu or Puguan. He is identified in the Causes and Fruits as an especially prominent and venerable teacher.22 The phrase to “carry out the transformations on behalf of the teacher” is quite common in the anecdotes of the Causes and Fruits, and variants of the phrase recur in several incidents from the Qing period. It shows how all subsequent teachers were supposed to continue the work of conversion started by the original teachers. This always remained very much a missionary movement. The movement had an elaborate system of branches, but new converts did not necessarily join their teachers’ branches. Wang Qingtian ⥟䴦⬄ (Puquan ᱂ܼ) converted Wang De ⥟ᖋ (Puwang ᱂ᯎ), and both belonged to the Fourth Branch.23 Th is makes good sense, but this same Wang De cultivated together with Hu Bishun 㚵ᖙ䷚ (Puqin ᱂ℑ), who was from the Later Main Branch. Together they converted a drunk, who became a member of the Sixth Branch.24 Wang De also converted the famous Tang Kejun, who first belonged to the Third Branch and then went on to found a branch of his own.25 The same Wang De converted yet another prominent member, Yang Shichun ἞ᰖ᯹, whom he encountered talking to the statues of arhats in a Buddhist monastery. Nonetheless, Yang Shichun joined Tang Kejun’s separate lineage, rather than Wang De’s Fourth Branch.26 As far as we can tell, the system of branches did not reflect differences of interpretation or practice. Most likely, filling a branch was part of collecting converts for the Gathering of the Dragon Flower, for which every member would ideally gather seven converts.27 Although the loose assignment of adherents to branches suggests the absence of a rigid hierarchy, the following anecdote indicates that some group identity, and a sense of previous social status, did exist.28 In the account, we see the followers of two very different teachers. One was Lin Guantian ᵫ㾔໽, who had

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been a Student or Brilliant Talent, the lowest examination degree. He was very poor but had some ten pupils of his own, all poor like him. He “practiced a hundred kinds of austerities in order to attain the Dragonflower [Gathering], and performed ritual teachings together with Lord Xiao [i.e., Tang Kejun].” The other teacher had a very different background. He was Wang Suxin ⥟㋴ᖗ from He’nan and had originally been a prefect of Chuzhou, where Jinyun (birthplace of Patriarch Ying) and Qingyuan (birthplace of Patriarch Yao) were located. “Since he had obtained entrance into the Way he had not attained anything, and singlemindedly loved rich acquaintances, selling and practicing lip-service samadhi.” The pupils of Lin Guantian insisted that their teacher should be ranked first at the Third Dragon Flower Gathering that was about to arrive “tomorrow.” Some of Wang Suxin’s rich followers, however, felt that he should be placed first instead. A quick-witted follower remarked that this place should go to the “fi rst honored protector of the Dharma, that is Mr. Wang De, with the dharma name Puwang.” Some people then reported the events to Wang Suxin, who was embarrassed by this discussion. He wrote a hymn to warn his followers of the dangers of money and vanity and resigned his office. After this experience, he devoted himself fully to the spreading of the way (“ferrying the masses across”), with his whole family becoming vegetarian as well.

Leading religious lives The people who populated the Causes and Fruits led lives that were shaped entirely by their religious convictions. Their rejection of alcoholic drinks and meat excluded them from local social and religious life. Many of the conversations in the Causes and Fruits, therefore, turn around the consequences of these choices for an individual’s daily life.

P r e p a r i n g f o r t h e u n d e r wo r l d The movement’s rejection of many common ritual practices did not mean that its members no longer believed in the underworld or King Yama. On the contrary, they believed in this underworld and the role of King Yama and his bureaucracy in judging every dead soul before his or her rebirth. However, they also believed that by leading the right kind of religious life, they would avoid punishment in the underworld altogether. Liang Youtai’s defense of ritual simplicity One of the best summaries of the proper way of life is given by a young and very talented adherent who ended up in the magistrate’s court.29 Liang Youtai or Mr. Pubo ᱂ᶣ from Wenzhou had lost his parents at a young age but came from a family that had been successful in the civil ser vice examinations. At fifteen, he had entered the “Confucian” school as a first step toward taking the prefectural examinations. Our source mentions that in his practice (xiuxing ׂ㸠) he “turned an empty eye on riches and status, and envied the stupid and dull-witted.” This

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is, of course, the precise opposite of his local status as a rising talent. We will see many examples of similar converts with a considerable knowledge of the Four Books and other texts that formed part of the examination canon. It also regularly got them into serious trouble. As a young talent, Liang Youtai was a suitable marriage partner, and not surprisingly a local person in Wenzhou wanted to marry his daughter to him. Liang turned down the offer several times (or turned down several different offers; this is unclear). As a result, people started to slander him as “worshipping heretic teachings.” Eventually, an expectant magistrate heard about the gossip and had him brought in. He interrogated him in the hall, asking him: “You dare to delude the common people with heresy, and teach people not to worship Heaven and Earth.” The ensuing dialogue gives a good indication of people’s doubts about the movement: Mr. Pubo said: “When Heaven and Earth, Yin and Yang ascend and descend, by becoming dark and becoming light, they produce through transformation the ten thousand things. When the kan ഢ ᄐ. and li 䲶 ᄍ trigrams are arranged inside my body, by moving and resting they can dispel all evil influences. Heaven and Earth nourish man. My heart uses them to transform the masses of people. If keeping a vegetarian diet still transgresses the principles of Heaven, then the Odes and Documents of the saints and sages must be considered void.” [The magistrate] also said: “You oppose delicacies [as sacrificial gifts for the parents] and do not consider [their] exertion [for you], you are not pious toward your parents. Is this true or not?” Mr. Pubo said: “Although we vegetarian friends live in poverty and hardship, we still know how to enjoy poor fare. We exert ourselves to be respectful. Our attainment of knowledge is loft y and clear. In our interactions we have moral statements and exhortatory injunctions. We constantly interact with sage friends. We reject all evil affairs. Although the Buddha [meetings with] candles are numerous, in our distant travels we certainly know when to stop. The human heart is difficult to fathom, when someone just gets angry, one should not cause it to start scolding. We refrain from killing, if you still call us rebellious sons, then was the Mulian monk not filial?” [The magistrate] also said: “You do not burn paper money and do not worship ghosts or deities. Who will worship you after you have died?” Mr. Pubo said: “When we do not worship heretic ghosts, we do not delude people’s minds. When we do not burn paper or tinfoil money, we do not waste people’s money. When sacrificing and worshipping we do so with a single heart, why exert ourselves with feeding by means of the three types of sacrificial meat? If transcending the lineage is ultimately of the same nature, then why would we need a few cups of spirits? When we keep far from evil demons, destroy catastrophes and

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remove all blockades, we revere the teachings of the Buddha and remove all demonic creatures. If there are no demons and no deities, and if there is no flattering, we will have one concentrated intention of not turning our backs on Confucius.” [The magistrate] also said: “You vegetarian friends do not marry and establish kinship, there are also those who reject marriage and divorce wives, and those who go into hiding and leave their wives and children behind. There are three forms of unfi lial behavior, and having no progeny is number one.” Mr. Pubo said: “In marriage one measures the fi nances and matches the gifts, so the wedding follows destiny in order to accept or not. Sometimes marrying is difficult, because a family is poor, and sometimes one rejects a marriage proposal because someone requests a heavy bridal price. One removes a concubine because she is disrespectful toward her husband. One removes a wife because she is not fi lial toward her father- or mother-in-law. What did the ancient saints and sages know of this? [The claim that] these are kinds of unfi lial behavior is really empty.” [The magistrate ] also said: “In the end how many people keep vegetarian diets? If you write their names down, I will pardon them all.” Liang Youtai now supported his defense of the teachings by providing a long list of converts, all of whom were listed with their official degrees and/or bureaucratic position. Unsurprisingly, the magistrate was suitably impressed and joined the movement as well, but not before Liang had made another short speech that detailed the benefits of Buddhism for the ruler: Fame and glory, wealth and status do not manifest themselves from slandering the Dharma. Flourishing and development are not received because one has scolded the Buddha. When the teachings of the Buddha are greatly practiced, one ought not to harm them. When the heart set on the Way is about to be completed, one should praise it without harming it. I and my [vegetarian] friends speak little and do not harm life. When the officials exhaustively preserve the principles of Heaven, they will equitably extend their good influence over the universe and obtain peace and quiet. The [teachings of] retribution transform the common people, and [as a result] big disasters change into small ones. The sound of the sutras actually forms only a small beginning and the elaboration of it [by us] is the big beginning. If I can make you join the Way, this will touch the heavenly dragons (Naga-kings) of the Eight Directions up high, and reach down to the Arhats and Heavenly Worthies. While alive you do not need to be apprehensive of Heavenly Thunder [which might punish you for unfi lial behavior], when dead you do not need to fear King Yama. When those on high are decisively loyal, then those at the bottom will definitely be humane. When the

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good dharma circulates and the wind of humaneness is widely disseminated, within one will have no apprehension and one will obtain peace in one’s behavior. In other words, lay Buddhists supported the public order and encouraged people at all levels of society to lead moral lives. Nobody needed to be afraid anymore of punishment by the Heavenly Thunder during this life or in the afterlife by King Yama in the underworld. This was hardly a new and original argument but shows how the movement saw itself. We will find a similar attitude in the “Proclamation to Protect the Sutras/Way,” which the movement’s adherents created in the early Qing to defend their right to practice their beliefs.30 Making King Yama superfluous Just as Luo Qing had in his Five Books in Six Volumes, the adherents, as depicted in the Causes and Fruits, completely accepted that they would eventually be judged in the underworld. Wang De, another early prominent adherent, put this message in an even more concise form: I value fame lightly, and slight riches and status. I sigh that our lives are short and Impermanence (the demon who collects the recently deceased) arrives very quickly. Therefore, I hold fasts, accept the injunctions, and visit sutra-guests (i.e., people who know the sutras); I refine my inner nature, cultivate the truth, and inquire with People of the Way.31 In these and similar statements throughout the Causes and Fruits, adherents such as Liang Youtai and Wang De showed themselves to be faithful followers of the writings of Patriarch Luo. They did not deny the existence of an underworld, but because meeting with King Yama after death was unavoidable, they felt that people should prepare early on by improving their way of life. When they kept meticulously to the vegetarian fasts, they would have no need to fear any demons sent to fetch them.32 Patriarch Luo pointed out that activities such as meditation were of no use in front of King Yama, as they did not make one a good person.33 The method of NonAction internalized all forms of practice and made one’s correct attitude central. Therefore, King Yama was actually afraid of this method.34 Although formal rejection of such practices on doctrinal grounds was one thing, they were nonetheless common practices for most people of the late imperial period. Therefore, the commentator on Luo’s writings in the Essence of the Dharma Which Opens Up the Heart tried to soften the patriarch’s rejection by claiming that it was directed at a superficial externalized practice of “those clasping to thoughts” (niantou zhizhe ᗉ 丁෋ⴔ). According to him, the five forms of cultivation—(1) believing in practice, (2) reading aloud, (3) reciting by heart, (4) explaining, and (5) writing commentaries—could still be seen positively because they allowed one to “develop

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and clarify the Buddha’s intention to become a Bodhisattva of the Great Vehicle.”35 We will see that the movement also practiced simple forms of funerary ritual. The adherents of the Non-Action Teachings shared the basic assumption that King Yama overlooked the overall system of death and rebirth in an impartial way. The belief was treated, for instance, in one of their core texts, the Sutra of Binding, which went back to Patriarch Ying’s final lecture in 1582 and had become a standard part of the movement’s rituals. The traditional belief in King Yama as the ultimate judge was essential to the story of Feng Duanming 侂ッᯢ, who excelled in traditional ritual and charitable behavior of the type that Luo Qing criticized so incisively.36 The story starts as follows: In our dynasty (whether Ming or Qing is unclear) there was a literatus (wenren ᭛Ҏ), called Feng Duanming. He worshipped Heaven and Earth very much and he worshipped demons and deities according to the proper form (libai ⾂ᢰ, the same term that is later used mostly for Christian worship). He burned paper money without counting how much, and when he burned incense, he did not consider its expense. Sometimes he provided mountainous roads with pavement, at other times he donated a bit of capital to the poor. [As a result] he had had nine sons and one daughter who had all attained adulthood. He then encountered a follower of the movement who blamed him for paying insufficient attention to his future rebirth. However, Feng considered the birth of sons in the present life to be directly linked to his good behavior, which revealed his background in the fashionable morality calculus of those days. Yuan Huang 㹕咗 (1533–1606), who had contributed greatly to this type of thinking, had even ascribed the birth of a son to his devout practice of a “Ledger of Merit and Demerit.”37 Feng Duanming, therefore, concluded his argument as follows: When you have practiced charitable works like me, Lord Yama will not decide your crimes. An old saying has it that if you have not transgressed the rules since your birth, then you will obtain good fortune with Lord Yama after your death. The Non-Action Teachings’ follower disagreed with Feng’s mechanistic approach. According to him, this was all very “beautiful” (mei 㕢) but not “good” (shan ୘). If one had the root of goodness (shan’gen ୘ḍ) already, one should start practicing a vegetarian way of life in order to avoid the various types of rebirth in the longer run. Rather than saying that Feng Duanming was wrong, he asserted that Feng’s approach was shortsighted, directed only at his present life and immediate rebirth, rather than taking a long-term perspective. Funerary practices In one account, the discussion turned around the general practice of burning paper money for the dead to use in the underworld to prevent them from becoming

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hungry ghosts. Once again, the adherent argued that this custom was useless. In the end, the man with whom he was arguing was convinced and converted to the Non-Action Teachings, pointing out that King Yama did not have “human emotions” (renqing Ҏᚙ).38 This term does not refer to emotions in general, but to the sentiments involved when people owe each other some form of support.39 By sacrificing to King Yama or bribing him and his underlings with underworld money, a bond of human emotions was created, forcing King Yama to help the deceased in exchange for the sacrifices or bribes made on his or her behalf. Therefore, the crux of the Non-Action Teachings point of view was that King Yama would be insensitive to any form of human emotions based on exchanges of gifts. He would look at only true beliefs and true acts of devotion. Nonetheless, he was still crucial to the overall enforcement of morality and therefore not rejected by the movement.40 Because the fate of adherents in the underworld was determined by the purity of their way of life rather than by externalized rituals, there was no need for an elaborate funerary ritual. There is some evidence that the movement practiced only simple rituals. A late-Ming account from Jiaxing Prefecture sees this as a major flaw of the local movement.41 The Causes and Fruits refers several times to the practice of “Buddha affairs” (foshi ԯџ), a standard reference to Buddhist funerary rituals, but here the precise contents of the rituals are not specified.42 The underling of a Qingyuan military official specifically attacked the movement’s overly simple funerary rituals as follows, when he and his commander gate-crashed a gathering of prominent adherents at the Fragrant Mountain Hall (xiangshantang 佭ቅූ): When you Friends of the Way have some flying geese [or far-away friends] who are dispersed, you are not one bit sad or mournful; when the mandarin ducks [or a married couple] get cold, you do not have one inch of pain or grief. With the hemp mourning clothes hanging on the wall, you recite Amitābha; in your filial clothes [of mourning] you talk about prajna. When there are guests paying their condolences like flies, one does not see even the smallest sheet of paper [money]. Paying one’s respect to the Buddha like ants, you do not need three cups of alcoholic drinks. If the Buddha gets nothing to eat, what would be the advantage of inviting him [to be present at the ritual]? When someone (probably referring to the deceased who receives no sacrificial food) is left in hunger, how could I be at ease? When you daily recite the name of Amitābha, Amitābha does not appear; when you communicate daily with the heavenly principles, where are they located? The local adherents pointed out to him and his superior the error of his thoughts by arguing that tinfoil and ashes of paper money can never be as good as focusing one’s mind and that no forms of sacrifice can be as good as emptying one’s skandhas (or aggregates, i.e., “form,” “feeling,” “perception,” “formation,” and “consciousness”).43

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Sacrificial practice Sharing meat and alcoholic drinks formed the basis of all social and religious ritual in traditional China and, with that, the basis for the formation of social groups. Rejecting them had serious social implications; therefore, the topic returns frequently in the Causes and Fruits. Like any other human beings, adherents socialized with each other, as well as receiving guests from outside the movement who sometimes explicitly complained that they got only vegetarian food.44 In one of the discussions about the movement’s simple sacrificial practices, an adherent elaborated their practices in some detail.45 (I have marked the sacrificial gifts in bold.) When I explain it completely, it becomes too detailed. Therefore, I will give one principle, which is the principle of the three ages, past, present, and future. The past is tea. This means that at the time when the original chaos (hundun ⏋≠) had not yet divided, they divided essence, Qi, and spirit ( jingqishen ㊒⇷⼲) into three. The water of the Heavenly One (tianyi ໽Э) cannot yet return to the source. The present is the fast. Th is means that at the time when the ur-chaos (hongmeng 匏㩭) had not yet been penetrated, they divided Classicism, Daoism, and Buddhism (rudaoshi ‫ۦ‬䘧䞟) into the three teachings. The fire of Earthly Two (dier ഄѠ) cannot shine. The future is the fruit. When they divide Heaven, Earth, and Man into the Three Talents, there will be the Trigrams Qian (Male/Yang) and Kun (Female/ Yin), there will be water and fire. But since they cannot be completed ( ji △), the Six Directions have to be in the middle. This is so subtle that this is a place which cannot be experienced or known, a Heaven that cannot be worried or fretted about. Incense is the One Qi, the Qi Before Heaven. The Candles are the Creation (literally: the opening and breaching), the two eyes of the Later Sages. Having associated each of the simple sacrifices on the altar with the basic concepts of the movement, the adherent now proceeded to explain how these sacrifices were used to express the movement’s cosmology, which was, in fact, not so different from explanations that were current in other local religious traditions. First we use the One Qi (i.e., incense) that is not yet bright and ask the teacher (the ritual officer) to ascend the hall, and we stand both left and right of him. Afterward we take the two Qi of east and west (probably the two candles) and call them the Two Instantiations (i.e., Heaven and Earth or Yang and Yin), that is the circulation of the Golden Crow (i.e., the Sun) and the Jade Hare (i.e., the Moon). When we have run across the entire Great Void there will be the Trigrams Qian ᄋ and Kun ᄒ, who erect the Three Talents of fruit (probably three kinds), settle the Three Teachings of the fast, and complete the

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Three Bodies of tea (usually offered in three cups). When we have completed one [round], three times three becomes nine. The three form the manifestation (xiang 䈵) of the lines of the Qian trigram ᄋ. The Book of Changes says: “The Lord at Three Nine, at the end of the day is Qian Qian.” Confucius said: “At the end of the day is Qian Qian, which means the Way Back and Forth.” The Way circulates across the world (shijie Ϫ⬠, using a Buddhist concept) and the ten thousand phenomena (xiang 䈵) are manifold, giving life to the great earth and the ten thousand people. The Sutra said: “The ten thousand dharmas are all born from one Qi.” This ended the adherent’s exposition. As was pointed out by one of his interlocutors, this discussion clearly reflected the Diagram of the Great Ultimate (taijitu ໾Ὁ೪), which was the basis of all neo-Confucian cosmology, although the reasoning itself could just as easily have been inspired by Daoist practices. For the adherents, the precise origins of these ideas would have mattered very little, except they would not have experienced them as heterodox in any way.46 For them, the sacrifices functioned as tools in the ritual enactment of the cosmos, a basic principle that we will encounter in other sources on the movement’s ritual praxis. The sacrifices and paraphernalia that were actually used in the ritual were completely conventional, and, thus, this exposition is a good example of the phenomenon of orthopraxis, that is, the stable nature of ritual itself and the manifold ad hoc explanations we encounter in different ritual or social contexts.47

T h e i nve r s i o n o f s o c i a l a n d e d u c a t i o n a l h i e r a r c h i e s A recurring theme in the Causes and Fruits is the questioning of educational and gender hierarchies. It does not matter whether one is highly educated, as real knowledge and understanding do not come from texts, and illiterate women are just as capable of attaining insight as literate men. This should not be understood as a rejection of texts per se, but rather of excessive reliance on the recitation of texts without understanding and without sincerity.48 The criticism of prioritizing written culture over understanding and insight is also found in Chan Buddhism, and its appearance in the Non-Action Teachings is yet another example of Chan influence. In his Five Books in Six Volumes, Luo Qing already pointed out that neither the Buddha, Bodhidharma, nor the Sixth Patriarch Huineng relied on writing.49 Because the patriarch has bequeathed us extensive writings of his own (or at least dictated to his pupils), his frame of reference was what he saw as the kind of writing required for the civil ser vice examinations and the widespread assumption that this par ticular kind of writing provided absolute social status. The Causes and Fruits begins with an account that underscores this very point. A member named Wang Kong ⥟ᄨ (Puhua ᱂㢅) from Guangze County in Shaowu Prefecture had retired and was working the land together with some followers. A lower degree holder was sitting in a pavilion next to a local bridge. He was exchanging poems and conversations with two others, comparing himself to

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Mencius. He was so brilliant that no one dared take him on. Th is pavilion bordered the public road, and people passed by continuously. At one point, a farmer carry ing a load of manure put it down next to the pavilion to rest. He laughed loudly, and our degree holder was outraged. “Farmer, you really dare; I am talking about the Way with these gentlemen, and you laugh at me behind my back.” He started off on a long argument that farming was the meanest of all activities. Although undoubtedly an accurate reflection of actual social norms, his statement went against the ideals of Classicist ideology, in which farmers came immediately after the elite, before craftsmen and merchants. The farmer responded by noting that he had also loved to study poetry and prose in his youth, even though he could not compare with the great masters. In the ensuing discussion, the degree holder slowly lost his temper with the stubborn farmer who refused to admit defeat. The farmer observed that studying did not express itself in speaking a lot. When the degree holder replied that farming was a mean profession, the farmer retorted that it served the nation and that even the great saint-kings of the past were all involved in it. The degree holder then lambasted him for comparing himself to these kings, to which the farmer replied that if his opponent had not yet studied to the level of the saint-kings, he should not compare himself to Mencius, either. Now the degree holder was embarrassed, but again he did not present an argument, only a claim based on status: “This farmer is disrespectful and should be killed.” After yet another brief exchange, the farmer expressed the point of view that “he was cultivating his Vast Stuff (haoran zhi qi ⌽✊П⇷).” This reference to a notoriously obscure phrase referring to “stuff ” (qi) in the Mencius piqued the degree holder into asking for an explanation. The farmer now embarked on a lengthy description of this stuff as the cosmic energy that precedes creation and fi lls all. With one breath, he could partake of it. Once more, the farmer got the upper hand by showing that even such a difficult concept referred to something very fundamental. This left the degree holder totally speechless: “his mouth opened and would not close, his tongue was raised and could not come down.” His two guests then asked the farmer what books he was reading. The farmer replied: “I read the ‘Chart of the Yellow River’ and the ‘Text from the Luo-River,’ and the Diamond Sutra without Characters.” The degree holder asked: “Can this be studied?” The farmer replied: “You must keep the fasts and injunctions for a long time, cultivate your body for an entire life, and only then can you ‘read’ this sutra. If you dare to cheat your heart (qixin ℎᖗ), even half a character will be hard to study.” The degree holder said: “To cheat one’s heart is to cheat heaven.” From here on, the degree holder changed his approach completely. He asked the farmer for his name and then became his pupil. Wang Kong’s choice of texts is interesting. The first two texts he mentions are really sets of numbers that were thought to represent the cosmos, and the Diamond

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Sutra was thought to contain the most basic insights into Buddhist teachings. Furthermore, the very fact that he equated texts with the cosmos indicates the textual framework within which he was still thinking, but instead of “reading,” in a literal sense, he now equated reading with a proper religious lifestyle. Throughout the debate, the farmer, Wang Kong, referred extensively to the cultural canon of the day, including work by Han Yu 䶧ᛜ, Liu Zongyuan ᷇ᅫ‫ܗ‬, Ouyang Xiu ℤ䱑ׂ, and either Su Shi 㯛䓒 or Su Che 㯛ᖍ. This selection reflects a basic knowledge of one or another anthology of Old Prose (guwen স᭛) essays in which these five writers would have been well represented; it would have been studied in preparation for the civil service examinations.50 His explanation of Vast Stuff shows that he was also familiar with the writings of Mencius. Together these references were used not only to underscore the contents of his argument about the importance of farming but also to allow him to claim a position of cultural equality to his opponent. The next account puts the same criticism of meaningless learning for the examinations into the mouths of two devout women who were conversing while walking to a religious gathering. They went even further in their rejection of empty learning: There is also a group of corrupt Classicists ( furu 㜤‫ )ۦ‬who rely on essays in Eight Limbs (bagu ܿ㙵), while ridiculing those who are illiterate but cultivate well. They are totally unaware of the fact that they commit crimes that will be punished (zui), and yet they take issue with the faults of others. All of them cheat Heaven. They irritate and anger the Buddhas and Patriarchs in the skies. Although they may receive a bit of fool’s luck for a while, they will be entirely unable to avoid the underworld when they die. The two women made the same point as Wang Kong, the farmer in the preceding discussion. What mattered is not empty learning, such as practiced by the Classicists (“Confucians”), but Buddhist practice as the basis for true understanding. The conversation continued on the issue of crime (zui), that is, deeds that will lead to karmic retribution. They specified that the vegetarian needed to keep four rules: First, you must trust in the Way with straight heart and without the slightest doubt. Second, you must exhort people to be upright and sincere, and treat yourself and others without making any distinction. Third, you must practice the affairs of the Buddha with total dedication and utmost energy. Fourth, the great Way must be respected and valued, and you cannot leave it [uncared for] in the sun for a day or in the cold for ten days.51 They not only derided the literati elite for mocking them as badly educated, in itself a remarkable and rarely documented attitude, but also saw their own religious practice as more demanding, as well as much more rewarding.

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The foundation of religious practice was “clarifying one’s heart and seeing one’s nature” (mingxin jianxing ᯢᖗ㽟ᗻ), without any attachment to external forms of practice. We have already seen this phrase before; it came from the famous poem ascribed to Bodhidharma. The point was further supported by stressing that external beauty was without meaning, for instance, in the story of the handsome lady Xiao Yan and the ugly lady Yu Qiao. The beautiful Xiao Yan made fun of the ugly Yu Qiao because of her looks, but the ugly lady’s deft use of religious poems then made her realize that this distinction was illusory.52 To us, this may seem an obvious point to make for a religious movement that stressed the inner state of the believer, but in a society that usually saw (and often still sees) a direct relationship between looks and morality, this was not the case.

T h e t r a n s m i s s i o n o f t h e Fi ve B o o k s i n S i x Vo l u m e s The Five Books in Six Volumes is mentioned several times in the Causes and Fruits and was clearly exempt from the overall criticism of empty learning. It was in an entirely different category, as comes out very clearly in the conversation between the handsome Xiao Yan and the ugly Yu Qiao with which we started this book. The movement constructed itself systematically as the continuation and culmination of Patriarch Luo’s teaching, even though by no means all of its beliefs and practices stemmed from these books.53 One especially revealing anecdote involved Wang De and Yang Shichun, both of them prominent figures in the early movement. Yang was very studious but unlucky in his personal life, for he had lost his parents when he was twenty years old, and then his wife. In a Buddhist monastery in an unidentified location, Yang was muttering to the statues of the Eighteen Arhats when Wang De started to speak to him. They became engrossed in a lengthy doctrinal discussion, after which Wang De remarked that Yang had “the root for goodness” (shan’gen ୘ḍ). He went on to try to prove the importance of cultivation on the basis of quotations from the classics, as well as from Laozi and the Buddha. The Buddha was quoted as instructing people to “clarify the heart and see one’s nature” (mingxin jianxing)— a central phrase in Patriarch Luo’s teachings. Wang De concluded that the methods of both Laozi and the Buddha involved leaving the world, and the method of the sages and saints taught people the method of ordering the world. At their heart, however, they were one and the same. He then invoked the learning process that is the main subject of the first of the Five Books in Six Volumes: “My Patriarch Luo in those days bitterly practiced and was awakened to the Way. At the first step of his thirteen consultations, he saw that the outer forms of the ten thousand phenomena of this world are all impermanent.”54 Another account tells of the conversion of Luo Youyi 㕙᳝㕽, originally from Longxi County in Zhangzhou Prefecture in southern Fujian, but then in charge of a local battalion in Wenzhou.55 For the past ten years, he had been “burning incense every day and reciting the Sections on Response and Retribution by the Highest One” (taishang ganying pian ໾Ϟᛳឝ㆛). He had held regular exchanges with a local monk, although the latter’s expositions did not appeal to him. One

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day four gentlemen came by the Guanyin Hall and derided the monk, which attracted Luo Youyi’s attention, and he offered them a cup of fragrant tea. A discussion ensued in which the four gentlemen then demonstrated their adeptness in the way of the Buddha by means of pertinent poems. The monk attacked them by saying that they were neither monks, laymen, nor Classicists (ru); did not burn paper money and left the hungry ghosts crying by the wayside; and did not consume meat or alcoholic drinks and left the ancestors outside by the gate. According to him, this would lead to tremendous karmic punishment. The four men derided him again, concluding that he was just “a stubborn piece of skin in a meditation posture.” At this point, Luo Youyi asked them whether they might be “followers of Teacher Lanfeng, Fellows of the Great Vehicle (dachengke ໻Ь ᅶ).” Lanfeng’s commentary on the Five Books in Six Volumes was, of course, the version of these works most commonly used in the Non-Action Teachings. From them, Luo Youyi finally obtained the right personal approach to leading a proper moral life for which he had been searching, rather than having to learn this from an ordinary Buddhist monk. This anecdote not only reveals the importance of the Five Books in Six Volumes but also testifies to the antipathy of the Non-Action Teachings to ordinary monastic Buddhism.

Polemics against other traditions The Non-Action Teachings never functioned in a religious void and encountered competing approaches all the time. At least some of these approaches are explicitly mentioned, although the absence of any criticism of local religious cults requiring meat sacrifice and alcoholic drinks is remarkable. In the Causes and Fruits, one particularly prominent competing approach was that of the Classicists, who were derogatorily called corrupt Classicists ( furu 㜤‫)ۦ‬. One suspects that this reflects the social level of movement members, at least those described in this par ticular source. Before I turn to this last approach, however, I discuss two other approaches that are perhaps better understood as Daoist and Buddhist inspired.

D a o i s t- i n s p i r e d a p p r o a c h e s The Causes and Fruits contains only two examples of people with a more or less Daoist background, neither of them related to the Heavenly Master or Complete Perfection traditions. At the time, that monastic tradition was represented only in the urban centers of the Lower Yangzi region, but priests of the Heavenly Master tradition were ubiquitous, and it is curious that we rarely encounter them interacting with the Non-Action Teachings. In the early-Qing period, a certain Huang Xinzhi 咗ֵП practiced the so-called Eating Flowers Fasts, maintaining fasts on one set of days and refraining from killing on another set of days. He limited himself to not eating oxen and dogs. He called this the Fast of the Jade Emperor. Very likely this was his personal interpretation. In this way, he neatly circumvented the tricky issue of eating or sacrificing pork and fowl, the conventional meats of social

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and religious rituals. He allowed himself to participate in the core rituals of local society while claiming a morally upright position. The taboo against eating and sacrificing oxen was, by then, a widely shared elite practice, with strong Daoist and Classicist connotations but without negative social consequences.56 Not surprisingly, Huang’s approach did not find sympathy with the NonAction Teachings. He was fiercely criticized by Li Mingfu ᴢᯢ⫿ (Puguan ᱂㾔), who was already over eighty and happened to be teaching the Way in Tingzhou in southeastern Fujian. He remarked that the Jade Emperor was a pupil of the Buddha, which raised Huang’s ire. But Puguan continued his argument by pointing out that it was really the Buddha, or more precisely the Old Patriarch Without Extreme (wuji laozu ⛵Ὁ㗕⼪, referring to Patriarch Luo), who had created the cosmos. He further identified this figure as the more abstract principle of Without Extreme (wuji ⛵Ὁ), from the Song neo-Confucianist author Zhou Dunyi’s Map of the Great Ultimate (taiji tu ໾Ὁ೪). Puguan ended his argument with the following conclusion: You worship the Way, but in fasting you are without [true] fasting; in refraining [from killing] you are without [true] refraining. [Under such circumstances] burning incense is of no use. Only after you worship the Buddha in your heart should you eat vegetarian food. When you follow the traces of ink and emptily recite the Chan-tune, and your pitiful tongue recites texts, you will not be able to see the dharma-king (i.e., the Buddha) even in ten thousand kalpas.57 Puguan’s point should be familiar by now. It is not so much the correct practice of certain rituals that was important, but the right attitude underlying such practice. The “traces of ink” (i.e., reading and writing) led only to empty recitation, and only when practice started from the heart could it become effective. In itself, such a viewpoint is not that different from traditional Buddhist or Daoist discourse, which also stressed the proper moral attitude with which any ritual practice should be carried out. The fundamental distinction is that here we have laypeople of nonelite backgrounds making the claim and deducing from it that merely following a text (which could yield only empty recitation) or hiring ritual experts (for a transfer of merit that is not one’s own) would not be enough. Successful practice started and ended with oneself; that is, the Buddha had to be worshipped in one’s heart. The other example of a Daoist way of life in the Causes and Fruits was the religious drunk. One of the great early members of the movement, Wang De, was cultivating himself along with Hu Bishun in a small hall next to a stream and long bamboos, which they called their “bitter practice and cultivation of the Way” (kuxing xiudao 㢺㸠ׂ䘧) in imitation of Patriarch Luo. In this hall, they worshipped an old statue of Guanyin.58 One day, they heard a man singing outside, stating that “prose-essays can hardly match spirits, the Odes and Documents are not worth a penny.” He turned out to be a drunk eager for more to drink. Wang De replied that they had only “jasper fluid” (qiongjiang ⪞┓), which the drunk accepted. The man gradually sobered up and complimented them on their jasper fluid. This drink was

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undoubtedly tea, for they were close to the Wuyi Mountains, long one of the major tea-producing regions of traditional China. As always, the discussion that followed ended with the drunk’s conversion to the teachings.

T h e “o r t h o d o x ” B u d d h i s t s u r r o u n d i n g s The Causes and Fruits has little to say on mainstream monastic Buddhism, which corresponds to the lack of references to organized Daoism noted earlier. In terms of their rhetorical style, the adherents clearly had an intimate knowledge of the argumentative style of Chan tradition. In a number of cases, the followers are explicitly identified as Chan adepts but never as monks or nuns.59 This scenario is quite different from an earlier period, when the White Cloud Tradition had been founded by a monk and the White Lotus movement by a layperson living in a monastery. Both religious movements assigned an important place to lay believers but cooperated with monastic institutions.60 By contrast, all late-Ming and Qing new religious movements were founded and led by laypeople, suggesting a much weaker Buddhist institution than before. When we encounter institutionalized Buddhism in the background of an account, it is depicted as an institution in decline. Take the example of Yang Shichun, who had lost both his parents and his young wife. One day, while extremely despondent, he was admiring the Eighteen Arhats in a local monastery, muttering to himself about their ragged looks. After Yang had burned incense and paid his respects, Wang De revealed himself. He remarked that the monastery was dilapidated and without monks, so why not join him in his little hall and drink some tea.61 The derelict Buddhist monastery provided the backdrop against which Yang Shichun was identified as a devout believer who just needed an extra nudge in the right direction, namely, that of the Non-Action Teachings. In an old sutra, two bibliophiles in Suzhou read about the horrible punishments in Buddhist hells. For an explanation, they did not go to a priest versed in funerary rituals but instead a prominent local figure who explained things to them in terms of the NonAction Teachings.62 We have already encountered the example of Luo Youyi, who recited an ethical tract every day and was similarly uninterested in a local monk’s explications of the dharma. That conventional Buddhist practice, such as sutra recitation, was insufficient is, of course, completely in line with the teachings of Patriarch Luo. An unmarried woman from a well-to-do household in Fuzhou Prefecture had never taken her Bodhisattva vows. She did, however, maintain a vegetarian way of life and loved to recite the Lotus Sutra, but without understanding anything.63 She even sold her maid servant because the girl was too clever for her. After her marriage, she continued her customary recitation, with little positive effect. The conventional point of this type of account is that despite her lack of understanding, some kind of miracle befell her, saving her from an illness or some other terrible event. But this is not the message of the Causes and Fruits. When her parents died, she instructed her adopted son to find some vegetarian women for a funerary ritual and, hopefully, to ask them to explain the sutra. He was unable to

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find anybody, but just at that moment her former servant girl happened to pass by. She taught her former employer that having literary abilities was not as good as having none whatsoever (youzi buru wuzi ᳝ᄫϡབ⛵ᄫ).64 The recitation of Buddhist sutras alone was insufficient; what mattered was a proper and devout way of life. People who joined the movement definitely saw themselves as having become Buddhists, and almost every conversion account concludes with two crucial activities: the ritual of Taking Refuge (guiyi ⱜձ) and the composition of a poem of enlightenment, a gatha ( jie ‫)؜‬. The first ritual signified conversion to a Buddhist way of life by means of taking Refuge in the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha; the second ritual was an essential element of Chan-style practice. We no longer see the composition of a poem in the movement’s later ritual practice, when every new adherent simply received a standard poem that he or she had to keep secret. Unlike the White Lotus movement of the Song and Yuan period, however, this intensified religious way of life was not combined with a more active approach in society at large, through charitable works such as building bridges and roads, handing out tea, or donating to the poor. We have encountered several accounts in which this approach was regarded as insufficient and overly calculating, which discredited it in the eyes of the Non-Action Teachings.65

T h e “C l a s s i c i s t ” s u r r o u n d i n g s Many adherents featured in the Causes and Fruits had received some education or even possessed a civil ser vice or military degree. They would have been inculcated with the Classicist canon, according to the neo-Confucian interpretation, since their earliest childhood. Nevertheless, these accounts regularly inveigh against the “corrupt Classicists.” 66 As we have seen, they even portrayed illiteracy as something positive as opposed to education as something negative.67 Although the adherents clearly rejected the ideological standards of their day, they were unable to escape them, and they referred regularly to the Four Books (sishu ಯ᳌) and Old Prose (guwen স᭛) in defense of their beliefs. Good examples of this paradox are two of the most important conversions in the movement’s early history, those of Wang De ⥟ᖋ and Tang Kejun. Wang De eventually became known as a Protector of the Dharma of the Great Vehicle of the Buddhist Gate (fomen dacheng hufa ԯ䭔໻Ь䅋⊩).68 He was active in Qingyuan County in Chuzhou Prefecture and may well have been the Person of the Way who originally converted Patriarch Yao.69 Tang Kejun became known as the First Venerable Old Buddha within the Gate of the Buddha, an honorific title that clearly indicated his significance.70 Wang De was converted by a relative, Wang Qingtian, who referred to him as his “elder brother in the family” ( jiaxiong ᆊ‫ܘ‬, probably a distant cousin). Wang Qingtian is described as the archetypal Huineng, the supposedly illiterate Sixth Patriarch of the Chan tradition. He was not really illiterate, though; he is also described as having read (or recited) sutras since his youth. Wang De described himself as a “Classicist” (wenru ᭛‫ )ۦ‬and a student of “the texts of Confu-

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cius and Mencius, the Book of Odes, and the Book of Documents,” but he accepted Wang Qingtian’s lengthy speech on the worthlessness of the traditional canon, “the dregs of assorted traditions and left-over traces on stolen paper.”71 However, Wang De was not above using his considerable education to persuade others to join. In the 1620s, the literatus Tang Kejun from Zhejiang was on his way to the provincial examinations in Suzhou.72 On the road he encountered Wang De, singing a song on the presence of Amitābha within one’s own body. After Wang De had finished his song, he laughed loudly. He walked a mile or so and again laughed loudly, singing how he laughed at conventional people who strove for fame and profit but merely succeeded in extending their cycle of death and rebirth. For Tang Kejun, this was something of a culture shock, which was further compounded by the man’s looks: The man’s face was extremely ugly and he was shaped like a monster. His elbows showed through his clothes and his bones showed through his body. If he was not a mountain goblin, then he was one of the Ten Abominations. He shook and wobbled all the time. His face was full of wrinkles and his hair was very short. Of course, Tang Kejun asked him why he looked this way, and Wang De answered that he did not care for fame, riches, or status. At the end of the story, the commentator returns once more to the looks of Wang De. Some considered Mr. Puwang (i.e., Wang De) to be a stupid and mean fellow, but how could they have known that he had once resigned a high office. When you inspected his looks, he was truly the manifestation of a real-life Numinous Official just like they look on paper. A Protector of the Dharma cannot be illiterate. But if one is not clear in texts, it is better not to be literate. Our Patriarch praised Mr. Puwang saying that he not only protected the dharma among man and heaven, but also in emptiness. Our commentator adds that later a likeness was painted of Wang De, which was accompanied by a poem that further underlined his ugliness.73 The modern reader may wonder why this ugliness was such an issue, but actually it mattered very much. Already by the late Ming there was the well-known story of Zhong Kui, the demon protector, who had been refused an imperial degree because of his ugliness.74 Because people connected people’s looks with their moral caliber, the statement that Wang De was a protector of the dharma despite his looks was once more a statement about the irrelevance of outer appearances, whether literacy or physical looks. All the same, Wang De and Tang Kejun carried on a conversation that was full of cultural baggage. First Tang Kejun bombarded Wang De with a long list of saintly kings and teachers who had practiced sacrifice, to which the latter replied:75

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You cheat people. The Book of Changes says: “It is by the ease with which it proceeds that Qian ђ directs [as it does], and by its unhesitating response that Kun സ exhibits such ability.”76 [Confucius said:] “Master Yan 丣 would hear one thing and understand ten things.”77 [Confucius also said:] “Master Zeng ᳒ obtained one thing and connected it.”78 Zhongni ӆሐ (i.e., Confucius) paid his respects to the fisherman who moved the boat.79 The Yellow Emperor became close to the boy of the Heavenly Master.80 Xiang Tuo ䷙․ was without knowledge from a famous teacher,81 and the Hu village was doubted by the pupils [of Confucius, who nevertheless interviewed someone from the village].82 In this list, Wang De refers to, or quotes from, the Book of Changes, the Analects, and the Zhuangzi, as well as the Three Character Classic. The only text that is explicitly mentioned is the Book of Changes, and all the other quotations are part of a corpus of cultural references implicitly shared between educated people. What he seems to be saying is that good pupils understand immediately and that wise men often take simple people as their teachers. It is somewhat ironic that he has to make this point through a series of learned references. Throughout the Causes and Fruits, references abound to the Four Books: the Analects ascribed to Confucius, the Mencius ascribed to Mencius, the Great Learning, and the Golden Mean.83 We also find references to examples from the Old Prose (guwen স᭛) canon and materials on Chinese mythical history that probably derived from the Records of the Historian (shiji ৆㿬), and other written works.84 There is no room here for a full analysis, but it should be clear that despite their discourse on the limited value of literacy and literati culture, these par ticular adherents of the Non-Action Teachings could not escape their educated background. Women were only slightly less likely to use references to the written canon to support their views.85 One female adherent gives a list of literate women from ancient times,86 and another refers to the wife of Houyi in the Palace of the Queen Mother (of the West?) and Ms. Cai of the Saintly Mother of Meizhou.87 The last reference is the only one in the entire collection to local religious culture, in that the Saintly Mother of Meizhou refers to Mazu ႑⼪ or the Empress of Heaven (tianhou ໽ৢ), one of the most important cults of Fujian.88 We have already seen that the number of references to this local religious culture in the biography of Patriarch Yao was also relatively limited. Becoming an adherent of the Non-Action Teachings was an exclusive activity that did not tolerate the worship of other deities, which was unsurprising given the movement’s rejection of meat sacrifice and alcoholic drinks.

The movement as a social phenomenon The Non-Action Teachings, as presented in the Causes and Fruits, was not an isolated and marginalized religious phenomenon, but a major movement of its time. It appealed to different layers of the population all across southern Zhejiang and northern Fujian, including many women.

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T h e c o m p o s i t i o n a n d s p r e a d o f t h e m ove m e n t The material in the Causes and Fruits may not be a reliable sociological reflection of the movement’s following, but it confirms the appeal of the Non-Action Teachings among the educated layers of local society. Of those people whose social background is more or less clear, the vast majority were literate people. Most of them held a lower prefectural degree, and some held the higher degrees of Raised Person ( juren) and Presented Scholar ( jinshi). Other adherents had left the competition for the civil ser vice examinations, whether out of frustration or religious inspiration. Even a number of the female adherents were from an educated or official background.89 Another substantial group came from a military background. They did not necessarily have local origins, but in three of the four instances on which we have information, they were stationed in Wenzhou and Qingyuan in southern Zhejiang and Guangze in northern Fujian.90 Only twice is it specifically mentioned that the adherent was a farmer, but in one of those instances, the “farmer,” Wang Kong, had studied for the examinations earlier in life. In the other instance, the farmer is described as illiterate and comes closest to what one would expect of that par ticu lar professional group.91 There are also the unique cases of a thief,92 a rich merchant,93 and a female moneylender (though of educated background, like her servant).94 Two male adherents were explicitly stated to be well-to-do.95 By and large, the male membership of the movement in these accounts is characterized by a dominance of educated people and the absence of people from agriculturally based professions. The women’s social background is less clear. One new adherent was married to a disgraced official;96 another was the granddaughter of the prominent and well-educated Tang Kejun.97 In two instances, a girl is said to come from a rich household, and in both of these cases, she was converted by a servant. No doubt, the detail of the girls’ better social status served to underline the movement’s basic message that status or literacy did not make one a better believer. However, these cases give the overall impression that this was not a movement of the dispossessed.98 When discussing the spread of the early movement after Patriarch Ying’s death, I have already drawn attention to the prominence of the movement’s center in Wenzhou, rather than the Patriarch’s native Jinyun County in Chuzhou Prefecture. Clearly Patriarch Ying’s final teaching in Wenzhou, possibly under the patronage of people connected to the household of the late Grand Secretary Zhang Cong, was a crucial moment in the movement’s development. It had already spread much further by the time of Patriarch Yao, and this picture is not very different from the accounts in the Causes and Fruits. When we analyze the locations of the various accounts, we find that virtually all take place in Zhejiang, Jiangsu, and Fujian, which were to remain the core regions of the movement. Within this region, Qingyuan (Zhejiang, six accounts), Suzhou (Jiangsu, five accounts), and Wenzhou (Zhejiang, four accounts) stand out as the centers of the movement. Shaowu in northern Fujian (three accounts) and Jiaxing (Zhejiang, two accounts) are followed by only one account each of the remaining locations.99

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The prominence of Qingyuan predates the rise of Patriarch Yao; one of the most prominent early teachers, Wang De, was active in this location. In almost all stories of male conversions, the people involved were free to make their own decisions. We do not read of parents who interfered, an extremely common event in biographies of men who wanted to become Buddhist monks as adults.100 Lay Buddhists continued to have families and sons, so parents did not need to fear a lack of support in their old age. They may, however, have feared the discontinuity of ancestor worship, which the Non-Action Teachings of the lateMing period rejected. Most conversions in this par ticular source are of older adults; most of their parents had already died, and that obstacle had been removed. In biographies of monks, often the death of their parents enabled them to eventually become monks. Opponents accused adherents of unfilial acts in their rejection of burning paper money for the ancestors. However, adherents did have children, and we will see later that in their rituals they paid attention to the wellbeing of the ancestors, even though they did not practice ancestor worship. Opposition and criticism came from other adults in their immediate surroundings rather than family. The following section shows that marriages might suffer under the tensions of female conversion if, and as long as, the husband remained outside the movement. This phenomenon is also known from modern conversions to new religious movements. One adherent retired to his home village in Jingzhou Prefecture (Hubei) to practice his “enterprise of Non-Action” (wuwei zhi ye ⛵⠆Пὁ). As far as we know, a long-term center of the movement in this province was not established, but the man did attract one local pupil in addition to his two original acolytes. A local youth had been recently enlightened, and when he heard about the arrival of this adherent of the Non-Action Teachings, he came to practice with him. His father was a local student in the Confucian School, and when he heard what had happened, he came to admonish our adherent, but in the meantime, his son fled. The loudness of the father’s diatribe attracted two passers-by who happened to be prominent adherents of the movement. The passers-by are a bit too much of a coincidence, but the account does realistically depict the anger of the father: He scared and moved the neighborhood and vehemently scolded the Buddha. His heart was outraged and his mouth was full of spite. When he was not saying that this was a divergent teaching, then he was scolding that it was unfilial vegetarianism. All is well that ends well because his wife turned out to be a devout Buddhist (no doubt the example for her son’s conversion) who succeeded in convincing her husband that he had nothing to worry about.101 Because most adherents who feature in the Causes and Fruits came from an educated background, had studied for the civil ser vice examinations, or even possessed a degree, we can safely assume that they were people of certain means but rarely exceptionally rich. More important, these were people who had thought long and deep about their religious convictions. They were not the usual

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passive consumers of monastic ritual ser vices or collective local festivals. Often the protagonists in these accounts had been strolling around when they first encountered someone from the movement, indicating that they had some leisure time. They had no need to fight for their economic survival, and in the evenings, or even during daytime, they had time and energy for religious practice and conversation. Some adherents were able to devote themselves full-time to religious practice. Wang De, a former official, and Hu Bishun had a little hut in which they practiced, implying that they invested some, or maybe all, of their spare time in religious practice.102 It also implies that one of the two had some land with tenants and sufficient additional means to acquire a separate scenic spot, the hut located by water and tall bamboos. Apart from this example, I have found brief references to a hall owned by Wang Qingtian and a Guanyin Pavilion owned by Wang Kongyi ⥟ᄨ㺨.103 Of Xia Chun, it is said that his family was poor and he was therefore unable to study, but as an old man, he had enough time to preach at the Seven Stars Bridge in his home county instead of having to work the land.104 Similarly, Li Mingfu (Puguan) was always engaged in talking about the teachings and reciting the name of Amitābha. Although over eighty, he still went to Tingzhou Prefecture in Fujian to spread the teachings.105 We can only surmise that otherwise religious activities were usually carried out at home and after work.

Wo m e n i n t h e m ove m e n t The Causes and Fruits devotes a chapter to female conversions, allowing us some insight into the religious lives of women. One critical view of the movement claimed that adherents “do not marry and establish kinship; there are also those who reject marriage and divorce wives, or those who go into hiding and abandon their wives and children.” Indeed, one striking indication of the movement’s coherence is the marriages of important leaders to female followers. Sometimes it is quite clear that such a marriage was not a matter of a woman (or man) being converted first and then putting pressure on her (or his) partner to join, but rather a partnership between near equals, both men and women having made their religious choices independently. We have seen that Liang Youtai turned down his first marriage offer. He eventually married a fellow believer, the goodlooking young Xiao Yan. She was his “Companion in the Way.” In two other cases, a prominent member’s wife is also referred to as a “Companion in the Way.”106 Two other examples, discussed later, explicitly state that the wife had converted much earlier than her husband. In the first case, he was converted after a crisis in his health, and in the second case, after an incident with a thief who lived next door. Keeping the ritual practices of the Non-Action Teachings was never easy and sometimes had terrible social consequences, as illustrated by the following anecdote. Once, the family of prominent adherent Madame Yang Miaohua ἞཭ 㢅 celebrated a family marriage, a “happy affair” (xishi ୰џ), as it is traditionally called. However, Yang Miaohua herself was not at all happy, and a niece asked

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her why. When the niece insisted on an answer, Madam Yang gave the following explanation: Having happiness is to receive the favor of Heaven sending it down, and you must keep to the principles of Heaven to obtain good fortune. But now my household has invited a butcher to buy and kill pigs, goats and the like. My relatives on both the male and female sides are all people who enjoy spirits and meat. When they speak of humaneness and righteousness (renyi ҕ㕽), then [actually] the principles of Heaven are not fair. When you kill a soul as sacrifice, then they say that good fortune will visit the house. Some women know that I follow vegetarian diet and accuse me of being a vegetarian who harms their children and grandchildren. And even more cruel ones call me a vegetarian who harms her husband and makes progeny become extinct. Her niece asserted that because men could read, they could consult sutras and practice accordingly, and then asked what women could do, given their illiteracy. Madame Yang explained the differences between female and male worship of the Buddha’s teachings.107 You, niece, are a girl of good family, not to be compared with those pretty concubines of lowly background. When you think about the wondrous principles of the Buddhists ( fojia ԯᆊ), then males still cannot penetrate it. How much better off are women like us. For this reason, there is the phrase “good men and devout women” (shannan xinnü ୘⬋ֵཇ). When the good man completes his studies with good intentions he will certainly complete his Buddha-fruit. The devout woman will take refuge in the Buddha-Way with a devout heart. Madame Yang went on to explain that the core task was maintaining vegetarian fasts and precepts and that the study of written texts was useless. Moreover, the real Buddha was not located in statues made out of clay or wood, but in one’s “nature.”108 The main point for us here is the development of a typically female stance in which devout practice was central, with a positive interpretation of female illiteracy in that women could not be distracted by the superficial meaning of texts. At the same time, this discourse indicates that women suffered twice, once because of their rejection of the consumption of spirits and meat in a culture that placed these central in social and religious practice, and second because, in real social life, textual study continued to be rated over devout practice.109 The par ticular type of social pressure that Yang Miaohua faced cannot have come from her husband, who was the famous adherent Wang Qingtian. Instead, she must be referring to the other women with whom she is preparing the meals for the festivities. When we read the stories in the Causes and Fruits, we find very little interaction between men and women. Normal practice was that women met among themselves and at home. Only once are two women described as walking

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to a religious gathering and talking on the way.110 Although the female protagonists can be very assertive, the accounts always take place within the social norms of the late imperial period, which held that women should stay at home, and social interactions between men and women were therefore highly constrained.111 In the fifteen accounts involving women, five also involve men, and ten only women.112 As we will see, the exceptions largely prove the rule of gender segregation. In the story of Zhang Yurong ᔉ⥝ᆍ, she entered a religious discussion from behind a folding screen, the only socially appropriate way for interaction between women and men from outside the immediate kinship circle. 113 Dong Qingcao 㨷䴦 㤝, who was the servant of a Buddhist monk, became religious friends with a young woman. Given his social role and his age (he is called a “young boy” or tong ス), we can safely assume that he was considered sexually neutral in the same way as Buddhist monks.114 In the story of Xu Miaochang ᕤ཭ᐌ and her husband, Li Ruohai ᴢ㢹⍋ (Puzheng ᱂ℷ), the original protagonist is their neighbor, a righteous thief.115 On one occasion, his neighbors were having one of their usual rows. Li Ruohai was an old Brilliant Talent who had only recently entered the local Confucian school. He disagreed with his wife on the appropriate way of life, scolding her for following “teachings without father or lord.” She retorted by pointing out that he was already over fift y years old and would meet King Yama soon. He would then have to stand in front of the mirror that shows everybody’s bad deeds and be punished for his slander of the Buddha’s dharma. The thief could not avoid listening and was impressed by her remarks about King Yama. He set up an altar at home to worship a “saintly tablet of the Thus Come One” (i.e., the Buddha) (rulai shengwei བ՚㘪ԡ),116 distributed the things he had stolen to poor people, and mended his ways. Everybody in the neighborhood was touched by this event, and even Li Ruohai was eventually converted. The story is almost too good to be true, but the basic situation is credible. First, we should bear in mind that the two people in this marriage would not have had much to say about their original partnership, which would have been decided by their parents when they were still very young. At one point, the wife had become an adherent of our movement, clearly against the wish of her husband. Because her way of life conflicted with his and that of their social equals, her situation must have been difficult. The encounter with the Robin Hood type of thief became the turning point that finally changed their situation, in addition to the fact that her husband’s advanced age minimized any chance that his career might still take off. Another unhappy marriage was that of the Yuyao County magistrate, He Zhengdao ԩℷ䘧, and his wife, Yuan Miaoshu ॳ཭᳌.117 She did not have any special charms, and he had eyes only for his two concubines, becoming ever weaker as a result of his overexertion in the sexual sphere. His main wife then recommended a doctor who was also an adherent of the Non-Action Teachings. He took He Zhengdao’s pulse and concluded that the man was beyond hope. On further prodding, he added that there was a medicine but it needed to be accompanied by a change in his way of life. At first, He Zhengdao turned this down with a detailed and sophisticated argument against rejecting alcoholic beverages

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and against vegetarianism in par ticular. He pointed out the importance of eating meat as part of a medical treatment, followed by a comparison of vegetarians with hungry ghosts who are punished by Heaven with hunger to repay their karmic debt. Nonetheless, they asked the doctor to come again and explain his approach, which he did with arguments based on a wealth of canonical quotations. He showed the same mastery of the written canon as the movement’s other adherents, which also fit the profile of the so-called “Classicist doctor” (ruyi ‫ۦ‬䝿), who had studied for the examinations before choosing a career as a doctor.118 He Zhengdao was convinced and converted to the teachings, together with his two concubines. The following example suggests that people sometimes asked beforehand whether their future partner was an adherent. On the day of their marriage, Wang Xiangying ⥟佭㣅 (Miaosu ཭㋴) had seen little of her new husband, Hong Zhengchun ⋾ℷ᯹ (Puda ᱂ㄨ), and vice versa, because after the formal ritual the bride was always brought to the bedroom immediately, where she met her husband alone for the first time. Wang Xiangying, looking at herself in the mirror, worried because she was so ugly and had a face covered with pocks. She had heard, however, that “my husband possessed the Way,” so she decided to check how his “Chan heart” would be. After her new husband had sent off the last guests, he returned and they talked. As it turned out, he was genuinely uninterested in her appearance, as his interest lay in her religious nature, and they got along very well. What is important to us here is that Wang Xiangying had apparently inquired, or someone had inquired on her behalf, into the background of her intended husband, leading her to expect a fellow believer.119 It seems possible that many of the other marriages known to us had taken place on the same premise, since the stories about Yu Qiao, Xiao Yan, and others deal with their unmarried life, followed by their conversion, and marrying an adherent of the Non-Action Teachings came only afterward.120 Of course, some women remained unmarried. The daughter of a certain Zhang Jingyou ᔉᭀ᳝ from Zhejiang, called euphemistically Zhang Yurong ᔉ⥝ ᆍ (Zhang with the Jade Face) with the religious name Miaofu ཭⽣, was such a girl. She eventually became a Transformation Teacher. Her face was extremely ugly and she was very diligent in her textual studies. In her youth she kept a vegetarian diet and maintained the precepts, and when she was grown up she did not wish to discuss marriage. Ordinary people all speculated that because her looks were ugly it was inconvenient to marry her out. She used her looks as an excuse not to marry, and her parents left her alone. She started to convert people, and her parents let her do so, treating her as a “crazy girl” (diannü 丯ཇ). One day, three educated acquaintances of her father’s came to rest in the Zhang household. When they saw a poem she had written that told of her worship of Guanyin, they considered it a manifestation of a kind of heretic teaching that was harmful to “those who read books” (dushujia 䅔᳌ᆊ). They

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composed a poem to this effect, at which point Yurong appeared from behind the folding screen to ask whether anybody is harmed by these heretic teachings. She succeeded in winning them over, and all three were converted.121 This account is appropriately called “paying respects to a female Transformation teacher.” It is the only account in the first three chapters of the Causes and Fruits with a female protagonist. Even more interesting is her ability to use her ugliness to persuade her parents to allow her to remain unmarried. She was probably “mad” only in the sense of not keeping to the established social norms, and her stubbornness would have made finding her a suitable partner very difficult. She kept the proper social form of retreating behind a screen while there were guests. In the end, however, she engaged the three men in an extended conversation, which was quite inappropriate at that time. On the whole, female members of the Non-Action Teachings remained confined to their homes, just like females in society at large—certainly in the social world of the Causes and Fruits. However, they were seen as significant persons in religious terms and could actively engage in discussions in their own right. But there was also a rhetorical element. As several of the protagonists in these accounts pointed out, women were not hindered by male written culture and its assumptions. They would have had direct access to their emotions, enabling them to obtain a deeper understanding of the teachings.122 Ugly people (both men and women), as well as illiterates and less literate people, played the same rhetorical role as women, as we have seen. Nonetheless, while educational and gender hierarchies were sometimes inverted, this was not typical of the overall membership of the movement. The only real illiterate we encounter is a certain Su Ruyu, who despite his illiteracy still became the manager of the ancestral hall. Most protagonists in the Causes and Fruits were well educated in the kinds of literary and philosophical texts that men had to learn for the civil ser vice examinations. Women could be sharp-tongued, but, at least in these accounts, they generally stayed in their quarters and rarely mingled with men. The few prominent women among the early following of Patriarchs Ying and Yao did not leave many traces in the movement’s records apart from the material analyzed in this section.

The Causes and Fruits and the late-Ming movement The accounts in the Causes and Fruits testify to the ongoing interaction between adherents of the movement and the society surrounding them. The criticisms of their teachings fit the objections made against them in other historical sources. Unlike the external sources, however, the Causes and Fruits do not depict the adherents as simpletons (yu ᛮ) or plebeian (su ֫), but as people of flesh and blood with real ideals and respectable social backgrounds. They lived in a larger community that sometimes ignored them but gossiped about their strange way of life, and sometimes interfered and even gate-crashed their houses uninvited. Although these particular accounts always end with the conversion of the intruder(s), we can easily imagine that such intrusions did not always have a happy ending.

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These accounts refer to different belief systems and practices. The most interesting thing is the paucity of polemics against Daoist traditions of internal alchemy and monastic Buddhism, as well as the near absence of references to local temple cults. Besides the kinship unit based on some degree of ancestor worship, nearly every adult member of the local community participated in a temple cult. Even if there were no prominent local monasteries, there should have been Daoist and Buddhist figures who would have been popular ritual performers. The virtual absence of references to these different forms of religious expression is difficult to explain. The question why educated people joined this movement is easier to answer. In these accounts, the movement provided an alternative role model for those who wanted to leave the competitive world of the civil ser vice examination system. At the same time, and not necessarily in contradiction, people out of principle rejected the search for wealth and positions. They could retreat to their landed property or city villas, or they could go a step further by joining the Non-Action Teachings. This par ticular movement provided an excellent set of practices and ideas into which an individual could channel his or her dissatisfaction with the ideals of mainstream Chinese society. The accounts in the Causes and Fruits testify to a vibrant religious movement that was still actively spreading its message. Although our groups were never rebellious and rarely violent, prominent monks and members of the educated elite were deeply concerned that the movement did not fit into local society and its social conventions. This concern led to negative descriptions and even some active persecution in the last decades of the Ming dynasty.123 During this period, however, the debate was still open, and actual contents could still be discussed, without necessarily leading to outright persecution. In the Causes and Fruits, the movement’s opponents used different labels to refer to it negatively, including the very general “divergent ideas” (yiduan ⭄ッ, literally “divergent themes or topics”),124 the adjective “heretic” (xie 䙾),125 and on one occasion the legal term “way of the left” (zuodao Ꮊ䘧).126 The much more common legal qualification “heterodox teachings” (yaojiao ཪᬭ or yaoyan ཪ㿔) is not used, probably because these teachings did not have any political content (such as messianic and Maitreyan beliefs) and were therefore not considered rebellious.127 Not surprisingly, this was a male discourse. For women, their lives were centered on the family, such as the problems of getting on with their husbands, and on their immediate social network, which was severely complicated by their vegetarian diet. For men, their place in society at large was much more important and included dealing with the accusation of heresy. While seven accounts use one or more of these labels, many more accounts involve specific criticisms without the use of derogatory labels. Moreover, the Causes and Fruits also confirms that local officials might even provide protection, as in the case of Liang Youtai. There is no evidence of systematic persecution, just incidental repression, local frictions, and critical debate. In the Causes and Fruits, the Five Books in Six Volumes is defi nitely central to the self-construction of the Non-Action Teachings. Other forms of learning

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directed at either acquiring superficial knowledge for the examinations or the mechanical recitation of religious texts were rejected. Instead, the right kind of reading began with leading a sincere religious life. Precisely for this reason, women and illiterates could be constructed as particularly capable of getting the deeper message because they were not hindered by conventional education. In real social life, however, such individuals rarely became leaders of the movement. With this analysis of the Causes and Fruits we also come to the end of the fi rst part of the history of the movement. We might term this “the period of the charismatic leaders,” when Patriarchs Ying Ji’nan and Yao Wenyu, with their highly personal style of proselytizing, were active, as well as other eccentric teachers such as those described in the Causes and Fruits. In the next chapters, the discussion moves to the Qing and Republican periods, with brief excursions into the People’s Republic of China and postwar Taiwan. Because the movement developed a well-defined ritual corpus and transmission practices, it also acquired a more routine character, and there was less room (and need) for charismatic individuals. The following chapters deal with this second part of the history of the movement. First, I describe the ritual core of the mature movement, which was developed on the basis of Ming practices and then incorporated into ritual manuals. Then I follow the archival record to trace the movement through the ensuing centuries, including a few isolated persecutions, violent incidents, and a revival in the late nineteenth century.

Appendix: The date of the Causes and Fruits In 1775, a local group rounded up in Suichang and Songyang Counties in Chuzhou Prefecture possessed a broad repertoire of texts from the movement, including the “Collected Sayings on Direct Pointing and Seeing One’s Nature” (zhizhi jianxing yulu Ⳉᣛ㽟ᗻ䁲䣘).128 Although the archival evidence does not tell us anything about the contents of this material, the phrase “Collected Sayings,” in combination with the rest of the title, points to the kind of utterances that are recorded in the Causes and Fruits, suggesting that a collection already existed by 1775. In the following, I argue that the material dates further back, probably at least a century. The Causes and Fruits has been transmitted in two manuscript copies that together make up the original version in four scrolls. The complete text was transmitted to Taiwan by Supreme Void Shen ≜ぎぎ (Puzhi ᱂ᖫ) from Changle County in Fujian Province on the twenty-third day of the eighth month of the renwu year.129 Supreme Void was a high rank within the Qing movement. One of the copies specifies this year as 1882. One of the two manuscripts (containing the fi rst and fourth chapter, with some marginal corrections) is undated, and the other (containing the first three chapters and a small part of the fourth chapter) was copied in 1915.130 In 1932, an edited version of all four chapters was published on Taiwan, which includes an eighth branch of local followers.131 Internal evidence allows us to date the material more precisely. The Causes and Fruits mentions Tang Kejun (1592–1633[?]) from Linchuan in Jiangxi and Yang

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Shichun (1601–1645) from Chuzhou itself; for both of them, another source gives their dates of birth and death.132 The Causes and Fruits places Tang Kejun in the 1620s.133 Liang Youtai once met Yuan Liaofan 㹕њ޵ or Yuan Huang (1533–1606) in the Confucian School in Wenzhou.134 This must have been before Yuan Huang’s death in 1606. The overall Ming character of the material is further supported by the mention of several dates between 1573 and 1620135 and by two references to the Son of Heaven of the Great Ming because the prefix “great” would no longer be possible after the fall of the dynasty.136 Only one story of the entire corpus is set explicitly in the early Qing.137 Each conversion account consists of the actual story followed by later editorial comments. The names in these comments date from the early-Qing period, such as the son of Patriarch Yao, Yao Duo (circa 1645–1683) under his religious name Mr. Pufa, as well as one of his wives who is identified both by her religious name and as the daughter-in-law of the patriarch.138 One comment notes that “the saintly grandson of our Patriarch with the dharma name Puzong often read this story of retribution at the age of nine.” This was Yao Duo’s second son. Since he had three younger siblings by the same mother, he must have been born at least six or seven years before the death of his father in circa 1683. This places the comment in the early 1680s. This strongly suggests that the original manuscript in its present form was completed during Yao Duo’s lifetime and that he and his family read it as part of their religious education. Relating the other names in the collection to the larger history of its time is difficult. The source mentions numerous figures with Presented Scholar or other examination degrees. They should have been included in the national or local lists of such examination graduates, but I have been unable to match them to actual names in these lists. I am not certain whether this means that the anecdotes have been invented or that the names have been changed in the oral process of transmission. A number of names do seem overly constructed, suggesting that they might have been invented, whether as literary names, pseudonyms, or otherwise. Examples are names such as Wang Suxin or Wang with the Pure Heart, Wang Kongyi or Wang Descendant of Kong (i.e., Confucius), He Zhengdao or He of the Orthodox Way, and Chen Yiqian 䱇ϔђ or Chen Primary Heavenly Trigram. They do not sound like given names (ming ৡ) but more like courtesy names (zi ᄫ). When we consider that it was taboo and highly impolite to use the given names of relatives and close acquaintances when they were still alive (and sometimes even afterward), the use of such alternative appellations can be explained.139 Indirect confirmation of the early date of this source comes from the lack of references to Patriarch Yao, who had become quite prominent by the 1630s and 1640s. In one story, the followers are simply addressed as “followers of Teacher Lanfeng, Fellows of the Great Vehicle (dachengke ໻Ьᅶ).” Lanfeng was the author of the Essence of the Dharma Which Opens Up the Heart and lived before 1581.140 Another story describes Fellows of the Dragon Flower (longhuake 啡㧃ᅶ), who identified themselves as followers of Patriarch Yao, which is the only explicit mention of him in this source as a patriarch.141 Elsewhere, Yang Shichun asked Wang De whether “he happened to belong to the teachings of the followers of Lord

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Luo, such as Wang De, Li Fei, Chen and Yao” (luogong menxia wangde, lifei, chen, yao zhijiao 㕙݀䭔ϟ⥟ᖋᴢ㧝䱇ྮПᬭ).142 Wang De was a prominent teacher, and Li Pufei is identified elsewhere as Li Shizhong, who was a rich patron and a pupil of Patriarch Ying.143 I have been unable to identify the Chen figure. All in all, the manuscript, or at least a substantial part of it, was known to the Yao family, but they did not edit it in such a way that their ancestor would come out as one of the early movement’s preeminent leaders. This suggests to me that we have in this text a reliable textual transmission from the late Ming that we can use with some confidence as a historical and religious source.

5 Religious Beliefs and Ritual Practices ,

T

he rejection of icons by the Non-Action Teachings caused uproar in lateMing society. Their iconophobia was important in the early leaders’ teachings, from Patriarch Ying and the teachers described in the Causes and Fruits of the Seven Branches to the figure of Patriarch Yao. It later lost some of its intensity. I prefer the term iconophobia to iconoclasm because the movement did not do away with icons completely but continued to express its disapproval of them. The rejection of icons as useless external props was connected to the internalization of religious practice. With this also came a focus on suffering, or intense practice, as a step toward salvation, which is very well documented for the early movement. In this chapter, I discuss the various rituals the movement developed to facilitate attaining salvation. Previous scholarship has argued that the movement’s notion of salvation implied a messianic solution because the adherents believed in the so-called Dragon Flower Gatherings that were also associated with a messianic prophecy that Maitreya would come to earth in the very near future. In my opinion, however, the Dragon Flower Gatherings were conceptualized as a kind of Western Paradise of Amitābha and served as gathering places for salvation in the distant future. The movement’s writings never mention other elements of the complete messianic message, such as a savior and a concrete date in the near future when the world will come to an end. The typical late-Ming messianic lore of the Unborn Venerable Mother and her banished children is sometimes mentioned in passing but definitely plays no role in the movement as a whole. After the time of the fi rst teachers, ritual practice seems to have become more important in the movement’s process of group formation. One became a member by taking the Three Refuges and maintaining the Five Injunctions. During the first three levels of initiation, the aspiring member received the “separate transmission outside the teachings”—consisting of two sutras that could not be revealed to others—and finally the dharma character pu ᱂. Through its rituals, the movement constructed itself as a Chan-type lineage, which aimed for rebirth in the Western Paradise of Amitābha and acceptance in the Dragon Flower Gatherings of Maitreya, scheduled for the end of the present kalpa. The creation of fi xed rituals was a major step in the Qing routinization of the movement. The movement’s extant rituals can be dated back to the early eighteenth century. 118

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Crucial elements in these manuals probably go as far back as the late-Ming period. After the death of the founding fathers of the early movement, religious practice depended less on their personal charisma and the radical rejection of established forms and more on following a more moderate iconophobic ritual format.

Iconophobia and ancestor worship According to Patriarch Luo, both the Th ree Refuges and the Five Injunctions depended on internalized moral behavior. His distrust of outward form (ritual) over inner practice inspired an iconophobic attitude that was otherwise rarely practiced consistently in Chinese religious culture. Although we do find individual examples of such practice by eccentric monks and priests, even within the Chan tradition, iconophobia did not develop into a substantial iconoclastic program.1 Most people in traditional China must always have found such a radical approach hard to accept. However, the very fact that Patriarch Luo’s iconophobia was taken seriously in late-Ming southern China and went on to form the basis of a successful new religious movement shows that it did have a certain appeal. Patriarch Ying likewise stressed moral behavior rather than reliance on outer forms as the main route to salvation. His remark as a young novice that sincerity reaches Heaven quicker than incense cost him his place in the monastery.2 Thus, he inveighed against alcoholic beverages ( jiu 䜦), sexual desire (se 㡆), the wish for wealth (cai 䉵), and anger (qi ⇷).3 He also affi rmed the Th ree Refuges and the Five Injunctions,4 so his rejection of ritual was not total, but it went very far. Following the same line of reasoning as Patriarch Luo in his Five Books in Six Volumes, Patriarch Ying stressed quality of worship over quantity,5 pronouncing himself against common ritual practices such as erecting Buddha statues, reading sutras, reciting the name of the Buddha, burning paper money, and converting donors.6 When his followers complained that people spoke evil of them for not burning incense, he explained how burning incense should be a metaphorical act.7 However, burning incense was such a fundamental ritual act in Chinese religious culture that we can safely assume that most followers continued to do it, and the movement’s ritual texts continued to prescribe it.8 The conversion accounts in the Causes and Fruits, discussed in Chapter 4, make similar critical comments about other common ritual acts (albeit not against burning incense), showing that during the late Ming this ritual skepticism remained a matter of ongoing concern for the movement’s adherents. In the late nineteenth century, the reformer Pan Sanduo ┬ϝ໮ returned to the radicalism of Patriarchs Luo and Ying, rejecting icons as well as the burning of incense.9 Iconophobia, in the context of the Non-Action Teachings, might mean the rejection of worshipping ancestors and divine statues, but not relinquishing family ties or rejecting ancestors per se.10 Patriarch Ying expatiated extensively on the suffering the mother endured to have children.11 Significantly, in Mingzong’s Precious Scroll of Filial Piety and Righteousness, which had occupied a prominent place in the movement since the time of Patriarch Ying, the values of filial piety

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(xiao ᄱ) and righteousness (yi 㕽) take central place. According to this text, and in line with general Buddhist beliefs, “filial piety” meant ongoing loyalty to kin, especially one’s mother. However, it does not necessarily require ancestor worship.12 “Righteousness” denotes an absolute charity toward relative strangers, without being part of a preexisting set of obligations to them. The two values are relational in nature, connecting the individual both with family and with society as a whole. Patriarch Ying explained his rejection of ancestor worship in the same way he criticized any kind of formalized ritual: The True Teachings of Non-Action were put forward and the Dharma Wheel of the Five Books was transmitted. Whether walking or residing in one spot, sitting or sleeping night and day without interruption, one constantly repays the Four Great and Heavy Favors (en ᘽ) [to one’s parents]. When striving for rebirth in the Western Land, what is the use of burning paper money or transforming paper goods [in funerary rituals], what is the use of burning incense or lighting candles, what is the use of sacrificing before a spirit tablet? However, [people] blaspheme the dharma teachings of our lineage (wopai famen ៥⌒⊩ 䭔) as being solely concerned with not eating the five kinds of stinking food, but still having a wife and loving one’s children, [saying] that this cannot be called Non-Action.13 Leading a moral and devout life was seen as the best form of repaying the debt to one’s parents. This would then open up the way of salvation, which he connects here to rebirth in the Pure Land of Amitābha. Patriarch Yao appears to have been less radical in his rejection of icons, at least in his recorded teachings. His biography pays much more attention to ritual practices and to the power of his charisma in dealing with local ritual specialists and competing teachers. He seems to have offered a way to salvation that attracted many people, not because he predicted the end of times and the advent of a savior, but because he claimed to provide a guarantee that proper moral behavior would lead to inclusion in the Dragon Flower Gatherings to be convened by Maitreya as the Buddha of the next kalpa. The subsequent movement did not reject icons altogether, even though their rituals pointed out that statues were not real, but made of clay, wood, paper, or copper. They summoned a variety of divine beings during their rituals and usually worshipped Guanyin in their halls. These halls were usually quite small, with one room for worship and maybe a kitchen and a few rooms for staying the night.14 One unique feature, described in Taiwanese practice, is placing three small chairs on the altar during ritual practice. They were intended for Patriarchs Luo (in the middle), Ying (in this context called Yin, on the prestigious left, when seen from the altar), and Yao (on the right): in other words, in the sequence of their incarnation on earth.15 I have never seen a similar practice in any other Buddhist or Daoist institutions, leading me to speculate that this practice stems

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from the movement’s historical need to conceal their patriarchs from public view. It fulfilled the same function as the Yao family practice, both in Qingyuan and in Hangzhou, of placing the patriarch’s scroll behind a wooden board for “Heaven, earth, lord, family and teacher” (tiandi jun qin shi ໽ഄ৯҆Ꮬ).16 All in all, the NonAction Teachings as a mature religious movement never practiced a complete form of iconoclastic worship akin to Protestant, Islamic, and Jewish traditions, but they continued to deny the actual presence of divine beings in the form of statues. In the final analysis, forms were empty, and everything was only present in oneself.

Messianic or devotional movement? Isolated elements of the messianic paradigm Officials from the imperial period usually let the Non-Action Teachings alone as harmless. Even when they intervened, it was because of the perceived unrest the movement caused. They never referred to messianic elements in connection with the movement. Its messianic nature is largely a construct of modern scholarship.17 Crucial elements of a messianic paradigm would be the expected advent of a perfect world rather than a primary focus on the present world of decay, notions of a savior, and a specific date in the near future when that savior would come and rescue the chosen ones from the disasters that mark the end of time. China has a rich tradition of such messianic traditions, but the Non-Action Teachings does not belong to them. Supporting a millenarian or messianic worldview would have been a radical departure from Patriarch Luo’s Five Book in Six Volumes. Patriarch Luo briefly characterizes the messianic version of Maitreyism by its belief in a city as a safe haven from eschatological disasters.18 Previous scholars have searched unsuccessfully in his writings for the figure of the Unborn Venerable Mother (wusheng laomu ⛵⫳㗕↡), who once banished her children to live in the world of Red Dust but now wishes to let them return to her ideal world.19 In the late imperial period, this story was a crucial element of many Chinese messianic traditions, although not the specific demonological messianic traditions most commonly associated with violent incidents and actual rebellions.20 Nobody has found elements of this story in the Five Books and Six Volumes, and Patriarch Luo himself refers only to the Unborn Father and Mother (wusheng fumu ⛵⫳⠊↡). Moreover, he does so in a very critical vein: Stupid people say that the original nature is a baby, They say that Amitābha Buddha is the Unborn Father and Mother.21 He goes on to point out that Amitābha is a man and not a woman and that he produced original nature but not children or grandchildren. Furthermore, he sees the notion of an Unborn Father and Mother as a misinterpretation of Pure Land beliefs, rather than interpreting it in a messianic context.

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All in all, references to potentially messianic elements in the Five Books in Six Volumes are vague. For instance, Luo Qing states that the Lamplighter Buddha of the previous kalpa, Shakyamuni of the present kalpa, and Maitreya of the next kalpa are “different and distinct in name and appearance, but the same in form in their dharma bodies.”22 Luo Qing scarcely mentions one of the most important notions in Buddhist ideas about the end of time, the Final Dharma (mofa ᳿⊩) as a period when the Buddha’s teachings have declined beyond recognition and the world may come to an end. It is mentioned only in quotations from another text that promise that followers will be safe from the apocalyptic disasters of the Final Dharma period in the Western Paradise of Amitābha.23 The Dragon Flower Gathering, too, is mentioned only rarely as a place to which one may eventually go.24 Clearly, Luo Qing in his Five Books in Six Volumes was not interested in messianic ideas of any sort. The prominence of the concept of the Dragon Flower Gathering in the Non-Action Teachings was not inspired by Patriarch Luo’s writings, but a creative development by this later movement. What is referred to is still another matter. Unlike Patriarch Luo, his successive “incarnations,” Patriarchs Ying and Yao, did have a strong sense of living in an age of the Final Dharma. This was, in itself, an entirely orthodox idea. According to the Buddha, for the first five hundred years after his entry into Nirvana, his teachings would continue to be practiced in their original form (the period of the True Dharma or zhengfa ℷ⊩). This time would be followed by five hundred years during which they would be increasingly corrupted (the period of the Counterfeit Dharma or xiangfa ‫)⊩ڣ‬. After these two periods, the world would enter into a period without even the semblance of religious doctrine (the period of the Final Dharma or mofa ᳿⊩). Of course, most of the history of Buddhism in China had taken place in this final age of total decline.25 The restoration of the dharma is placed in the extremely distant future, to be overseen by the Buddha of the next kalpa, Maitreya, who will gather all those to be rescued in three Dragon Flower Gatherings.26 Initially, this belief was widespread in China, but it was eventually replaced by belief in the Pure Land of Amitābha. Still, it was never entirely forgotten in monastic Buddhism. In a radically different version, Maitreya’s advent was moved forward in time and provided with Chinese-style dates, such as the jiazi ⬆ᄤ-year, which was the first of the cycle of sixty signs in the moon calendar. The end of times could then be predicted, and, although it would still be unavoidable, at least one could change one’s lifestyle to be accepted by the savior. He would appear at the end of times, which was now located in the very near future, and safeguard the chosen ones from the apocalyptic disasters. By the late Ming, this belief was often (but not always) combined with belief in the Unborn Venerable Mother and her banished children. In the Non-Action Teachings, we find neither belief in a specific end of times, accompanied by apocalyptic disasters, nor any mention of Maitreya (or other figures) as a savior. As we will see, Maitreya and his Dragon Flower Gathering are mentioned in the movement’s rituals, but their role is quite different.

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Patriarch Ying made the only explicit statement that goes beyond the notion of the Final Dharma, but this remark is not developed in the rest of his teachings or in the later movement. The Overall Record contains his explanation of the socalled Three Vehicles (sancheng ϝЬ). According to the conventional interpretation, they are the lower vehicle of the Śrāvakas (shengwenzhe 㙆㘲㗙, who were enlightened after hearing the Buddha’s message), the middle vehicle of the Pratyeka Buddhas (bizhifo 䕳ᬃԯ, who have attained enlightenment independently), and the upper vehicle of the Bodhisattvas (pusa 㦽㭽, who have attained enlightenment and wish to help all other creatures).27 Patriarch Ying interprets these three vehicles quite differently as the three ages (sanshi ϝϪ), to wit the Yellow Yang Kalpa (huangyang jie 咗἞ࡿ) of the Upper Vehicle (shangcheng ϞЬ), governed by the Dipamkara Buddha; the Red Dust Age (hongchen jie ㋙้ࡿ) of the Middle Vehicle (zhongcheng ЁЬ), governed by Shakyamuni; and the White Yang Age (baiyang jie ⱑ䱑ࡿ) of the Third Vehicle (sancheng ϝЬ), governed by Maitreya. They were begun when the Unborn Venerable Mother gave birth to heaven, earth, and mankind.28 A little further in the same biography, it is claimed that “the Unborn Venerable Mother had sent the Patriarch down to the world of dust in this Final Age (moshi ᳿Ϫ) to transform the masses through his teaching.”29 Thus, Patriarch Ying is using a stock story from late-Ming messianic tradition to explain his descent to earth, without mentioning any of the other crucial elements, such as the preceding banishment of the Venerable Mother’s children to earth (where they became humankind and need to be saved) or holding meetings to gather them back in. The explanation of the Three Vehicles seems to be a oneoff response to his followers’ questions rather than a statement about a crucial element of the movement’s overall doctrine. Likewise, the mention of the Unborn Venerable Mother remains completely isolated in the otherwise very rich documentation on the ideas of Patriarch Ying. Immediately after this discussion of the Th ree Ages, Patriarch Ying continues his discussion by stating the right approach to the underworld without any reference to messianic beliefs or practices. “When one comes to the three passes of the underworld and is interrogated, one must recite the Dharma Words of the True Spell (zhenjue fayu ⳳ㿷⊩䁲) and they will open of themselves.”30 This remark fits entirely with the beliefs expressed more fully in Mingzong’s Precious Scroll on Filial Piety and Righteousness Reaching the Foundation (mingzong xiaoyi daben baojuan) and the Sutra of Heaven (tianyuan jing) and the Sutra of Binding ( jiejing). They tell the reader or listener of Amitābha’s promise of salvation to all who devoutly worship him and of the underworld as the place where all will go unless they can be reborn in his Pure Land.31 Since Patriarch Ying expressly lectured on these texts during his final meeting in 1582 and they have remained core texts of the Non-Action Teachings throughout the centuries, I see no reason to assume that he did not share these beliefs. In the funerary practices of the late imperial period, most people expected to be judged in the underworld and then sent on to a new incarnation, corresponding to the quality of the karma they had built up in this and previous lives. Normally speaking, funerary ritual was

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intended to prevent such a fate, irrespective of whether it was performed by Daoist, Buddhist, or other types of ritual specialists. Ideally, the deceased would be reborn in the Pure Land. Although Patriarch Ying and his successors inveighed against the emptiness of funerary ritual, they and their followers shared the underlying view of an underworld through which all would have to pass before they could be reborn in the Pure Land. Despite his one-off adoption of a messianic reading of the Three Vehicles and his depiction of himself as an emissary of the Unborn Venerable Mother, Patriarch Ying’s primary concern was to help people in their present lives. When he was about to be arrested and martyred by a local official, he transmitted his “dharma treasure” to his female pupil Qiong Pufu—hardly evidence that he expected the end of times.32 This is confirmed by the contents of his final vow, as transmitted by Qiong Pufu: The Patriarch relinquished his body and pronounced the following vow. “I do not need a patron of the dharma to manifest my numinous efficacy, but wish to make all living creatures attain forbearance when insulted and make them practice the dharma. [I wish] to see all those who are deluded or enlightened, wise or stupid to obtain deliverance.” In the same speech. Qiong Pufu also uses the concept of the Final Dharma, but rather than giving it a millenarian reading as the end of times, she uses it to describe the general prevalence of heretic views and the dullness of people’s minds. For this reason, teachers are necessary to point the way, and everybody needs to engage in helping one another. She even compares someone who is particularly successful in helping people to Amitābha.33 Patriarch Ying and his pupils saw themselves as being part of a long-term process of transmitting religious practice, which would not end in the foreseeable future. The autobiographical remarks made by Cheng Pushen ⿟᱂Ԍ—in a 1652 postscript to his reprint of the Essence of the Dharma Which Opens Up the Heart— exhibit the same mentality of wishing to transmit the teachings.34 His father came from the commercial center of Xin’an and initially had a career in trade before he developed a passion for Buddhist-inspired charitable action and joined the movement. He was born about 1556, orphaned at an early age, and died circa 1628.35 His father’s teacher’s teacher had been Chen Puji 䱇᱂㿬, whose name first appears on Patriarch Ying’s list of pupils.36 In his postscript, Cheng Pushen describes a crucial moment in his religious life, when his father assigned the duty of continuing the teachings to him, confirming a belief in the continuance of this kalpa rather than its imminent collapse. When approaching the critical moment and [about to] be delivered from transformation (i.e., from continued reincarnation), he firmly instructed me to protect the teachings (hujiao 䅋ᬭ) to ensure their continuation. I had kept to the fasts and the precepts (zhaijie 唟៦) since my childhood and had already traveled in all directions for some

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50 odd years, so I accepted the task of supporting my mother and kept the rules of the teachings for 24 years. I have now grown old and I do not know how soon my intention of protecting the teachings will end. The saying has it that “if you wish to repay a deep favor, you should clarify the inner meaning of a scripture.” Therefore I have collated these scriptures, and reprinted this treasure of the dharma, in order to circulate the great teachings and continue them widely (puxu ᱂㑠, also a reference to their religious affiliation character) into the future. I have inherited from Mr. Cheng Puqing, and not turned my back upon the assignment by my late father. Cheng Pushen’s entire religious career was directed at recruiting people for a future moment of salvation, rather than at any form of immediate messianic expectation. Patriarch Yao again made no reference to ideas from a messianic context, but, like Patriarch Ying many decades before him, he saw himself as the incarnation of the historical Tathagata.37 He did connect the arrival of the Final Dharma with his Dragon Flower Gatherings to gather up devout followers, which is completely in line with orthodox ideas about this event.38 During the early 1640s, a tense time of natural disasters, rebellions in the western parts of the empire, and military threats on the northeastern border, it would have seemed to many that the world was indeed coming to an end. When Patriarch Yao witnessed the famous tidal bore in Hangzhou Bay in 1640, he made an ominous prediction: “Afterward, three disasters will occur simultaneously, just as the tide comes with one great surge.” The record goes on to specify that in the following year, pestilences, famines, and military disasters successively arrived, with countless human victims.39 We know, for instance, that the entire Lower Yangzi region was severely affected, and many thousands of people died of hunger and disease.40 Despite all this misery, neither he nor his pupils ever chose to link these cataclysmic events to either the end of time or to the Dragon Flower Gatherings he organized. In the ritual texts the Non-Action Teachings produced, there is very little mention of a larger messianic narrative. The closest thing is a variation on a similar belief, such as once expressed by Patriarch Ying, claiming that Patriarch Luo had been more or less sent down to earth by the Unborn Venerable Mother. The living beings coveted fame and planned for profit. They were always busy without knowing when to rest. They were all wound up in red dust, and compassion and love were locked, tied up, and hidden under a cover. It is said that the True Man is lost, and this spark of light is without a trace. The Unborn Venerable Mother in her home region ( jiaxiang ᆊ䛝, an ideal world to which all humans should return) saw that men and women on the big earth were suffering through transmigration. The Old Patriarch of the home region was compassionate and personally descended to be reborn in the Luo family in

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Jimo County in Donglai Prefecture in Shandong. He suffered and was enlightened after thirteen springs. . . .41 The “Old Patriarch” is probably the Buddha, who is referred to earlier in this passage as the “Shakya Old Patriarch,” and had supposedly been created by the Upper Old Lord, possibly Laozi. It is not made explicit whether the Unborn Venerable Mother sent him to be reborn, but the text does seem to suggest as much. The passage continues by describing the patriarch as a teacher rather than a savior; he had written the Five Books in Six Volumes, in which he cleared away all forms of heretic teaching, “rejecting written characters and pointing directly to the human heart, to see your nature and become a Buddha.” As in the case of Patriarch Ying, this view of the heavenly origins of Patriarch Luo borrows popular imagery from a messianic narrative without containing any kind of larger messianic message.

T h e D r a g o n Fl o we r G a t h e r i n g a t t h e e n d o f t h e k a l p a Contrary to the isolated elements from the messianic paradigm just discussed, the expectation of Maitreya’s Dragon Flower Gathering (longhuahui 啡㧃᳗) was a core element of the Non-Action Teachings’ beliefs. Fujianese and Taiwanese groups throughout the late imperial period and thereafter even identified themselves as Dragon Flower Gatherings. According to ancient Buddhist scriptures, this gathering will be convened by Maitreya as the Buddha of the future kalpa to gather up all those who are to be saved from the impending collapse of the present kalpa. This event is projected into the very distant future and was important in early Chinese Buddhism, but later it lost in popularity to the belief in Amitābha.42 Roughly parallel to this shift, the belief in an imminent end of the world in the near future, when Maitreya would return to rescue the chosen ones, became more current. This belief would continue to inspire peaceful local groups as well as incidental violence. What most scholars tend to overlook is that the conventional meaning of the Dragon Flower Gathering, as a meeting at the very end of the present kalpa in the distant future, was still very much alive in the late imperial period. It is evident in the names of Buddhist monasteries, such as the Dragon Flower Monastery in Shanghai that still exists today. Even more significantly, the name is given to the popular festival to mark the birthday of the Buddha on the eighth day of the fourth month, when believers wash the statue of the Buddha with sugar water. We find references from the Ming and Qing period to this usage in Changxing, Wucheng and Hangzhou (Zhejiang), Nan’an and Ruizhou (both in Jiangxi), Fuzhou, Tingzhou, Haicheng, Zhangping and Zhangzhou (all in Fujian), Haikang (Guangdong), and even once in northern China, in Zhangqiu (Shandong). In Ruizhou, it is explicitly added that Maitreya would descend on this day. In Fuzhou (Fujian), it was said locally that “the Buddha washed away disasters” ( foxizai ԯ⋫♑).43 In Nanjing (Fujian), our source made the following curious comments: “When people want to become an immortal or Buddha, they must also perform

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a Dragon Flower Gathering. At the gathering they set up a Cosmic Renewal Ritual or worship the Buddha.” 44 Therefore, the name Dragon Flower Gathering in itself is not evidence of a messianic context. Instead, use of the term to refer to the festival of the Buddha’s birthday points to a general, nonsectarian festival that did not imply or require membership in a group with a broader theology. Most of the evidence covers the same period and the same regions where the Non-Action Teachings were active. Because the movement’s early teachers were quite aware of traditional Buddhist beliefs, there is no a priori reason that they should have adopted another interpretation of this term. Luo Qing explicitly used the term in this traditional meaning to refer to the meetings of Maitreya in the distant future at the end of this kalpa. In the Causes and Fruits, adherents repeatedly use the name Dragon Flower (with or without “Gathering”) as an appellation to refer to themselves in combination with the term fellow. A prominent member is described as “a fellow who plucks flowers at the Dragon Flower Gathering (longhuahui tanhuake 啡㧃᳗Ϟ᥶ 㢅ᅶ),” suggesting that he will be present at this gathering, where he will pick a lotus flower and be certain of attaining salvation.45 Other accounts in this source refer to the Dragon Flower Gathering simply as one’s ultimate goal in religious practice. This comes through clearly in an account of a conflict between the followers of two different teachers. One of them was very poor and very devout. According to his disciples, he “practiced a hundred kinds of austerities (kuxing 㢺㸠) in order to attain the Dragon Flower [Gathering], and performed ritual teachings (kejiao ⾥ᬭ) together with Lord Xiao” (i.e., Tang Kejun, supposedly the author of the movement’s ritual manual). The disciples insisted that their teacher be ranked first at the Third Dragon Flower Gathering that was about to arrive “tomorrow” as a result of his lifestyle and not because of a messianic prophecy.46 The adherents, as described in this source, are devout lay practitioners for whom rejection of meat and alcoholic spirits, daily religious practice, and a quiet lifestyle are essential. Their ultimate aim is to join the Dragon Flower Gathering, which is more or less the same as ascending to the Pure Land, as a reward for a devout lifestyle. During his lifetime, Patriarch Yao held two Dragon Flower Gatherings, which were akin to taking stock of all properly initiated adherents. He made a list of followers, with their religious names and place of origin, and left ample space for new adherents.47 The custom of making lists is still extant in one of the core rituals of the movement, the Vegetarian Fast. At several points during the performance of this ritual, all early teachers and adherents of the Seven Branches of the movement are summoned to the ritual space, as if each performance is a preliminary meeting for the final Dragon Flower Gathering of the future. As far as I am aware, this concern with attendance of past and present members during the ritual is unique among late-Ming and Qing new religious groups. Patriarch Yao orga nized his fi rst Dragon Flower Gathering in 1624, a jiazi year that marked the beginning of a new cycle of sixty years. He announced that it was the year of the great beginning of the third age (xiayuan ϟ‫ ܗ‬or the Third Beginning), and he “comprehensively concluded a Dragon Flower Gathering” (yihe longhuaϔড়啡㧃).48 The

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advent of a jiazi year is potentially fi lled with messianic expectations, but they were not developed in Patriarch Yao’s further teachings of this time. To the Patriarch, it was apparently simply the beginning of a new cycle, comparable to the start of a new century in Western culture. What was seen as important about the 1624 event was the large number of pupils and “wise persons” (xianren ᇣ䊶Ҏ) who attended it. In 1627, he held his second Dragon Flower Gathering, but this time, much to his disappointment, the total number of initiates he aimed for was not reached because of a recent schism.49 Both gatherings served to take stock of those who had already been properly initiated. A Third Dragon Flower Gathering was never to take place. In a cryptic reference from circa 1632, we read: “Our master was about to set up the Five Passes and Investigate [people’s adherence to] the Way. The large crowd [of followers] beseeched the teacher to show mercy, and he stopped. Therefore it is said: ‘When the moment of the Final Dharma has arrived and we come to the third gathering, we will conclude the Dragon Flower [Gatherings].’ ”50 After the patriarch died, his pupils discontinued the practice because they felt that only a Buddha (such as Maitreya or Patriarch Yao) was capable of convening such gatherings. No reference was ever made to any messianic notions, such as the advent of a savior or a par ticular day in the future when the third and final gathering would take place. Moreover, Patriarch Yao’s followers wanted him to postpone the meeting, rather than hold it soon, in direct contradiction to a messianic reading of this event. To be admitted to salvation, one needed to go through the Pass(es). Unlike the Dragon Flower Gathering, this concept is not mentioned in other sources such as the ritual manuals. Conceptually, it fits in very well and may be a precursor to the later practice of successive stages of initiation. The following incident suggests that such a passage was the moment of someone’s transition from the regular cycle of constant incarnation and suffering into a new state of salvation. In 1641, a long-standing member of the movement, Mr. Tang ⑃ (Lord Xiao or Tang Kejun), came to visit the patriarch and was praised for his active ritual practice, such as having burned “precious candles” (baola ᇇ㷳) in as many as forty-nine sessions (seven times seven being a sacred number in the Buddhist context). He was seriously ill for more than three years. The Overall Record describes it as follows: When he was about to die and could not move anymore, he asked for the commiseration and guidance of his teacher. The teacher then said: “You have already sat through [the ritual of] the Pass. Why do you speak in this way?” Mr. [Tang] replied: “I have been a pupil for many years and I have converted people with one single mind. Now that I am finally arranging my own Field of the Way (daochang 䘧จ), my body and mind have become confused, and my inner feelings are estranged. I cannot lift a foot anymore, I hope for the commiseration of the teacher.” The teacher then whispered in his ear: “When you cannot get up to kowtow to pay thanks, you may kowtow a few times on your bed.” He himself said that he still had three days of “long life.”51

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In fact, Mr. Tang had already been converted in 1620, and from 1639 on, he had spread the teachings quite independently of the patriarch. Later believers in coastal Fujian remembered him as the author of their ritual manual and founder of their specific religious lineage. Nonetheless, he could still feel uncertain about his salvation and needed the patriarch’s reassurance. In the following sections, we see that admission to the Dragon Flower Gathering was a crucial element of the movement’s ritual practice.

The core rituals The ritual manuals of the Non-Action Teachings have been handed down in two distinct lines of transmission from one common origin.52 For one tradition, we possess a handwritten version dating from 1879 and a reprinted edition from 1904, based on the same manual. Both have been preserved on Taiwan and originally came from Changle County in northern Fujian. They are virtually identical, and I rely primarily on the slightly more elaborate and easier-to-read edition from 1904.53 The Changle manual provides the poems, memorials, and basic instructions for three separate rituals: the Vegetarian Fast, Lighting the Candles, and the Rituals for Taking Refuge (guiyike ⱜձ⾥).54 The other tradition is preserved in a manual from Changshu in northern Jiangsu, reprinted in 1900. It provides roughly the same materials in a different sequence, with the addition of a funerary ritual.55 Analysis of the similarities and differences between the two lines of transmission indicates that the original text dates back to the beginning of the eighteenth century, if not earlier. A technical discussion in which I attempt to date the now-lost original text follows at the end of this chapter. In all four rituals, the movement’s core concerns come through. The Rituals for Taking Refuge is an initiation ritual that pays considerable attention to the contents of the teachings and the proper lifestyle that follows from joining the movement. The Vegetarian Fast is first and foremost about the celebration of the communal vegetarian meal, one of the movement’s most important social manifestations. Lighting the Candles accompanies the recitation of the Five Books in Six Volumes to let the light of these texts penetrate everywhere and everybody. The funerary ritual is concerned with transporting the soul of the deceased to the Pure Land. All adherents took part in these rituals at different points in their lives and thus acquired an increasingly detailed knowledge of the teachings. The two extant lines of transmission are not verbally the same. Although their basic structure and the poems are similar, the dialogues, interlinear comments, and memorials vary substantially.56 This difference is most likely because poems are easier to memorize than prose dialogues and stories, and the precise sequence of these various elements might vary more easily. The leaders of the movement often had to go undercover, at which point the improvised prose parts of the tradition might have changed while the poems learned by heart remained unaltered. I generally follow the sequence in the more detailed tradition of the Changle manuals, except for the funerary ritual, which is included only in the Changshu manual.

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T h e I n i t i a t i o n R i t u a l: o b t a i n i n g t h e t r a n s m i s s i o n The admission of new members is an important moment in any voluntary association as the stage when they learn what is expected of them. For new members, it is their first detailed initiation in the movement’s rituals and stories. The Rituals for Taking Refuge reinterpreted the common lay Buddhist ritual of taking refuge in the Buddha, the Sangha, and the Dharma.57 Several extant confessions provide further confirmation of the proceedings. The first three levels are the “separate transmission outside the teachings,” the transmission of three very brief scriptures. The contents of the first two scriptures are devotional and embrace the ideal of the Pure Land of Amitābha. The third scripture is the transmission from heart to heart, during which the new member receives the religious affi liation character pu ᱂. The following levels initiate the new adherent in the higher tasks and responsibilities within the movement, without transmitting fundamentally new religious information. Ritual preliminaries J. J. M. de Groot describes how several candidates were initiated at the same time. They placed their offerings of fruit and vegetarian food before the altar. The Initiation Teacher who performed the initiation rite burned incense and candles provided by the candidates or purchased with their money. They knelt in two groups, men on the left and women on the right. All were holding one incense stick in their hands.58 According to the manuals, the ritual begins with the following poem in colloquial Chinese, with the third line addressing the new adherent very directly: For cultivating your behavior and practicing the way, you need to open the true occasion. The multitude of living beings without insight do not wish to take refuge. You (ni Դ) today have a good predestination (yuan ㎷) and have come to believe and accept. You will, therefore, be able to return to the Pure Land of the Western Paradise. Holding incense in their hands, the initiates have to kowtow (guikou 䎾ঽ) in front of the Lotus Platform with the Saintly Patriarch or Patriarch Yao to take the Forty-Eight Vows (sishibayuan ಯकܿ丬) to Amitābha, the Buddha of the Pure Land.59 After the purpose of the ritual is announced and the intention of leading a proper moral life is professed, the names of the candidate members are given. While they are lying prostrate on the ground, the ritual official asks them what they seek to obtain, and they have to answer: “We wish to understand life and avoid death.” The ritual official expounds in great detail on the dangers of drinking alcoholic beverages and eating meat and concludes with a question in colloquial Chinese: “Can you do this (zuodezhu ma ‫خ‬ᕫЏ咑)?” Naturally, it is assumed that the pupils will answer in the affirmative.60

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Kneeling, the candidate members look up to the Saintly Patriarch. The record keepers at his side need to check their names in the records of the underworld. The assumption appears to be that someone’s joining the movement is preordained. The ritual official explains the Three Refuges in a unique way, typical of the Non-Action Teachings. Taking refuge in the Buddha is not in a Buddha made of clay or wood, paper or copper, but rather an awareness that is in us all. “It is a bright and pure Buddha which you can cultivate from your inner nature.” Taking refuge in the Dharma is not the dharma of amulets or water with spells or various delusive ritual practices, but in “a shining and pure Dharma which you can cultivate from your inner nature.” Taking refuge in the Sangha is not in an ordinary monk who has shaven his head or is traveling around begging, but to a “loft y and unshakable monk whom you can cultivate from your inner nature.” 61 Thus, the Three Refuges are completely internalized as one’s own nature. Next come the Five Injunctions, which are linked in this ritual to the five cardinal virtues (or Five Constants wuchang Ѩᐌ) from the “Confucian” classics. Not Killing or Damaging Life is called humaneness (ren ҕ). Not Stealing is called righteousness (yi 㕽) because wealth or poverty is given by Heaven. Not Committing Lecherous Acts is called proper form (li ⾂) because of the Five Categories of Heaven and Earth, Yin and Yang, ruler and minister, father and son, and husband and wife. This third vow receives an additional comment, intended for women only. They have to keep the women’s quarters in order and must obey their fathers, husbands, and sons. This recalls my earlier observation that in the seventeenth-century accounts collected in the Causes and Fruits, most of the activities surrounding women also took place inside the home. Not Speaking Crazy Words is called wisdom (zhi ᱎ), with a ban on speaking falsehoods, gossiping, and spreading rumors because these practices lead to rows and even to fights and murders. Not Eating Smelly Food or Drinking Alcoholic Beverages is called faith (xin ֵ) because as a result the individual will enjoy good fortune and good health.62 The ceremony is concluded with the recitation of the Six Saintly Maxims by the Ming founder Zhu Yuanzhang, which has been an integral part of public local gatherings for many centuries.63 The first stage of the Small Vehicle The first level of initiation is concluded by the transmission of the “separate transmission outside the teachings” or the “True Sutra without Characters of the Small Vehicle”(xiaocheng wuzi zhenjing ᇣЬ⛵ᄫⳳ㍧) in one scroll. To them, this was a crucially important text. In their words, “We give them to you pupils, to recite every moment and keep with you every instant. They form a subtle and wondrous dharma in four lines.” 64 As already discussed, the notion of the “separate transmission outside the teachings” was an essential element of the Chan style of transmission. For this reason, the manuals do not contain the written text of this “sutra without characters.” Luckily, we still possess three different versions from external sources: (1) in a Christian polemical text from the mid-seventeenth

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century, (2) in the 1814 confession of Gui Zibang (see Chapter 7), and (3) in materials owned by the Yao family and collected by Qin Baoqi in the 1990s.65

“THE TRUE SUTRA WITHOUT CHARACTERS OF THE SMALL VEHICLE” CONSISTING OF  CHARACTERS “Sections to Awaken from Delusion” ()

Gui Zibang Ḗ㞾ὰ ()

Yao family materials (undated)

yishen xinxiang nian mituo

yixin xinshan nian mituo

yixin sixiang nianmituo

ϔᖗᖗ୘ᗉᔠ䰔

ϔᖗᗱᛇᗉᔠ䰔

ϔ䑿ᖗ佭ᗉᔠ䰔

with a single heart and good heart, recite Amitābha

with a single heart and focused thought, recite Amitābha

with the whole body and the incense of the heart, recite Amitābha buyao liuluo xiajie duo

modeng liuluo xiajietou

modeng liuluo xiajietu

ϡ㽕⌕㨑ϟ⬠໮

㥿ㄝ⌕㨑ϟ㸫丁

㥿ㄝ⌕㨑ϟ⬠䗨

do not get lost too much in the underworld

do not wait and get submerged at the bottom of the road

do not wait and get submerged in the roads of the underworld

zhuanxin changnian guijialu ᇜᖗᐌᗉᐄ(sic)ᆊ䏃 with focused heart constantly recite the way to return home

zhenxin changnian putilu

zhuanxin changnian putilu

ⳳᖗᐌᗉ᱂ᦤ䏃

ᇜᖗᐌᗉ㦽ᦤ䏃

with true heart constantly recite the Bodhisattva road

with focused heart constantly recite the Bodhisattva way

Fanshen tiaochu sishengwo

fan zi tiaochu zishenwo

fanshen tiaochu zixinwo

⬾䑿䏇ߎ⅏⫳ぴ

ড㞾䏇ߎ㞾䑿ぽ

ড䑿䏇ߎ㞾ᖗぽ

turn yourself around and jump out of the nest of life and death

turn around and jump out of the nest of your ego-body

turn yourself around and jump out of the nest of your ego-heart

Despite the different Chinese characters, these three versions must have sounded fairly similar, maybe even more so in the adherents’ local language variants. They rhyme roughly in all versions. This poem was considered a sutra or the words of the Buddha himself, fitting the belief that the initiation was an oral transmission directly from the historical Buddha. We fi nd both substitutions of similar sounding words (characters) and mistakes based on similarity of meaning and/or function, as in the case of buyao (do not) and modeng (do not wait) in the second line or guijialu (the road of returning home) and putilu (the Bodhisattva road) in the third line. In the case of sishengwo (the nest of life and death), zishenwo (the nest of your ego-body) and zixinwo (the nest of your egoheart) in the fourth line, the substitutions are based on pronunciation as well as meaning. In each of the three versions, the poem contains a simple Pure Land message: (1) to recite the name of Amitābha, (2) to avoid getting lost in the underworld and on the roads to different types of reincarnation, (3) to remain focused

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on the road home or the Bodhisattva path, and (4) to leave one’s cozy human existence behind. The notion of the body as an incense vessel is entirely in line with the movement’s view that all ritual should be internalized.66 The “return home” in the oldest variant is to one’s original Buddha nature and is traditionally conceived of as the Bodhisattva path. During the initiation ritual, the transmission of this par ticu lar poem is preceded by an elaborate lecture on the need to change one’s lifestyle and keep to the Th ree Refuges and Five Injunctions. The second stage of the Great Vehicle The second level of initiation is usually called the Great Vehicle and is the next “separate transmission outside the teachings.” This time the transmitted text is also called a heart-seal (xinyin ᖗॄ), and its full name is “True Sutra without Characters of the Great Vehicle” (dacheng wuzi zhenjing ໻Ь⛵ᄫⳳ㍧) in one scroll. The candidate adherent must kneel in front of the platform with the Saintly Patriarch, give his or her name, and pronounce an oath to keep the Three Refuges and the Five Injunctions and never to reveal the two True Sutras without Characters. Most curious is the warning that the Recruiter, the Teacher of Conversion, or the adherents in general are not responsible when an adherent does not keep his or her oath. The recitation is completed by a list of concrete benefits that will accrue, after which the adherents kowtow, expressing their thanks for the favor they have received and reciting the name of Amitābha.67 Once again, the True Sutra without Characters of the Great Vehicle is never included in the ritual manuals, but this time we have only two versions, one preserved in the 1814 confession of Gui Zibang and the other collected by Qin Baoqi in the 1990s.68

“THE TRUE SUTRA WITHOUT CHARACTERS OF THE GREAT VEHICLE” Gui Zibang ()

Yao family manuscript (undated)

yixin zhinian ben shi Amituofo

yixinzhengnian benshi amituofo

ϔᖗাᗉᴀᰃ䰓ᔠ䰔ԯ

ϔᖗℷᗉᴀ᏿䰓ᔠ䰔ԯ

with a single mind only recite: “The origin is Amitābha Buddha

with a single mind correctly recite: “Original Teacher Amituofo

jiuku jiunan guanshiyin pusa

jiuku jiunan guanshiyin pusa

ᬥ㢺ᬥ䲷㾔Ϫ䷇㦽㭽

ᬥ㢺ᬥ䲷㾔Ϫ䷇㦽㭽

[and] Guanshiyin who rescues from suffering and from hardship.”

[and] Guanshiyin who rescues from suffering and from hardship.”

genba genjie changmi suishen

genba genjian changming zaixin

䎳Ꮘ䎳㌤䭋㽧䱼䑿

ḍ㉥ḍ䥉ᐌᯢ೼ᖗ

When your roots are strong, you can search within yourself for a long time.

When your roots are strong, you will be constantly luminous in your heart.

(continued)

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Gui Zibang ()

Yao family manuscript (undated)

fo jinanduo baitana suitaluoxin

fo xidaduo badana xidanu xin

ԯᗹ䲷໮ⱑ䏣ਤ䱼Ҫ㨑ᖗ

ԯᙝᗯ໮ু䘨ਤᙝ䘨཈ᖗ

The Siddhartha heart [covering everything like the Buddha’s white canopy].

The Siddhartha heart [covering everything] like the Buddha’s white canopy.

zaonian jialuohan suopohe jin’gang xin ᮽᗉ‫؛‬㕙⓶࿥ယ䀊䞥࠯ [ᖗ] Early on recite jialuohan, hail (suopohe), with a diamond-like heart.

changnian jialuohan suopohe jin’gang xin Constantly recite jialuohan, hail (suopohe), with a diamond-like heart.

ᐌᗉԑ㕙⓶࿥ယ䀊䞥࠯ᖗ

zaonian jialuohan suopohe putixin

changnian jialuohan suopohe puti xin

ᮽᗉ‫؛‬㕙⓶࿥ယ䀊㦽ᦤᖗ

ᐌᗉԑ㕙⓶࿥ယ䀊㦽ᦤᖗ

Early on recite jialuohan, hail (suopohe), with a Bodhi heart.

Constantly recite jialuohan, hail (suopohe), with a Bodhi heart.

Zaonian jialuohan suopohe shenwenxin

changnian jialuohan suopohe xinwen xin

ᮽᗉ‫؛‬㕙⓶࿥ယ䀊ᆽଣᖗ

ᐌᗉԑ㕙⓶࿥ယ䀊ᖗଣᖗ

Early on recite jialuohan, hail (suopohe), with an inquisitive heart.

Constantly recite jialuohan, hail (suopohe), with a questioning heart.

zaonian jialuohan suopohe yuanjuexin

changnian jialuohan suopohe yuanjue xin

ᮽᗉ‫؛‬㕙⓶࿥ယ䀊⑤㾎ᖗ

ᐌᗉԑ㕙⓶࿥ယ䀊೧㾎ᖗ

Early on recite jialuohan, hail (suopohe), with a heart with an understanding into the origin.

Constantly recite jialuohan, hail (suopohe), with a heart with full understanding.

zaonian jialuohan suopomen xinkong

changnian jialuohan suopohe xinkong

ᮽᗉ‫؛‬㕙⓶ˈ࿥ယ䭔ᖗぎ

ᐌᗉԑ㕙⓶࿥ယ䀊ᖗぎ

Early on recite jialuohan, hail (suopo), the heart is empty. 

Constantly recite jialuohan, hail (suopohe), the heart is empty.

yueri miao kong di dou xifang jile shijie amituofo

riyue liukong rude xifang jile shijie, amituofo

᳜᮹␎ぎഄ᭫ 㽓ᮍὉῖϪ⬠䰓ᔠ䰔ԯ

As sun and moon move through the emptiness, one enters successfully the World of Extreme Joy in the West, Amitābha!

(First part sounds roughly like the family manuscript) . . . The World of Extreme Joy in the West, Amitābha!

᮹᳜⌕ぎܹᕫ㽓ᮍὉῖϪ⬠䰓ᔠ䰔ԯ

This “sutra without characters” begins with a confession of faith in Amitābha and Guanyin as the guardians of the Pure Land, namely, the World of Extreme Joy in the West. The entire text centers on one’s heart, anticipating the wordless transmission from heart to heart that will follow at the third level of the movement’s initiation ritual. The rest of the text is patterned like a Buddhist mantra, progressing from the initial Bodhi heart of the average lay Buddhist believer to the heart that becomes aware that the origin is in oneself and the belief that ultimately the heart (or, if one prefers, the heart-mind or mind) is empty. The basic message of the two sutras transmitted during the first two stages of the initiation of the Non-Action Teachings fits the message of the movement’s various rituals, confirming once again its basic Pure Land character.

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The third stage of the Third Vehicle After the Small Vehicle and the Great Vehicle, the next level is called the Third Vehicle. The term Small Vehicle (Hinayana) is traditionally understood in Chinese Buddhism as a reference to the lesser Buddhism of the early period, which was succeeded by the more advanced Buddhism of the Great Vehicle (Mahayana) that became the standard in China. The Third Vehicle is, of course, that of Chan-style Buddhism, which the Non-Action Teachings claimed to transmit, and which sees itself as superior to all earlier Buddhism. The terminology appears to be unique to the Non-Action Teachings. At this third level, the new adherent receives a summary of the “special transmission without words” from the Buddha through the generations, first in India and then in China until the Sixth Patriarch Huineng. With him, the transmission stopped, but the “news” (xiaoxi ⍜ᙃ) was not entirely lost. The initiation ritual tells the story as follows: Patriarch Huineng saw that the men and women on the great earth did not cultivate with a true heart and did not take the Buddha’s dharma seriously. He buried his cassock and begging bowl in Caoxi (his place of origin) and for more than 1,100 years the message was interrupted.72 The multitude of living beings on the great earth coveted fame and planned for profit, they were busy and did not know when to stop. They were completely rolled over by the red dust and tied up by the fetters of attachment. The story has it that the numinous light of the true man was lost and that its whereabouts were no longer known. The Unborn Venerable Mother in the home region saw that the men and women on the great earth suffered from the wheels of transmigration. The Old Patriarch in the home region had compassion and personally came down to incarnate in the flesh in the Luo family, in Jimo County in Laizhou Prefecture in Shandong. He suffered, and then was enlightened after thirteen years. He collected and annotated the Five Books in Six Volumes, which was officially distributed in the All-underHeaven. He cleared away the 3,800 side gates and 72 exterior ways. Within [the teachings] he distilled a gongan for the whole tradition. Although he rejected writing, he pointed directly to the heart of humankind, [to enable them] to see their nature and become a Buddha. Afterward, Patriarch Luo was first reincarnated in the Ying family in Jinyun and subsequently in the Yao family in Qingyuan. He transmitted a “key,” identified in the initiation ritual as the Third Vehicle.73 This key is the “one character” that has been obtained by Bodhidharma and that functions like the “formulation” (huatou) on which a Chan practitioner has to meditate for many years.74 This key character “rejects words and points directly to the human heart, to see one’s nature and become a Buddha,” which is an excellent description of how the transmission of the heart-seal (or mind-seal) in Chan-style transmission was

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thought to function. The manual goes on to explain that this heart-seal is the character pu ᱂, the movement’s affiliation character, which is indeed transmitted at the third stage.75 This character may not seem very significant to our untrained eyes, but the “formulation” of the “public case” (gongan ݀Ḝ) that contextualizes it is always quite prosaic, such as wu ↟ (meaning “no” or woof, the sound of barking) as the answer to the question whether a dog has a Buddha nature in one of the most famous of all public cases. In terms of religious doctrine and practice, the first three stages were clearly the most important. The next stages have more to do with organization and ritual tasks than with additional doctrinal contents. The fourth and fift h stages of the Small and Large Recruiters At the stage of the Third Vehicle, the Three Refuges and the Five Injunctions have to be recited. This is repeated at the next two stages of the Small and the Large Recruiters.76 The manual now exhorts the Recruiters to persevere in recruiting new adherents, which is then confirmed by an oath witnessed by all buddhas and concluded by reciting the name of Amitābha. At this level, the newly promoted adherent acquires the right to recruit new adherents and obtains the bureaucratic texts needed for this task: “Buddha’s Command of the Small Vehicle” and “Buddha’s Command of the Great Vehicle” (fo xiao/dacheng chi ԯᇣ໻Ьᬩ), to be used when transferring the “True Sutra without Characters of the Small Vehicle” and the “True Sutra without Characters of the Great Vehicle,” respectively. The notion of a “command” (chi ᬩ) is derived from exorcist ritual practice, in which the practitioner can issue a command to a divine or demonic being in the form of talismanic writing. Here we see a point at which lay Buddhist practice and more general ritual practices meet. The remaining stages The ritual manuals give only limited materials for the next two levels, the Four Lines (siju ಯহ) and the Pure and Empty (qingxu ⏙㰯).77 The same text is used for both levels, but the specific tasks of these levels are not made explicit. We can make some reasonable deductions by linking these names to an important part of the movement’s rituals. The text in the manual accompanies the ritual transmission of a Numinous Gatha to these individuals so that they can obtain “dharma protection.” The gatha is to be used only in times of genuine distress and should not be used lightly, which is then confirmed by a solemn oath. In the life and works of Patriarch Yao, we can find one reference to this gatha, when he used it to fight the son of a convert with “impure intentions” toward two female adherents.78 The fact that this gatha is referred to respectfully as Four Lines strongly suggests that this is the poem in four lines that each new member receives on attaining the rank of Small Vehicle at the very beginning of the process of joining the movement. The names of the highest ranks concentrate around the belief in a dharma transmission, which is hardly surprising in that the most important role of these functionaries would be to carry out the actual rituals of Initiation, Vegetarian Fast, and, most important, Lighting the Candles, at which the adherents would

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collectively recite the entire Five Books in Six Volumes. The last two rituals are discussed in the following sections. Only a properly initiated adherent could be entrusted with these important ritual tasks. The name of the seventh rank refers to the familiar Chan notion of Transmitting the Flame (chuandeng ‫)➜ڇ‬, a metaphor for the legitimate transmission of the dharma. At the same time, the flame could be taken to refer to the all-penetrating light of luminaries like Amitābha and, more specifically, Luo Qing himself, when he was enlightened and enlightening. The subsequent titles all take up an aspect of this crucial notion, such as Signal Command (haochi 㰳ᬩ), Luminous Command (mingchi ᯢᬩ), Luminous Gatha (mingjie ᯢ‫)؜‬, and Candle Command (lachi 㷳ᬩ). Their sequence is sometimes altered. Finally, there was the highest function of Overall Command (zongchi ㏖ᬩ).79 These ranks refer either to the gatha (Signal Command, Luminous Command, Luminous Gatha) or to the ritual of Lighting the Candles (Transmitting the Flame, Candle Command). Ultimately, the whole Non-Action Teachings is directed at obtaining the “separate transmission outside the teachings,” and these higher ritual officiants are in charge of this crucial process. The initiation ritual was and still is an important means of inculcating the adherents with the basic religious values and the standard Chan-style narrative underlying the movement’s self-perception. The names of the stages referred to important parts of the movement’s lore and ritual practice. The “separate transmission outside the teachings” was considered to be the Buddha’s own message that had been transmitted orally for many centuries from India to China, outside the written teachings. It was the key to salvation and enlightenment. Possession of that key provided a supralocal identity, quite different from the identity that was created by participating in local temple cults. Such an identity would be especially interesting for people with professions that were not tied to a specific local social network, whether they traveled to or resided in places away from their village of origin. The little information we have on the backgrounds of adherents confirms this hypothesis, but none of this would have precluded people with stable local networks from joining as well. The people who were rounded up during the different waves of persecution in the course of the Qing dynasty had often been practicing their religious beliefs for many years or even decades. Their initiation had been the beginning of an enduring religious life and not just a means to obtain practical benefits, even though the latter may not have been excluded. The internal description of a coastal lineage in Fujian (discussed in Chapter 6) and other external evidence fully confirm that initiation meant an entry into a long-term religious way of life. A significant part of this religious life was regular celebration of the rituals I describe in the following sections, which created and confirmed the community of adherents to the Non-Action Teachings.

T h e Ve g e t a r i a n Fa s t: c r e a t i n g t h e c o m m u n i t y Sharing alcoholic drinks and meat during religious festivals and on social occasions was an important means of creating bonds between the participants. It

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formed, and still forms, the basis of all Chinese religious and social life. Lay Buddhists’ rejection of meat and alcohol was therefore an extremely strong statement that meant excluding adherents from a variety of local social networks.80 Conceivably, the less intense participation of women in the local liturgical community might have made this problem less acute for them, but they still had to cook the communal meals at social and religious occasions.81 Within the Non-Action Teachings, adherents’ observing a Vegetarian Fast (zhai 唟) meant creating a new community of kindred souls, made up of the movement’s past and present members, to substitute for the local community that they had chosen to leave behind. The ritual text states, at the very beginning, that we must recite the name of Amitābha to avoid the suffering of reincarnation.82 There can be no doubt about the devotional message of the ritual, which continues with the customary invocation to the Eight Immortals. In the late imperial period, these figures were omnipresent in all kinds of social and ritual contexts—as depictions on an altar cloth or the roof beams of a religious building, in the name of the dining table for eight persons, in the ritual preludes that traditionally precede opera performances during religious festivals, and so forth.83 Their presence was meant to set a ritual or social gathering in an auspicious key. The next hymn accompanies the burning of incense and formally opens the ritual event.84 One account in the Causes and Fruits indicates that besides the crucial burning of incense, there should be an offering of tea and fruit (replacing alcoholic drinks and meat) and a lighting of the candles.85 The manuals also contain poems to be recited accompanying these sacrifices. In Chinese ritual, the altar is always constructed as a microcosm, allowing all activities around it to be transferred to the larger cosmos.86 First, however, the adherents recite the Heart Sutra, which was traditionally seen as a summation of Chan teachings. It must also have been an ideal text for combining Pure Land and Chan ideas, even if that was not its author’s original intent. The person who pronounced this text is not the Buddha himself, as is usually the case in Buddhist sutras, but Avalokitesvara or Guanyin, a prominent Bodhisattva in both Pure Land beliefs and the Non-Action Teachings. The text states that a Bodhisattva is aware that everything is empty, ranging from all forms of perception and all phenomena to the very notions of life and death. He therefore has perfect wisdom.87 The radical internalization of Buddhist practices, within one’s own body, by the Non-Action Teachings accorded well with this par ticular text. The adherents then recited one of the movement’s own sutras, the “[Origin of] Heaven Sutra” (tian[yuan]jing ໽㎷㍧), which describes the origin of the cosmos in fairly abstract terms.88 According to several Qing confessions, during the initiation ritual the bodies of new members are explicitly connected with the energy (qi ⇷) of the cosmos. In a sense, the recitation of a cosmological scripture immediately following the Heart Sutra, which denies all form, is somewhat paradoxical. When we consider the recitation of the Origin of Heaven Sutra more as a ritual act aimed at transforming the altar into a cosmic space than a doctrinal statement, it makes good sense.

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After invoking good fortune by summoning the Eight Immortals, opening the ritual through burning incense, and reconstructing the altar as a microcosm, a memorial is submitted to summon a long series of divinities and ancestral figures to the altar to attend the ritual. They include Amitābha, the highest deities of Heaven and Earth (not specified), the Unborn Venerable Mother (as the one who once sent the Patriarchs Luo or Ying to be reborn on earth), the Lord of the Teachings who is Without Extreme (or Luo Qing), Patriarch Puneng who is Before Heaven (or Patriarch Ying), Tathagata Teacher Pushan (or Patriarch Yao), Guanyin, and a host of supporting deities and also all Patriarchs Ying and Yao’s pupils, as well as their wives and descendants.89 The memorial ends as follows: [All of these divine figures, former adherents, and present leaders] take the entire gathering . . . to let the Orthodox Teachings of the Buddha Patriarchs spread all over the All-under-Heaven, and to exhort and transform the good men and devout women of the ten directions to take refuge in the Orthodox Way of the Buddha Patriarchs, to restore the origin and return to the source. Each of them requests the heart-seal of the Buddha Patriarch, that one receives the prophecy [of eventual Buddhahood] by touching the crown of one’s head. Around one’s crown will be a halo of brightness, and following the light they will receive guidance into the Buddha’s list of names. In emptiness they will record the names. At the Third Gathering of the Dragon Flower there will be a sage-like election of saintly talents, at the Numinous Mountain there will be an examination of names, to compare appellations and decide people’s fates. When you return to the source there were will be no intention of throwing yourself off a high cliff (in order to reach Heaven).90 This passage concludes the reading of the memorial and sets out one of the most basic tenets of the movement. The believers were convinced that if they led proper and devout lives, they would be guaranteed a place in the Dragon Flower Gathering, which would conclude the present kalpa millions of years in the future. Amitābha and Guanyin fit in this picture, as they could help people be reborn in the Pure Land, which was apparently taken to be a gathering place for the chosen ones who would be guaranteed salvation. The Bodhisattva conventionally associated with this gathering was Maitreya, who was prophesied to become the Buddha of the kalpa that would follow the present one. Perhaps it is because of Maitreya’s other role as a messianic savior in the late imperial period and/or the state’s sensitivity to any reference to his name that he is not mentioned here, and the list starts off with Amitābha as the Buddha of the Western Paradise. The ritual event of the heart-seal referred to in the memorial is central to the initiation of Non-Action Teachings adherents, where it refers to the bestowal of crucial sutras during the first three levels of initiation. The term is borrowed from Chan practice, in which it refers to an individual’s recognition of his or her enlightenment by means of a direct touching of the heart.91 Here the content of

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the heart-seal is clearly the guarantee that one will be chosen for the Dragon Flower Gathering or, as it is called elsewhere in the rituals of the movement, the Pure Land. Chan enlightenment thus becomes Pure Land salvation. Once again a list of divine figures, this time slightly different from before, is summoned. It starts with several buddhas and other figures from the Buddhist pantheon, such as the Shakyamuni Buddha, the “Venerable Buddha Maitreya and Lord of the Dragon Flower Gathering who will descend to be born in the future,” and the Buddha of Long Life Without End (this time using Amitābha’s Chinese name). They will all descend on the vegetarian banquet to listen to the proclamation of intentions—a very long prayer for good fortune and health, liberation from the underworld for the deceased ancestors, and ascendance for the living into the Pure Land or the Dragon Flower Gathering, for people both inside and outside the movement. The hope is expressed that the Saintly Patriarch will pardon everyone, even “if the kitchen and furnace are not clean and the offerings of the Vegetarian Fast are careless” or “people’s intentions are not respectful and their language is irreverent.” At this point, only the Saintly Patriarch and Amitābha (using this Buddha’s Sanskrit name) are invoked again for support, as well as the movement’s three patriarchs and all previous adherents, especially those of the early generations converted directly by Patriarchs Ying and Yao. The list concludes with the names of the organizers of this specific ritual occasion.92 In the prior enumeration, Maitreya is mentioned once, but very clearly as the Buddha of the Dragon Flower Gathering in the distant future and not as the savior at an imminent messianic event. Amitābha remains the more prominent figure throughout the ritual. The mention of the names of the ritual event’s organizers provides a kind of signature by mentioning for the first time the local collective of adherents as “the entire hall of lords of the vegetarian fast” (hetang zhaizhu ড়ූ唟Џ). This made the ritual event specific to the present occasion. The local leaders then invite the Saintly Patriarch, the buddhas, and others to come to the Vegetarian Fast to be nourished by it. At this point, the entire community recites “Amitābha,” and the wish is expressed that the record keepers of the Saintly Patriarch write their names in the Ledger of Formlessness (wuxiang bu ⛵Ⳍ㈓). Once more the wish for all kinds of benefits is expressed, with the hope that all adherents, as well as their parents and ancestors, will be reborn in the Pure Land in the West.93 Interestingly, there is not only a ledger for recording the names of meritorious and virtuous people but also another one for those who slander the teachings, the Ledger of Circulation (xunhuan bu ᕾ⪄㈓). Those who slander the teachings will be unable to escape the endless cycle of life and death, referred to here as “circulation.” When people join, they will become enlightened and enjoy its benefits. “After having performed a Vegetarian Fast, the old will be firm as mountains, and the young will be like water flowing for a long time.” Again the list of benefits is long and extends to all four classes of professions: officials, farmers, merchants, and craftsmen. Should the adherents be unable to keep all of the rules, it is hoped that the Saintly Patriarch will forgive them. To prevent evil from occur-

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ring, the protector divinities are asked to protect the ritual gathering and the human world in general.94 The ritual now moves to its formal conclusion, including the mention, for the first time in the entire ritual, of territorial deities, from the City God down to the deities of the local spring and waterways. They are invited to attend the banquet and then leave again.95 The Heart Sutra and the name of Amitābha are recited one more time, after which the adherents burn incense and tidy up the ritual space. Very likely, the adherents eat their Vegetarian Fast soon after the deities have had their share, for they now “open up the Buddha’s rice,” “eat the sacrificial rice,” and “eat the sacrificial fruit,” accompanied by poems and saying grace to Amitābha and the ritual functionaries. The entire ritual is concluded by drinking tea, a customary way of concluding a meal.96 The collective meal was sanctified through the ritual of the Vegetarian Fast and could then play its crucial role of binding the adherents together in a community.

L i g h t i n g t h e C a n d l e s: c e l e b r a t i n g t h e s c r i p t u r e s When Patriarch Luo wanted to explain his insight into the Way, he used the metaphor of an all-penetrating light similar to that of Amitābha. Using the same metaphor, one of the most important rituals of the Non-Action Teachings was Lighting the Candles, during which the entire Five Books in Six Volumes was recited over a number of days. The ritual expresses the insight and penetrating light of Patriarch Luo in a very literal way. Patriarch Yao’s biography repeatedly mentions a ritual involving burning candles, probably a precursor of the Lighting the Candles ceremony of later ritual practice. The biography quotes a poem on the burning of the candles, some lines of which are retained in the later manuals.97 In the other vegetarian movement in Xiamen (Amoy) described by J. J. M. de Groot, which resembles the Non-Action Teachings in terms of its mythology, the core ritual is reduced to burning an oil lamp.98 This was clearly a ritual of central importance to the movement. The only extended discussion is still in the ritual manuals, which I will summarize.99 The manuals make no mention of musical accompaniment, although it seems likely that there was, and it is definitely the case for the Hanyang Hall rituals that were placed on the Internet in 2012.100 The “Discursion on the Candles” (bianla 䖃㷳) that prefaces the ritual in the Changle manual enjoins everybody to be respectful in front of the light of the Precious Candle, which will guarantee the ascension of all relatives and ancestors to the Pure Land and bring peace to participants in the ritual. “Its light shines far and cannot be shaken by the wind.”101 The ritual begins with the participants making a series of bows, accompanied by the burning of incense, after which the Five Books in Six Volumes are solemnly opened.102 The event is then called a Dragon Flower Gathering, yet another confirmation of my earlier argument that in the Non-Action Teachings this term refers to devotional activity and not to a messianic expectation in the near future. The adherents are requested in colloquial language, rather than traditional written Chinese, to come forward and recite the sutras in a clear voice. Rituals do not normally require the active

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participation of the entire assembly, just a few representatives, who are indeed required to behave properly. Here the entire following is involved, functioning more like a group of priests during the recital of sutras for a Water and Land Gathering or a ritual for Feeding Hungry Ghosts. They may take turns, but every person involved in the ceremony recites at one point or another. They partake fully of the sacred text, which thus becomes an integral part of their religious knowledge and self-understanding. Because everybody participates, the manual also presents several rules in colloquial Chinese to guarantee an orderly gathering without people talking, falling asleep, kicking off their shoes, or spitting— behavior that otherwise occurs quite naturally during ritual and social gatherings in China.103 Everybody is a ritual participant and therefore needs to behave in a proper manner. However, what we see here is not the much more common daily sutras recitation that is directed at obtaining practical benefits. Th is point is important because in these very same Five Books in Six Volumes, Patriarch Luo repeatedly and explicitly criticizes the recitation of sutras, for instance, in the following fragment:104 The heart is deluded by the constant recitation (lit., turning) of the Lotus Sutra, but the heart will [also] be enlightened by the constant recitation of the Lotus Sutra. When you recite sutras you will not understand for a long period, and become the enemy of its meanings. When you remain attached to reciting sutras, it is as if the clouds cover up the sun, likewise sounds and appearances cover up the protagonist. Like smoke comes from metal [when melted] and the smoke hides the fire, empty air comes from your mouth and obstructs the true sutra. When you remain attached to empty breaths, you will become completely lost; you will fatigue yourself by persevering in recitation, but not be enlightened in your heart. When you do and do not recite, a bright light will manifest itself, for the Lotus Sutra is you yourself. When you recite the Lotus Sutra it is just empty air, and empty air has hidden away your original self. Following the sounds and appearances you will have committed an error toward yourself, for emptiness is appearance and appearances are empty. Reading the entire Buddhist canon is just empty air and the Buddhist canon originally is you yourself. Not only does Luo Qing reject the mechanical recitation of the Lotus Sutra but also he points out that this sutra—and even the entire Buddhist canon—is lo-

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cated in oneself. Because he had read, or learned by heart, substantial extracts from the Buddhist canon and quotes them extensively in his Five Books in Six Volumes, he cannot have been rejecting recitation altogether. Instead, he disapproved of recitation without the proper attitude and understanding of what one was doing and saying. This would explain why, on the one hand, the Non-Action Teachings transmitted their sutras without characters during the initiation ritual as the “separate transmission outside the teachings” and, on the other hand, regulated all other recitation of Buddhist texts by inserting this practice into an elaborate ritual context to avoid meaningless and aimless recitation. After the customary ritual precautions, the Void (the highest ranking adherent present) is invited, and the actual ritual begins. It is specified that one should not read inaccurately, which would cause the “protectors of the dharma” to not show compassion. After “Protectors of the dharma in emptiness” and “Amitābha Buddha” are both recited three times, a whole list of “protector” deities is summoned. It is absolutely essential that no demonic forces are able to disturb the ritual space while these texts are being recited. The list of deities summoned is therefore much broader than in the Vegetarian Fast, for which the list is largely confined to a Buddhist pantheon. This time a variety of specialized protector deities and general territorial deities are summoned to stand guard to prevent “heretic demons and external forces” from entering. A recitation of the name of Amitābha concludes this part of the ritual.105 A laudatory hymn on the three patriarchs and the Five Books in Six Volumes follows. The Five Books in Six Volumes would be recited at this point in the ritual, but it is never explicitly stated when. Although this would have been the most time-consuming part of the ritual, lasting several days and involving many of the adherents, when it should take place was probably so obvious to the participants that it did not need to be included in the manual.106 The Heart Sutra is recited once, after which the tea is replenished to mark the approach of noon. At this juncture, the sacred texts are cleared away again,107 a process accompanied by poems that praise the encompassing truth contained in the Five Books in Six Volumes, referring to the people who recite it or who listen to it as the People at the Dragon Flower Gathering. The merit of recitation is transferred to the parents of those in attendance and increases their good fortune and long life, while allowing all their ancestors to ascend to the Pure Land.108 The ritual concludes by distributing the merit of recitation to all living creatures as well as those in the underworld. The adherents wish good fortune to the living and ascension to the Pure Land for their ancestors nine generations back in time. After this, the Heart Sutra is recited once more, and the ritual is basically concluded.109

T h e f u n e r a r y r i t u a l: e n t e r i n g t h e We s te r n P a r a d i s e The final ritual for any member of the movement was, of course, the funerary ritual, however simple it might be. A strictly Buddhist burial should involve cremation, but the Changshu manual assumes that the deceased will be buried in a

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casket instead. Most likely, this was a regional adaptation as the result of an ongoing local government policy in the Qing dynasty in the Lower Yangzi region to stop Buddhist-inspired cremation and promote regular burial by providing free cemeteries for the less privileged.110 The ritual itself is very minimal, which makes sense in the light of the movement’s iconophobic tendencies. Evidence in other sources on the movement’s funerary practices is very limited, except for their rejection of the custom of burning paper money for the dead. The only early evidence is two references in the Causes and Fruits (discussed in Chapter 4) and one mention in the late-Ming gazetteer of Jiaxing County. In all instances, outsiders complain about the sparseness of the movement’s funerary rituals.111 J. J. M. de Groot described the funerary practices of the movement in Xiamen (Amoy) in the 1880s, which stressed rebirth in the Pure Land, rejected the use of “mock paper money,” and mainly consisted of the recitation of sutras and the name of Amitābha. The deceased would receive a certificate called “document for the journey home” (guijia wendan ⅌ᆊ᭛ஂ), indicating that for them Nirvana was the real home and their life on earth had merely been an endless cycle of rebirths. They also received additional documents to certify that they had entered the Pure Land.112 The Changshu manual’s funerary ritual is divided by headings into four parts or sets of poems. It is mainly instructions for paying respect to the casket with the remains of the deceased inside and sending it off. The fi rst set of the ritual instructs people to burn incense upon arrival and then proceed to the corpse. A short poem in praise of the dharma and the Heart Sutra should then be recited, followed by a spell to provide assistance against all possible demons.113 The second set of poems has measures to propitiate the corpse and instructions on how to dig a hole for the casket.114 Another short poem states that the oil lamp on the altar will illuminate earth and change the underworld into a Lotus Platform. This is similar to the sketch performed in southern Chinese funerary rituals by ritual specialists, who dance around with oil lamps to enact the deceased’s journey to the Western Paradise. The Heart Sutra is recited again and then the following poem to the corpse: This skeleton is skinny like fi rewood, One bowl of scented water washes away the dust. Several decades it has been in this world, But one morning Impermanence returned it to its home region. Without selecting a specific hour, It left earth and started its journey. We invite the Patriarch to ascend the Precious Seat, A hall full of patrons has come to attend. Return, oh, return, [The deceased] has left the mortal fetus ( fantai ޵㚢) behind and entered the saintly womb (shengtai 㘪㚢), and

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Personally sees incarnation on the Lotus Flower. [His or her] transmigration for ten thousand kalpas on end has now ended. The poem basically describes how the deceased will be reborn on a Lotus Flower in the Pure Land, where he or she will be free of the burden of the cycle of life and death. Impermanence is the underworld demon that comes to fetch the recently deceased.115 This second set of poems then concludes with the “opening up of the Golden Well,” which is explained in small print as “going to the grave and breaking up the ground” (dao fenshang potu ࠄງϞ⸈ೳ). The next two sets of poems describe the process of taking the coffin outside to the gravesite. The third set accompanies the descendants offering cups of tea and calls to mind the fact that not even famous historical or mythical figures could avoid death.116 The fourth set starts with poems about selecting an auspicious moment, followed by the transfer of the casket to Nirvana Mountain, as the grave mound is called in this ritual. When the casket has been carried to the site, the bearers lower it into the grave, reciting a poem with the significant first line “lift ing Non-Action is no light affair.” After some additional preparations and placing the sacrificial gifts in readiness, the “fi lial son” kneels in front of the soul (probably the flag representing the soul), and the entire family “mourns painfully.” The poem recited at this point states that the deceased will not go to the underworld, but to the Pure Land in the West.117 At this point, the ritual manual makes the important comment that even women, who would normally go to the Blood Pond in the underworld, will be saved by Dizang, the Boddhisattva of the underworld, and by Mulian, the Boddhisattva who rescued his mother from the deepest recesses of the underworld. All deceased will be able to proceed to the Pure Land.118 Despite the earlier mention of Nirvana Mountain, the dominant motif of the ritual is the Western Paradise or Pure Land of Amitābha, which is equaled to the Dragon Flower Gathering.119 Only at this late point in the ritual do we move to the systematic offering of incense, the most interesting part of which is the filial son’s offering ten sticks of incense. With each offering of a stick, the “deceased soul” (wangling ѵ䴜) travels part of the journey from the world of the Red Dust toward the Buddha Gate (the fift h stick of this series). Here the deceased soul will sit on a precious platform, in full possession of “a clear heart and insight in his nature”—a core phrase in the Non-Action Teachings. By the time the ninth stick of incense has been offered, the deceased has shed his or her mortal fetus and entered a saintly fetus. With the tenth and last stick of incense, the deceased completes the journey. He or she fi nally sees the Tathagata (i.e., the Buddha) and is permitted to sit on a lotus platform.120 Food offerings are now made in the form of a Vegetarian Fast, and the temporary altar is explained through a series of poems.121 The Five Books in Six Volumes may also be recited to provide merit for the deceased, but this is not entirely clear from the text.122 After the meal has been finished, tea is offered to conclude

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the event, and the movement’s Sutra of Binding is recited for the benefit of all, accompanied by the wish that the deceased may attain the Way of the Buddha. Now all burn their last stick of incense and wash themselves.123 Most published research on funerary practices is still limited to the Classicist (ru) ideology around them,124 but the reality of local practice was still dominated by Buddhist, Daoist, and various other lay traditions. Compared with funerary practice documented by ethnography, the ritual the Changshu manual describes is very sparse. The ubiquitous journey through the underworld is enacted through the burning of ten sticks of incense by the son of the deceased, and no mention is made of enacting the destruction of the Fortress of Hell that is generally so common in southern Chinese funerary rituals.125 One important similarity in terms of basic intent is the emphasis on filial piety. The ultimate aim of the funerary ceremony is also quite similar to regular Buddhist and Daoist rituals that fieldworkers (including myself ) have witnessed during the last few decades in southern China, namely, avoiding the underworld and rebirth in the Western Paradise of Amitābha.

Concluding remarks The Non-Action Teachings did not create proper Precious Scrolls of its own, and this chapter therefore makes little reference to the recitation of these texts.126 The only text within the movement that shows formal resemblances to the genre is the Overall Record of the Circumstances under Which the Three Patriarchs OnHigh Traveled Around and Taught. We have made extensive use of this source to discuss the history of the movement. Stylistically, the chapters on Patriarch Luo and, to a lesser extent, on Patriarch Ying bear some resemblance to the genre of the Precious Scroll, but the chapter on Patriarch Yao is a chronological biography and does not fit the genre at all. Interestingly, the Overall Record is never recited during any of the movement’s rituals, and its only role was as a historical record. However, the Five Books in Six Volumes was recited regularly during the ritual of Lighting the Candles. Daniel Overmeyer has included them in his major discussion of the Precious Scrolls because they shared a number of stylistic characteristics with the genre, such as the presentation of a religious life and the alternation between prose and poetry. But there are at least two crucial differences: the enormous abundance of quotations in the Five Books in Six Volumes and the absence of a new mythological narrative.127 In my opinion, the quotations alone place the writings of Luo Qing in a completely different category from the other Precious Scrolls, which always consist of sustained original narratives and never contain quotations. None of the other rituals discussed in this chapter fits the genre of the religious Precious Scroll, even though some of the works in question may contain the term in their titles. Instead, many of the texts imitated the genre of the Buddhist sutra. Even the Five Books in Six Volumes was in many ways seen as the summation of the Buddhist canon, or the words of the Buddha, rather than as presenting a new mythology like a regular Precious Scroll.

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The contents of the ritual practices of the Non-Action Teachings leave no doubt about their fundamentally devotional character. Patriarch Ying makes a few remarks in which he uses isolated elements of the late-Ming messianic paradigm of the Three Ages. Only two texts identify him, or alternatively Patriarch Luo, as having been sent down by the Unborn Venerable Mother to rescue humanity, and these texts do not mention any of the other crucial elements of this late imperial messianic narrative. None of this information is incorporated in a sustained narrative of a messianic promise or expectation. We can only conclude that this was not normally an important aspect of this movement. Of course, it is conceivable that the movement kept this message a secret and never wrote it down. Such an argument cannot be refuted, except that other movements in the same period did transmit texts with a messianic message. Moreover, the NonAction Teachings did not commit such a message to writing even in the relatively tolerant atmosphere of twentieth-century Taiwan. We must therefore conclude that the movement’s purported messianic nature is entirely a construct of modern scholarship inspired by the stereotypes of the White Lotus Teachings. The Non-Action Teachings did have some practices that offended contemporary sensibilities, such as their rejection of external props such as statues, although this may have become less radical over time. Here, too, we need to bear in mind that in this they may have been following a contemporary trend. After all, in the course of the sixteenth century, images of Confucius had been banished from his temples to be replaced by tablets giving his ritual name.128 Here the image was replaced by the word, in an attempt to return to an older phase of Chinese religious culture in which there were no images—ignoring the fact that in this earlier period divinities and even the deceased were usually embodied by mediums. As Craig Clunas has pointed out, by the late Ming the idealized surroundings of the elite male were increasingly devoid of representations, at least on the level of prescriptive writings.129 Possibly the iconophobic attitudes of the Non-Action Teachings and the move away from mimetic representation in Chinese elite circles are connected at some deeper cultural level, which deserves further investigation. The movement’s rejection of ancestor worship was part of this iconophobic attitude toward images. But as should already be clear from the preceding discussion, the movement did not deny the existence or relevance of ancestors. It could be that the initial rejection was motivated by the practice of visually representing the ancestors in statues or scrolls and that there was less of an issue with ancestral tablets. The ancestors, as a general category, were frequently mentioned as a focus for the benefits that would accrue to the believers during the performance of their rituals. In one sense, rejecting external props (at least in theory, if not entirely in practice) and internalizing all ritual processes inside the worshipper, both male and female, transformed the body into an object to be “inscribed” by actions. I use the term inscribed advisedly, because I see a parallel with the writing on a surface, whether paper or otherwise. This is not an innovation of the Non-Action

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Teachings and has its roots in more elite intellectual and religious traditions, but here we see this practice descend to lower social layers. The movement assigned great importance to the practice of writing in many of its ritual activities, from the recitation of a Buddhist anthology, the Five Books in Six Volumes, to registering one’s name in a book of those to be saved. As already discussed, the initiation rituals were modeled on Chan-style transmission of an inner truth, but other crucial elements of the Chan style of religious practice were lacking, such as meditation or encounter dialogue. We saw in the earlier chapters that the late-Ming generation of patriarchs and early followers of the Non-Action Teachings self-consciously referred to themselves as practitioners of the Chan style of Buddhism, but we fi nd little of that in the Qing period or thereafter. The movement’s early patriarchs and their adherents, in creating and/or transmitting their life stories, paid considerable attention to the suffering of their patriarchs as a formal stage in their practice, using the term kuxing 㢺㸠, which referred more to a difficult life than to the explicit practice of austerities. The following chapter shows that the same expression is used by Fujianese followers of the movement to refer to their exertions in support of the teachings.130 Th is suggests that its absence in other Qing period sources may reflect that they were usually produced in the context of state repression. Ritual performance was an important manifestation of Chinese religious life, but it did not exclude individual or small-group religious practice. The Causes and Fruits of the Seven Branches already showed that religious practice, either alone or in very small groups, to attain a better understanding of one’s Buddha nature was an equally important part of the movement’s religious life. Luckily, an internal source from northern Fujian, “Transmission of the Dharma by the Patriarchs through the Ages” (lidai zushi chuanfa ⅋ҷ⼪᏿‫)⊩ڇ‬, provides us with a window on this dimension. Discussed in detail in the following chapter, it shows, quite convincingly, that regular devotional practice and even some study of Buddhist doctrine remained part of the adherents’ daily lives.131

Appendix: Dating the ritual manuals Whereas the Changle manual is explicitly ascribed to Tang Kejun,132 the Changshu manual is transmitted without author. No doubt both texts are the outgrowth of collective practices rather than creations of individual authors. Here I wish to establish a rough date when the ritual came into being.133 On the basis of my analysis in this section, I suggest that the ancestral text of the surviving manuals came into being around 1700 or shortly before. The Qing archival record confirms the existence of written guides throughout the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, covering the entire geographical area where the movement was active.134 The principal means of dating the manuscript is the descent line of the Yao family, which is transmitted in the different ritual manuals and in a twentiethcentury family genealogy. I have summarized the information as follows.

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Religious Beliefs and Ritual Practices The Yao descent line Family genealogy

Changle manual

Changshu manual

Pushan

Pushan

Pushan

Pufa ᱂⊩

Pufa

Pufa

Yao Duo’s wives

Pulian ᱂㫂 Pushang ᱂ᇮ

Pulian Pushang

— —

Yao Duo’s sons ()

Pugao ᱂催 Puzong ᱂ᅫ

Puzong ᱂ᅫ Puzun ᱂ᇞ

Puzong ᱂ᅫ Puzun ᱂ᇞ

Puen ᱂ᘽ Puren ᱂ҕ Puzhu ᱂Џ

Puzhu Puzhao ᱂䀨 Puren

Puen Puren Puzhu

Pushou ᱂ᅜ Puyu ᱂ᕵ and many others

— —

Pusong ᱂ᅟ Puyu ᱂㺩

Yao Wenyu () Yao Duo (Pufa) ()

Yao Duo’s grandsons ()

Yao Duo’s great-grandsons ()

The variations among the descent lines in these three sources reflect differences in transmission that allow us to roughly date the original genealogy. For unknown reasons, the Changshu manual omits the list of Yao Duo’s wives, but otherwise the first two generations are identical. In the generation of Yao Duo’s sons, the family genealogy gives the names of the two surviving sons in a different sequence and uses gao (“high”) instead of zun (“venerable”). Possibly, the genealogy uses a rough synonym because of a later name taboo, but if that is the case, I have been unable to find it. Only from the fourth generation on do the variations become more interesting. Both the genealogy and the Changshu manual give the names of Yao Duo’s three grandsons in the same sequence.136 The Changle manual changes the sequence and writes zhao (imperial edict) instead of en (favor); we cannot be sure, but it seems likely that “imperial edict” is intended as a synonym for “[imperial] favor.” Still, these differences are only minor, and the really significant divergence takes place in the listing of the fifth generation. The Changle manual gives no more names, and the Changshu manual has fewer and slightly different names than the genealogy. I suspect that ᅜ in Pushou is a writing error for ᅟ in Pusong (or vice versa) and that ᕵ yu was written instead of 㺩 yu, because of their similar pronunciation. This information allows us to make two inferences on the dating of the two ritual manuals. First, the differences in the fourth generation in the Changle manual suggest that by the time of the fift h generation, the northern Fujianese groups behind this manual were no longer in regular contact with the Yao family. Second, the fact that the Changshu manual has only two names from the fift h generation, and written somewhat differently, suggests that the Changshu manual also lost contact with the Yao family soon after the first members of the fift h generation had been born.

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Luckily, we can roughly date the two generations in question. A certain Yao Dabin ໻䳺 belonged to the fourth generation, and we have quite a few dates from his life. Although we do not know his religious name and therefore cannot link him to the names in the lists, we know that he took part in a special examination for boys in 1704 and the prefectural examinations in 1715. He finally passed the latter examination circa 1735 and was still alive in 1753. Because he was still a boy at the time of his first exam in 1704, it seems reasonable that he was about ten to fourteen years old at the time, placing his birth around 1690 to 1694. He would have had his first children soon after reaching maturity at age eighteen, suggesting they could have been born about 1708 to 1712 and been in their twenties or thirties by the time they first appear in our sources in 1748. Because the Changle manual mentions no one from the fift h generation on, it must antedate the birth of any children in this generation. Th is would place its date of copying before 1710 or even earlier. The Changshu manual still mentions two children of this generation, suggesting that it stopped updating the genealogical information about 1710 to 1720, before more sons in this generation were born. This takes the ritual tradition, as reflected in the two extant manuals, back to at least around 1700. We can also date when the compilers of the Changle manual were no longer in touch with the Yao family in southern Zhejiang by looking at concrete events in the history of the lineage that transmitted this manual to Taiwan. One of its early teachers was a man from Xinghua, Zhang Dafa ᔉ䘨⊩ (1639–1706), who had a shop in Jianning, close to the movement’s historical center in Qingyuan just across the provincial border. He had to flee a local persecution and then went to live in a hall in Changle. He was eventually buried in Fuqing, which became the center of his par ticular lineage.137 He is the only connection between the manual and Changle, which suggests that the manual, in its present form, was written while Zhang Dafa lived there, probably in the late 1690s. The split between the Changle and Changshu manuals would have to go back even further, placing the original rituals somewhere in the late-Ming or early-Qing period.

6 The Routinization of Charisma .

T

he Non-Action Teachings continued to flourish during the Qing period, despite occasional persecutions. Adherents usually kept to themselves in order not to draw the attention of the authorities. When the state did round up local groups, it was usually as part of a more general wave of persecution and very rarely because adherents of the movement had been involved in rebellious activity. State persecution produced records that allow us a glimpse at some of the movement’s local activities. At the same time, this kind of record distorts our picture toward the exceptional. Fortunately, we also possess sources produced by the movement, such as the history of one par ticular lineage from coastal Fujian and a quasi-official document composed to assert the movement’s right of free religious practice. During the Qing period, we can observe a process of gradual routinization of the early patriarchs’ and teachers’ charisma. Leadership shifts from individuals chosen on the basis of their own personal appeal or charisma to the descendants of Yao Wenyu as embodiments of the last charismatic leader. Around the same time, a set of more or less fi xed rituals was created, or at least first put into writing. Formalized rituals made a charismatic teacher less important, although such teachers could still have a function in, and contribute to, local networks. Routinization enabled the movement to institutionalize itself and survive over several centuries. The composition of “The Proclamation to Protect the Sutras/Way,” in which the emperor supposedly granted the movement freedom of religious practice, was one such new institution. Admittedly, trying to use this proclamation to pressure local officials sometimes landed local groups in big problems, but it also created a sense of belonging to a larger whole. It is highly likely that the proclamation did provide some real protection. However, a true understanding of this kind of situation will always elude us because the record, as we have it, was largely produced in the context of repression. In this chapter, I focus on the period before the rebellion of the Heavenly Kingdom of Great Peace (1851–1864). Especially the first part of this period is much admired by modern scholarship for the quality of Qing governance, but it was also a time when this same relatively efficient government increased its level of repression of all kinds of new religious groups. In my opinion, these two developments are correlated, but in this investigation I do not explore this assertion 151

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any further because this case study is insufficiently broad in scope. The repressions were largely inspired by a mistaken analysis of the phenomenon of new religious groups and teacher-pupil networks as part of the mythical and much-feared White Lotus Teachings, resulting in the amalgamation under one label of a wide variety of very distinct social and religious phenomena. Because the state had a growing desire to manage and control, this flawed analysis also led to more friction—in a kind of self-fulfilling prophecy—in which excessive control led to resistance and even rebellion. The incident of 1748 in northern Fujian was a direct result of this vicious circle, and the incident of 1847 in southern Jiangxi was definitely triggered by the arrest of a Triad leader, although in this case we can no longer judge whether the local magistrate was justified in making the arrest in terms of a perceived threat to local order or more serious transgressions. The rebellion of the Heavenly Kingdom of Great Peace and the advent of large numbers of Christian missionaries starting in the 1860s changed the context of the movement completely, and I shall, therefore, discuss this time period separately in Chapter 7.

The Yao Patriarchy in the Qing period During the Qing period, the descendants of Patriarch Yao became the focus of a network of local groups paying tribute to the heads of the family in Qingyuan and Wenzhou. This was the outcome of a fierce succession dispute that was resolved in a meeting of all local leaders in 1648 to decide whether the movement would continue to be led by the ablest teachers or would be led by a descendant of the patriarch.1

T h e s u c c e s s i o n d i s p u te After the patriarch’s death, his surviving followers’ first step was to retrieve his body from the Ming-loyalist warlord Yang Dingqing. The Overall Record claims the body did not rot despite the summer heat. As a result, Yang became aware that this had been no ordinary man. He conveniently put the responsibility for the patriarch’s death on the latter’s stepson, Jin Foshou, and invited Buddhist and Daoist priests to hold a large ritual to do penance for his actions. Buddhist monks took care of the body and had it transported in a coffin to a temporary resting place. Yang Dingqing and Jin Foshou soon met their deaths at the hands of the Qing armies. Despite the rescue of the patriarch’s body and the punishment of his murderers, the movement’s disarray continued. The patriarch’s first wife had remained childless, and, as a result, her position was weak. His second wife was the mother of a one-year-old son, Yao Duo. They lived in a township in Zhenghe in northern Fujian known as the “Buddha’s gate at Qianshan.” Apparently, the ancestral residence in Qingyuan was still deemed unsafe. A follower from Jiangxi, Chen Puxiang 䱇᱂ᛇ, argued that now that the teacher had died, the Th ree Vehicles had been concluded. By this, he referred to the two Dragon Flower Gatherings the patriarch had held in the preceding de-

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cades, although, at the request of his own followers, he never held a third such gathering. Chen Puxiang clearly assumed that only someone with the patriarch’s charisma was entitled to hold such gatherings. A new institution was therefore needed, which he called the “Direct Pointer” (zhizhi Ⳉᣛ). The term takes up the phrase “directly point to the human heart” (zhizhi renxin ⳈᣛҎᖗ), referring to the direct heart-to-heart transmission practiced in the Non-Action Teachings. Some agreed with Chen Puxiang, and others did not. A letter (shu ᳌) sent out to the heads of all branches of the movement indicates that they had somehow managed to keep in touch over a larger area. A big meeting was organized for higher ranking members (the so-called Recruiters), who met in Qianshan township in 1648. Because the second wife and her baby son were living there, this choice of place was already an important first step in settling the dispute. A Recruiter named Sun Puming ᄿ᱂ৡ opened a letter he had prepared in advance and read it aloud in front of the gathering. In it, he dismissed Chen Puxiang as someone who “had cheated the master and destroyed the dharma, falsely transmitting ‘direct pointing’ and causing chaos in the Orthodox Lineage.” The result was a schism, with part of the movement following Chen Puxiang and the patriarch’s first wife. What eventually became of this group is unknown, although the first wife’s death at sixty-nine sui in 1677 was recorded.2 The adherents who had remained behind in Qianshan “lighted the candles and proclaimed a memorial [with the names of those present], and again practiced the Th ree Vehicles.” In 1650, the second wife and her son returned to the patriarchal hall in Qingyuan. The body of the patriarch was then reburied there, with the assistance of a geomantic specialist, and a new family home was erected opposite the grave. The second wife died in 1671 at the age of fift y-seven sui.3 The patriarch’s grave became a center of worship. The parts of the buildings above ground were reused in the 1950s and the grave itself was plundered in the late 1980s, but until then the grave complex had survived unscathed into the twentieth century, despite recurrent repressions of the movement. Among the remains was an incense burner that had been donated by two believers in 1686—with the text “the pupils from Xin’an (modern Huizhou), Yu Puji with his son Pujing donated together” (xin’an dizi yu puji nan pujing tongfeng ᮄᅝᓳᄤֲ᱂ঢ়⬋᱂䴭ৠ༝). The patriarch’s second wife was also buried in the village, and a cult around her grave was maintained into the 1950s. Her grave was also robbed and eventually removed to make room for ordinary houses.4 Given the disarray that followed the patriarch’s death in 1646, it is clear that many adherents believed that Patriarch Yao had been uniquely qualified to dispense salvation and that participation in a Dragon Flower Gathering—organized by the patriarch himself—was their only guarantee of salvation. Because Patriarch Yao had asserted that he was the final incarnation of Patriarchs Luo and Ying, venerating his descendant Yao Duo was the only viable option for partaking of the original charisma of the three patriarchs. With the embodiment of charisma in the Yao lineage, the Non-Action Teachings entered a new stage in its evolution. By

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routinizing the transmission of the founder’s charisma in a more predictable way, the movement survived the difficult years of the Ming-Qing transition.

T h e Ya o l i n e a g e: e m b o d i e d c h a r i s m a Until the mid-eighteenth century, descendants of Patriarch Yao collected tribute directly from believers in northern Fujian and recorded this in a special ledger.5 Ritual manuals listed the past and present members of the family until the early eighteenth century, including the surviving males of the Yao lineage, but also the wives of the patriarch and his son, Yao Duo.6 This list continued to be recited as part of the movement’s rituals throughout the twentieth century. Qin Baoqi uncovered a detailed genealogy of the family during fieldwork in the early 1990s.7 In the following, I combine this family record with information gleaned from local gazetteers and official reports from the Qing archives. The family genealogy contains the religious names of nine generations following the patriarch, which takes us far into the nineteenth century. The same record includes biographies of some family members as well, but they were written up in the late eighteenth century, at a time when the family was quite successful in the civil ser vice examinations and tried to keep up a clear Classicist (ru ‫)ۦ‬ profi le, no doubt to prevent the movement from being persecuted as a heterodox group. Thus, Yao Wenyu’s biography claims that he combined Buddhism and Classicism, and the four biographies of his descendants make no further mention of Buddhism at all.8 Patriarch Yao’s son, Yao Duo 䨌 (Pufa ᱂⊩), was circa one year of age in 1646. Duo means “wake up bell,” referring to the big bell that always hung near the entrance of a Buddhist temple. Under his mother’s tutelage, he became the fi rst focal point of the family network.9 As a precocious talent, he entered the Imperial University in the capital, after which he successfully took part in the prefectural exams there. He returned to mourn his mother in 1671. He served as a county teacher ( jiaoyu ᬭ䃁) in neighboring Ruian but fell ill and died at age thirty-eight sui, in about 1683.10 The names he selected for his oldest sons, Shi 䓒 and Zhe 䔡, were surely inspired by the famous lay Buddhist officials, poets, and Old Prose writers from the Song period, Su Shi 㯛䓒 (1037–1101) and Su Zhe 㯛䔡 (1039–1112). He (or rather his mother in his name, when he was still a child) was involved in the restoration of part of a Buddhist monastery and part of a bridge with a Daoist pavilion. When he died, his second wife raised their children and was eventually given a plaque in recognition of her virtuous widowhood.11 At one point, he had remarried, and because his second wife had only one child who died young, his younger son Zhe was ordered to worship her as his mother.12 Both Yao Duo and his wife (probably his first wife) are mentioned several times in comments to the Causes and Fruits.13 Unlike his father, he (and his descendants) could be said to have combined Buddhism (through leadership of the movement) and Classicism (through participation in the examinations) in equal measure. His two sons Shi and Zhe entered the prefectural school. Their sister was married to a local Student (a low title in the examination system), who was the

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son of a lowly official from nearby Lanxi County in Jinhua Prefecture. Like his father before him, Yao Shi proceeded to the Imperial University and eventually served somewhere as a Prefect (zhoumu Ꮂ⠻). He ensured that his own two sons received a Classicist education as well. At the same time, his biography notes in somewhat vague terms that “through the years he inadvertently suffered from unexpected events and subsequently raised the enterprise of Eastern Ou (= Wenzhou).14 This may refer to the establishment of the movement’s second ancestral hall in Wenzhou, which would become an important center.15 Yao Shi’s elder son, Yao Dabin ໻䳺, took part in the Boys’ Examinations in 1704 and the regular prefectural examinations in 1715, which suggests that he was born around 1690. He did not initially succeed in passing the prefectural examinations and continued to divide his time between the halls in Qingyuan and Wenzhou. Like his father, he arranged a Classicist education for his own sons.16 Sometime after 1735, he succeeded in passing the prefectural examinations, as did several of his nephews and cousins about the same time.17 Two of them passed the second-level Elevated Person ( juren) examinations of 1765 and 1771, and one of them, Yao Liang ྮṕ, went on to pass the highest level Presented Scholar degree in 1769, the only person to do so from the entire prefecture during the Qianlong reign (1735–1796). He was born circa 1737 and was still alive in 1801, after a long and moderately successful career. People with the examination rank of Elevated Person—and even more so with the rank of Presented Scholar—were rare in this prefecture, but their status also required an increased distance from Buddhist and Daoist practices. As a result, Yao Liang and his descendants no longer played a role in the ancestral movement.18 He did leave a plaque in his own calligraphy for the gate of the family residence, which survived until at least 1992. Such a text, by one the most successful persons in the prefecture’s history, was a constant reminder to any visitors of the family’s prestige and its place in the imperial orthodoxy.19 Their highly visible success in the examinations may have given the Yao family a degree of protection during persecutions. At the same time, the family, as a whole, remained involved in the Non-Action Teachings throughout the following centuries. In the years following 1748, the relationship between the movement and the Yao family came under severe pressure. Local groups in northern Fujian had become involved in a nasty incident, and the extensive follow-up investigations touched the Yao family. Yao Dabin’s son, Yao Biqi ᖙ䍋, as the head of the hall in Qingyuan, was apparently executed, and another family member was banished.20 Despite this, one of Yao Biqi’s sons achieved the Elevated Person degree in 1771, indicating that his father’s execution had not damaged his public career.21 In 1753, Yao Dabin, Yao Bibiao ᖙᔾ, and another family member were “invited” by the local magistrate in Wenzhou. The term invited suggests a certain degree of circumspection, meaning that they were not arrested outright, although it would have been an invitation they could not refuse.22 All three lived in Yongjia, the capital of Wenzhou Prefecture. A search of their house turned up only a large wooden chest with drawers containing four paintings of the Eight Immortals

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and four ancestral portraits, as well as a variety of texts, memorials, clothes, and so forth. Nothing suspicious was found among them—although it is not clear whether the officials had any conception of what they would have considered suspicious in the first place.23 According to other adherents arrested in 1753, Yao Bibiao was the leader of the Wenzhou hall, which means that he had already succeeded Yao Dabin by that time. In the same year the Yao family members were successfully avoiding suspicion, their adherents in Ningbo provided abundant information to the authorities on the patriarchy. One of them mentioned Yao Bibiao or Pubiao ᱂῭, who was subsequently tracked down in Wenzhou, as just discussed. According to this informant, Yao Bibiao possessed the lowest examination rank of Brilliant Talent (which is confirmed by local gazetteers) and took care of the affairs of the “old ancestral hall” in front of the local City God Temple. We do not know whether this information was correct, but even the belief in it would have enhanced the sense that the Non-Action Teachings were an orthodox movement that could exist next to the most important official temple in any county.24 Despite these incidents, even as late as 1814 and 1833, descendants who can be identified in the family genealogy as coming from the seventh and eighth generations were actively spreading the teachings. Descendants into the tenth generation still used the religious affiliation character pu.25 Clearly, during the incident of 1753, the family had succeeded in convincing officials that they were innocent of any heresy. We encounter them again in 1905 in the context of a succession conflict in Jiangxi (to be discussed in the next section), but the precise nature of their religious activities since the mid-nineteenth century remains unclear. Very likely, the family continued to worship the patriarch surreptitiously. Apparently, their religious hall looked like any other Buddhist hall, but in the back room they worshipped a painting of the patriarch. It was hidden behind a wooden board on which was the tablet for the “Heaven, earth, lord, family and teacher” (tiandi jun qin shi ໽ഄ৯҆Ꮬ). Th is tablet was a completely conventional form of local worship. The painting depicted the patriarch as follows: “A Nine Yang Cap (i.e., Chunyang Cap) on his head, he wore a Gown of the Way with straight lapels; he sat upright with boys and girls attending him on both sides. To the left of the chair, a peach tree was painted and on the right a white horse.”26 This painting should not have caused any suspicion. The peach is a common symbol of long life, and, in ritual practice, the white horse refers to a messenger to heaven. We do not know how long a hidden painting had been used already, but it confirms that the Yao family was accustomed to being under official scrutiny. Oral traditions also circulated, including one story that was recorded only in the 1980s.27 The story indicates how the patriarch was imagined in much the same way as other religious leaders. As the story has it, around noon every day, the young Yao Wenyu could be found herding his ducks, and each time his food was stolen by a “lonely essence” (gujing ᄸ㊒), possibly a hungry ghost. He was not disturbed by this, and it went on for three years, at which point the “lonely essence” decided to do something for him in return. It donated two treasures to him, namely, a “Mirror that Reflects Demons” and a jade seal with the text

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“receiving [a Mandate from] Heaven to carry out good” (fengtian xingshan ༝໽ 㸠୘). With these treasures, he was to do good, cultivate, and abide by the law. From then on, Yao Wenyu started to practice Buddhism and went on to be worshipped as a living Buddha. When the emperor got wind of these treasures, he dispatched people to search his house on three separate occasions, always unsuccessfully. Finally, they cut off the ear of the family’s three-year-old daughter instead as trophy,28 which recalls the military custom of cutting off the left ears of slain enemy soldiers.29 The belief that the patriarch of the Non-Action Teachings had received an exorcist mirror and a seal is a conventional construction of the supernatural confirmation of someone’s authority and legitimacy—in a sense replacing his personal charisma with a more routine form of charismatic transmission. Like so many foundational stories, at least in southern China, the emperor is depicted in a less than favorable role. We have already seen the story of Patriarch Luo, who was imprisoned by the Zhengde Emperor, and similar stories were transmitted about the Triads whose patriarchs had first defeated the barbarians for the imperial court and were then horribly persecuted.30 Possibly the story also kept alive a memory of earlier persecutions during the Qing period.

Charisma in the provinces Keepers of the faith in Jiangxi The only surviving son of Patriarch Yao, Yao Duo, had two surviving sons. We have already encountered the fi rst, Yao Shi, whose descendants were mainly active in the south of Zhejiang. His second son, Yao Zhe, first settled in northern Fujian and traveled around various cities in southern China before founding a “vegetarian hall of the Yao family” in Guixi in Jiangxi. How this hall functioned initially is not entirely clear, but a number of descendants acted as its “lordship” or xianggong Ⳍ݀31 in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The hall held a yearly Lighting the Candles ritual attended by the acting lordship and many of the adherents. Followers took very seriously the embodiment of Patriarch Yao’s charisma by his descendants, and a continued line of descendants was imperative. When Yao Shanglian ྮϞ༽ (1823–1873) died, his son Yao Yuhua ྮ㚆㧃 (1862–1905) was still very young. Nonetheless, he succeeded to the position of lordship, with his mother in charge of the vegetarian hall, while the older generation of believers took care of daily affairs. When he died of an illness in 1905, a similar situation arose. His fourth wife, Ms. Huang (whom he had married locally), took care of the vegetarian hall, and his eleven-year-old son, Yao Yaofeng ྮฃᇕ (1895–1918), succeeded to the position of lordship. When he also died at a young age, his own son had already predeceased him, and the position of lordship fell vacant. Ms. Huang sent a telegram to Qingyuan, asking for a successor from the local branch of the family. A niece of one of the other wives of the late Yao Yuhua, Ms. Wu, got wind of this and hurried to Guixi, quickly taking a young boy from another branch of the Yao family with her. Ms. Huang was unaware of this decep-

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tion and accepted the boy as the new local lordship. The then head of the Qingyuan family, Yao Yunan ྮ㚆ἴ (1837–1921), ordered his fi ft h son, Yao Tongfeng ྮḤᇕ, to go to Guixi and investigate the situation with the family genealogy in hand. A serious confl ict broke out locally when the adherents got wind of the true situation. A compromise was reached that an alternative descendant should be sent. Th is time, the young man’s mother protested, and when another boy was picked, yet another clan member protested. In the end, the oldest son of Yao Tongfeng was selected, whom Ms. Huang accepted as her grandson and the new lordship. The young man was Yao Bingjing ྮ⚇ᭀ (1907–1959). He received the religious name Puyao, and it turned out he was the last Jiangxi lordship. He traveled to Jiangxi once a year for the requisite rituals but apparently continued to live in Qingyuan. During the Japanese invasion, Ms. Huang died and the hall was destroyed, bringing the local tradition to an end.32 The effort that was spent on keeping the lineage alive indicates that there was still a substantial local movement interested in the embodied charisma of Patriarch Yao. In the early eighteenth century, an alternative Yao family network came into being in Jiangxi province. Here the evidence stems exclusively from the Qing archives and is not compatible with the abundant genealogical information on the family in southern Zhejiang. During the persecutions following the 1748 incident in northern Fujian, the attention of local officials also turned to Jiangxi. As far back as 1700 or thereabouts, a local leader called Chen Pushan 䱇᱂୘ had invited a descendant of the patriarch, Yao Huanyi ྮ✹ϔ, to his native Linchuan. In 1727, his son, Yao Wenmo ྮ᭛䃼, came to Shicheng in Jiangxi, accompanied by his wife. He and his sons later spread the teachings further. Numerous texts were confiscated, but none of them can be convincingly associated with the NonAction Teachings.33 Linchuan was an old center of the Yao lineage, so it is not surprising that local adherents valued a Yao presence, even though none of these names can be confirmed in the Yao genealogy. The name of Yao Wenmo is even in direct contradiction with common rules of propriety; it violated the name taboo of their ancestor Yao Wenyu by using the character wen.34 Local followers, however, believed the claims to be true, and the invented Yao lineage maintained itself, thanks to the widespread belief in the embodiment of the patriarch’s charisma in his descendants. Keepers of the faith in Hangzhou At the same time, another center of the Yao patriarchy existed in Hangzhou that was known as far away as Jiangxi. In 1847 in Changning of southern Jiangxi province, a group that believed Patriarch Luo had been reborn into the Hangzhou Yao family was arrested. This group clearly did not have the Overall Record to hand because their story diverged in important ways from that text and had clearly developed orally in new directions. In the Zhengde period of the previous Ming dynasty, there was someone with the family name Luo who served the Buddha very devoutly.

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He kept a vegetarian diet and maintained the [Five] Precepts, but did not have his hair ritually shaved off [as a monk should have]. He lived in a house and had fathered children, no different from ordinary people. Those who followed him were very numerous. They lived all over Shandong. Officials were afraid he would stir up confusion, so got hold of him and had him chained up in prison. It so chanced that a great drought colored the ground red over a thousand miles. Prayers were ineffective and Luo said of himself that he could make it rain. The high official memorialized to allow him to be temporarily set free and let him try out his techniques. Luo went to the seaside and looked at the ocean. He recited spells, and within three days a great rain fell as if [heaven was] spilling over. The withering grain was completely reinvigorated. Local people hurried to request that his life be spared. He was not chained up in prison again. They set him free and let him return home. After a few years he died of a disease. His numinosity did not diminish one bit and he was reborn in the Yao family in Hangzhou. As soon as he was born he did not eat from the stinking categories (which include meat, as well as garlic and ginger). When he had grown up, he took the dharma name Puren ᱂ҕ. He spread the teachings very widely. Because he encountered calamities, he was clear about his original roots (sugen ໭ḍ). He still continued his old (i.e., previous incarnation’s) family name, and called it the Teachings of Patriarch Luo. Although the patriarch’s ser vice to the nation was changed into combating a drought, the underlying structure of arrest, imprisonment, and suffering was preserved. The changes in the story show that the original myth was still relevant to the believers and had therefore been adapted to their current circumstances, in which problems along the border were much less important than problems with the weather. At the time of this incident, this group believed another descendant of the Yao family, Pude ᱂ᖋ, was the present head of the tradition, with the rank of Overall Command (zongchi 㐑ᬩ).35 The stories about a descendant of the Yao family living in Hangzhou and called Yao Puren ྮ᱂ҕ go back to confessions dating from 1753. He supposedly oversaw the teachings from an ancestral hall in the residence of the deceased Xu Hongwen ᕤᓬ᭛. The name Puren also appears in the ritual manuals (both in the Changshu and the Changle manuals) and the family genealogy, but we cannot connect him to any actual person in other sources. Despite the best efforts, officials were unable to track down either him or Xu Hongwen. The patriarch’s descendants in Qingyuan successfully denied any knowledge of him or the Puren figure.36 We know from other sources that by the early nineteenth century the Yao lineage had established itself in Hangzhou and maintained a center there until the 1950s, but we cannot link this center directly to the figure of Yao Puren. In the decades before the Second World War, several halls in northern Zhejiang and

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Jiangxi oriented themselves around the Yao family in Hangzhou, rather than the Guixi vegetarian hall or the ancestral center in Qingyuan.37 The movement’s local leader in the early 1950s was Yao Changshou ྮ䭋໑ or Puxing ᱂㟜. He was called his lordship (xianggong). When the police started to register all religious movements, Yao Changshou and his fellow leaders decided that one of them would register while the lordship went undercover as a Daoist. They left the characters “Non-Action” in their ancestral hall but replaced the tablet for “Heaven, earth, lord, family and teacher” (tiandi jun qin shi ໽ഄ৯҆Ꮬ) with a statue of Shakyamuni, the historical Buddha. The statue or depiction of Patriarch Yao was hidden behind it in the same way as was customary in the ancestral hall in Qingyuan. In the end, Yao Changshou was rounded up and “dealt with”—a euphemism for arrest and possible execution.38

Between repression and routine Although most of the time the majority of the local groups in the Non-Action Teachings did not run into trouble, when they did, an archival record came into being. I do not have space here to discuss all available evidence and analyze only a few especially detailed and informative cases.39 The archival record is skewed toward the extraordinary, and we have to read it carefully to uncover the daily routine of the large majority of local groups rather than being misled into taking the exception for the rule. I have included only those groups that exhibit a substantial number of shared characteristics with the late-Ming Non-Action Teachings. As far as we can tell, this individual creativity never led to long-term change, whether locally or in the movement as a whole. I conclude this section with a brief history of a coastal lineage of the movement in Fujian province that reveals the routine character of the movement, including its internal tensions and disputes.

T h e O l d O f f i c i a l Ve g e t a r i a n s i n    Because the violent incident instigated by Old Official Vegetarian groups in 1748, in northern Fujian, involved rudimentary messianic beliefs, this case has formed an important part of the argument that the Non-Action Teachings—like so many other new religious groups of the late-Ming and Qing period—was a messianic tradition.40 Because of its importance in the movement’s historiography, I discuss it in more detail here. Lay religious movements in Fujian around 1748 After the incident, all lay religious movements in northern Fujian were told to report themselves voluntarily. Th is resulted in the following rare and interesting survey that shows just how widespread the movement was, despite almost inevitable underreporting.41 In the two counties of Putian and Xianyou in Xinghua Prefecture there is the Golden Pennant Teachings ( jinzhuangjiao 䞥ᐶᬭ, emending

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tong ス to zhuang),42 who worship the Great Lord Guanyin (guanyin dashi 㾔䷇໻຿), men and women gathering together and eating vegetarian food. In Shaowu County in Shaowu Prefecture, there are the two Teachings of the Lord of Heaven and of the Great Vehicle (tianzhu dacheng erjiao ໽Џ໻ЬѠᬭ), the members of which eat vegetarian food and worship inside their homes, and have no sutra-halls. In Jianning County (N.B. not to be confused with Jianning Prefecture, see later), there are two vegetarian halls of the Teachings of Luo. In Changting County in Tingzhou Prefecture, there are fourteen vegetarian halls of the Teachings of Luo, the Gate of the Great Vehicle (dachengmen ໻Ь䭔), and the Gate of the Single Character (yizimen ϔᄫ䭔). In Ninghua County, there are thirteen vegetarian halls which were formerly vegetarian halls of the Teachings of Luo that were changed into vegetarian halls worshipping Guanyin. In Qingliu County there are thirteen vegetarian halls of the different teachings. In Guihua

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County there are thirteen vegetarian halls of the Gate of the Great Vehicle. In Liancheng County there are two vegetarian halls of the Teachings of Guanyin and the Gate of the Great Vehicle. In Wuping County there are six halls of the Teachings of Guanyin. In Nanping County in Yanping Prefecture, there is one vegetarian hall of the Teachings of Luo. In Xiapu County in Funing Prefecture, there is one vegetarian hall of the Teachings of Luo. In Jian’an County in Jianning Prefecture, there are four vegetarian halls of the Teachings of Luo. In Songqi County, there is one vegetarian hall of the Teachings of Luo. In Chongan County, there is one vegetarian hall of Guanyin. In Zhuluo County in Taiwan Prefecture, there are two vegetarian halls of the Teachings of Luo. The list probably largely covers the Non-Action Teachings, but other movements, such as the Golden Pennant Teachings and the Teachings of the Lord of Heaven (probably Christian groups, despite their presumed vegetarian customs), were also caught up in the repressions.43 The officials limited themselves to brief on-the-spot investigations of the halls, without following up who visited them over lengthier periods of time. Their reports claim that usually between two and ten adherents lived in these halls at any given time, spending their days reciting sutras and performing penance rituals. Sometimes, people who were weak and old, with disabilities or illnesses or without someone to rely upon, made a living based on these activities. Clearly, the officials overlooked the fact that most adherents lived outside the halls and participated only on special days.44 Another memorial specifies that vegetarian gatherings were held once or twice a month and that several tens or even almost a hundred people might come to such an event.45 Possibly the elderly people functioned as caretakers in exchange for food and used the halls as a retirement home. When adherents worshipped at home, they would, of course, have escaped inclusion in such surveys. Similar evidence on the distribution of the movement in this province, but a little earlier in time, can be found in the local history of Zhangpu in southern Fujian. In Zhangpu there were of old many of the Non-Action Teachings. They did not drink alcoholic beverages, nor did they eat smelly stuff [such as meat]. They also did not shave off their hair [unlike monks]. They were roughly of the same type as the “White Lotus Society or the White Cloud tradition.” Each head of the teachings would gather [his or her] pupils, those with large numbers over a hundred, and those with small numbers no less than several tens. They would build separate halls (wu ሟ) to worship Buddhas. They name their halls Sutrahalls ( jingtang ㍧ූ). The head is called a Teacher. Both men and women can enter the teachings. Men are called Vegetarian Gentleman (caigong 㦰݀) and women Vegetarian Mother (caima 㦰႑). [beginning

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of small print:] They are also called Vegetarian Gentleman (zhaigong 唟݀) and Vegetarian Mother. In the local language of Zhangpu zhai [sounds as] cai [end of small print]. On the first and fifteenth day of the moon month, they have meetings, called Vegetarian Meetings. They gather people to burn incense and worship Buddhas, “gathering at night and dispersing at dawn” and “inciting people to do good.” People everywhere are deluded by it. When, in 1702, a female leader of the movement committed a sex-related offense, the movement came to the attention of the local magistrate. He had all four sutra halls within the county capital confiscated and ejected the adherents. One was turned into a Hall for Nourishing Infants (a charitable institution for foundlings) and another into a public hall without known purpose. A third hall was sold to the author of the account for the sum of fi ft y silver tael and a fourth to local gentry for the sum of thirty silver tael.46 Undoubtedly, the adherents reconstituted their halls elsewhere, and additional halls inside or outside the county capital escaped this official’s attention. Together with the memorial quoted earlier, this account illustrates the movement’s widespread nature, the substantial size of some groups, and the amount of money that could be invested in specific halls. The 1748 incident The violence of the Old Official Vegetarians (laoguan zhai 㗕ᅬ唟) in northern Fujian in early 1748 was prompted by the arrest, a few months earlier, of a prominent local leader, Chen Guangyuao 䱇‫ܝ‬㗔 (religious name Puzhao), together with some other members. They had been arrested because they “had built sheds with mats as roofs in the public street and had gathered many people to recite sutras and light candles.” A local neighborhood head had then reported them to the authorities. The remaining followers became afraid that they would be embroiled in the follow-up and decided to spring their fellow adherents from the prefectural prison.47 The incident was caused by the escalation of small-scale repression by the local government in response to zealous religious activities and was not an autonomous rebellious action. The rescue plan was conceived and carried out by five halls, all located slightly to the northwest of the prefectural capital of Jianning. Apparently, their relationship with the surrounding villages was not good, and, given that they also tried to pressure local inhabitants into supporting their cause, it is not surprising that local villages played an important role in thwarting their plans to rescue their leader.48 In the end, important participants in the incident fled into the nearby mountains and hid among the “shed people” (pengmin Ắ⇥)—migrant laborers who cultivated indigo for the market. Whether the adherents of the Non-Action Teachings were also indigo cultivators is unclear, but it is certainly possible. If they were, they would have participated in a wider economy and labor market beyond the surrounding villages, which might explain the apparent animosity between them and neighboring communities.49

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The Old Official Vegetarians paid tribute to the Yao lineage and clearly belonged to the same overall religious movement, despite their local nickname based on one of their initiation ranks. Local officials traditionally left them alone because they engaged in only vegetarian fasts and the practice of good. They used the religious affi liation character pu to indicate their allegiance. Both men and women could join, and northern Fujian had a large number of local followers. Curiously, according to the official memorial on the case, they also believed that Patriarch Yao was the Maitreya in Heaven (tianshang mile ໽Ϟᔠࢦ) or the Saintly Ancestor without Extreme ⛵Ὁ㘪⼪.50 These identifications are strange because the movement’s written texts never equate any patriarch with Maitreya, and their Saintly Ancestor without Extreme would have been Patriarch Luo. At any rate, they were not planning for the advent of Maitreya on earth on a specific occasion in the near future, so this memorial does not allow us to categorize the group as messianic in nature. The full autonym of the local movement was Orthodox Tradition of the Great Vehicle (dacheng zhengzong ໻Ьℷᅫ), which was one of this movement’s well-established autonyms, although officials at fi rst associated it with an unrelated messianic movement in Yunnan.51 Their oldest hall, Hall of the Brightness of the Vegetarian Fast (zhaiming tang 唟ᯢූ), was led by Chen Guangyuao. He “engaged in meditation and inquired into the Way” (zuogong candao തࡳগ䘧), which was common terminology, inside the movement, to describe someone’s inner progress.52 Inspired by his charisma, his pupils had founded numerous halls in the surrounding villages, namely, the Hall of a Thousandfold Prospering, the Hall of Obtaining the Encounter, the Hall of the Rise and the Beginning, and the Hall of Pure Humaneness. The names indicate their long-term religious aims, rather than any immediate change inspired by messianic expectations. Subsequently, officials also confiscated the Small Vehicle of 28 characters and the Great Vehicle of 108 characters—the two brief texts that were transmitted during the initiation ritual.53 Finally, the movement possessed the “Circumstances of the Three Generations of the Yao Family” (yaoshi sanshi yinyou ྮ⇣ϝϪ಴⬅), without doubt the same document as the Overall Record. All of these elements confirm the allegiance of these groups to the larger tradition of the Non-Action Teachings. A female medium who was also an adherent of the movement, together with her husband, played a crucial role in diverting this network of devotionalist groups to a more active course. She was called Ms. Yan ಈ, with the religious name Pushao᱂ᇥ. She was married to Zhu Jinbiao ᴅ䣺῭, who was also known as Zhu the Maitreya ᴅᔠࢦ; she herself was alternatively known as Wife of the Old Official or Young Lady Zhu.54 “Old Official” refers to Zhu Jinbiao’s rank within this movement. The nickname Maitreya is not well explained in the archival record. Local people may have been inspired by the demonological messianic tradition in which purported descendants of former imperial families (such as the Zhu ᴅ of the Ming) are identified as saviors, supported by heavenly generals with heavenly armies, who would fight against the demons of the apocalypse.55 Or Zhu Jinbiao may have looked like the popular, nonmessianic potbellied Maitreya. At any rate,

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Ms. Yan claimed that when she had engaged in meditation (zuogong), “the teacher in heaven instructed her that Maitreya had to come down to earth to order the world.”56 Although the arrest of the preeminent local teacher served as a trigger for the entire incident, Ms. Yan then added her prophecy, which translated stories around the nickname of her husband into a scenario for concrete action. After the eventual repression of this local network of groups, her claims were soon forgotten and never entered the movement’s larger corpus of beliefs and practices. Ms. Yan claimed that Maitreya wanted to enter the prefectural capital, but his precise role was never explained. He may have been interpreted as an active savior (which would have been an innovation in the context of the movement) or merely as the inspector of his Dragon Flower Gatherings (sticking to the movement’s regular beliefs). The group tried, unsuccessfully, to use the prophecy about Maitreya to attract a larger following in order to enter the city and liberate their leader, as well as to rob nearby rich households. They went on a procession toward the city, led by the medium in a sedan chair and carry ing a Bodhisattva (pusa 㦽㭽) on a platform (tai ᪵). The people in the procession are described as jumping up and down, beating gongs, and waving banners. On the banners were slogans, such as the “Great Way of Non-Action,” “Carrying Out Affairs on Behalf of Heaven,” “Saintly Ancestor without Extreme,” and “Exhorting the Rich to Assist the Poor.” They created much destruction along the road and burned down the houses of as many as 193 families in nine villages. Luckily, many of the villagers had been alerted to the plan during the preceding days and had fled into the mountains with whatever they could carry. The procession was met in the open by local soldiers and villagers who successfully stopped them, causing most followers to flee for their lives. Local people beat to death the medium and several of her supporters. Two other groups were also routed before they could do much harm.57 Local rumor had it that the people in the procession numbered around a thousand, but in reality the count of participants was probably much lower. The official reports did not include people who subsequently drowned or hanged themselves or had been killed by local people, but the arrests included 44 people transferred to the provincial capital, 75 people still under investigation, and over 160 others still imprisoned in prefectural or county jails. As the Qing officials noted, some of these people were completely innocent locals, and others were merely vegetarians who were set free after someone vouched for them.58 This treatment confirms that the state did not consider this incident very serious. It probably involved local adherents as well as local ruffians intent on some violent action, but the numbers were not high. Several aspects of this incident need additional comment. For one thing, very little beyond the mention of Maitreya points to a truly messianic dimension. We do not know who the so-called Bodhisattva was. In messianic traditions, however, the figure of Maitreya is always a buddha and not a Bodhisattva. In the NonAction Teachings, by contrast, Maitreya would still have been a Bodhisattva: the Dragon Flower Gathering had to be held at the end of the present kalpa in the

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very distant future, and he could become a buddha only at that time. Of course, in popular parlance the word Bodhisattva can be used for any other local deity. What we do know for certain is that the future Buddha is not mentioned in his role of savior (or in any role at all); there is no mention of apocalyptic disasters, nor of a fi xed point, in the near future, when events will unfold themselves; and there is no mention of any kind of salvation. All evidence indicates a fairly conventional Non-Action Teachings group and certainly not a messianic plot. Of the slogans on their banners, the phrases “Carrying Out Affairs on Behalf of Heaven” (daitian xingshi ҷ໽㸠џ) and “Exhorting the Rich to Assist the Poor” (quanfu jipin ࣌⬫△䉻) certainly had a political dimension.59 But they do not reflect any deeper underlying political philosophy and could have been thought up on the spur of the moment. The most interesting element is the role of Ms. Yan. She is called by the Chinese term nüwu ཇᎿ, female medium. We can be fairly certain that this was an official label and not a term she would have used. Our sources give no information about her beyond that she claimed to have communicated with the “Teacher in Heaven” during her meditation. Whether Ms. Yan was a medium (who was regularly possessed by the same deity), a shaman (who was able to travel to heaven or the underworld), or merely an inspired believer who had a one-off vision remains unclear. Whereas the traditional historiography interprets her activities as the decisive moment when these local groups became one larger messianic movement, there is simply no evidence whatsoever of truly messianic ideas and activities. Her claims died with her and did not change the local movement. If Chen Guangyao had not organized his overly public religious gathering and aroused the ire of the local neighborhood head, triggering his arrest, his followers would never have been roused into action in the first place. And indeed, the officials who dealt with this case and its aftermath ultimately distinguished between the actual instigators of the events and the mass of vegetarians who had innocently come to be implicated. In their analysis, too, there was little evidence of anything with further ranging messianic ramifications. This larger group of adherents was eventually set free, and the movement as a whole survived unscathed.

O u t s i d e r o b s e r ve r s Before and after the 1748 incident, the Non-Action Teachings regularly drew the attention of outside observers. One particularly unusual source of information is longer and shorter observations made by Christian contemporaries, especially two lengthy accounts from 1658 or before. We also have a group of archival sources produced in the context of persecution, such as the detailed confessions of an old woman in 1753 and of people who were rounded up in the aftermath of the Eight Trigrams rebellion of 1813. We have detailed evidence on a case from 1847, consisting of the detailed official report and anecdotal materials—in other words, without the intermediary of central archival editing. Although these sources are not complete accounts, together they cover many dimensions of the Qing movement.

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A Christian account (1658) The “Sections to Awaken from Delusion” (xingmipian 䝦䗋㆛) are extant in a copy from 1658 and include two detailed accounts of the Non-Action Teachings. The mention of the rank of Old Official (laoguan) classifies it as a description of Fujianese practices, similar to those of the groups involved in the 1748 incident just discussed. The following summary of the movement’s teachings and structure contains colloquial elements that suggest a possible origin in an oral sermon. By the Zhengde period, there was someone called Luo Ying, a Chinese person, who spread the teachings of the Buddha. He taught people to abstain from killing, to hold fasts, to avoid reincarnation and to understand the cycle of life and death. [He also taught them] not to worship statues, to take emptiness as the way, and to cultivate one’s nature and return to emptiness. Nowadays those who transmit the teachings of Luo Ying all practice the secret words (miyu ᆚ䁲) of Huineng and the instruction of accepting the robe and the begging bowl. They consider Luo Ying as Patriarch Luo. They are divided into two teachings, one is called the Non-Action Teachings and the other the Secret Teachings of Purity. . . . If today someone is deluded into entering the secret teachings, he will first invite a teacher with a ritual gift. That teacher calls himself the Old Official. When someone receives the teachings, there are several sentences of secret phrases. They are transmitted in private, as follows: With the whole body as incense of faith, recite Amitābha Do not get lost too much in the underworld With focused heart constantly recite the way to return home Turn yourself around and jump out of the nest of life and death If your parents, wife, and children have joined the teachings first, they still do not dare to transmit these words to you prior [to the initiation]. They must wait for the teacher to receive his gift (li ⾂). Irrespective of whether they are male or female, young or old, in all cases a teacher must summon them to an isolated spot and only then can he [or she] transmit the several sentences of secret words. They have set up five levels [of initiation]. Initially you present several gifts and they will transmit the secret words to you as level one. After you have been set in the first class the next four levels all require that a gift is donated. Following upon the “thickness” or “thinness” (i.e., the size) of the gifts you ascend a level. Only after you have come to the fift h level can you be called an Old Official. When you have money and ascend a position, the stage is considered [a measure of] worthiness. The use of the word secret conforms to what we know of the initiation ritual. We might prefer the word esoteric, focusing on the fact that this lore should be shared

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only with those who deserve this knowledge and have been properly initiated. The secrecy is not absolute, but ritually determined. The practice of offering gifts is often a source of misunderstanding, although very common among religious groups in most cultures. It serves to cover expenses and expresses respect toward the teacher. Later in this account, he even links the teachings and its secrecy to “rebellion, practicing licentiousness and stealing or robbing,” as well as “causing people to become envious” and inciting them to become criminals.60 The Christians wrote about the Non-Action Teachings because local officials conflated Christianity with other new religious movements. This had happened during the late-Ming dynasty and again a few decades later in 1702, when a local official in Zhangpu (southern Fujian), after having first closed down four NonAction Teachings’ halls in the city itself, then came down on the local Christian mission.61 During the 1748 incident, Western missionaries were again arrested and even shared prison cells with some vegetarians. The Teachings of the Lord of Heaven were included in the 1748 list of dangerous religious groups.62 During the great sorcery scare of 1768, various new religious groups were rounded up, including the Teachings of Luo, which was made up of the laborers on the tribute grain fleet in Suzhou and Hangzhou (a very distant relative of the Non-Action Teachings); the Long Life Teachings, which had split off from our movement in the late Ming period; and again the Teachings of the Lord of Heaven (this time in northern China).63 The confession by Ms. Zhou Xiji (1753) In 1753, a small network of believers was apprehended in the Ningbo region. Among those who were arrested, one woman, Zhou Xiji ਼୰ঢ় (Pudong ᱂ẳ), produced an extremely informative confession.64 Her original confession was summarized as follows: I am seventy-two years old this year and have eaten vegetarian fasts for many decades. I was recruited by my husband Li Bida ᴢᖙ䘨 with the dharma-name Puguang ᱂ᒷ. The sacred texts that I recite have been transmitted by Patriarch Luo. Our patriarch Yao Pushan was the third incarnation of Patriarch Luo. He was born in the eastern corner of Qingyuan County in Chuzhou. Later he awakened to the Way, awakening to (wuchu ᙳߎ) the exercise of sitting (zuogong[ fu] തࡳ ໿), and transmitting it to the world. Therefore we eat vegetarian fasts, practice exercises, and still recite the sacred texts of Patriarch Luo. Patriarch [Yao] Pushan did not have [his own] sacred texts. Furthermore, the first exercise level is called Small Vehicle, when one recites a gatha of 28 characters. The second level of exercises is called Great Vehicle, with a gatha of 108 characters. On the third level there are no more gathas, there is only the Exercise of Sitting. . . . This Dragon Flower Gathering is [only intended] to exhort people to do good, truly intended for cultivation, and entirely without any kind

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of wicked behavior. Those who master the Small Vehicle contribute three coins and three maces (fen ߚ); those who master the Great Vehicle contribute one coin and two maces. To master the Third Vehicle you need one tael, [of which] six coins and seven maces are kept for the expenses of the fasts and Buddha-[worship], [while] three coins and three maces are kept to be sent to the Ancestral Hall.65 During the investigations, more people came forward, no doubt because they saw themselves as ordinary lay Buddhists, not as members of a dangerous new religious group or sect. They may also have felt secure because they possessed the “Proclamation to Protect the Way,” which claimed official permission from the Kangxi Emperor to practice their beliefs. Zhou Xiji, too, practiced only at home, and her group did not have a separate hall.66 The description of the movement given by Zhou Xiji is quite consistent with that of our unknown Christian missionary—including the importance of ritual gifts. The self-understanding of the movement was clearly as a peaceful lay Buddhist group. The group, as a whole, possessed many of the movement’s texts. The persecutors confiscated a long list of texts and paraphernalia from Zhou Xiji’s home, including a “Proclamation to Protect the Way,” the “Dharma-guide to the Small and Great Vehicle” (xiaodacheng fayin ᇣ໻Ь⊩ᓩ), Dragon Tablets (longpai 啡⠠), the “Sixteen Maxims of the Saintly Edict,” the Circumstances of the Three Generations (sanshi yinyou ϝϪ಴⬅), a membership register, books, lists of names, draft forms, vow forms, sacred texts, and the woodblocks used to print the proclamation and the Dharma-guide. Zhou Xiji and a fellow pupil both possessed a copy of the texts. They denied having printed further copies, but there is no knowing what Ms. Zhou’s husband had done while he was still alive.67 The Circumstances of the Three Generations refers to the Overall Record of the Circumstances of the Three Incarnations of Patriarchs on-High. The “Sixteen Maxims of the Saintly Edict” probably belonged with the proclamation, which claimed that the Kangxi Emperor had officially legalized the movement; the Sixteen Maxims were one of this emperor’s most famous oral exultations.68 The maxims were also recited as part of the initiation ritual. The other materials were largely intended for use while carry ing out the rituals of the first three levels of initiation.69 Zhou Xiji explained that each member was expected to initiate seven other people, which fits the way the lineages created by Patriarch Yao were originally imagined.70 The Zhang Qikun network (early 1800s) A large network of followers was arrested in 1814–1815, a year after the Eight Trigrams rebellion.71 This messianic rebellion was led by a charismatic figure named Lin Qing. Members of the group had attacked the Forbidden City in Beijing and penetrated far into the complex before they were stopped. A corresponding rising in Hua County took longer to defeat, but before the year was out, the rebellion was defeated. Especially because of the attack on the imperial palace, the Manchu court felt thoroughly rattled, and an empirewide hunt for new religious groups

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ensued. This campaign of persecution would be surpassed in its thoroughness and deadliness only by the communist repression of new religious groups in the 1950s. One of the networks rounded up was centered on the figure of Zhang Qikun ᔉ䍋സ (religious name Putian ᱂⫰), who came from Jiangxi and definitely belonged to the Non-Action Teachings. He personally converted as many as twentyone other people. He had the Five Books in Six Volumes printed but supposedly (and somewhat unbelievably) gave a copy to only one of his pupils, and the others had to copy the texts for themselves. His pupils went on to teach their lore to others as well, one of them to as many as ten people in all. The total size of the network uncovered by the Qing state was forty-nine people, all of whom recognized Zhang Qikun as their ultimate teacher. This was very much a missionary network rather than an established group. Zhang must have had a great ability to attract people, but sadly the sources remain silent on his personality. In the archives, their teachings are called either the Teachings of Luo, the Teachings of Patriarch Yao, or the Great Vehicle Teachings—it is unclear which names the adherents actually used and which were forced on them by their interrogators. The geographical mobility of their professional activities drew the attention of the authorities, unlike the residential networks, which managed to avoid drawing attention to themselves. Among the adherents were an opera singer (Zhang Qikun himself ), a merchant, two barbers, and a tailor. Their travels had taken them through Hubei (Hanyang), northern Jiangxi (Guixi and Yugan), Zhejiang (Hangzhou itself ), and Jiangsu (Yizheng, near Yangzhou), far distant from their places of birth. They shared a crucial element of the Patriarch Luo biography with another Jiangxi group dating from 1847, namely, the belief in the patriarch as an incarnation with the name Puren ᱂ҕ, who had been reborn in the Yao family in Hangzhou. This element is not attested in other provinces and is not included in the mythological biography discussed earlier, and it seems to be a specific Jiangxi development. The official verdict was that most adherents acquired their religious knowledge as a means to earn some money, which was also one of the accusations made by the anonymous Christian source dating from 1658 or earlier.72 Given their actual professions, this is not impossible, but surely not the entire story. The accusation was fueled by a deliberate misconstruction of such gifts as mercantile and not imbued with proper sentiments (renqing Ҏᚙ)—unlike, of course, gifts made by oneself. As one of the adherents noted, joining the teachings and studying the lore was also intended “to exhort people to do good.” If you converted each other, you could “destroy disasters and obtain good fortune,” as well as “lengthen your lifespan.” These aims formed the basis of traditional Chinese religious life and are explicitly mentioned in the ritual manuals. One of the adherents was recommended to join because he “suffered from a foot ailment.” An adherent who settled down in Yizheng in northern Jiangsu to work as a barber founded a small hall containing the image of Guanyin, where he recited sutras and held fasts. This was hardly a simple method of making a little extra money.73 The network had a complete archive of the movement’s knowledge. Except for the “Proclamation to Protect the Way,” they owned a complete set of the Five

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Books in Six Volumes, Mingzong’s Precious Scroll on Filial Piety and Righteousness, and some unrelated writings (the Diamond Discussion Sutra [jingang lun jing 䞥 ࠯䂪㍧] and the Clear Collection of Meanings and Instructions [yizhi liaoran ji ᛣ ᮼњ✊䲚]). In addition, they had the complete ritual lore belonging to the movement’s first six initiation stages. This knowledge was transmitted in the conventional way, with the precise amount of lore divulged being determined by the size of the ritual gift. Zhang Qikun had a seal with the phrase “teaching and transforming in place of the patriarch” (daizushi jiaohua ᐊ⼪᏿ᬭ࣪) and had a seal of his own made carry ing the phrase “Putian transforms in place of [the patriarch]” (putian daihua ᱂⫰ҷ࣪). At first sight, this phrase seems a trivial detail, but it took up one of the movement’s core ideas, that the higher teachers transmitted the teachings on behalf of the patriarchs in the “separate transmission outside of the teachings.”74 To local people who were unaware of these internal ramifications, however, the use of this seal must have placed Zhang Qikun on a par with regular local ritual specialists who also used such phraseology. After Zhang Qikun was arrested in 1814, the group lay low. When they heard that the case had been concluded, they decided to hold another gathering. They called it a Guanyin Gathering, befitting the movement’s Pure Land message. Its success drew the attention of local officials, and then everybody was rounded up. One of the adherents described the ritual in great detail, even giving a list of the twelve stages of the initiation and revealing the movement’s two most sacred and esoteric texts. After divulging these two texts, which are transmitted during the first and second stages of the initiation, he continued his report on the initiation ritual as follows: The third stage was called the Third Vehicle. For those who have studied until this stage a dharma name could now be picked. When a dharma name had been picked, tables had to be arranged in the square position of Heaven, Earth, Man and Harmony (he ੠). The upper [table] was Heaven, the lower [table] is Earth, and the left and right hand [tables] were Man and Harmony. The person who had received the teachings faced the outside, with his two hands, palms faced up, behind his back. The teacher who had transmitted the teachings pinched and kneaded the person’s palms. This was called opening up the mouth of the Five Phases. He called the left hand “three part immortal bones” and the right hand “three part immortal bones”; the two hands were clasped together and massaged repeatedly. He recited “hail” (suopohe) and encircled the bridge of the nose with the two hands, closed the eyes and administered Qi (stuff-energy, qi ⇷).75 This was the heart-seal. It was said that when you cultivated and became enlightened in the Way (cangong wudao গࡳᙳ䘧), you were not allowed to hit people, to take fi lthy things or to applaud once your Five Phases have been opened. After administering Qi, the respective spells of the Small and Great Vehicle were recited together.

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Each session consisted of four rounds of recitation. The more you could recite the better. After that you also recited the “Heart-Sutra of the Great Vehicle,” that is, the “Heart-Sutra of Ten Steps Forward and Ten Backward” (shijinbu shitui xinjing क䘆ℹक䗔ᖗ㍧), and the Sutra of Binding, the Sutra of the Origin of Heaven, the Sutra of the Ten Repayments, and the Sutra of the Ten Penances. The ritual manuals and this testimony agree that the dharma name, or the character pu, is transmitted at this stage.76 The main difference appears to be that here the transmission of the dharma name or heart-seal was placed in a cosmic context, by means of representing the cosmos in the ritual space through the placement of tables, followed by opening up the cosmos (i.e., the Five Phases) in the body and letting cosmic energy enter (i.e., administering Qi). None of this was fundamentally different from Daoist ritual practice, and local people would not have been too surprised by it.77 All of this, however, was just a further step toward what really mattered: to “cultivate and become enlightened in the Way.” These practices cannot be related to the descriptions in the ritual manuals but are connected to passages of a cosmological nature that describe the body in the classical cosmological terminology of the Five Phases, Eight Trigrams, and Twelve Earthly Branches.78 The other prescribed texts mentioned in this confession are mostly the movement’s stock texts and are easy to find in the ritual manuals. The fourth stage is again described in great detail, providing elaborations that cannot be found in the ritual manuals: The fourth stage was called Small Recruiter. All those who studied this stage had to burn five sticks of incense when they worshipped the Buddha. The middle stick was called Incense of Confirmation (dingxiang ᅮ佭), the next stick was called Incense of Injunctions ( jiexiang ៦佭), the third stick was called Incense of Compassion (cixiang ᜜佭), the fourth stick was called Incense of Insight (zhijian xiang ⶹ㽟佭), and the fi ft h stick was called Incense of Release ( jietuo xiang 㾷㛿佭). The teacher would transmit and say: “The left hand is good and the right hand is evil.” When you first burned the first, second, and third sticks of incense, you used the left hand. When after that you burned the fourth and fi ft h stick of incense, you would hold them with both your left and right hands and stick them [in the burner] together. When you worshipped the Buddha you would clasp your right hand with your left hand. This was called “good clasps evil.” After you had worshipped you would recite the Th ree Refuges and Five Injunctions. Although this practice cannot be found in the ritual manuals, they do, however, mention a similar practice in which different sticks of incense are linked to aspects of the movement’s teachings in the ritual for reciting the Five Books and Six Volumes.79 The way the left hand clasps the right hand is close to the traditional

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way of greeting people but distinct from the Buddhist practice of pressing two flat hand palms against each other. The procedure for stage five of the Great Recruiter again takes up a simple inner cultivation practice, to be carried out roughly at midnight when the force of Yin is at its strongest: Those who studied this stage had to cultivate and become enlightened in the Way every day at the third watch (which lasts from 23.00 to 1.00 o’clock). Each day when they had some leisure they had to take on the meditation posture. They had to firmly close the Gate of Heaven, transport their spirit with quiet mind (or heart), let the Qi ascend upward and have it go from the crown of their head out through the nose and mouth. The Six Gates were as follows: the eyes were the Eastern Gate, also called Broad Wood; the [nose] was the Western Gate, also called Supporting Staff;80 the ears were the Northern Gate, also called Commander of Hearing; the mouth was the Southern Gate, also called Red Field; down below, in front was called the Gate of Life; behind was called the Gate of Death. This passage is a straightforward description of the practice of inner cultivation by circulating Qi or cosmic energy throughout the body. The list of Six Gates usually refers to the six roots of perception—eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and consciousness—which can also be called the Six Thieves. The interpretation given here is quite remarkable in that the fift h item of the body is replaced by an opening in front (the penis, urethra, and vagina) and one at the back (the anus). The sixth stage is the last one on which we receive detailed information from this network.81 Only after the teacher had taught someone the Way of the Six Gates of the Chief of Sacrifice (sizhu liumen dao ⼔Џ݁䭔䘧) was this person ready to lead a ritual independently. This stage began by worshipping the Buddha. The Chief of Sacrifice told the participants to take care of the various elements of the fast. On top of the tables on which the sacrifices were placed were two candles called the Two Wheels of Sun and Moon. The offerings were called after the Five Phases of Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, and Earth. More specifically, the Buddha rice was called Metal, the branch of the juniper tree was Wood, tea was Water, candles were Fire, and the incense burner was Earth. The assignment of phases here is largely self-explanatory, and the classification of rice as Metal is conventional in Chinese food theory.82 The purpose of this identification was to reclassify the altar as a miniature version of the cosmos. The initiate needed to practice cultivation, become enlightened in the Way, and firmly close the Six Gates (as explained earlier).83 Connecting sacrifices with the Five Phases may seem strangely out of place in a lay Buddhist movement, but we have already seen in our description of the Vegetarian Fast, as well as in several accounts in the Causes and Fruits from the late Ming or early Qing, that the altar with its sacrifices was constructed as a microcosmos. This was derived from Daoist rather than Buddhist principles, yet it was no less conventional from the viewpoint of

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local ritual practice. There is no need to assume that these ritual innovations were exclusive to the Zhang Qikun network. When they worshipped the Buddha, one bowl was placed bottom up on top of another bowl with sticky rice from the Vegetarian Fast inside. This round object was placed on the altar. Then the candidates had to pull their arms into their sleeves, and only after that, they used their left hand (the “good” hand, according to the teachings of the fourth stage) to lift the top bowl. This was called “opening Heaven,” and at this point they recited “Amitābha Buddha of the Ten Directions,” as well as the Heart Sutra, the Sutra of the Heavenly Origin, and the Sutra of the Ten Repayments. The use of two bowls, placed one on top of the other, to represent the cosmos can still be found in vernacular Daoist ritual on Taiwan today.84 Thus, the altar is interpreted as a representation of the cosmos in the standard manner of Chinese ritual practice, including the ritual of the Vegetarian Fast of the Non-Action Teachings.85 The confession discussed earlier provides the most elaborate evidence on the actual practice of the movement’s initiation ritual up until Pan Sanduo’s reform movement in the 1870s, which I analyze in the following chapter. Cosmological notions are paramount. In the third stage, the body of the initiate was opened to cosmic Qi. In the fourth stage, the body was opened to a higher awareness of the nature of the basic Buddhist principles. In the fift h stage, the cosmic Qi was let in and circulated throughout the body. In the sixth stage, the ritual space was explicitly reconstructed as a microcosm but within a Buddhist rather than Daoist framework. At each stage, the movement’s standard spells and Buddhist teachings were transmitted, in line with the instructions recorded in the ritual manuals. A southern Jiangxi group (1847) In 1847, there was a violent incident in Changning County in southern Jiangxi that involved local adherents of the Non-Action Teachings.86 A group led by a well-to-do Tribute Student (gongsheng 䉶⫳) who was a follower of the teachings of Patriarchs Luo and Yao tried to capture the county capital. According to local stories, he did not initially want to take any action but was persuaded to do so by the use of a karma mirror that predicted a future high position. He gathered fellow believers as well as local no-goods. They planned to use the upcoming festivities for the local City God to enter the city surreptitiously, but news had got out and the city gates were closed. When they appeared before the gates, they were unable to get in. Soon afterward, troops arrived from neighboring Gan County, and the siege was lifted. The ringleaders were caught and executed on the spot; nineteen others were strangled, and seventy-two people were banished.87 Closer investigation shows the role of the Non-Action Teachings was quite limited.88 The incident had started with local Triad groups who wanted to free a member who had been rounded up.89 A temporary coalition was initiated between the Triads and some adherents of the Non-Action Teachings, who founded a special gathering for the occasion, called a Gathering of Lord Guan, after the popular local deity Guan Yu. They concluded a blood covenant without full-scale

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Triad initiation for those who were not yet members.90 Many of the other participants are described as “rural nitwits, who would not usually practice illegal stuff.” The entire group was little more than a hundred people and largely spurof-the-moment in nature.91 The entire incident took place against the background of a severe regional economic slump caused by the shift of the tea export trade from Guangzhou (Canton) in the south to Shanghai and Xiamen (Amoy) after the first Opium War (1839–1842). Scores of people had lost their jobs, and throughout the 1840s, the entire south was hit by repeated violent incidents.92 The 1847 incident was surprisingly similar in its coincidental nature to the 1748 incident in Jianning (northern Fujian), discussed earlier, and the 1895 murders of British missionaries by a local group in Gutian (northern Fujian), discussed in the following chapter.93 There were no long-term goals and no connection to the movement’s actual beliefs. The official in charge of the investigation, in the aftermath of the incident, gives the name of the movement as the Three Vehicles Teachings, a clear reference to the first three levels of the movement’s initiation rituals. Based on numerous arrests of adherents, he concluded that the adherents of these teachings only practiced a vegetarian diet, spread their teachings, and collected money, without being involved in other illegal activities.94 The role of one of the participants, Wang Chengjin ⥟៤䞥, is unclear. He clearly possessed extensive religious knowledge, although we do not learn his dharma name, and he may or may not have been an adherent of the Non-Action Teachings. Besides transmitting the Three Refuges and the Five Precepts and several texts (no titles given), he also taught a Spell of the Unborn Venerable Mother, the contents of which remain unclear.95 What we can tell is that this spell did not play any role in the incident itself, nor did the beliefs and practices of the Non-Action Teachings. For us, the relevance of the incident is less the actual events than the information on the movement that was gathered subsequently. Because of the perceived involvement of vegetarian groups, one of the people involved in the mopping-up operation arrested a small band of followers who did belong to the Non-Action Teachings.96 The author does not make clear whether the followers he caught were really connected to the incident, which suggests to me that they probably were not. This group represents the westernmost extension of the Non-Action Teachings known to us, but it was still loyal to the movement’s ritual practices and mythology. Its sacred texts ( jingdian ㍧‫ )݌‬are incoherent and filled with absurdities. It is roughly like the [teachings of the] Buddha, except that what they cultivate is the hope for riches and high position in a future life, rather than the Buddhists’ Nirvana and being without desire. It is somewhat different. When they take pupils, they are not called teacher and pupils, but Recruiter. The first character in their dharma-names is always pu. Only the next character distinguishes them. Those within the same teachings call each other Friends of the Way. The sequence in which they practice the teachings consists of twelve steps.

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Except for the deprecatory comment that opens this passage, most of the account is remarkably matter-of-fact. The remark about the ultimate goals of the adherents may seem like a disparaging remark from outside observers, but it is not necessarily entirely untrue. Like most human beings, adherents would have had hopes of an improvement in their social status and economic circumstances, even if this was not always very likely. The other information is completely in line with the movement as we know it since its earliest days. Their teachings have spread to the provinces of Fujian, Zhejiang, Hunan, Guangdong, Anhui, Jiangsu, and Jiangxi. There are several Pure and Empty ones who provide leadership and regularly go back and forth. The yearly expenses of each stage are not the same. It is accumulated for the Pure and Empty ones to take with them and offer to the Overall Command. The payment of tribute to higher-level teachers confirms other Qing evidence and must have provided some sort of regional coherence. Although there was no central leadership, this kind of supralocal communication between adherents with high initiation ranks guaranteed that the basic rituals and teachings were maintained over time and space. The Yao family in their vegetarian halls in Qingyuan or Wenzhou in southern Zhejiang, Hangzhou to the north, or Guixi in Jiangxi stood at the peak of different local networks. Although these networks were not organizational units, they did guarantee an ongoing flow of information that would have stabilized the movement’s overall corpus of practices and beliefs. Our author then goes on to describe the ritual of reciting the movement’s sacred books, the Five Books in Six Volumes, which was always prefaced by an elaborate ceremony of lighting the candles: When they hold a Candle-gathering, they select an isolated spot and hire a large room to perform it. In the most important spot they put the tablet of the Old Patriarch Without Extreme [i.e., Patriarch Yao], by its side they arrange Manjusri and Samantabhadra. Some call these Puli and Pubo (founders of two branches on the same level as Patriarch Yao’s), who were a couple that had practiced the teachings. In the middle is placed an incense bushel as big as a basket. They set up cloth banners and burn sandalwood. On the side they burn twelve or sixteen huge candles. They recite their sacred texts day and night without stopping. After five or six days, they are finished. The people holding a [teachings-]slip ask for distribution (described earlier as people of level 7). He who holds the rank of Pure and Empty (level 11) has beforehand taken printed slips with empty white spaces with him from the place of the Overall Command (level 12), and kept them at the place of the Candle Command (level 10). When this moment arrives they look at someone’s worth and hand them out [correspondingly].

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The last activity is not documented elsewhere. Given the importance of reciting the movement’s sacred texts, it is possible that all those who had participated in the meeting were given slips with their names on them as a kind of proof of their participation. The ultimate aim of each adherent was to register for the Dragon Flower Gatherings to be certain of salvation. We have seen that in the ritual manuals, this is conceived of as an act of writing because the keepers of the Saintly Patriarch write people’s names in the “Ledger of Formlessness” (wuxiang bu ⛵Ⳍ ㈓). Handing out slips accords very well with that approach. The existence of ledgers in which to track rewards and punishments was a basic belief of late imperial religious culture.97 The author concluded by observing that the movement was already some three hundred years old and had never been involved in any wrongdoing, which recalls similar statements officials made during earlier incidents—for instance, in the aftermath of the 1748 riot in northern Fujian.

The routinized transmission of charisma The Qing state interpreted the different stages of the movement’s initiation as evidence of a larger organizational structure. However, I have found no evidence that this hierarchy was actually used for supralocal organizational purposes, apart from the bestowal of higher initiation ranks. Instead, the different stages represented levels of increasing access to esoteric knowledge. In its mature phase, the Non-Action Teachings distinguished ten to twelve stages of initiation, although the average adherent rarely proceeded beyond the fift h stage. In its early days, the movement was still organized more or less horizontally, but by the time of the Christian account of around 1658, the signs of a more vertical system were becoming visible and some of the titles can also be found earlier.98 Patriarch Ying had transmitted a special dharma treasure, and Patriarch Yao frequently bestowed (fu Ҭ) certain core knowledge, which is described alternatively as the Way, the Dharma, Dharma Treasure, and “the luminous gatha of the four lines” (siju mingjie ಯহᯢ‫)؜‬. Possibly, this already referred to the poem of four lines and twenty-eight characters that was transmitted during the first stage of the initiation process, the so-called Small Vehicle.99 Transmitting this poem and its sequel of 108 characters, what would be called the “separate transmission outside the teachings,” always remained a central element of the Non-Action Teachings’ initiation process. By the early Qing, a more hierarchical system of transmission of the movement’s foundational charisma and core knowledge had come into being. The adherents were divided into ten to twelve ranks, called “steps” or bu ℹ. The fi rst three ranks covered the transmission of core lore—the separate transmission outside the teachings—and the higher ranks covered the responsibility for recruiting new members and officiating at the various rituals. Under this system, the transmission of the dharma treasure or its succeeding sutras was no longer the prerogative of charismatic teachers like the two Patriarchs Ying and Yao, but could be carried out by anybody who had reached a sufficiently high level of initiation. From a charismatic movement, the NonAction Teachings had become a routinized movement.

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The overall system remained the same everywhere, despite minor variations of the highest stages on a regional level. In Fujian, alternative names were used for the highest ranks, which seem to have referred to the general Buddhist belief that, in the final analysis, everything is empty or void. According to J. J. M. de Groot, the highest leaders in Xiamen (Amoy) in 1880 were the Supreme Void and Great Void, with the latter living in Fuqing, in northern Fujian. The three highest ranks of the Great Void, the Supreme Void, and the Pure and Empty were ideally celibate. If a new incumbent was already married, he or she did not need to divorce but should refrain from sexual intercourse. Only the Great Void was ordained like a Buddhist monk and could dress in ritual clothes during ceremonies. The only rank unique to Xiamen was Secretary (shuji ᳌㿬), a function that was also common in Chan monasteries. De Groot observed that the rank of Great Recruiter was obtained by a combination of moral behavior and financial support. The holder of this rank was supposed to pay for the rituals that transferred people to the Western Paradise. In addition, all ranks except Great Void could be achieved by men and women alike. This was not just a principle, but very much a social practice, especially at the lower levels. In fact, we have already seen evidence of the prominent role that women could play even within the different lineages of the Yao patriarchy on each occasion that the new head of the lineage was still too young to take charge. Some ranks could be bestowed only by the Great Void, in which case male adherents had to go to where he was, but women could obtain the requisite document from the leaders of their local hall. Everybody looked at each other as brothers and sisters, calling one another Vegetarian Friends (caiyou 㦰ট), Vegetarian Lords (caigong 㦰݀), Vegetarian Aunts (caigu 㦰ྥ), and their leaders Vegetarian Heads (caitou 㦰丁).100 In the 1950s, the different ranks were still well attested in the records of the suppression of new religious groups.101 The local police distinguished between leaders with higher ranks and lower members, dealing much more severely with the leaders and merely registering ordinary adherents who came forward. Registration may have had dire consequences later on in the period, but this is not specified in the sources. In Xiangshan County in Ningbo Prefecture, the authorities recorded three people with the rank of Overall Command, ten with the rank of Candle Command, and forty-three with the rank of Pure and Empty.102 The numerical spread of ranks probably reflects the internal structure, which would need very few people of higher rank but sufficient numbers for important ritual leadership. It also implies that many hundreds, if not thousands, of people were left more or less untouched by the authorities. A crucial aspect of this somewhat dreary enumeration of ranks and names is not the small variation over different regions or the recurring errors of transcription in the original sources, but that from the late-Ming period until the 1950s, the same ranks and names keep returning in our sources. A considerable routinization of transmission had taken place, a process that may have already started during the lives of Patriarchs Ying and Yao but had certainly been completed by the earlyQing period. The Non-Action Teachings had gone through a very clear charismatic phase in the late-Ming period, when it survived internal and external crises

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involving both seceding factions and competing ritual specialists, and by the early Qing, it was safely established in several provinces in southern China. This is documented extremely well in a coastal lineage that was founded in the first years of the Qing dynasty, to which I turn in the following section.

A c o a s t a l l i n e a g e: t r a n s m i t t i n g t h e d h a r m a t r e a s u r e The Non-Action Teachings had a strong historical sense that was clearly connected to the nature of its lineage transmission. One of its internal records, “Transmission of the dharma by the patriarchs through the ages” (lidai zushi chuanfa ⅋ҷ⼪᏿‫ڇ‬ ⊩), appears to be based on notes written throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The lineage was ancestral to many Taiwanese halls through the Yishi Hall ໍᰃූ in Fuqing County (Fuzhou Prefecture) and its mainland descendant, the Hanyang Hall ⓶䱑ූ in Xianyou County (Xinghua Prefecture). After listing Patriarchs Luo, Ying (as Yin), and Yao, the record provides biographies of thirteen patriarchs, followed by a summary of a succession dispute in the early nineteenth century and a much briefer list of the leaders of the Hanyang Hall. Here I concentrate on the patriarchal lineage in Fuqing. All in all, the “Transmission of the dharma by the patriarchs through the ages” gives a lively picture of this lineage from the midseventeenth century until well into the nineteenth century.103 The lineage was not isolated from larger historical events. In the biography of the Fift h Patriarch, Yang Shichun (1601–1645), we hear of the troubles that befell the movement during the Ming-Qing transition. “After Patriarch Yao underwent the catastrophe, the vegetarians of the ten directions were in trouble. Lord Pubu [i.e., Yang Shichun] fled from the troubles and hid himself in the household of Puren. For a number of years the teachings of the Buddha were carried on in hiding.” We know from the Causes and Fruits of the Seven Branches, as discussed in Chapter 4, that Yang Shichun was a prominent member of the movement.104 Curiously, his first successors were military figures in Jianning in northern Fujian, such as Zhang Jinsheng ᔉ䞥⫳ (1606–1654) and Huang Jijie 咗〡ྤ (1627– 1669). Huang originally came from Xinghua, and after converting and leaving the army, he opened up a grain shop in Jianning. He was able to promote the movement on the basis of his wealth. Both of his successors also came from Xinghua to become businessmen (probably shopkeepers) in Jianning, suggesting that this par ticular lineage was popular among local migrants. The latter of these two men was Zhang Dafa (1639–1706). As noted in his biography, “because the School of the Buddha underwent a catastrophe, he then returned to the household of Chen Puxing 䱇᱂᯳ in Changle County (near Fuzhou) in this province [i.e., Fujian] and started the teachings.” The dates of these events are not given, but the biography suggests a persecution around 1700 in the Jianning region. The persecution was probably confined to the locality, allowing him to continue the movement elsewhere.105 Chen Puxing, with whom Zhang Dafa took refuge, is well known as the founder of the Yishi Hall in Guanyin pu in Fuqing County.106 This must also have been how this par ticular hall then became so prominent in the northern Fujianese movement.

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Curiously, Zhang Dafa’s direct successor in the hall at Guanyin pu was Chen Guangsheng 䱇‫(⫳ܝ‬1646–1724), with the religious name Chen Puyue 䱇᱂᳜, sharing both Chen Puxing’s family name and the reference to celestial bodies in his personal name (yue meaning moon, and xing stars). Maybe there was a family connection. Similarly, Cheng Guangsheng was succeeded first by Zhang Jiayi ᔉ௝㕽 (1713–1755) and then Jiayi’s younger brother Zhang Lang ᔉ䚢 (1724–1788). These men lived through the provincial repression that followed the 1748 incident in Jianning, and yet we hear nothing about it. Apparently, the 1748 repression was not as thorough as we might have expected, and this lineage managed to escape attention. A recurrent topic in the biographies is the extent to which individuals exerted themselves for the teachings through the “sacrifice of their body and bitter practice” (sheshen kuxing ᤼䑿㢺㸠) and by “protecting the Way” (hudao 䅋䘧). These terms have strong Buddhist connotations, and the term “bitter practice” was used by the founders and early adherents to refer to their years of practice before they became enlightened. The biography of Zhang Lang tells us, for instance, how he “sacrificed his body and practiced bitterly,” together with his brother Zhang Dafa, to found a new hall and later together with the “great patron of the dharma” Lu Bing ⲻ⚇ (1739–1804). They established the authority of their hall in Fuqing over halls in the two counties of Xinghua and the four counties of Taiwan, as well as over other halls in several counties around the provincial capital of Fuzhou. Zhang Lang eventually passed the dharma treasure on to Lu Bing, who at first gave way to two other teachers, Chen Yiguan 䱇ϔ䉿 (1725–1802) and Zhang Puyou ᔉ᱂᳝(fl. late eighteenth century), because they were his seniors in age.107 Around this time, there must have been a conflict about the leadership, for in 1802 they gathered the followers (probably only the leaders of local halls) to draw lots to decide who should take on the movement’s “dharma burden.”108 This apparently did not solve the frictions, making it necessary for Lu Bing, on his deathbed in 1804, to ask another member to be his witness when he transferred the dharma burden to his younger brother Lu Desheng ⲻᖋⲯ.109 Lu Bing was the founder of the Hanyang Hall, which is still active today in Xianyou and is considered an ancestral hall by many Taiwanese halls. Although not stated in so many words in this source, the new hall was probably founded because of the succession conflict around 1802. Lu Bing was a sickly person, so his younger brother and successor, Lu Desheng, spent many years spreading the teachings on Taiwan. After introducing Lu Desheng as the fifteenth patriarch, the record becomes incomplete, and his date of death and place of burial are not recorded. The transmission of the dharma burden was broken, and our source continues to record only the leaders of the Hanyang Hall.110 The succession dispute revolved around the question whether an individual was devout and active enough as a religious teacher. As described by our record, two of these leaders first invited one of their colleagues, who was the head of the Restoring Faith Hall in Xianyou and had the mid-level rank of Transmitting the Flame. He turned down the rank of Overall Command on the grounds that he “did not know characters.” The two leaders realized that another colleague, who

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possessed the rank of Great Void, was “pure and high in his Way and Virtue.” Despite repeated requests, their colleague continued to turn them down. Different exchanges followed about potential candidates. One was lauded as someone who “fully penetrates the scriptures and is a man of true heart who can carry out the Way.” This man, however, confessed that ever “since he had received the favor of being transmitted the ‘dharma (or method) of the heart’ by lord Puzhou ᱂⌆ (a pupil of Lu Desheng’s), he had bitterly practiced day and night, inquiring for more than ten years. When all kinds of images appeared [during meditation], he was still unable to distinguish between right or false. In his heart he did not obtain an understanding [about them].” The discussions continued in a similar vein, revolving not around literary ability, but around religious practice and understanding. One local leader thought that he was particularly suited for the job. He then walked out of an important gathering of adherents from all the local halls to recite the Five Books in Six Volumes because he had not received sufficient recognition. The “friends of the way of the halls” then lost whatever trust they had in him.111 In the end, a leader was chosen who had “attained insight (can গ) by becoming enlightened (chengdadao ៤໻䘧)” and was able to explain “the affairs of the round and clear view by the Five Eyes, the contemplation of the coming and going of the golden bodies of the Buddhas” (wuyan yuanming, guanjian zhufojinshen wanglai zhi shi, Ѩⴐ೧ᯢ, 㾔㽟䃌ԯ䞥䑿ᕔ՚Пџ) completely to his colleagues. This teacher died young at the age of twenty-nine sui in 1842 and had been enlightened only a few years before, at twenty-three sui¸ which made his deep understanding of the teachings even more remarkable.112 Like many of their predecessors in the ancestral lineage, he and his recorded successors all made a living in commerce. One of them had a shop that dealt in grain.113 The history of this par ticular coastal lineage is one of incidental persecution, incessant missionary and organizational work, and an occasional succession conflict. As so often happens in the sources produced by the Non-Action Teachings, the inclusion of less flattering information is striking. The gap in information in the early nineteenth century could be due to either the succession struggle of those years or to local officials’ increased watchfulness in the aftermath of the Eight Trigrams rebellion of 1813. As a result, crucial information on the subsequent history of the lineage was not recorded. We should also note the geograph ical radius of this par ticu lar lineage. Although it descended from the original lineage in Qingyuan, it was soon taken over by people from Xinghua who were migrant workers in Jianning. The subsequent expansion of this par ticular lineage was confined to the coastal prefectures of Fuzhou, Xinghua, and Taiwan. Its relative isolation from northwestern Fujian may have protected it from the 1748 persecution, although officials at the time did take notice of some halls from other religious movements in Xinghua (specifically in Putian County). The cadre was made up of local traders and shopkeepers, the kind of people who may have been literate to a certain degree and capable of traveling to spread the teachings. Nonetheless, as we have already observed, not everybody was literate, which might explain why reciting the Five Books in Six

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Volumes had to be the focus of a large gathering, allowing the organizers to draw enough people who could assist in reciting the texts. All in all, the “Transmission of the dharma by the patriarchs through the ages” reveals a very active religious movement that was maintained by devout believers who were sincerely devoted to attaining insight and enlightenment and, again, did not have any messianic tendencies.

Claiming freedom of religious practice Somewhere in the late-Ming or early-Qing period, unknown adherents of the Non-Action Teachings created a legitimation document that had been purportedly promulgated by the emperor himself and that provided them with the right to practice their religion freely. It was a practical application of their foundation myth, which asserted that freedom of practice had been granted to Patriarch Luo because of his ser vice to the nation in the early sixteenth century. We have already seen that our religious groups could be quite assertive toward their local officials, and concocting an imperial document is yet another example of this type of self-confidence. Their activities also demonstrate that an independent discourse on religious rights did exist in traditional China, even if this bottomup approach was ultimately unsuccessful.

“The Proclamation to Protect the Sutras” The date of the text The extant versions of the “Proclamation to Protect the Sutras” (hujing bangwen 䅋㍧ὰ᭛) claim that the movement had received permission from the Kangxi

Emperor to practice their rituals and beliefs freely.114 An alternative name was “Proclamation to Protect the Way” (hudao bangwen 䅋䘧ὰ᭛). The document is dated to the sixth (1667), nineteenth (1680), twenty-third (1684), and/or twentyfift h (1686) year of the Kangxi period. Why these dates have been chosen is unclear. The title of the proclamation can refer to the protection either of the sutras (i.e., the Five Books in Six Volumes) or of the way, both of which refer to movement’s teachings. The dating of the proclamation as a cultural practice is difficult. It has little to do with the fictional dates contained in the text, but the oldest certain mention of such a text dates from 1746. Song Jun points out several hints of an even earlier date, such as the use of the administrative term “thirteen provinces,” which points to a Ming date.115 In two instances from 1774 and 1780, respectively, when the proclamation was confiscated, it is mentioned that the original stemmed from the Ming and had been edited to fit the Qing.116 The following account, from the Causes and Fruits of the Seven Branches, also links the imperial family and the Non-Action Teachings and places the events in the 1620s. It claims a Minister of Works, Xia Mao ໣㣖, as one of its adherents, although I have been unable to identify him in any historical sources. According to this account, the movement enjoyed the direct patronage of members of the Ming imperial family.

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When the mourning rituals were held for the mother of the Tianqi Emperor (1620–1627), they wished to invite the lay multitude of the Way (zaijia daozhong ೼ᆊ䘧ⴒ) for the recitation of the sutras. All of them belonged to the lineage of Xia Mao, the Minister of Works. In the entire court a vegetarian diet was maintained and butchering was prohibited. In response, two officials submitted a principled memorial against these practices and in favor of Classicism (ru), but Xia Mao and his supporters submitted a memorial of their own. They then got the support of the furious emperor, and the two officials backtracked by saying that when writing their memorial, they had not been fully aware of the great value of Buddhism. The emperor pardoned them, and the two converted to the Non-Action Teachings.117 We have no way of ascertaining the truth of this story, except we know that the birth mother of the later Tianqi Emperor (r. 1620–1627) died in 1619.118 Empress dowagers, empresses, and concubines, as well as their next of kin and the eunuchs serving them, had been among the most loyal and fervent lay Buddhist adherents of the capital region throughout the late-Ming period. It is not at all unlikely that such Buddhist mourning rituals were held for members of the imperial household at the time.119 We can conclude that the fragmentary evidence suggests a Ming origin for an earlier version of the document is definitely possible, although it cannot be proven conclusively. Extant versions Numerous copies of the proclamation are extant on Taiwan.120 Song Jun also mentions two versions preserved on the Chinese mainland, one from 1899 (provenance unspecified) and the other in the Tianjin library (not fully published).121 A version is included in the mid-nineteenth-century Precious Scroll with the Crude Words of Zhongxi (zhongxi cuyan baojuan ⴒ୰㉫㿔ᇇो), by Chen Zhongxi (1821–after 1850), a follower of the Long Life Teachings from Quzhou, slightly to the north of Chuzhou.122 Song Jun has shown that despite some differences in wording and internal structure, the proclamation was transmitted in a fairly stable form over time. In my discussion, I follow the sequence of the version preserved in the Dehua Hall in Tainan (Taiwan). The proclamation was transmitted as a manuscript in different formats. Some versions were reproduced in the form of a folded sutra, perhaps because it was easier to transport or hide from public view.123 By contrast, the proclamation preserved in the Dehua Hall was made for public display on the wall of a hall. Its text is written like an inscription, on a single sheet of paper, framed by a pair of dragons spitting out a flaming pearl on each of the four sides of the text. This framing of the document would have been viewed as conventional by most local people, who would regularly encounter similar adornments on stone steles and the roofs of important local temples.124

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The contents of the text Even a cursory inspection of the “Imperially Promulgated Proclamation to Protect the Sutras” (qinban hujing bangwen ℑ䷦䅋㍧ὰ᭛) would have shown an official that this was not a genuine imperial edict, as all versions of the text are repetitive and chaotic in their composition, and they contain the names of far too many officials and prominent figures from the imperial court. The version from the Dehua Hall begins with the statement “by means of an imperial rescript, the emperor has given the Dragon Placard to the vegetarian halls in the All-under-Heaven, and to the men and women of the Orthodox Teachings of the Great Vehicle who are practicing the Way.” They are to pray for the welfare of the emperor and the nation on the first and fifteenth days of the moon month and are not allowed to burn paper money for private purposes or submit memorials to heaven, which might cause natural disasters. Not burning paper money as a sacrifice was a core religious point of the Non-Action Teachings. The text then refers extensively to prominent figures in the court and high officials who have all allegedly supported this permission, which extends to the recitation of the Five Books in Six Volumes.125 The following passage then specifies some rules for the proper religious behavior of members of the movement to whom this proclamation applies. The Men of the Way of the Great Vehicle should each maintain pure rules. On the first and fifteenth of the month they should worship and open their sutras, to repay favors on behalf of the state and to pray for the extension of the long life of the Saint [i.e., the Emperor]. All Men of the Way who keep vegetarian fasts are permitted and ordered to copy the “Proclamation to Protect the Way” and to carry the document on their bodies. Before this it was already proclaimed and made known in an Imperial Instruction that all prefectures and counties are to strictly carry out warning off Daoists living at home, who shake their [sticks with] bells and carry a baton to set up Cosmic Renewal rites. If there are those who kill living beings, and sacrifice alcoholic beverages, or perform merit rituals for ancestors, they should themselves drop into hell. They should be tried according to the law and be banished to the frontier armies. This is a striking passage. Not only is this proclamation specifically targeted at the Non-Action Teachings, using the name Great Vehicle Teachings, but also Daoist ritual specialists are explicitly prohibited. Probably the statement served to emphasize the movement’s orthodoxy by comparing it with the heresy of other ritual practices. Another version of the proclamation adds the qualification that these Men of the Way “make the heart clear and see their inner nature, and indeed are Men of the Way who study the Way and consult Chan.” We have already seen many times that these phrases were the essence of the Non-Action Teachings. In the next passage, special permission is given to the Men of the Way of the Great Vehicle Teachings—that is, the Non-Action Teachings—to build their

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institutions everywhere. Because local officials sometimes shut down halls, with or without any prior cause, this would have been a major concern of local groups. The proclamation expressly forbids lower staff of provincial, prefectural, and county offices from abusing their official connections to extort Buddhist treasures. We read frequently about such behavior throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Other versions add that, in such instances, the Men of the Way were permitted to have such people arrested and convicted.126

The proclamation as a cultural practice The proclamation was frequently confiscated during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries (from groups belonging to the Non-Action Teachings in 1753, 1798–1805, 1814, 1816, and 1832). We have already seen that its contents were clearly related to the tenets of the movement and that several copies are still extant in its Taiwan halls (but not among other groups).127 Nevertheless, the earliest example from the archival record stems from a case that came to light in 1749 in Ruyuan County in Shaozhou in Guangdong and Yizhang County in Hunan (both counties very close to southern Jiangxi).128 This copy of the proclamation was confiscated, together with a variety of unidentified texts, from a lay Buddhist group that was alternatively called Teachings of Luo, Non-Action Teachings, or the Great Vehicle, all names suggesting that it was the same movement with which we are concerned here. They claimed to go back to a traveling Man of the Way in the Kangxi period (1661–1722), several decades before, and to have had at least seven halls.129 Although still located in southern China, this copy is geographically far removed from the usual locations of groups belonging to the movement. Because the other texts confiscated in this incident do not really fit in the usual repertoire of Non-Action Teachings materials, we have to suspend our judgment on the proper affiliation of this group. The find does suggest that the text must already have been in existence for some time because the next early copy stems from faraway Ningbo in 1753 and is clearly connected with the Non-Action Teachings. Except for the unclear case from Ruyuan in 1749, all instances when groups other than the Non-Action Teachings use the text date from much later. In 1811 and 1812, the text turned up in networks of teachers in northern Shanxi and Jilin, respectively. These two later cases cannot be linked either to the Non-Action Teachings or to the writings of Patriarch Luo, but it is interesting to see how far such a cultural practice could travel in little over half a century since its first certain appearance in the historical record in 1749.130 From the descriptions in the archival sources, these two northern groups were also fairly peaceful in nature. Apparently, the text had started to circulate independently of the Non-Action Teachings, no doubt because its assertion of the right to religious freedom was attractive to many other groups. In an especially interesting instance from 1820, a group of people from Guizhou in southern China who possessed a copy of the proclamation took the imperial promise quite literally, and one of them went to the capital to request a new copy. This led to his arrest and the unraveling of part of the network, but at the

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same time his action testified to a confident belief in the possibility of religious freedom. The original teachers in this network had texts that stemmed from the Non-Action Teachings and practiced a lay Buddhist lifestyle. However, we do not find that the group had any of the other characteristics of our movement, such as the religious affiliation character pu, ranks of initiation, and such rituals as burning candles and reciting the Five Books in Six Volumes.131 It is therefore difficult to establish the proper affiliation of this case, but given its late date, it is not surprising that the proclamation had begun to circulate outside the original movement. We have no way of knowing what kind of people would have accepted this document at face value, but it is not impossible that local yamen staff and village scribes might have done so. The extant documents looked impressive, and many people would not have been able to read them anyhow. The support of yamen staff was very important because they could, and did at times, pass on information about the intentions of local magistrates to warn members of the movement. We will see in the following chapter that yamen staff might also function as predators on adherents. Such a document would have provided prima facie credibility, at least in a local bureaucratic context. Finally, the document provides us with yet another insight into the ability of the Non-Action Teachings to create a historically coherent and moderately convincing self-image.132 In a recent study, Hung Ho-fung has shown that different forms of peaceful demonstrations and petitions were quite common in the midQing period (and one suspects in other periods as well).133 As always, the protests that drew attention were not necessarily those that succeeded, but they confirm a widespread sense that local people had rights and officials had obligations and that people could express themselves on these rights and obligations. The NonAction Teachings was therefore not unique but certainly developed the notion of the right to religious freedom more systematically than others in the form of the “Proclamation to Protect the Sutras.”

Concluding observations So much of our evidence for the Qing period was produced during periods of suppression and persecution that it is difficult to get a good sense of normal religious life. Luckily, internal sources, such as the “Transmission of the dharma by the patriarchs through the ages” and the “Proclamation to Protect the Sutras,” as well as the evidence on the Yao patriarchy, allow us to redress this imbalance. Repression usually remained localized and temporary in its impact, which is not to say that the personal consequences could not be devastating. A good example is the fate of the Yao lineage, which was implicated in numerous incidents during the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, although most members of the family survived, and its leaders continued to function as the embodiment of Patriarch Yao’s charisma. Even when groups were rounded up more systematically in the aftermath of the 1748 incident, direct persecution was limited to the people involved in the actual violence, and believers who had people who could stand guarantee for them were set free. A survey was made of halls across the province, but judging from later statistics, only

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a relatively small number of people were directly affected at the time, with some of them already known to the local magistrates beforehand. The survey bears all the hallmarks of a perfunctory exercise. The local state was simply not interested in these people, who were peaceful and law-abiding. Rounding them up was not in the local magistrates’ interests because it would have disrupted local society and made their important fiscal and managerial tasks more difficult. Not only were the adherents often well integrated into local society, as indicated by their ability to find guarantors, but also they had created a document to claim basic religious rights, the “Proclamation to Protect the Sutras” or “Proclamation to Protect the Way.” The adherents clearly had a strong self-awareness, or sense of agency, that enabled them to take an active role in shaping their own fates. Although not everybody was literate, explicit evidence of illiteracy is limited. Being illiterate was not a hindrance to becoming an adherent or even a leading figure in the movement, although the movement as a whole was clearly predicated on textual customs. The recitation of the Five Books in Six Volumes, as well as other texts incorporated into other rituals, was ideally a collective activity. Recitation was not relegated to ritual specialists, as it was in ordinary Buddhist and Daoist rituals. The descriptions of the Lighting of the Candles ritual are explicit in stating that members were to recite the Five Books in Six Volumes from the actual scriptures. Substantial character recognition ability would have been necessary for this task, and not even literate adherents would have always been able to recite the texts from the scriptures in front of them. This was a textual community defined by reading and recitation, and ironically also by its rejection in the “separate transmission outside the teachings.” The very fact that writing was deprivileged by the adoption of a ritualized oral transmission indicates its foundational significance, much as a vegetarian diet is symbolically meaningful only if a meat diet is regularly available as a choice. It is tantalizing that we will never know how many adherents were literate. In 1648, a gathering of the heads of the branches took place, which had been preceded by a letter, probably inviting them to the meeting and possibly explaining the issues to be discussed. At the meeting, one of the participants produced another letter in which he explained his point of view. Their ability to compose and widely use the “Proclamation to Protect the Sutras” is also indicative of good access to literacy. From the level of the Recruiters upward, higher-ranking members were expected to use various types of seals and texts, including, of course, the ritual manuals. Although much could be learned by heart, performing these rituals still required some understanding of the classical written language. Not too surprisingly, prominent members of whom we know more than just their names were often from professional backgrounds that gave them access to literacy, either personally or in their immediate vicinity. Taken as a whole, the evidence confirms that most of the time, in most places, local halls of the movement did not attract significant negative attention and were able to function without interference from neighbors or local officials. In 1748 and 1847, local halls were caught up in violent local incidents that had, in both cases, been triggered by an initial act of state repression. Neither incident

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was messianic in inspiration, and only that in 1748 involved vague notions of the advent of Maitreya—but in what precise role remains obscure. Although the Ming and Qing movement could function more or less in the open, it does not seem to have participated in public social activities in the same way as the activist lay Buddhist movements of the southern Song and Yuan periods or of the new-style lay religious movements of the twentieth century.134 Even when they could still function semipublicly in the late-Ming period, they rarely engaged in charitable activities. Whether this was the result of their problematic legal status, a more general secularization of charity, or complete rejection of charity, out of Buddhist principle, as representing a form of attachment is difficult to judge on the basis of the available sources.135

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he 1851–1864 rebellion of the Heavenly Kingdom of Great Peace must have had a devastating effect on the Non-Action Teachings, as the turmoil caused by the rebellion and the Qing state’s subsequent repression brought enormous destruction all over the Lower Yangzi region. Many local adherents were killed or displaced during these years, along with the rest of the population. The upheaval contributed directly to the sense of urgency behind the reform movement in Jinhua Prefecture, led by a humble tailor, Pan Sanduo ┬ϝ໮. Christian missionaries started to flock to China in increasingly large numbers at the time, as a direct result of the Treaty of Nanjing that concluded the Arrow War of 1856–1860. They received powerful Western diplomatic and military backing. There had always been some rivalry between the local Non-Action Teachings and Christianity, but the competition became much more intense and in 1895 culminated in a bloody attack on local Protestant missionaries by recent converts to the Non-Action Teachings in Gutian County in northern Fujian. This event gave the whole movement a bad name for decades. In general, the Non-Action Teachings continued to draw little attention to itself, although it sometimes got accidentally involved in the larger events of its time, for example, during the sorcery scare of 1876, when several of its followers in Jiangxi were arrested on suspicion of being evil magicians.1 During the Republican period, local halls enjoyed considerable freedom of movement and were able to expand. In the course of the twentieth century, however, this rosy situation changed. On Taiwan, the movement had expanded quietly during the nineteenth century and continued to flourish under Japa nese occupation. After the economic modernization of Taiwan during the 1950s, however, it started to decline, together with the island’s two other traditional vegetarian movements. On the Chinese mainland, the situation became desperate. The devastating persecutions of new religious groups during the 1950s also wiped out the Non-Action Teachings in many locations.2 Current restrictions on most kinds of religious culture fieldwork render the movement’s present situation on the mainland unclear. There are, however, some signs of decreasing repression that may allow surviving local halls to reestablish themselves—although to call this religious freedom would be premature.

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Pan Sanduo’s reform movement In the late 1860s, Pan Sanduo from Jinhua Prefecture led a reform movement within the Non-Action Teachings that was directly motivated by the terrible devastation of the preceding decades. We possess his pupils’ detailed record of his beliefs and practices in the Precious Scroll of Awakening to One’s Nature on the Travels of the Fourth Generation (sishi xingjiao juexing baojuan ಯϪ㸠㝇㾎ᗻᇇ ो). It was published in 1921 and contains both biographical information and a series of dialogues between Pan Sanduo and his followers.3 A second set of questions and answers is also extant, published in 1927, but currently accessible only through quotations in Chinese secondary literature.4 To date, no external information has been found on this reform movement.

Coping with the devastation of rebellion Pan Sanduo was born on January 12, 1826. He practiced a vegetarian diet from his youth and had the dharma name Pudu ᱂ᑺ. His biographer ascribes the usual stereotypical positive character traits to him. Although he was a diligent student, he eventually became a tailor. He was very much interested in the “Way of the luminous heart and seeing one’s nature” but could not find good conversational partners to discuss the teachings. He cultivated his beliefs largely alone and succeeded in attaining enlightenment. In his pupils’ words, “He perspicaciously penetrated the essential instructions since the saints and sages of old for cultivating the body with straight heart and sincere intentions.”5 Finding inspiration in a time of utter disaster After attaining enlightenment, he read—or maybe reread—the Five Books in Six Volumes. He contrasted its contents with the practices in which he had participated until then: The Way of Patriarch Luo reaches all over Heaven and Earth, and penetrates unto the sun and moon. It can verily be called the Great Way of Non Action. Regrettably, of the ordinary and ignorant people in the world of dust nobody knows or realizes it. The pupils of the School of Non-Action can read it, without understanding it; they can understand it, without clarifying it. They only know the Three Refuges and Five Injunctions, eating vegetarian and rejecting stinking food [of meat, leeks, and onions], burning incense and worshipping, reciting the name of the Buddha and sutras, and lighting candles to let them emit light, worshipping the stars of the Big Dipper, setting up a Vegetarian Fast and sacrifices for paintings, statues and drawings (huaxiang tuxing ⬿‫ڣ‬೪ᔶ).6 The passage is a summary of the movement’s regular ritual activities, with the addition of the common Daoist ritual of the Big Dipper that revolves around the

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veneration of a light. Whether the movement actually practiced this ritual or whether he was referring to the ritual of Lighting the Candles, I do not know. His principal objection was their worship of “paintings, statues, and drawings,” indicating to him that they had left the movement’s original iconophobia behind, although I have found no evidence in the extant sources on the movement of any very elaborate ritual paraphernalia. At this point in his thinking, he reached a crucial moment in his religious journey. They have forgotten their Original Face (benlai mianmu ᴀ՚䴶Ⳃ, or their original nature), worship the false and throw aside the true. They do not know that the text of the Five Books clearly points it [the Original Face] out, and repeatedly argues and demonstrates it. And therefore the final apocalypse arrived and Hong [Xiuquan] ⋾⾔ܼ and Yang [Xiuqing] ἞⾔⏙ came to pillage. There was nobody to transmit the Way. How sad, how sad.7 What may have occurred on the individual level is that he had become aware of the discrepancy between the radical internalization of Buddhist practice and the total rejection of icons and rituals that is proposed by the Five Books in Six Volumes, on the one hand, and the still overly elaborate practices of the Non-Action Teachings, on the other. In his mind, the devastation by the armies of the Heavenly Kingdom of Great Peace, led by Hong Xiuquan and Yang Xiuqing, confirmed that the original teachings had been lost and that a reform was necessary. When the time came to the Xianfeng year-period (1851–1861), Hong [Xiuquan] and Yang [Xiuqing] ran amok, and the All-under-heaven was in chaos. Our patriarch [Pan Sanduo] was about to transmit the Way and exhort transformation of all living beings, but bandits appeared all over the place, and he could only go into the mountains to escape the chaos. He cherished the Way and calmed himself in order to preserve his heart. He lived far away in dark valleys and plucked wild vegetables to feed himself.8 Those poor people in the world suffered horribly and there was a terrible upheaval. So many were killed that corpses were lying all around and blood streamed like rivulets. The sound of guns and cannons shook the mountain valleys. Our teacher was full of sorrow that living beings were encountering this final apocalypse.9 The notion of the apocalypse does not play any role in the rest of the biography or in any of the dialogues with his students at my disposal. Its mention here, however, indicates a sense of urgency about the task of reinvestigating the nature of one’s beliefs, in line with the motivations of Patriarchs Ying and Yao several centuries previously. A second source produced by Pan’s pupils, the Precious Scroll of Questions and Answers (republished in 1927), mentions the theory of the three ages that may

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be relevant in this context. The three ages were the Blue-Green Yang Kalpa of the Lamplighter Buddha, characterized by Five Petals (referring to the leaves of the lotus of that age); the Red Yang Kalpa of Shakyamuni, characterized by seven leaves; and the White Yang Kalpa of Maitreya, characterized by nine leaves. The terminology here is not the same that Patriarch Ying used roughly three centuries previously, so these comments probably reflect some outside influence. According to these dialogues, the Red Yang Kalpa saw the advent of the first three patriarchs, and Pan Sanduo had been born on the brink of the White Yang Kalpa. Nonetheless, he did not identify himself as Maitreya (who was to be the Buddha of the new kalpa) or any other kind of savior. Instead, the theory of the three ages served to strengthen the urgency and importance of Pan Sanduo as the teacher of a new age.10 Given the enormity of the destruction in these years, it is not surprising that people saw this devastation as an apocalyptic event. Reestablishing the faith Pan Sanduo remained in the hills for three years. When he returned from the mountains to look up Friends of the Way—fellow adherents—the villages were deserted, the farmland overgrown, and the local temples in ruins.11 He decided to return to his place of birth, the Village of the Pan Family, only five years after his departure from the mountains. Here, too, there had been immense destruction, and nobody was left.12 Looking for a place to stay, he came across a small monastery, the Cloister of the Dharma Flower (fahua an ⊩㧃ᒉ, called after the Lotus Sutra), where a Man of the Way of Non-Action engaged in a ritual came out to greet him. He was Huang Yuanfang 咗‫ܗ‬ᮍ, with the dharma name Puhan ᱂⎉. They had a long conversation about the ravages of war and then dined together. After the meal, Huang Puhan washed his hands, burned incense, and started to recite his evening ritual in front of the altar for Guanyin. Pan Sanduo sat there without participating, much to the surprise of his host.13 He then explained that Patriarch Luo did not recite sutras either, which Huang Puhan recognized from the Scroll of the Peregrinations of Patriarch Luo (the first chapter of the Overall Record carries this subtitle). He went on to explain his own interpretations of the teachings, which I discuss further below. Somewhat later, Pan Sanduo moved to the city of Jinhua, where he founded the Hall of the Luminous Mirror in an old part of the city, called the Residence of the Historian.14 The alley was named after a northern Song official, Pan Lianggui ┬ 㡃䊈 (1091–1147), although this Pan had never really been an historian. Pan Sanduo may have chosen this location because of their shared family name and the conviction that he was this man’s descendant. The name of the hall referred to the famous Chan story from the Platform Sutra about the right interpretation of the mirror as a metaphor—the heart as a place where dust is collected that can be brushed away again (Shenxiu’s explanation) or the heart as a mirror that is itself empty and illusionary (Huineng’s). In the same way that Huineng had supposedly provided a better understanding of true enlightenment than Shenxiu, Pan Sanduo now claimed a more advanced understanding than the original Non-Action Teachings.

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Pan’s reputation spread, and Friends of the Way came to visit him—they usually already belonged to the Non-Action Teachings. When they visited the hall, they would find no buddha statues, burning of incense, burning of candles, or any sacrifices. They were upset by this, but Pan Sanduo explained his rejection of icons in terms of the movement’s original teachings.15 His iconophobia was probably due to a more radical or more literal interpretation of the Five Books in Six Volumes than that of the Non-Action Teachings, but also than that of the monastic Chan Buddhism of his time. The master died on the fifteenth day of the ninth moon month, or October 16, 1872. He had preached only for a few years after he had left his mountain hideout, and he still had only a few followers. He had apparently been feeling ill, or, as he put it, “my destiny in the world of dust is not long anymore, I cannot come together with you permanently.” He exhorted his pupils to publish his collected dialogues, and he instructed them that a female follower called Puxi ᱂ႇ was to become the next head of the ancestral hall.16 Since the movement still existed in the 1920s, some degree of institutionalization was evidently attained. By that time, the movement’s followers came from nearby counties in the prefectures of Jinhua, Chuzhou, Quzhou, and Yanzhou and even as far away as Hangzhou and Shaoxing.17 We do not know whether the movement also spread to Fujian, but J. J. M. de Groot describes a similar contrast in Xiamen (Amoy) in the 1880s between the Non-Action Teachings and a reform movement that rejected almost all rituals, although both were based on the mythology of Patriarch Luo and his Five Books in Six Volumes. Locally, the two movements were called Dragon Flower and Prior Heaven (xiantian ‫ܜ‬໽), respectively. The Dragon Flower groups were unmistakably the Non-Action Teachings. De Groot describes them as ritualistic because they had elaborate rituals among themselves and also provided ritual ser vices for the larger community. About the Prior Heaven group, de Groot writes as follows: “Anyone who professes to confess to the principles of the sect is simply admitted as a member. Nothing is required of them but a solemn promise before one of the leaders to keep the five principal commandments of Buddha, and no other ritual or form of initiation has to be gone through.”18 The groups were “guided” by the more learned and older members, who were called Teacher (xiansheng ‫)⫳ܜ‬, whereas ordinary adherents referred to each other as brothers or sisters. They would recite Buddhist texts and the names of Buddhas but without the customary accompaniment on the wooden fish or bells and gongs. Unlike Pan Sanduo, the adherents of the Prior Heaven tradition did burn incense and sacrifice fruit and other vegetarian food. There was much conversation among them about the practice of their beliefs, but the focus was on maintaining the Five Injunctions. They had a strong interest in cosmology, again in very similar terms to Pan Sanduo’s group.19 Whether or not this group was connected to Pan Sanduo’s movement, its existence confirms that the radical impulse toward the rejection of rituals and icons that we find in the early Non-Action Teachings could still be found among followers of a later period.

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T h e C h a r a c t e r Te n Because Pan Sanduo placed the acquisition of the adherent’s original nature entirely within the body of the practitioner, he was extremely focused on the correct understanding of the body—to an even greater degree than documented for the regular Non-Action Teachings. Some of the passages in the Precious Scroll of Awakening to One’s Nature on the Travels of the Fourth Generation are extremely technical and hard to summarize. The core concept Pan Sanduo taught to his pupils was called the Character Ten (shizi कᄫ). He made his first adherents swear an oath that they would not reveal anything or ever leave the movement, before he taught them the following poem: The Ten Character bursts open and Heaven and Earth are connected. When Three and Three are like Nine then they will succeed. Only when you obtain the One can you illuminate the Great Way. The Five Phases give birth and transform eternally without exhausting. He interpreted the poem in terms of the Eight Trigrams. The unbroken line in the middle of the trigram kan ഢ ᄐ represented Yang and therefore Heaven, whereas the two broken lines represented Yin and therefore Water. From this, he concluded that because the Kan trigram represented water (indeed the common Chinese convention), water was generated by the Heavenly One (the unbroken line in the middle). He analyzed the trigram li ᄍ in a similar way. The broken line in the middle represented Yin and therefore Earth. The two unbroken lines represented Yang and therefore Fire. Because the Li trigram represented Fire (again the common Chinese convention), fire was generated by the Earthly Two (the broken line in the middle). He went on to analyze the human body in cosmological terms, stating that Heaven and Earth were matched to the body and that the Eight Trigrams were united in the body. The Five Organs in the human body related to each other in a cycle of “overcoming,” like the cycle of overcoming of the Five Phases. The trigrams kan and li were central to Pan Sanduo’s teachings. According to him, if you placed the two trigrams for Water ᄐ and Fire ᄍ on their sides, they could be reshaped into the character ten क. He then went on to point out that Heaven (tian ໽) had ten suns and Humans (ren Ҏ) had ten fingers. When the two were combined into One (yi ϔ), they became the Big Ten Character (dashizi ໻कᄫ). In this statement, he was playing on the fact that adding the character for one (yi ϔ) to the center of that for human (ren Ҏ) would turn it into the character for big (da ໻) and again adding the character for one (yi ϔ) to the top would make it into the character for Heaven (tian ໽). By a minor redrawing, the Kan ᄐ and the Li ᄍ trigrams could also be turned into the character for ten. In a way, the Character Ten was made to stand for the two central forces of the human body (Kan as water and Li as fire), as well as for Heaven and Earth, with the One as the unifying factor.20 Another meaning of the Ten Character (shizi) is as a Chinese translation for the cross on which Jesus died. Since Pan Sanduo shows

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some cognizance of Christianity and his concept of the Ten Character otherwise plays no role whatsoever in traditional Chinese religious culture, it is tempting to think there may have been some kind of connection here. During the 1860s, Protestant missionaries became active in this region, and adherents of the NonAction Teachings were among their earliest converts, as discussed later. Intellectually, Pan Sanduo’s hermeneutics was entirely traditional but betrays a certain level of literacy and education. Pan Sanduo made his small band of adherents swear another oath when they wished to accept him as their teacher, showing how he did, after all, use some form of ritual. “He dotted their face (miandian 䴶咲), without utterances that could be transmitted, he pointed directly so they could see their nature with clear heart” (zhizhi mingxin jianxing Ⳉᣛᯢᖗ㽟ᗻ). The outcome of the ritual dotting is expressed in the usual terminology of the Non-Action Teachings, but the ritual process was, of course, much simpler. The ceremony of dotting the eyes is the standard ritual for making statues come alive. It is called Opening Up the Light (kaiguang 䭟‫)ܝ‬, since seeing with the eyes is conceived as emitting light, rather than receiving it.21 The ritual of dotting Pan Sanduo used activated an ability that had already been hidden inside the new adherents, which is the Bright Heart necessary to see (or shine light upon) their original nature.22 This was parallel to the transfer of the heart-seal in the rituals of the Non-Action Teachings. Because everybody would have understood the dotting ritual, it could easily function without additional explanations. Within the context of the Non-Action Teachings, this was a major innovation, and the small movement’s official name, “Awakening to One’s Nature” ( juexing), referred to this core purpose of their initiation. These early adherents wished to move immediately to the next stage, expecting that it—the so-called Opening Up of the Passes (kaiguan 䭟䮰)—would give them access to the Dragon Flower Gathering. We have seen before that the NonAction Teachings believed that attending this gathering guaranteed one’s salvation. Pan Sanduo replied to his followers’ request that four more converts were still needed to achieve the sacred number of ten (shi क) adherents needed to spread the teachings in all ten directions, no doubt inspired by their sacred number. They continued to serve him diligently, and soon four other old movement’s adherents joined them.23 Now the passes could be opened, which was preceded by a list of more of Pan Sanduo’s instructions, which summed up his teachings as follows: In your lifestyle you should not be without proper measure. You should not make thick draughts with alcohol. You should not go against the nourishing of the pleasure of life. You should not falsely do what is usual. You must know when you have maintained to the full. You should not enter a woman while drunk. You must preserve your true spirit (qi or energy). In your behavior you should model yourself on Yin and Yang.

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My students today receive my personal dotting, Respect the great king of the dharma in yourself. These words cannot be kept to yourself, But are left behind for people after us as a ford and bridge.24 Pan Sanduo placed his values in a larger cosmological context but without using conventional ethical vocabulary, such as fi lial piety or righteousness, or speaking about human interrelationships. Religious practice was to him very much an individual affair. After setting forth his basic moral program, Pan Sanduo finally acceded to the urgent wish of his pupils to “open up the passes.” He told them that the ceremony should last for nine nights because earth is ruled by nine times nine, which probably refers to the Nine Continents or Nine Palaces (i.e., Eight Trigrams represented spatially) of Daoist ritual. He made several of his followers Heads of the Pass, and two such rituals were carried out under his guidance. His pupils then asked Pan Sanduo to ensure the continuation of the teachings. They interpreted the period when he was in the mountains plus the subsequent five years spent away from his place of birth as his “nine years of suffering,” parallel to similar periods spent by the founding three patriarchs of the Non-Action Teachings, starting with Patriarch Luo’s thirteen years of suffering. Even in his final instructions, he maintained his strongly iconophobic attitude and disavowed any potential worship of him as a patriarch.25 As we have already seen, he appointed a female follower as his successor.

Making ritual discourse explicit Because most early adherents came from the old movement, Pan Sanduo often had to answer questions about the rituals of the Non-Action Teachings, mostly dealing less with their format than with their meaning. The value of these discussions lies as much in the contents of the answers (which reveal Pan Sanduo’s new interpretations) as in the questions posed by his early followers (which reveal something of their own understanding of their movement of origin). Moreover, for a movement’s adherents to phrase their questions and interpretations so explicitly is fairly rare.26 One of the first questions they asked had to do with the nature and purpose of their basic rituals. They observed first that since entering the movement and taking the Three Refuges, they had always worshipped Teacher Pushan (Yao Wenyu) and “set up vegetarian fasts, opened the sutras (i.e., the Five Books in Six Volumes), released light, and lit the candles. This was called the gathering of the Ritual of Opening Up and Creating the Cosmos (qiankun ђസ).”27 Pan Sanduo’s comment on this survey of the movement’s basic rituals was that the real universe was not created by humans and should not be reduced to humans. He said that what they had been creating was just the cosmos of the human body, or the microcosm, and not that of heaven and earth, or the macrocosm. He elaborated with an example from the ritual of “emitting light and lighting the candles,” which I paraphrase: One arranges Prior Heaven [before creation has taken place] and Posterior Heaven [after creation has taken place]. For Prior Heaven, one

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arranges the stand with candles, but without lighting the actual candles. For Posterior Heaven, one arranges the incense burner, fruit, tea, and incense. When all is prepared, one sacrifices it. Then you turn around to Posterior Heaven and burn incense together, light candles, and open the bowl. This is called Opening Up Heaven. Only then does one recite the sutras and hymns. The twenty-four yellow candles together emit light and brightly produce the creative transformation process of the cosmos. The incense burner is the “heart-fire,” the candles are the eyes, the round fruits are the spleen and stomach, the eyes of the coins are the liver, tea is the water of the kidneys, and the cakes are the lungs. This means that our five storage organs (zang 㞳) are all represented. The six that have been arranged above are the six supervisory organs of humans (fu 㜥). The twenty-four yellow candles are the twenty-four points of concentrated energy ( jieqi ㆔⇷) that divide up the solar year into twenty-four equal periods. Everything is rooted in Prior Heaven in order to beget Posterior Heaven. This clarifies the fact that the cosmos in the human body is not the cosmos of Heaven and Earth.28 Pan Sanduo was actually describing a bowing ceremony that forms part of the ritual of Lighting the Candles’ opening ceremony, during which the Five Books in Six Volumes are recited. Prior Heaven and Post Heaven are represented by tables. The worshippers stand between them and take turns bowing to them. Pan’s explanations of the sacrificial gifts on the altar, as a kind of microcosm, and the ritual of opening the Five Books in Six Volumes, as opening up Heaven, match the descriptions we find in the Causes and Fruits of the Seven Branches (going back to the second half of the seventeenth century), several confessions from the eighteenth century, and the ritual manuals (going back to around 1700 and still practiced today). Such a shared ritual understanding also indicates the considerable cohesion of the Non-Action Teachings as a socioreligious movement, able to transmit the same ritual interpretations over a considerable geograph ical space and length of time. To Pan Sanduo, however, the only absolutely necessary ritual was a very brief and simple dotting of the forehead. Th is was the transmission of true enlightenment or their heart-seal. Rejecting the ritual that enacted the macrocosm of heaven and earth inside the human body was probably at the heart of his remark that the real universe should not be reduced to humans. Not surprisingly, followers also raised questions about the common practice of funerary rituals. As one of them puts it: We have heard several times that our teacher does not recite sutras, does not burn incense, does not sacrifice to Buddha statues, and also does not set up sacrifices for setting living beings across. Nowadays all over the world since the Han and Tang periods, the households of the deceased must invite Buddhist monks or Daoist priests for sutra reci-

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tation, memorial sacrifices, Water and Land Rituals, and Filial Tents in which images of the Ten Underworlds and Lord Yama receive sacrifice.29 They all say that after people die, their souls will see Lord Yama of the Ten Underworlds and receive his judgment on their goodness or evil and his reward or punishment for their merits and transgressions during their lifetime. Now our teacher does not recite sutras. What way do you have to avoid this [fate]?30 One’s fate in the underworld was a basic concern of religious life in traditional China, and we have already seen that the Non-Action Teachings adherents were no different than others in this respect. The question also confirms that the movement’s adherents usually practiced some kind of funerary ritual, if only the recitation of sutras. Pan Sanduo accepted that funerary rituals were a meaningful activity, first and foremost to express the feelings of the filial child—the conventional literati interpretation. He pointed out the unfairness that rich households could afford expensive rituals, while poor households could not and would therefore be unable to escape the suffering of the underworld. He then claimed that the ancient books do not mention King Yama,31 which is not entirely true; this deity is wellattested in Buddhist scripture. The Five Books in Six Volumes took a slightly different position, to which Pan Sanduo refers only briefly.32 Patriarch Luo fully recognized the realities of the underworld and King Yama.33 However, he argued that practicing the way of Non-Action would make King Yama afraid of the adherents’ beliefs because they might turn the entire underworld into a kind of paradise. For the same reason, there was no point in burning paper money for the dead.34 How the movement founded by Pan Sanduo fared after they printed his teachings and instructions in the 1920s is unclear. Probably they disappeared or went underground in the early 1950s as a result of the general suppression of religious culture and, in par ticular, new religious movements. They may also have changed shape and been subsumed into other new religious movements, including the Unity Way or Protestant Christianity.

Continuing missionary activities By the late nineteenth century, the Non-Action Teachings was already almost three centuries old, and the casual observer might think that recurrent government persecution and pressure would have lessened people’s interest in this or similar movements. Although the movement was no longer new in any chronological sense, the state’s fear of the Non-Action Teachings and other religious movements created an atmosphere in which they were still treated as if they were new charismatic movements that might explode into rebellion at any moment. Moreover, the Non-Action Teachings was still engaged in missionary activities, possibly in part to fill the vacuum that had emerged after the devastation of the Heavenly Kingdom of Great Peace.

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Throughout the Qing, the movement probably expanded predominantly by drawing in people from among family and acquaintances. Yet we have also seen that some members of the movement continued to spread the teachings further afield, for instance, the network founded by Zhang Qikun in the early 1800s. Information collected during the communist repression of all forms of religious culture from the 1950s demonstrates, retrospectively, that missionary activity continued during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. These missionaries were active under very different circumstances from those in the past. The continuous persecutions initiated by the central state during the late-eighteenth and earlynineteenth centuries had passed, but harassment on a local level had not stopped. Chen Zhongxi, of the Long Life Teachings, notes the problem in this account of his personal experiences:35 Ge Hongren said: “In my neighborhood are many people who believe in eating vegetarian and reciting the name of the Buddha. I invite you to come and explain things.” I immediately folded my hands in respect and replied: “Old gentleman, today it is already late, I will come tomorrow.” Hongren answered: “Tomorrow I hope intensely for your charitable compassion. I will wait at the Old Three Alley. I entreat you and it is difficult to mistake the place.” I now took my leave and went back to my wife’s uncle’s residence and stayed for one night. I paid my respects and took leave of my wife’s uncle’s entire family, and went to the Old Three Alley. I saw Hongren standing next to the palisade, but who would have known that he was a county underling, who would completely squeeze me dry. “Yesterday next to the crossroads you were inciting people’s hearts. You are a religious criminal from somewhere. If you want to live, you must pass over some silver pieces.” I said that I had no silver pieces on me. He asked again: “You must have relatives who can lend it to you.” I said that my complete family consisted only of my wife’s uncle. When he heard talk of the complete family, he was startled and now there were two difficult situations without solution. He mulled it over and [decided that] the best option was to report to the Old Man (laoye 㗕⠎, a term of respect, probably the local magistrate) and bring in a real religious criminal, and then he took me back.36 Chen Zhongxi is, indeed, brought before the magistrate and accused by the yamen underling of being a religious criminal of the White Lotus Teachings. The other underlings testify against him, and he is beaten up in court. He is then thrown into prison, where the torture continues. Ge Hongren enjoins him to pay up, but Chen refuses to do so. Eventually, the Thunder God punishes the county underling for being unfi lial and slanderous, which is then carved into the man’s back. This startles the magistrate so much that he sets Chen free. Dangerous as their work might be, the movement’s missionaries were still able to carry on. In Zhuji County in Shaoxing Prefecture, supposedly very few

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believers were left by the 1860s, perhaps as a result of the devastation caused by the rebellion of the Heavenly Kingdom of Great Peace. The situation changed with the arrival of a local called Chen Quan 䱇⃞ who had been to Jiangsu and came back with an “incense seal” from the head of the movement. From the rest of this account, it is clear that we are indeed dealing with the Non-Action Teachings. Chen Quan had obtained the “True Way of Non-Action” and taken an oath to save people. He lectured tirelessly all over the county and built up a following of several thousand within a few years.37 We find similar statements about ongoing missionary activity in other places as well.38 According to 1950s police reports, the movement had supposedly spread to Yin County (Ningbo) in the early decades of the nineteenth century, although we have already seen, in the Zhou Xiji case of 1753, that it was already well established in Ningbo much earlier. In 1911, a missionary from Yin County was said to have introduced the movement to Xiangshan County. In nearby Yuhang County, it had supposedly spread from 1932 onward, when the head of the teachings in Hangzhou had held a local ceremony of Lighting the Candles. In Daishan County (an island off the Zhejiang coast), the movement supposedly resulted from missionary work carried out since 1923. In Xianju County (in Taizhou Prefecture), the movement had supposedly been introduced in the 1850s or 1860s, although we know from the movement’s internal sources that it was already present locally in the late Ming. In Fenshui County, near Hangzhou, the movement had been established two hundred years before and could be found all over the county. In nearby Tonglu County, the movement had no doubt been established just as long, but in 1924 a teacher from Shaoxing carried out successful missionary work there. In Nankang and Ningdu Counties in Jiangxi, the movement was said to have started in the late nineteenth century, but in Guangfeng County, in the same province, it is given a much older history, about two hundred years. Where we can fi nd specific dates by which the movement was supposed to have reached a certain region, such as the dates for Yin and Xianju Counties, they are patently wrong, so we need not take them as reliable evidence on the movement’s historical spread. Instead, these dates reflect ongoing missionary activity as it was still remembered in the 1950s, when the new regime’s police and local activists came down hard on the movement and this par ticular evidence was collected. Such memories testify to the movement’s ongoing vitality even in the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries. Part of the reason behind the inaccuracies may be that the movement had been damaged by the havoc of the Heavenly Kingdom of Great Peace and/or that local networks simply did not recollect their own histories accurately. Moreover, older networks may have been better at avoiding police attention. Whatever the case, even though we cannot document the state of the movement in the first half of the twentieth century in any detail, it was clearly not yet on a relentless road to decline.39 In Jiangxi, the movement aligned itself with local officials during the Republican period and expanded its local influence. In Xinfeng County, it received support from the local secretary of the Nationalist Party and, with his help, took

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over the halls and possessions of a competing religious movement. In Wanzai County, it was able to expand its influence with the assistance of a prominent member of the same party, and in Xunwu County, it was later accused of helping local “antirevolutionaries.” Here the county magistrate even wrote an encomium for their “genealogy of the teachings.” 40 Clearly, the movement was well integrated into local society, which was still acknowledged when the communist state finally came down on it in the second half of the 1950s.41 This is not to say that all change was positive or that any form of decline was merely the result of repression. Take, for instance, Qidong, on the other side of the Yangzi River north of Shanghai. The police records from the 1950s note that, after transport and communications had improved in the preceding decades, many adherents moved to nearby Shanghai and Suzhou or to Mount Putuo in Zhejiang, where they came in contact with regular monastic Buddhism. As a result, they became ordinary lay Buddhists subordinated to a local monastery, and the Non-Action Teachings declined.42

Christianity and the Non-Action Teachings After the rebellion of the Heavenly Kingdom of Great Peace, the advent of Christian missionaries from the West made a great impact on the Non-Action Teachings because they drew some of their earliest followers directly from the NonAction Teachings in southern Zhejiang and northern Fujian.43 In northern Fujian, friction between one par ticular group and a local missionary led to gruesome murders in the year 1895.

L a te - Q i n g c o nve r s i o n s t o C h r i s t i a n i t y One of the first converts the renowned missionary Hudson Taylor made most likely came from the local Non-Action Teachings. In Ningbo, where the movement was widespread, Taylor encountered a Captain Yu from the armies fighting the Taipings, who “fell in with the teachings of ‘the Jesus Doctrine’ and learned something of the teachings of Christianity.” He apparently achieved little understanding of the teachings, so he switched back to another local group. He found kindred spirits among “a sect of reformed Buddhists strongly opposed to idolatry” and devoted all his time to spreading these teachings. But as our missionaries put it, “his teaching was necessarily rather negative and positive—denouncing the folly and sin of idol-worship, and proclaiming the existence of one true, supreme Ruler of the universe.” Given the strength of his rejection of icons, he may have been a follower of the Non-Action Teachings in general or even Pan Sanduo’s reform movement in par ticular. It took some time for him to convert fully, and a colleague of Taylor’s succeeded in persuading him to take this final step. Eventually, he revisited his former group and spoke to them of his new faith, converting one additional person.44 Another case from Ningbo is that of Ni Yongfa (Chinese characters unknown), a cotton spinner and “the leader of a reformed Buddhist sect which

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shunned idolatry and was searching for the truth.” His conversion probably preceded that of Captain Yu, although we learn even less about his original background. One evening, during one of Taylor’s sermons, he suddenly stood up and announced: “I have long sought for the truth—as my father did before me.” He was then converted on the spot. The reference to his father’s membership in the movement suggests a longer family involvement in the movement. The spinner took Taylor to a meeting of his group, where more people were converted.45 Most of the new converts belonged to the lower middle class at best; they may have been literate but would not have needed literacy professionally. The conversion of members of indigenous religious groups was crucial to the success of Taylor’s mission, and he, as well as his colleagues, continued to focus on these groups for ready converts.46 The very choice of the term “reformed Buddhist sect” indicates that the missionaries must have seen similarities between the situation there and in Europe at the time of the Reformation, when modern Protestantism came into being.47 Although their vegetarianism must have been a stumbling block, their shared iconophobia would have made it easier for adherents of the Non-Action Teachings to adopt Protestantism.48 J. Campbell Gibson notes, quite explicitly, of an older convert that she “was originally a Buddhist vegetarian of some earnestness when she heard Mr. Burns preaching in the open air. There was evidently some preparation of heart, and she forthwith believed. She was the most zealous evangelist among the women for many days.” 49 We do not know for certain that she belonged to the Non-Action Teachings, but the author does make explicit what I have argued on comparative grounds. In another case, we can be fairly sure that the convert was not a Non-Action Teachings adherent because she belonged to a “class of women known as those ‘who read the holy books’ ” in Jianning in northern Fujian. Although they came from the same region as our movement, the detailed description that follows says that they provided prayer ser vices for money, including the manufacture of all the relevant paraphernalia needed during the rituals. One woman who converted had to give up all the paraphernalia she had, including everything she had already prepared for her own funeral.50 In his important early article on new religious groups in China, G. E. Moule gives an interesting explanation for some of these conversions, writing from his missionary headquarters in Hangzhou: As to the minor sects, some political, but some also purely ascetic and religious, they are dealt with from time to time in the same arbitrary manner [as Buddhist or Daoist monasteries by officials]. More than once in my experience, members of one of these ascetic communities the Wu-wei keaou [his spelling; this is wuweijiao or the Non-Action Teachings], have made proposals to be received by us as converts; their motive appearing, upon enquiry, to be simply the wish to obtain foreign protection from mandarin extortion under which they were suffering. In each case, when they found we could give them no admittance upon such terms, the release of their brethren from prison was purchased by heavy bribes, and the matter dropped.51

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Although these people had ulterior motives for conversion, one can easily imagine that the reason this seemed plausible to them was that they saw certain resemblances between their own iconophobia and that of the Protestant missionaries. The problem of “mandarin extortion” reminds us of the case of Chen Zhongxi of the Long Life teachings, who was put under similar pressure by the yamen underling Ge Hongren. The conversion of members of the Non-Action Teachings by the newly founded groups of Protestant as well as Roman Catholic missionaries is documented in a variety of sources. A Christian website gives an account of the situation in Linhai, in Taizhou Prefecture and the heartland of the Non-Action Teachings. In 1865, a local leader of the movement had gone to Ningbo to study Christianity—Roman Catholicism, as it turned out—because of a recent suppression of a candle-burning ritual for which adherents had been fined the heft y sum of four hundred tael. He was baptized and became the first Christian convert in Linhai, where he subsequently spread the faith and in 1867 helped to convert as many as twenty-five “adherents of the Non-Action Teachings.”52 Around the same period, something similar happened in nearby Wenzhou, when leaders of an incident involving the Non-Action Teachings went over to Roman Catholicism, as they had discovered that simply possessing a Bible and a rosary was enough to protect them from local officials.53 De Groot also notes that members of the Prior Heaven group in Xiamen (Amoy) were particularly interested in, and sympathetic to, Christian beliefs. Some of his acquaintances even knew substantial passages of the Bible by heart.54 In Gutian in northern Fujian, one of the leading Christians had formerly been a leading “Vegetarian” before he converted to Christianity.55 Undoubtedly, such conversions created bad feelings among those adherents who did not convert, and the infamous slaughter of Western missionaries in Gutian, by new members of the movement in 1895, can be partly understood against that background. Conversions also took place in northern Fujian. The Church Missionary Gleaner of 1884 and 1885 has the news that several people in Ningde County had converted, including a leading figure of the local Buddhist vegetarians, described as a Buddhist priest. “The old man, Ing Sëüng, who, after forty years of vegetarianism, joined us at the beginning of the year, has proved himself very earnest in seeking the truth. Much consternation took place amongst the other vegetarians when the news of Ing Sëüng’s conversion became known.”56 Apart from conversions, there must have been ordinary interaction or at least an interest in competing religious movements, which becomes visible somewhat surprisingly in the case of Pan Sanduo. At one point, he is asked a question about the precise contents of the term orthodox in the autonym of his movement, the Orthodox Tradition of Awareness of One’s Nature ( juexing zhengzong 㾎ᗻℷ ᅫ). He first observes that there are many heretic teachings and goes on to list a few: “[The Teachings of the] Three Officials, Amitābha and Before Heaven, the Teachings of Islam (huihui ಲಲ) and the Greek [Orthodox Church] (xila 㽓㞬) are frequently established, [but also] the Lord of Heaven [Teachings] (or Roman Catholicism), the Jesus Teachings as well as the White Lotus [Teachings]. China

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and the West mutually connect their contaminating diseases.”57 The term Jesus Teachings was used by missionaries to refer to Protestantism. At no point does Pan Sanduo mention any personal contact with Western missionaries, but he might have heard them lecture or learned about them from his own followers. The conversion of Non-Action Teachings adherents to Christianity may have been largely due to the wish for protection but also partly due to perceived similarities in lifestyle and religious tenets.58 Furthermore, a major advantage of Christianity was that it did not require a vegetarian lifestyle. Although Christians were, of course, still forbidden to take part in popular religious rituals for other reasons, this flexibility in dietary requirements greatly facilitated their longterm integration into Chinese mainstream social life in which sharing meat and alcoholic drinks was, and still is, so essential to creating bonds with the rest of the community.

T h e D r a g o n Fl o we r G a t h e r i n g I n c i d e n t o f     The attack itself In 1895, a horrible massacre took place in the scenic hills of Gutian County in northern Fujian, which was carried out by new members of the Non-Action Teachings, known locally as the Dragon Flower Gathering or Vegetarians. This incident has negatively shaped later academic perceptions of the movement. Ian Welch has recently made available a detailed reconstruction of the incident.59 My account here is limited to trying to understand the movement’s involvement in these events. The basic events can be best reconstructed through Western archival sources. The incident took place in the missionary summer retreat on Flower Mountain, some twenty kilometers from the county capital of Gutian, where seventeen Westerners, belonging to different missionary societies and nationalities, were staying. Ten people, including a missionary family with five children, occupied one house. Five female missionaries were staying in a house immediately next to them, and two other missionaries were in two houses a few minutes’ walking distance away. Early in the morning of the first of August, a group of men armed with hatchets and spears came to the two summer houses and started killing the occupants randomly by beating and stabbing them. Within an hour, the slaughter was over, and the men then set fire to the buildings and left. Nine people died during this rampage, and two others died later of their injuries. Four survived, as did the two missionaries living just a short distance away. Apparently they were not a target. The attackers were soon arrested, and a number of them were sentenced to death. During their interrogations and trial, much information became available on their motives and religious background. Rumors about the Vegetarians, as they were called in Western sources at the time, had been circulating for some time. Local Vegetarians had had an altercation with local officials after the county magistrate had arrested some of them in late 1894, possibly with the aim of receiving a bribe from them. In February of the next year, they surrounded the magistrate’s house, threatening to pull it

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down and kill him unless he set their fellow adherents free. After some negotiations, he acceded to their demands. In the same period, conflicts between local people identified as Vegetarians and local Christians ended in violence. Such incidents inspired rumors of thousands of Vegetarians about to march on the city, although it is not clear to me whether these circulated solely among Westerners or more generally. The successful attempt to pressure the magistrate into liberating fellow adherents recalls the events of 1748, when adherents in nearby Jianning marched on the county capital to free their leader. The individuals involved, either in the attempt to pressure the Gutian magistrate or in other attacks on local Christians, are not mentioned among the participants in the slaughter on Flower Mountain. Therefore, as far as we know, the later attack on Flower Mountain was not directly influenced by these earlier protests.60 The attackers The adherents who carried out this attack were alternately referred to as Vegetarians (which they were) and Gathering of Brothers and Elders (gelaohui હ㗕᳗) (which they were not).61 This latter term was often used to refer to bands of marginalized men traveling around and creating unrest and does not necessarily point to an actual organization.62 The choice of the label already informs us of how contemporaries looked on these men. But what do we really know about the kind of people who took part in the slaughter on Flower Mountain, and how did they relate to the local community of vegetarians? When we combine both Chinese archival sources and Western observations obtained during the public trials of the men who were subsequently arrested, we can piece together a general picture of the leaders.63 The founder of this par ticular network was a forty-three-year-old widower, Liu Yong ࡝⋇ (Putai ᱂໾). He came from Ganzhou in Jiangxi province but had been living in Gutian for over ten years as a scale maker and repairer of broken crockery. He claimed to be illiterate but spoke both Mandarin and various local dialects. We know he had the rank of Great Recruiter but not how long he had been a member of the movement. All in all, only two members had belonged for a long time. One of them was Lin Xiangxin ᵫ䁇⫅, a forty-seven-year-old widower who came from nearby Minqing and had been a member for twenty-one years. He was a boxing master but earned his living as a medicine peddler during his missionary work. He could read and write. The other was Du Zhuyi ᴰᴅ㸷. He was from Gutian, fift y-two years old, and married with one child. He had been a member for eleven or twelve years but did not have (or did not confess) a dharma name. He raised ducks for the wholesale market. Clearly, these three all had fairly marginal professions. There was some degree of literacy in this early group, but at best they could only have carried out low-level rituals because they would have been unable to consult the ritual manuals themselves. Three other prominent members had joined recently. Zhang Tao ᔉ▸ (Pudao ᱂䘧) was forty-one years old, married with three sons, and from Gutian. He had been a member for three years. He was currently working as a farmer but

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had been a yamen runner until he was dismissed some five years previously. He had basic literacy and spoke Mandarin, no doubt because of his previous occupation. Yao Bazhang ྮܿゴ was twenty-three years old, unmarried, and from Gutian. He had joined only in 1894. As a grocery merchant, he was well educated. To him fell the task of managing the membership register. Finally, there was Zheng Huai 䜁⏂. He was from nearby Houguan and had arrived in Gutian only recently. He was thirty-two years old and engaged to be married. He worked as a soothsayer and geomantician, was literate, and spoke some Mandarin. He may not actually have become a full member of the religious group. These three men were slightly more literate than the three founders, but as new members, they would not yet have been thoroughly inculcated with the values of the Non-Action Teachings. The thirty-eight others mentioned individually in the archives were of local origin, and we know very little about them. As many as thirty-six came from small villages in Gutian, and only two were from Pingnan, a county immediately north of Gutian. Of this group, we know only that seventeen persons were married or engaged, or their wives had died, and the other twenty-one were unmarried. Only ten of those who were married also had children and rarely more than one. Contrary to what one might expect, young men were not prominent among those who perpetrated and organized the attack. The age groups of the forty-four people for whom we have some personal details are as follows: fifteen men in the range from twenty to twenty-nine, seventeen men from thirty to thirty-nine, seven men from forty to forty-nine, four men from fift y to fift y-nine, and even one unmarried person of sixty-four. They were all male, and most of them were recent converts. Only nine had joined before 1894, fifteen in 1894, and as many as twenty in 1895.64 Only twelve had already received dharma names, and in that case they had usually also taken part in the so-called Round Pass (yuanguan ೧䮰) ritual (which is not described). All of them had been recruited by Liu Yong, and the large majority clearly were very recent adherents. Almost all known participants in the violence came from Gutian or its neighboring counties, except for Liu Yong. The fact that many had remained unmarried and none had more than one (surviving) child suggests that they were economically marginal. Marrying costs money, and so do additional children; it is unclear whether children had never been conceived or they had not survived. Because the perpetrators all came from nearby, they were definitely not engaged in long-distance professions and were probably working as wage laborers in farming and/or the transport of goods (perhaps tea from the nearby mountains of Wuyi). We do not know when Liu Yong joined the movement, but by the time he started proselytizing, he had the rank of Great Recruiter, normally a rank not achieved immediately—although he handed it out quite freely. For a few years prior to the incident, he had been recruiting people to become vegetarians as a means of stopping smoking, no doubt a reference to their opium addiction. They would then worship Putuofo 㦽䰔ԯ, perhaps an error for pusafo 㦽㭽ԯ, Bodhisattva-Buddha. This could be one of the movement’s patriarchs and/or the

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Bodhisattva Guanyin. Liu Yong told his interrogators that those who joined paid 33 cash “name money” and 120 cash for “public items,” probably the usual gifts that were due upon initiation. They organized the Round Pass ritual and recited sutras; when this happened, everyone had to pay a total of 1,680 cash for incense, candles, and eight bowls of vegetarian food. The bowls were arranged in the form of the Eight Trigrams, which tallies with other descriptions of the movement’s rituals. Besides recruiting people to stop them from smoking opium, they performed rituals for protection (qiubao ∖ֱ), general well-being (ping’an ᑇᅝ), and other unspecified purposes. Anybody who was good at recruiting was made a Recruiter (yinjin). The creation of this network was the personal initiative of Liu Yong, who was not just creating his own religious group but possibly also using this activity to make some money. A change of lifestyle and an urge to belong to a network of kindred spirits were probably among the main motives for joining this par ticular Non-Action Teachings group. Tensions and vengeance Once the group had come into being, it developed its own dynamic. As a large group, the adherents acquired more confidence; when someone from the group was cheated or had no money for something, they used the group to take revenge and get their way. Local people all feared them, and only the local Christians dared to stand up to them, relying on their missionary for protection. This man is identified by one of the leaders as Shi ৆, or Robert Stewart, who was to become the main target of the subsequent attack at Flower Mountain.65 The Chinese Christians even mocked the Vegetarians, saying that the group’s Buddha was small and their Jesus was big. According to Liu Yong, the Vegetarians’ resentment gradually built up. He had first met Zheng Huai in June 1895. Since this man “could read and write formal Chinese” (dushu nengwen 䅔᳌㛑᭛), he asked him to join. They then decided to take revenge on the missionaries and vent their anger.66 At this stage, they began to prepare more systematically for their attack, which took place one month later. Clearly, the fact that the incident became violent was a late development in this par ticular group’s activities, inspired by their newly won collective confidence. Whether the recent success of other Vegetarians in freeing their fellow members from the local magistrate played a role in the escalation is unclear. The sole focus of the investigation was fi nding the perpetrators of the massacre on Flower Mountain, and the connections of Liu Yong and his followers with other groups of Vegetarians were left untouched. Apparently, nobody was interested in mopping up the entire movement, which was quite a change from the past. The only relevant remark in this respect is recorded by the American consul. In his report of the actual trial, he notes that Liu Xiangxin, who had been a member for twenty-one years, confessed that a certain “Yao Fu-ching” was the head of the movement and resided in his headquarters in Jiujiang (far away in Jiangxi province).67 Although the location is incorrect, the name seems to combine a reference to the Yao lineage and the coastal lineage with its basis in

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Fuqing, which was actually not far from Gutian. Clearly, Liu Yong did not have much contact with older local networks within the movement and recruited solely among outsiders. This also explains why we do not hear of other local groups of the movement in the aftermath of the events on Flower Mountain.68 The slaughter on Flower Mountain differs from other anti-Christian events. Stereotyping of the Western missionaries played no role in it, and no Chinese Christians were attacked. The attackers left two nearby Western missionaries untouched, showing that they knew precisely whom they wanted to attack. Liu Yong and his inner circle had felt insulted by the dismissive attitude of the local missionary and wanted to take revenge. Because Liu Yong’s was a relatively new network, he may have felt insecure about his leadership and therefore may have been more vulnerable to perceived insults, leading to a perceived need to retaliate. As far as we know, none of the specific conflicts were over land, participation in religious rituals, or other material issues that were common in the late imperial period.69 If the leaders of the group had not felt insulted by the missionary and local Christians, nothing might have happened. Robert Stewart had caused controversy before, soon after his arrival in 1876. The issue had been a building project involving a theological college, which caused Chinese complaints about the damage to the geomantic location of the area. The mission had tried to prevent conflict by building on a site in the city that was already theirs but had not considered their plans very well in geomantic terms. They planned a three-story building backing onto a hill, overlooking the fact that such a natural feature was always a crucial element of a much larger geomantic space. It is hardly surprising that a dispute arose, and there is no reason to assume that the accusation was invented out of thin air. Tensions had built up over the summer of 1878, and on August 30, a mob attacked the building project. The missionaries, including Robert Stewart, were kicked and beaten, and the entire building was destroyed in a matter of hours. In the following years, the relationship between Stewart and local officials, as well as elites, remained fraught with tensions, more so than with other Westerners. He obviously did not do anything to merit being murdered, and such tensions in no way serve as an excuse, but they do help to explain why this individual attracted so much anger in a community of lay Buddhist believers that was otherwise conspicuous for its peaceful nature.70 Most important, this is also an explanation of why the other two missionaries, in the close vicinity at the time of the murders, were spared. Yet, why did the group around Liu Yong think that they could get away with it? With the benefit of hindsight, we can see now that attacking foreigners in those heady last decades of the imperial period usually led to severe retaliation. But at the time, Liu Yong and his fellow attackers would have been unaware of the larger picture. We can therefore ignore the fact that the victims were foreigners and analyze the case as just another occurrence of local violence in which one local group took revenge on another for a real or perceived insult. Violence in local communities was much more common in traditional China than we tend to think, and especially notorious in Fujian. When the perpetrators of a killing during a lineage vendetta were caught, they were seen as necessary scapegoats,

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and the leaders of the lineage were usually left alone. The success of a conflict was not measured in terms of its sacrifices, but in terms of its overall goal, such as revenge or regaining some local rights.71 In 1895, the group around Liu Yong wanted revenge and may have expected to get away with it, which they might have, had there not been foreigners involved. This was an isolated event within the history of anti-Christian incidents, quite unlike the usual conflicts over local interests, ranging from the Christians’ refusal to share in paying for collective rituals to land disputes. The murders of 1895 were not a rebellion against the state, nor part of a larger plan to attack Christianity. They were also not part of a feud between the local Non-Action Teachings or Dragon Flower Gathering and the Christians in general, but a specific attack directed by a still volatile new network at very specific individual missionaries.72

Relative freedom on Taiwan On Taiwan, lay religious movements were traditionally an important manifestation of Buddhist religious culture. The fate of the Non-Action Teachings on the island is well charted in Chinese language scholarship, and the movement flourished until the Second World War. Since the return of the island to Nationalist China in 1945, the movement has gone into decline. A full analysis of why this has happened would require extensive fieldwork and historical research (including oral interviews with the older generation). Moreover, it would have to be carried out in connection with the history of other lay religious groups, including the old vegetarian groups that fell into decline after 1949, the new religious groups introduced from the mainland, and entirely new indigenous groups. Here, we have space for only a few general remarks based on the available secondary literature.73 On Taiwan, the movement is commonly known under the Fujianese name of the Dragon Flower Gathering. All its local halls trace themselves back to three main halls on the mainland, the One Right Hall (yishitang ໍᰃූ) from Fuqing in northern Fujian, the Restored Belief Hall ( fuxintang ᕽֵූ) from Fuzhou, and the Hanyang Hall ⓶䱑ූ from Xianyou in Xinghua Prefecture, near Putian. No other ancestral halls are documented. Some Taiwanese halls claim a very early origin in the first half of the eighteenth century—the oldest in the late Kangxi period (i.e., around 1720)—but most halls date from the second half of the eighteenth century on.74 Most likely these dates are related to the history of migration: only after 1732 were individuals permitted to take their families to the island, and even then only intermittently until the definitive opening up of familial migration in 1788. The result was a society dominated by bachelors, prone to brawling and rebellion.75 The vegetarian lifestyle still made participation in mainstream religious and social activities difficult for the adherents because of the consumption of meat and alcohol that was obligatory in religious sacrifice and banquets. The pace of foundations after 1748 continued to be slow, beginning with the famous Paying Court to Heaven Hall (chaotian tang ᳱ໽ූ) in Zhang-

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hua in 1749, followed by other early foundations in 1751, 1754, and 1765. Only after the complete opening up of immigration in 1788 did the pace of establishing new halls quicken, which continued into the first half of the twentieth century, showing that the movement continued to be capable of attracting followers until the beginning of the modern period. We know next to nothing about the social or ethnic background of the members of these early halls. Since the seventeenth century, Taiwan had been colonized by ethnically Chinese groups from the mainland. Until 1949, they were mainly Minnanese from Zhangzhou and Quanzhou, as well as Hakkas from northeastern Guangdong and southern Fujian. Two of our movement’s ancestral halls, however, were located in northern Fujian (Fuqing and Fuzhou) and one in central coastal Fujian (Xianyou, near Putian, in Xinghua prefecture). Not one of these ancestral halls is located in the southern part of the province from where so many Taiwanese came and where the movement was originally just as popular. At first sight, this is strange; usually migrants to Taiwan took their local culture with them to the island, rather than importing culture from another area of Fujian. The history of the coastal lineage from Fuqing and Xianyou, discussed in the previous chapter, suggests that the reason for this unusual connection to northern Fujian lies in active missionary efforts by late-eighteenth-century figures from the One Right Hall in Fuqing’s Guanyin pu and the Hanyang Hall in Xianyou near Xinghua. This again shows the ongoing importance of missionary activities by adherents of the Non-Action Teachings throughout its existence. After the Japanese took over Taiwan in 1895, different forms of resistance against the occupiers caused the colonial government to place religious life—and with it, the most important forms of social organization—under stricter surveillance. In 1912, the Japanese Sōtō Zen tradition was assigned the task of organizing a Love the Nation Buddhist Association (aikoku bukkyō kai ᛯ೟ԯᬭ᳗). Vegetarian groups became its main members, and it was eventually called the Society of the Vegetarian Heart (zhaixin she 唟ᖗ⼒). Three years later, in 1915, in the famous Xilai Cloister (xilaian 㽓՚ᒉ) rebellion, vegetarian believers, as well as adherents of Phoenix Halls (spirit writing clubs), were very marginally involved.76 After the suppression of the rebellion, many believers sought refuge under the aegis of the Sōtō Zen tradition by joining the Love the Nation Buddhist Association. Buddhists of different backgrounds subsequently organized themselves into the Buddhist Dragon Flower Association (fojiao longhua hui ԯᬭ啡㧃᳗), founded in 1920. As the result of collaborative efforts with other Buddhist groups, both vegetarian and monastic in background, the more inclusive Nanying Buddhist Association फ◯ԯᬭ᳗ came into being in 1921. This last organization held regular Buddhist meetings and published a journal until 1942.77 This rare cooperation was possible because the local vegetarian movement was simply too strong to ignore. Cooperation may also have been helped by the Japanese example, where monks commonly married. Moreover, there was general fear of a backlash against religion after the Xilai Cloister rebellion, combined with pressure from the colonial government to organize groups properly to facilitate better state control of lay Buddhist organizations.78 After the return of Taiwan to

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China, a new combined monastic and vegetarian organization was founded in 1946, and the last head of the Buddhist Dragon Flower Association became its chairman. Significantly, the same man changed his original vegetarian hall into a Buddhist monastery in the following year, and the new Buddhist organization rapidly became dominated by monastic traditions.79 Just how strong the vegetarian halls really were can be gauged, thanks to the religious statistics we have for Taiwan in this period. The largest numbers are given for the year 1939, with a total of 3,479 institutions labeled as “monasteries and temples” and 233 institutions as vegetarian halls.80 Such numbers are not completely reliable. For one thing, the category “monasteries and temples” includes Buddhist, Classicist (or Confucian), and Daoist institutions, plus those local temples that we would now classify as lacking an affi liation but were labeled in a certain way because of the perceived religious background of the temple keepers. Moreover, the number of vegetarian halls is an undercount, possibly because only those halls that had joined the Buddhist association were included. The label “vegetarian halls” referred to three different traditions: the Non-Action Teachings or Dragon Flower Gathering, the Former Heaven Teachings, and the Golden Pennant Teachings. Other groups such as the Unity Way came to the island only after 1945 and are not included in these statistics. The Taiwanese anthropologist Lin Meirong recently compiled a detailed list of vegetarian halls, registering at least 510 halls that still existed in the middle of the twentieth century—more than twice as many as in the Japanese records. Of these, at least 280 belonged to the Dragon Flower Gathering, making it the most important vegetarian tradition of traditional Taiwan.81 These combined figures show a strong religious institution that had not yet begun to decline. The name of the Buddhist Dragon Flower Association ( fojiao longhua hui ԯ ᬭ啡㧃᳗), founded in 1920, was inspired by all three local vegetarian traditions’ sharing a belief in this future event, even though they elaborated it quite differently. The obvious aim of the association, from a Japanese perspective, was to control these three religious groups; from the point of view of the local vegetarian halls, it was to obtain protection against the colonial government. In line with the fashion of those days, they also worked with people who were released from prison and needed to be rehabilitated into society. The association did not include all vegetarian halls and was strongest in central Taiwan because of the leadership’s regional background.82 Local halls often enjoyed excellent relations with the contemporaneous political powers, in casu the Japanese colonial rulers. The degree to which they were abreast of their times is shown by the program of their meetings, which included Buddhist ritual, followed by polite words by representatives of the colonial government, concluded by a “commemorative photograph” and a Vegetarian Fast.83 However, while paying heed to the need to appear loyal to their colonial overlords, the association’s basic aim was spreading Buddhist beliefs and obtaining protection. The question may be raised, however, whether this policy of conciliation or, from another perspective, collaboration contributed to the eventual demise of the vegetarian movement. Given the stable numbers of vegetarian halls under Japanese occupation from 1918 to 1942, this is highly unlikely.

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All scholars of Taiwanese vegetarian religious traditions agree that after 1945 they were no longer able to attract younger adherents and were therefore unable to maintain their numbers. This trend began after the return of Taiwan to China and continued after the separation of Taiwan from the mainland in 1949. It must therefore be explained in postwar terms. An important new development was the advent of elite monks who actively changed the religious scene on Taiwan by transforming vegetarian groups into conventional Buddhist groups, changing the halls into monasteries, and initiating leading figures as regular Buddhist laypeople or even monks. Of the roughly 280 halls of the Dragon Flower Gathering in existence in 1945, which Lin Meirong tracked down, as many as 111 were subsequently transformed into Buddhist monasteries or other types of religious institutions. In addition, an unspecified number of halls were shut down completely.84 The same trend can be observed for the other old-style vegetarian traditions, and at the same time Buddhist institutions and new-style groups flourished. Thus, we cannot speak of a general decline of Buddhism, of which the decline of the vegetarian groups would then have been merely a part.85 On the contrary, as the vegetarian groups fell into a steep decline, the postwar period saw a rise in the popularity of religious culture in general. The vegetarian halls were associated with the old Taiwan. With their sectarian scriptures, they were also seen as too far removed from the historical core texts of Buddhist tradition, which now were being reclaimed by activist monastic leaders. They did not have a tradition of charitable action befitting growing socioeconomic differentiation (such as the Ciji tang / Tzu-chi t’ang ᜜△ූ, or the Charity and Compassion Hall) or a vision of Chinese culture as a whole (such as the Yiguandao ϔ䉿䘧 or Unity Way), making it difficult for them to remain meaningful for the new Taiwan that was emerging from the late 1950s.

Repression on the mainland After 1949, the People’s Republic of China experienced the most devastating religious persecution ever to take place in the entire course of Chinese history. During a few years of direct persecution and several decades of follow-up repression, many religious groups were brought to near extinction, local religious culture was severely curtailed, and what was left of established Buddhist, Daoist, and Christian traditions was brought under state control. Despite a partial revival after 1976, much of that rich and varied religious culture was forever obliterated or had considerably changed in size and shape.86 In 2004, a brief summary of police records on the persecution of religious groups and so-called secret societies was published, permitting a crude analysis of the state of our movement in the early 1950s and its subsequent fate. A number of groups in this survey can be identified as Non-Action Teachings groups on the basis of their autonyms and regional distribution, as well as specific information on their practices, religious names, and initiation ranks. The map on page 214 is based on the information in these police records concerning the number of halls, leaders, and sometimes ordinary members in a given location.87 The focus of the police repression was dismantling all religious

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movements by dealing with the so-called leaders, usually those adherents who had higher initiation ranks. The specific numbers of halls, leaders, and members vary widely per county because persecution practice differed per county and province, making a quantitative analysis impossible. The map confirms that the movement was present in large parts of eastern China, even though there are many obvious gaps in the 1950s records, in such places as southern Zhejiang and most of Fujian.88 Although not as large as the newer religious movements of the Republican period, the Non-Action Teachings was undoubtedly a widespread and well-established religious movement. It is particularly depressing that we have to depend on the sad results of a massive religious persecution to establish this fact. The number of local adherents in a given county could easily exceed several thousand, and these figures include only people who had been registered, excluding all those who managed to keep out of the clutches of the police and local activists. When we concentrate on the region of Ningbo and its immediate surroundings, we find consistently high numbers. In Yin County, 55 official halls were located by the police, with 758 leaders and 4,242 adherents. In the city of Ningbo itself, 80 leaders and 497 members were registered. In Ciqi county, at least 40 halls were found, with 111 leaders and 1,110 adherents, followed by another 20 halls in the county capital, with 180 leaders and 1,292 followers. In Yuyao, 162 leaders and 1,545 followers were found. Elsewhere, usually much smaller numbers of leaders and adherents were arrested or registered, but we have no way of knowing for certain whether there were fewer adherents there or whether the persecution there was less rigorous. The ratio of leaders (i.e., people with higher initiation ranks) to ordinary adherents in the Ningbo region varied from roughly 1:6 to 1:10. Surely there should have been more adherents for each higher ranking member, but we have no way of investigating this seeming anomaly. For Zhejiang as a whole, 24,900 adherents were registered,89 which seems quite plausible as a minimal membership, given that this province was a major center of the movement throughout the Qing.90 Concerning other provinces, we have no such aggregated information. For Jiangxi, it is only specified that there were several thousand adherents, which is most likely an undercount. For Jiangsu, Anhui, and Fujian, no provincial totals are given. In the overall evidence, we can observe the same pattern of small halls with local networks that we encountered during the Qing period, as well as on pre-1945 Taiwan. For one area in Fujian—coastal Putian County—we have good alternative figures, dating from the late Republican period. Here, 320 halls belonging to the movement (under the local name of Dragon Flower Gathering) are mentioned for the early Republican period.91 An author writing in the early 1990s suggests that by that time the same county still had (or again had) some 100 halls.92 The number of halls may seem large for a single county, but the number of halls of the Three-in-One Teaching was even larger. Recent fieldwork by Ken Dean has made clear that new religious groups traditionally enjoyed an enormous appeal in this par ticular region and that the Three-in-One Teachings, in par ticular, has maintained this position right up to the present day.93 This case suggests that an

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Distribution of the Non-Action Teachings in the Early s

even larger number of halls may have existed in the north of Fujian and the south of Zhejiang, the movement’s historical centers. Because the new communist regime in the 1950s was obsessed with classifying people according to social class, the police records contain some scattered references to wealth and status. The highly ideological atmosphere prevalent at that time makes it difficult to know how reliable such references are. It was observed in Qidong County in Jiangsu that the richer people “lit the candles” or “opened the great books,” which refers to the Lighting the Candles ritual of reciting the Five Books in Six Volumes.94 This is plausible because in many local reli-

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gious practices, well-to-do people contributed more in financial terms and obtained a more prominent participation in these cults in exchange. De Groot notes that in Xiamen (Amoy) in the 1880s, richer adherents occupied higher initiation ranks and paid for certain rituals. The account of the movement in Zhejiang claims that its leaders were “evil hegemon landlords, officials of the Nationalist Party and other reactionary elements.”95 Such a description does not tell us very much, except that the movement was probably connected to local elites. I later discuss in more detail the case of Xunwu County in Jiangxi, where several halls were clearly very successful in religious terms and therefore also succeeded in drawing in larger monetary contributions. When the persecution started, members of some of our groups joined local Buddhist organizations to escape repression and were thus able to continue their activities for some time. As a result, it took a few years before the police came to the conclusion that these groups should be persecuted. In Taicang, in northern Jiangsu, the movement was dispersed as late as 1960.96 Likewise, in Jiangxi the overall suppression was more or less completed only by 1959.97 Here Buddhist monks played an important role. Some of them explicitly pointed out to the government that the adherents of the Non-Action Teachings were not real Buddhists, but heretics. This monastic pressure triggered the persecution of the NonAction Teachings in Jiangxi.98 Most evidence of the movement’s continued activities stems from Jiangxi, but we cannot ascertain whether this is because the movement was more active or because local police (or record keepers) were more alert to any religious activities. The most remarkable case is that of Guangfeng County (Jiangxi), where the movement was more or less left alone until the 1970s. By 1972, seventeen communes out of twenty in the whole county and forty-eight production brigades were still active, although the number of known followers was not high: only 164 adherents, 10 of whom were leaders (in other words possessed higher initiation ranks). The police report complains that even after 1968 core “elements” continued to practice a variety of Buddhist rituals and spread the Five Books in Six Volumes. Once the movement was finally suppressed, 235 religious objects were confiscated.99 It is not that surprising that in the chaos of the Cultural Revolution local teachers saw a chance and, most of all, a religious need to practice their teachings more openly again. In Xunwu County in the south of Jiangxi, local adherents continued their activities for a number of years after 1949, until the government came down hard on them.100 In 1955, the local movement organized a ritual that lasted ten days and drew some four hundred people from Xunwu and two other counties. The hall in question had been well connected to local government before 1949 and clearly retained much of its religious and social clout. At the 1955 gathering, most people who attended also contributed some money, no doubt to support the organization. The hall earned an income of 2,800 Chinese dollars from a series of gatherings from January to September, probably all held in 1955. The police could only see this as a money-making exercise, which was a surprisingly traditional

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perception.101 A year before, another local hall had organized a session of recitation of sacred texts (sadly, not specifying which they were) to save an ill child, who nonetheless died. This was blamed on the group because they had not fetched a doctor. Then, again in 1955, another local hall organized a three-day vegetarian fast accompanied by the recitation of sacred texts (again not specified) to pray for rain during a terrible drought. The ritual was attended by 192 people. This time they were blamed for not contributing their labor to fighting the drought— although it is unclear to me how much impact their nonparticipation could have had on the outcome.102 Local figures in the movement were accused of spreading various rumors, as no doubt were large sections of the general population.103 For our larger argument on the nonmessianic nature of the Non-Action Teachings, it is important to note that these rumors did not involve Maitreya or the Dragon Flower Gathering. The leader of a hall in Wanzai County with a very high initiation rank supposedly made the claim that Mao Zedong would hold power for only five years, as the Ziwei star had appeared and an emperor would come. A variety of other political rumors were also ascribed to him, but these accusations could be just trumped up charges to get rid of him. Similarly, the head of a Guanyin Hall in Ningdu County was blamed for hiding a “local hegemon” (diba ഄ䴌), but we learn nothing about the precise nature of this man’s actual wrongdoing. Was he someone with a history of oppression and bullying or just someone who owned too much land? Moreover, the head of the hall and the local hegemon had the same family name, so family connections are possible. Finally, the same Xunwu County hall that was so successful before 1949 and had managed to retain its influence was accused of hiding local bandits during the land reform period. Unless we can discover more about the actual nature of these bandits, this is not very meaningful information from a period with such a highly charged ideological atmosphere. There is no mention anywhere of systematic resistance to the regime, through messianic expectations or otherwise, and the majority of the accusations centers around holding religious gatherings.104 In Wannian County, still in Jiangxi, the movement went underground after 1949, but after the great famine of 1959–1962, it organized a public ritual lasting three days and nights. Its purpose remains unspecified, but it was probably held to transfer the souls of the many thousands of famine victims to the Pure Land and to pacify the souls of the living by doing so. Of the more than seventy participants, twenty were initiated, and twelve were promoted. The gathering was called the “Way of Roundness” (yuandao ೧䘧), a conventional term to describe the purpose of most rituals, which was to help create social harmony. In 1963, the local police came down on the group. Sixty-one people “regretted” their crimes and were not dealt with, but thirteen leaders and particularly active adherents were severely punished.105 In Gaoan, again in Jiangxi, the movement had been first repressed in 1959 but tried to reestablish itself during and after the famine, as well as in 1960 and 1964. Significantly, police confiscated 371 volumes of texts, 12 seals, 24 religious scrolls, a “candle refuge board” (laguiban 㜞ⱜᵓ, function unclear), and scores of other ritual objects. Despite earlier persecutions, the local

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movement had been successfully concealing its texts and other religious objects.106 Restoration attempts also took place in Lishui in 1960 and 1964; Jinyun in 1960, 1961, and 1962; Fuan in 1960; Xunwu in 1963 and 1972; Xianju in 1962; Tonglu in 1962 and 1981 (mixed with other beliefs); Chun’an as late as 1983; and Yongfeng in 1985–1990 (mixed with other beliefs).107 In view of these dates, I suspect that these activities were linked to the physical and emotional distress of the great famine, followed by the misery of the Cultural Revolution (Xunwu in 1972), and then the very gradual loosening up of religious control after 1976. As for the movement on the Chinese mainland today, our data are limited. Ken Dean mentions the revival of several of the movement’s halls in Putian, such as one hall reestablished in 1985 with the financial help of an overseas adherent. In 1988, another hall was reestablished by a local Transmitting the Flame functionary—a high rank suggesting an older person who had been initiated and promoted long before the Cultural Revolution. The reestablishment of this hall was a collaborative effort by adherents from four surrounding townships.108 As already noted, a publication in the early 1990s mentions a hundred restored halls of the movement. Xianyou near Putian is the location of the important Hanyang Hall, one of the Taiwan movement’s “ancestral” halls. Taiwanese followers recently visited it and placed a detailed video on the Internet of a three-day ritual held in 2012 to recite the Five Books in Six Volumes. The video shows mostly older people carry ing out the rituals but also some younger people. Although this may or may not reflect an aging of the adherents that might lead to the demise of the movement, the age spread of the adherents suggests that the movement has continued to recruit and train followers since the 1950s.109 An unlikely source, the Chinese Wikipedia entry for the islands of Daishan County, off the coast of Ningbo, mentions that vegetarian teachings are very prominent locally—once again, we must assume. Unfortunately, the entry does not specify which par ticular groups, but in the 1950s, the Non-Action Teachings had been one of the main local movements.110 Old-style new religious movements seem to be benefiting from the increasing relaxation of controls on local religious culture, and ethnographic fieldwork may indeed be possible in the near future.

Concluding observations Throughout the history of the Non-Action Teachings from the late nineteenth century on, we can see the vicissitudes it had to endure. Official repression never ceased but was local in its impact, limited to harassment by officials and yamen staff to extort bribes. In the 1860s, Pan Sanduo’s reform attempts were motivated by his personal experience of the chaos and human misery caused by the Heavenly Kingdom of Great Peace, especially in the Lower Yangzi region. During the late nineteenth century, local groups came under competitive pressure from a much more active Christian mission. Conversions from the movement to Christianity, and also the brutal murders of local Christian missionaries in northern Fujian, were the result. At the same time, the movement’s missionaries continued to spread the teachings, and in the 1950s the communist regime was under the

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impression that the movement had only recently spread within the Lower Yangzi region. Curiously, we know very little about the history of the movement from Republican-period sources, probably because it was not actively persecuted and therefore did not come to the attention of local governments or elites. Information on the number of local halls and adherents collected by police in the early 1950s indicates that the Non-Action Teachings had continued to attract people in the preceding decades and had been able to reproduce its established communities, sometimes even developing close ties with local government officials as well. The history of the movement after 1949 is one of terrible persecution and intermittent revival. In Jiangxi, local Buddhist monks seem to have thought that they could get rid of some of the competition, a misdeed the movement itself had also been guilty of in the years before 1949. Until 1945, the movement was able to obtain relative legitimacy on Taiwan under the Japa nese occupation. Only during the 1950s did decline start, quite independent of developments on the mainland. Moreover, this decline ran completely counter to the general upswing of religious culture on Taiwan, which saw the successful establishment of several new religious movements. Only the oldstyle vegetarian groups, such as the Non-Action Teachings (known locally by their Fujianese name of Dragon Flower Gathering), went into steep decline, despite the absence of persecution or repression. Much more research is still necessary, but it seems likely that the decline was connected to the movement’s inability to adapt to the new socioeconomic situation of Taiwan’s modernization and the rise of new monastic Buddhist institutions.

8 Rediscovering Lay Buddhism .

T

he Non-Action Teachings was a fundamentalist movement in the sense that it wanted to go back to an original, purer type of Buddhism. For this purpose, it drew on the Chan notion of a “separate transmission outside the teachings,” which went back to the original message of the Buddha and could serve as a legitimation for the movement’s fundamentalist approach. Although the movement was quite conventional in many ways, the fact that it developed its own rituals— without monastic or priestly input and around its own unique anthology from the Buddhist canon—made it extremely innovative. In this respect, it was not so different from the equally fundamentalist lay religious movements that had sprung up, almost contemporaneously, during the European Reformation of the sixteenth century. For this reason, I conclude this study with a comparison of the Non-Action Teachings and the Reformation, not so much to shed new light on the European phenomenon as to highlight some characteristics of the Chinese phenomenon.

The Non-Action Teachings Ve n e r a t i n g a w r i t t e n t e x t An important part of the movement’s ritual activities was the veneration of the Five Books in Six Volumes—Luo Qing’s highly personal account of his road to enlightenment, intermingled with quotations from Buddhist texts. These sacred texts were seen as a single physical object and never referred to by any of the titles of the constituent works. They were referred to by a visually oriented appellation that counted both the group as a whole (the “Five Books”) and the physical number of volumes (“Six Volumes”). Instead of giving the total number of works in the set, such as the Five Classics or Four Books, this par ticular name denoted only a visual aspect and focused attention on the six volumes as a physical group, a unit without any intellectual meaning. Although these texts have been compared with Precious Scrolls, they were quite different; unlike the former, the Five Books in Six Volumes did not contain a separate mythological narrative, but consisted exclusively of quotations and Luo Qing’s account of his religious Werdegang. The Non-Action Teachings constructed its entire organization around the recitation of their Five Books in Six Volumes, including an elaborate ritual that 219

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started with the lighting of the candles and incorporated detailed measures for the proper handling of the texts. The ritual was far more elaborate than the traditional recitation of sutras or Precious Scrolls, which was normally preceded by only a ritual cleansing and the burning of incense. Moreover, other new religious movements were not systematically constructed around the performance of texts. The ritual of lighting the candles was a recurrent activity among the movement’s local halls; the benefits were defined in a general way and extended to all living beings, rather than confined to participants and their next of kin. The participant’s aim was to be registered for salvation, either through rebirth in the Pure Land or by a guaranteed place in the Dragon Flower Gathering at the end of the current kalpa. Countless accounts report on the way the recitation of sacred texts created merit or was rewarded with miraculous healing. Such practical benefits are considered entirely respectable within the Buddhist tradition.1 We find almost no trace of this sort of thing in the Non-Action Teachings, at least not in the records as extant today. In addition, the movement rejected social hierarchies based on a command of writing, although probably quite a few members of the movement were to some extent literate. The absence of accounts of recitation leading to direct benefits is for a good reason, as the Non-Action Teachings rejected easily quantifiable means of attaining this goal. This rejection extended to the recitation of sutras and/or the name of Amitābha, expensive funerary rituals, ancestral worship, or knowing a lot of written texts by heart. In the end, one of their primary concerns was what would happen to them after death. The recitation of the Five Books in Six Volumes, the Heart Sutra, or the name of Amitābha would be meaningful only if and when an individual practiced the correct Buddhist lifestyle—including a vegetarian diet—and obtained insight into his or her original nature, all of which required initiation into the movement. Mechanical recitation could never be effective. The ultimate reward would be an easy passage through the underworld of King Yama and rebirth in the Pure Land and/or registration for the Dragon Flower Gatherings to be held at the end of the current kalpa. Central to the textual community of the Non-Action Teachings were two reading experiences. First, there was the original reading of the Buddhist canon, in the form of the Five Books in Six Volumes by Luo Qing himself, and expressed in the form of quotations that served as “evidence” (zheng 䀐 or 䄝) of his religious understanding. The second was the reading of Luo Qing’s Five Books in Six Volumes by the Non-Action Teachings. Everybody who joined the movement shared in the same recurrent reading experiences. Inspired by Luo Qing’s reading, all the adherents’ ritual activity was projected inward, although in practice this still went hand in hand with the usual ritual activities of burning incense and vegetarian sacrifice. Although some ritual was preserved, ritual practice was sober compared with other religious traditions, and it was carried out without reliance on any monks or priests. Moreover, in the mid-nineteenth century, people like Pan Sanduo could read through the original Five Books in Six Volumes and redis-

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cover Patriarch Luo’s original iconophobic critique. That the movement’s adherents during the late nineteenth century were so easily attracted by the message of the Protestant missionaries could well have been due to the missionaries’ propagation of an ethical lifestyle, in combination with their rejection of icons and their reliance on a single text, the Bible. On the other hand, the Non-Action Teachings also constructed itself as a Chan-style Buddhist movement based on the “other transmission outside the teachings,” the claim to be the recipients of a privileged oral transmission of an inner truth from the Buddha, over many generations of teachers, right down to the present day. However, this privileging of oral transmission is predicated on the dominance of written tradition. One cannot explicitly reject the written in favor of the oral unless writing is already dominantly present in one’s social group (as was the case in the early Chan movement) or in society at large (as was increasingly the case in the late imperial period). Reading and reciting the sacred texts for oneself, in the form of the Five Books in Six Volumes, inspired a movement that wanted to go back to the basics of lay Buddhism. It differed from later Qing and Republicanperiod religious movements that wanted to recover the roots of Chinese culture, usually defined as Classicist or Confucian culture. Our movement was not interested in texts and resources other than those from a strictly Buddhist background. This type of religious movement, bound together by a single text or textual community, was relatively new in Chinese religious history. The first Daoist movement of the Heavenly Masters had formed around the revelation of the Classic of the Way and the Virtue by Laozi, in the late second century C.E., but the text did not remain the centerpiece of the movement’s ritual activities for the rest of its history. In later periods, Buddhist and Daoist movements used texts, and writing was critically important in their ritual activities. However, in the end a sutra served to transmit the Buddha and his spoken word. Reciting a sutra or dhāraṇī (“spell”) made a Buddha, sometimes a Bodhisattva, and his or her powers present. Unlike the Five Books in Six Volumes, these texts were never the exclusive property of single teacher or group. Neither the historical White Lotus movement of the Song and Yuan period (in other words, not the later label) nor the White Cloud Tradition of the same period was formed around a fixed body of their own texts but shared preexisting mainstream texts. Texts were most commonly recited for obtaining different kinds of practical benefits, and this was precisely what Luo Qing and the Non-Action Teachings objected to so vehemently. Although the Non-Action Teachings did not have exclusive ownership of the Five Books in Six Volumes, the community of users was far more circumscribed than was common for any other religious texts, except certain groups of Precious Scrolls. The form of reading we see in the Non-Action Teachings is similar to what Paul Griffiths has called “religious reading.”2 In such a form of reading, there is no distance between the reader and the text, only reverence. The Five Books in Six Volumes was a resource to be mined and an access point to that even more vast and revered resource, the Buddhist canon as a whole. Although the books were not easily memorized given their size, they were frequently recited with great respect and

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circumspection during the Lighting the Candles ritual. As Griffiths points out, this ensured attentiveness. The Five Books in Six Volumes can also be seen as the result of religious reading. At no point is there critical reflection on the Buddhist canon and its components; indeed, the author frequently uses the term “evidence” (zheng 䀐) for the quoted materials.3 Griffiths points out that, next to the commentary, the anthology is one of the principal forms of composition for religious readers. Because the reader cannot be expected to improve on the original, a selection of the most important sections is made to speak for the whole.4 Ordinary lay Buddhists used similar anthologies of crucial Pure Land and other texts for daily recitation. Whereas such anthologies were supposed to go back to the spoken word of the historical Buddha and served to make the Buddha present in one’s life, Patriarch Luo’s Five Books in Six Volumes was both an anthology of the entire Buddhist canon and the personal reflections of a major religious figure on the teachings in accessible language. The Five Books in Six Volumes were not recited to make the patriarch present and did not represent a source of power. They needed to be ingested through worship and recitation, as the object of religious reading, rather than critical commentary. Thus, the absence of adherents’ comments on the contents and meanings of the Five Books in Six Volumes—what Griffiths calls the “consumerist” way of reading a text—derives from the assumption that such a reading would not be possible, or even appropriate, for mere mortals. Finally, the critique of writing in the Non-Action Teachings can be seen as a form of implicit social criticism. The focus on the oral transmission of the heartseal allowed the movement to react to the encroachment of written contracts and written culture into their lives, making it especially attractive for people facing the vagaries of a money economy with its written contracts but without the protection of political and social connections to enforce such contracts. Although they could not avoid the growing importance of reading and writing, they could at least maintain in their private lives that what really mattered was an inner truth only they could know. Part of their rejection of a hierarchy that placed those who were literate and their texts at the top of the social pyramid was a rejection of Classicism (ru), traditionally referred to as Confucianism. The Five Books in Six Volumes has practically no quotations from texts that we conventionally label Classicist, and there is little interaction with these texts in the movement’s later writings. Suggesting they expressly rejected Classicist values may be going too far, but the Classicist canon of the Five Classics or Four Books clearly was not a major point of reference for them. In this attitude, they were fundamentally different from the new religious movements of the late-Qing and Republican periods, which practiced spirit writing and interacted intensively with this Classicist canon.

S o c i a l, g e n d e r, a n d g e o g r a p h i c a l b a c kg r o u n d The Non-Action Teachings was started by very ordinary people, with Patriarch Luo a hereditary soldier, Patriarch Ying a silversmith’s apprentice, Patriarch Yao a fruit seller, and Pan Sanduo a tailor. We lack the systematic data for a proper sociological analysis, but we can make some tentative general remarks. To begin

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with, strikingly, there is practically no mention of full-time farmers in the movement’s records or in the archival evidence created in the context of persecution. Larger numbers of farmers among the members surely should have been mentioned, even in the sketchy sources at our disposal; at the time farmers were more than 80 percent of the population. But for a farmer, the movement’s radical lay Buddhist lifestyle would have been a major stumbling block. Farmers in southern China used manure made of night soil as well as sediment from ponds and small creeks, which are fi lled with living creatures. They would have needed to participate in local cults that sacrificed meat and shared alcoholic drinks with the deities. To give up using manure was not an option, and nonparticipation in the local cult would have meant exclusion from crucial mutual support networks to transplant rice seedlings, weed, and harvest. Keeping to the Five Precepts as a full-time farmer, rather than as a landowner, would have been extremely difficult. Farmers might have hired Buddhist funerary specialists, but keeping to a Buddhist lifestyle would have been nearly impossible. By contrast, we find almost every other type of profession frequently represented in the movement. In the Causes and Fruits, we encounter literati on all levels, military men, housewives, and more. Among the early adherents at the time of Patriarchs Ying and Yao were a smith, merchants, an owner of an indigo plot, indigo laborers, and yamen staff (at least on the level of people providing protection). In Zhang Qikun’s network of the early 1800s were an opera singer, a merchant, two barbers, and a tailor. The patriarchs of the Fujianese coastal lineage, centered on halls in Fuqing and Xianyou, made a living as shopkeepers, often outside their place of birth, although some did start out in life as military men. All of these professions seem to have one thing in common: they are not strictly tied to one location and thus represent the opposite of farming. As already suggested, they would be exposed to the money economy, with its written contracts, and without the kind of social protection that farmers had as members of stable communities. Women were among the adherents of this movement from its very inception, and some of them played important roles. Patriarch Ying passed his dharma treasure on to a woman who was not his wife and who later recognized Patriarch Yao as her own teacher’s incarnation. In his turn, Patriarch Yao recognized a woman as a local leader in the Shanghai (Songjiang) region. His second wife played an important role in maintaining the lineage, and the same was true of Yao Duo’s wives. In the four scrolls of the Causes and Fruits, the equivalent of a whole scroll is devoted to women. The action involving women largely takes place inside homes and among women, with a few exceptions where men are present as members of the household. We keep encountering women in later events as well, but not prominently. In the 1748 incident in northern Fujian, a female adherent played an important role in planning for the release of the group’s teacher from jail. In 1753, a woman was among those arrested in Ningbo, but we get no sense of her social background. Just before he died in 1872, Pan Sanduo assigned the leadership of his hall in Jinhua to a female follower. Both men and women belonged to the movement, and women sometimes became prominent,

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but on the whole the social rules that restricted the free movement of women in society at large were such that men still dominated the Non-Action Teachings. The personal circumstances of some of the crucial figures in the early history of the movement were clearly difficult. Patriarchs Ying and Yao both lost their parents early in life, and their supporting kinship networks appear to have collapsed soon afterward. The same is true of others in the movement, such as Pan Sanduo, who lived through the vagaries of the rebellion of the Heavenly Kingdom of Great Peace. This background would have influenced their search for religious truth, but many others who suffered similar traumatic events did not enter this path, remaining officials, merchants, beggars, monks, day laborers, and so on. The perception of trauma is not absolute across all cultures and all historical periods; instead, it is mediated by the relative circumstances of an individual’s own period. In the end, individual people created meaning out of such events on their own terms. Although traumatic events shaped these leaders’ lives, we cannot reduce their choices to these events, and part of their motivations will forever elude us. Once the movement reached its geographical limits by the late-Ming period, it did not expand further. It started in Chuzhou Prefecture, on the southern margins of the Lower Yangzi macroregion. Eventually, it covered several language zones: the Wu languages of the Lower Yangzi region, the different Min and Hakka languages in Fujian and Taiwan, and again the Hakka and Gan languages of Jiangxi. Indications are that wherever the Non-Action Teachings spread, it may have had hundreds of halls and tens of thousands of followers. Why the movement spread so rapidly across several southern language zones but never spread further to regions where a variety of Mandarin or Cantonese was spoken is unclear to me. We find a similar phenomenon in other cases as well. The Triads crossed into Hakka-, Cantonese-, and Teochiu- (Chaozhou) speaking regions very successfully and largely disappeared in Fujian, where they had originated. Northern groups such as the Broad Yang Teachings always stayed in northern China and did not even spread to Shanxi or Shaanxi. Until the Republican period, new religious groups remained regional phenomena, and the Non-Action Teachings were no exception. The new religious movements of the early twentieth century, such as the Unity Way, were the first to spread nationwide, and they did so relatively quickly, although largely to urban centers.5 These differences in geographical distribution may have something to do with the growth in the twentieth century of the first nationwide urban culture. One of the movement’s innovations was its insistence on the right to transmit and practice its own religious culture. The movement even created a mythical biography for Patriarch Luo in which the Zhengde Emperor (r. 1505–1521) granted him the right to spread his teachings, after he had twice “helped the nation.” Their belief in imperial protection was also at the bottom of the “Proclamation to Protect the Sutras,” but in this case the Kangxi Emperor (r. 1661–1722) bestowed the right to spread and practice the teachings. The proclamation gave the followers a sense of self-esteem and a feeling that they had a legitimate right to practice their par ticu lar form of religion. Possibly the proclamation provided

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them with a means of defending themselves against local detractors and rapacious clerks. The text might also conceivably have been used to attract new members with the claim that even the emperor approved of the movement. I do not think that ordinary officials or their better educated staff would have been deceived by this quasi-imperial edict, but those groups in the local yamen that would otherwise have tried to extort them may have been taken in by it. In several instances, local groups took direct action to protect their members without using the proclamation, a strategy that went disastrously wrong in 1748 in Jianning but worked well in 1895 in Gutian, before another local group committed the terrible murders for which that place became known in history. Even after the persecutions of the 1950s, the remnants of local groups repeatedly attempted to reestablish themselves, testifying to the strength of their convictions and their belief that the time was ripe for them to do so.

M e s s i a n i c e x p e c t a t i o n s o r h e r e t i c i d e a s? On those rare occasions when the Non-Action Teachings caused violent incidents, it was more often than not the end product of an escalation that grew out of others’ intolerance and never from an inherent messianic or rebellious religious impulse. To my surprise, a close reading of the movement’s rituals and practices showed that it was much more oriented toward rebirth in the Pure Land than I had initially thought. Secondary scholarship has traditionally made much of a few seemingly messianic passages within the movement’s writings and always stressed the 1748 incident in which the belief in Maitreya played some kind of role. Both the ritual texts and other sources indicate that the movement’s predominant aim throughout its entire history was rebirth in the Pure Land and/or registration for the Dragon Flower Gathering. The name of Amitābha was frequently recited, but no reference was made to any of the Pure Land sutras. Instead, the movement had its own texts, ranging from the Five Books in Six Volumes to brief cosmological texts and texts on the underworld. The initiation rituals paid much attention to the Three Refuges and Five Injunctions, which were given a typical Non-Action Teachings reading. The Chan-style ritual of the heart-seal transmission was the basis of the initiation ritual but did not originate in Patriarch Luo’s writings. The movement’s adoption of this practice was an original adaptation of a Buddhist practice that was quite conventional by the late-Ming period. Otherwise, the movement’s rituals and practices were geared toward the individual adherents’ safe passage, after death, through the underworld of King Yama—as a reward for their lifestyle—to proceed smoothly to the Pure Land and eventually the Dragon Flower Gathering at the end of this kalpa. However, several elements from late-Ming messianic traditions do appear briefly in the movement’s records. Patriarch Ying once referred to the Three Ages of the past, present, and future buddhas. He did not make explicit whether he expected Maitreya to appear at the end of the present kalpa or in the near and dated future (which would be a messianic expectation). This same patriarch is once depicted as having been sent down by the Unborn Venerable Mother, and

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the same remark is made about Patriarch Luo in the initiation ritual. In the writings of the Non-Action Teachings, no further background is given, but numerous late-Ming messianic narratives claimed that the world was populated by people from heaven who had been banished to earth. The Unborn Venerable Mother was believed to have sent numerous saviors, whose task it was to gather up these banished souls and return them to heaven. At a much later date, Pan Sanduo referred briefly to the idea of the Three Ages, this time to support his contention that the devastations of the Heavenly Kingdom of Great Peace were the equivalent of an apocalypse. His deep sadness about these events motivated his search for a renewal of the Non-Action Teachings message. However, all these elements remain isolated mentions in the numerous writings of the Non-Action Teachings. I therefore contend that they were not the message itself, but merely part of the rhetoric of individual teachers and writers. More prominently, both Patriarchs Ying and Yao sometimes mention the fi nal dharma—the Buddha’s prophecy that the teachings of the Buddha would decay irrevocably after one thousand years. This seems to have lent par ticular urgency to their message that people needed to change their lifestyle, but again without messianic interpretation. The belief in the final dharma is completely orthodox and has been for many centuries of Buddhist history. If anything, it enabled Buddhist teachers to be creative in adapting the teachings to their own time and age, because the original message could no longer be expected to work in the days of final dharma. There is no mention whatsoever of other crucial elements of any messianic prophecy: the selection of a concrete date in the near future when the end of times will take place, accompanied by apocalyptic disasters, and the advent of one or more specific saviors. The patriarchs are never identified as saviors but only as teachers. The idea that the Unborn Venerable Mother sent Patriarchs Luo and Ying plays no significant role in the religious life of the movement. Even Maitreya is mentioned just in the very margins of ritual practice. The only concrete incident in which Maitreya is mentioned more prominently is in 1748, when one leading believer seems to have thought that Patriarch Yao was the Maitreya in Heaven (tianshang mile ໽Ϟᔠࢦ), and there was a vague prophecy that Maitreya was about to descend to earth. However, none of the other common messianic elements were mentioned at the time, and the prophecy was not fulfilled. When local groups became entangled in violent incidents, we rarely have sufficient evidence to analyze how it happened. When we do have information, it turns out that it was mainly their mere existence that caused local magistrates to round them up. We can, however, say something meaningful about three instances in the Qing period. In the Fujian case of 1748, it is clear that the initial arrest of one local leader and some followers was caused by their religious zeal, which had prompted a denouncement and then their arrests. The rest of the events were motivated by the wish to free the arrested adherents from the local jail. The trigger for the 1847 incident in southern Jiangxi was the arrest of local Triad members, after which their organization formed a coalition which incorporated some—but by no means all—local adherents of the Non-Action Teachings. The third incident was in 1895,

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again in northern Fujian. In this case, a sense of having been slighted by a Christian missionary led to a brutal act of revenge, a not unusual act in this region, but no less terrible for that. The incident did not go beyond the murder of the missionary and the people in his immediate surroundings, while two missionaries only a few minutes away were left alone. Most of the time, the movement was so peaceful that it did not attract the attention of the local authorities, who even after violent incidents would treat most of the believers quite leniently. They simply did not perceive these groups as dangerous. All of our sources, both inside and outside, confirm that local officials, literati historians, and Buddhist authors looked at the movement askance and appended derogatory labels to them. As we learn from late-nineteenth-century evidence, they were also blackmailed by local officials and yamen staff. Yet they were never systematically persecuted in terms of their perceived heresy. Centrally appointed officials always had to bear in mind that their offices were populated by local people who might belong to, or sympathize with, the movement. We have encountered several cases when yamen staff tried to warn the Patriarchs Ying and Yao of imminent danger, and the mythical biography of Patriarch Luo tells a similar story. In fact, the “Proclamation to Protect the Sutras/Way” was probably produced by sympathetic yamen staff who had the requisite bureaucratic knowledge to create such a document. Local officials would therefore have had a difficult task asserting themselves against this kind of movement that was firmly integrated in local society, unless a violent event or express orders from the central government forced them to do so. Although the movement was neither rebellious nor messianic, it did hold some highly unusual ideas. And yet, given the movement’s iconophobia and Patriarch Luo’s strong strictures against Amitābha worship, the central role of the recitation of the name of Amitābha and the worship of Guanyin comes as something of a surprise. In this context, belief in the Dragon Flower Gathering is equally remarkable, in that it functioned as the focus of devotionalist activity, in fact, largely an elaboration of the belief in rebirth in the Pure Land of Amitābha. The original iconophobia of Patriarchs Luo and Ying diminished somewhat with the passing of time, allowing a more devotionalist message to regain strength. Among the first generations of adherents after Patriarch Ying, as reflected in the Causes and Fruits, the original iconophobia and antiritualistic discourse were still very much to the fore. Patriarch Yao may still have subscribed to this discourse, but to him the rituals of the Passes, as a kind of recruitment ceremony for the ultimate Dragon Flower Gathering, were also very important. The movement centered the Five Books in Six Volumes in their rituals and continued a certain skepticism toward icons, but adherents did worship some icons, such as Guanyin and numerous protector deities, and during their rituals, various deities were called down to attend or to provide protection. Their much-criticized rejection of ancestor worship did not entail denying the significance of ancestors. After all, Patriarch Ying’s final gathering was held on the Fifteenth Day of the Seventh Month, during the Ghost Festival, when everybody would have had rituals carried out for their recently deceased ancestors.

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Nonetheless, Patriarch Ying saw little use in worshipping them separately and said that living was one’s way of repaying the favor of one’s birth. He explicitly recognized the mother’s suffering in giving birth to children, which is also noted in the movement’s scriptures. The ritual manuals frequently mention the benefits of the rituals for all living beings and all ancestors, and the local vegetarian halls on Taiwan usually have a special alcove for deceased adherents. Generally speaking, the rejection of ancestor worship seems to have referred to formalized worship at spirit tablets, rather than the more emotionally based commemoration of one’s deceased parents or grandparents. Against this background, I cannot find any evidence of an internal development within the Non-Action Teachings—as has been suggested by Hubert Seiwert—from the iconophobic yet otherwise orthodox teachings of Patriarch Luo to a messianic movement that authorities would have justly, or at least understandably, seen as subversive.6 I do, however, see rhetorical use of isolated elements of the late-Ming messianic paradigm of the Unborn Venerable Mother and Three Ages thinking; moreover, we can find one (but only one!) incident when a belief in Maitreya played a rather unclear role. In none of these cases, however, do we encounter any mention of an imminent and specifically dated end of times, the advent of a savior, or a prediction of apocalyptic disasters. The principal aim of these isolated messianic elements seems to have been bolstering the legitimacy of crucial leaders. Only the traditional practice of subsuming the Non-Action Teachings—under the influence of the White Lotus Teachings stereotype—among other new religious groups and networks of the late imperial period has caused scholars to steer this extremely limited evidence in one par ticular direction and ignore the abundance of other information indicating that the movement was first and foremost a devout lay Buddhist group. During the late-Ming period, the Non-Action Teachings in southern China seems to have functioned as a breeding ground for future leaders of other movements, such as Wang Changsheng of the Long Life Teachings and Dong Yingliang of the Golden Pennant Teachings. After these figures left the movement, we hear nothing more about interaction or competition with other movements. For instance, in Xinghua Prefecture, we would have expected at least some reference to competition or interaction with the Three-in-One Teachings of Lin Zhaoen. We have such evidence for the competition between the Non-Action Teachings and Christianity, thanks to the unusual richness of sources on the latter movement, so it is likely that similar competition and interaction took place between our movement and other religious movements of the period.

The movement as a Reformation movement In concluding this investigation, I wish to focus on some differences and similarities between the Non-Action Teachings and the western European Reformation. This comparison is eclectic, intended to throw additional light on the Non-Action Teachings rather than on the Reformation, a field infi nitely better documented and better studied than the situation in traditional China. Even assuming that

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one day there will be at least one monograph on each of the new religious groups of the late imperial period, the differences in the quality and quantity of the underlying sources will remain. Some improvement can be expected if and when the Chinese police and judicial system archives are opened up to academia. But even this will alleviate the source situation only for the twentieth century and later.7 The first important difference with the situation in western Europe is that in China no fundamental change of the religious landscape ever took place. Several new religious movements arose during the late-Ming and early-Qing periods, and they flourished despite recurrent persecutions. But the larger religious landscape remained the same, and these movements never replaced local religious culture as a whole. Significantly, we know about the Qing history of most of these movements only thanks to these persecutions because the adherents functioned largely under the radar of the educated elite who produced most of our sources. When Qing officials did take note of them, they cared only whether people had caused any public disturbances and were not concerned with the precise nature of their beliefs.8 Officials were not tolerant in any meaningful sense of the word, since they had very little idea with whom they were dealing. Usually, a peaceful status quo was maintained, and therefore local officials rarely needed to interfere. The ancestral hall of the Yao lineage in Qingyuan and the Dehua Hall in Tainan were located almost next to the City God Temple and the Confucius Temple respectively, which must have made them very prominent places. The four Zhangpu halls (confiscated in 1702) were also located within the county capital and represented considerable worth as real estate. When the movement could be present in such prime locations, local people and even officials must have been aware of its existence and tolerated it for a long period. Despite incidental and isolated persecutions, the overall situation was not one of permanent friction and tension. A second important difference between the Non-Action Teachings and the European Reformation is the absence of any sustained critique of priestly and monastic institutions by the new religious movements. The Non-Action Teachings did institute a form of priesthood by means of their initiation ranks, which defined higher leaders in terms of their ritual functions. During the late Ming, we can find such a critique within mainstream Buddhist and Daoist traditions, which led to an internal reform movement, but it did not spread to any of the new religious movements. Similarly, despite a sustained discourse of ridiculing religious figures in the vernacular literature of those days,9 this discourse is not to be found among the new religious movements. Buddhist and Daoist monks subsequently reformed their institutions from within, mainly by reviving old practices for controlling the quality (as they perceived it) of the monks and thereby, they hoped, guaranteeing their moral purity and doctrinal knowledge. For this reason, we often speak of the Ming revival of Buddhism, which lasted long into the eighteenth century. Yet, this was not a revival in the sense that Buddhism had declined as a socioreligious force, but a response to the perceived decline in the quality of the monastic institution. Buddhist religious culture was as vibrant as it had ever been, and to my mind, the rise of the Non-Action Teachings and other

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new religious movements is an example of this. As in the West, there was a sense of moral decline in the existing religious institutions, in this case Buddhist and Daoist ones, but in China the renewal and rejuvenation came from within. Buddhist reformers were certainly aware of the new religious movements, especially the Non-Action Teachings, which to them were part of the general religious decline against which they needed to take action. The new religious movements, for their part, largely ignored monastic institutions, although some of their early leaders may have had contacts with Buddhist institutions. Patriarch Luo was believed to have had some pupils who were monks, but this never developed into a monastic line of descent. Patriarch Ying had briefly served as a novice in a Buddhist monastery before he was expelled. However, while the European Reformation was started by monks and friars from within the Roman Catholic Church, these new religious groups in China were all started by laypeople and continued under their control. The only exception seems to have been the Way of Yellow Heaven in northern China, where a local monastery continued to be an important institutional focus, even though its founders and subsequent leaders were laypeople.10 The irrelevance of monastic institutions to these developments probably reflects their overall weakness (not to be confused with Buddhism as a larger religious force) in the sixteenth century, at least in southern Zhejiang and northern Fujian.11 A third difference is the very different political contexts of the Eu ropean and Chinese phenomena. Although simple explanations of the Reformation as the direct result of urbanization or other forms of socioeconomic change during the Renaissance are no longer accepted as correct, the urban background of early preachers like Martin Luther, Ulrich Zwingli, and Jean (John) Calvin still seems important. In Europe, religious innovations usually became connected to political developments at an early stage, because in the radically fragmented Europe in general and the Holy Roman Empire (roughly corresponding to what we now call Germany) in par ticular, there was ample opportunity for such connections, and the distance between local groups and their rulers was much shorter than in imperial China. Local groups might even force city governments and/or their rulers to allow religious change, and the fragmented sociopolitical landscape allowed a very diverse outcome. In the Chinese case, however, I see no such sociopolitical connections. Generally speaking, new religious groups came into being in economically marginal regions such as southern Zhejiang and northern Fujian (for the Non-Action Teachings), Hebei province in the north (for the Broad Yang Teachings), and central coastal Fujian (for the Three-in-One Teachings). They spread to the economic and cultural core but always remained more popular on the periphery. Our movements never developed into political movements, although one par ticular northern network, that of the Wang Family in Stone Buddha Village (close to the northeastern border with the Jürchen), was associated with a rebellion in Shandong Province (the so-called White Lotus rebellion of 1620), and much later some of its followers also got embroiled in rebellions. But by and large, the more established religious movements did not instigate violent rebellions during

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the Ming and Qing dynasties. The Non-Action Teachings developed some degree of self-consciousness vis-à-vis the state, which sets it apart from the other new religious movements of its time. Adherents created an elaborate foundation myth, as well as the “Proclamation to Defend the Sutras/Way” to support their view that the movement had received the highest possible imperial legitimation. In several instances, par ticular local groups (but never the movement as a whole) acted assertively to defend the teachings and attempted to free imprisoned leaders and/or followers—sometimes with success. Yet this was about the limit of their affirmative action. Unlike Europe, where new religious groups were politically involved in this period, not until the twentieth century did the newer Chinese religious movements become politically active. A fourth difference with the European situation is the enormous difference in the nature of our sources. China was economically highly developed by the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, but the repertoire of written sources is far more limited than that available for studying western Europe in the same period. Local archives are virtually nonexistent. We find little evidence in China that printing was used to spread the teachings, except the limited printing of scriptures. This contrasts with Europe, where the massive printing of pamphlets and all kinds of other booklets below the level of the Bible contributed directly to spreading the message. Many of the sources used in this investigation were transmitted only in manuscript form until the twentieth century. The leaders of the Reformation were highly productive in committing their ideas to paper and communicating with others through letters, pamphlets, and treatises. As a result, sources are abundant and varied to a degree that is entirely absent in China, even though much more is available than from earlier periods. This disparity only increases in the following centuries, mainly because written sources in western Europe and North America increased still further. The Non-Action Teachings may be remarkably well documented from a Chinese perspective, but it is still sadly underdocumented from a Western perspective. Although a number of the adherents were certainly literate, most communication among the members appears to have been oral. The nature of literacy in China, in sociological terms, is still little understood, but in my opinion the level of literacy has been much exaggerated for the late imperial period.12 Whereas the European religious innovators were usually educated monks and laypeople, or were educated in the process, this was not the case in China. The leaders of new groups composed new religious scriptures, but they usually did not make use of other forms of writing. There are virtually no extant letters written by leaders of new religious groups, at least below the elite level, the exceptions being Lin Zhaoen (founder of the Three-in-One Teachings in Putian County in Fujian)13 and Liu Yuan (founder of the Liu Tradition in Shuangliu County in Sichuan),14 who were both highly educated and created a new religious tradition with a strong Classicist undercurrent. In addition, there is no evidence that the leaders of the various new religious groups and networks, or their followers, wrote letters or pamphlets that have since been lost. The Non-Action Teachings produced many texts, compared with most other new religious move-

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ments of the period, and even more so when compared with other such movements in the past, but remarkably little when compared with the main teachers of the European Reformation. In its missionary work, it was still largely an oral movement. The record shows our teachers as oral preachers with considerable panache, but their sermons were not systematically written down and certainly not distributed through printing. There are also interesting similarities between the European Reformation and the Non-Action Teachings, such as the loosening up of a direct and mechanical connection between reading cum recitation, on the one hand, and benefits on the other. Benefits such as health and long life continued to be mentioned, but the rituals were performed on a regular basis and were no longer directly linked to either concrete individual instances of disease and death or good fortune and prosperity. Precisely for this reason, Luo Qing and the Non-Action Teachings rejected as overly instrumental the ubiquitous practice of burning paper money as a means of transferring money to the world of the dead for ancestors to use in their dealings with the bureaucracy of the underworld. Religious practice was a lifestyle not tied to specific moments in life or the time of year. Unlike burning paper money or reciting Morality Books or Ledgers of Merit and Demerit, their religious practice should not be quantified. This seems to me to be similar to how the Reformation (followed by the Counter-Reformation) changed religious life in western Europe by rejecting the quantifiable and mechanistic acquisition of merit. Of course, in all of these changes, the element of religious choice in the first generations of adherents was, to a certain extent, replaced by inherited (ascribed) beliefs in the next generations. However, the records we have on the Qing and Republican periods indicate that missionary work never stopped. There were always new believers and new halls. Precisely how much the Non-Action Teachings reproduced itself or maintained itself over time through missionary activities cannot be established on the basis of our poor historical data. Like the Protestant movement, the Non-Action Teachings completely internalized the capacity of enlightenment, as well as the supervision of morality, which made initiated religious specialists superfluous—whether monks (i.e., men devoted full-time to religious practice) or priests (primarily initiated performers of rituals). During the southern Song and Yuan periods, the White Lotus movement was one of the first religious movements in China to initiate this separation, but it still cooperated actively with monks, and the hall of their founder, Mao Ziyuan, was preserved in a Buddhist monastery.15 Patriarch Luo’s career was constructed later on as having included monks as pupils, or, more precisely, monks such as Daning and Lanfeng had been inspired by him, or his writings, and retrospectively claimed to have been his pupils. From the time of Patriarchs Ying (who had been expelled from a monastery) and Yao right up to the present day, laypeople completely dominated the movement. The conversion accounts in the Causes and Fruits sometimes are dismissive of monks, but otherwise monks and nuns are simply ignored. This was truly a lay movement, and potentially, like the Protestant movement in the West, anybody could ascend to the highest level of initiation. Higher-level adherents did have additional tasks, mostly related to the

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per formance of parts of the initiation ritual. J. J. M. de Groot suggests that the highest-level adherents came close to monks in their lifestyles but did not actually receive initiation as monks.16 The rituals were performed by the adherents without the assistance of priests. Grace could not be obtained entirely autonomously because one still needed to be initiated to be gradually introduced to the Small Vehicle, the Great Vehicle, and the Third Vehicle with their respective “texts.” Even Pan Sanduo did not completely abolish the ritual for transmitting enlightenment, and he introduced an initiation by means of dotting the forehead. In all of this, however, the lay adherents were dominant. On a larger scale, the Non-Action Teachings and the earlier, less institutionalized followers of the Five Books in Six Volumes, as well as other individual interpreters of Chan practices, together formed an important part of the background against which the so-called late-Ming revival of monastic Buddhism took place. It should be clear by now that our movement was not a marginal group, numerically or socially; it had succeeded in attracting large numbers of people from a variety of social and educational backgrounds, at least in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. As the many attacks on the movement and criticisms of it indicate, literati, officials, and Buddhist monks were deeply worried by the social and religious implications of this development. As a result, they were even more motivated to carry out what they saw as necessary changes in the monastic institution. Therefore, the Non-Action Teachings was not merely an important religious lay Buddhist movement in its own right, but its rise during the late Ming also formed an important part of the monk-reformers’ motivation in those years. What the Ming critics labeled as decline, however, I call religious innovation. It is not our task as historians to automatically accept the value judgments of late-Ming authors, whatever their backgrounds. Just as happened during the European Reformation, during the Ming period, a tendency toward an increased role for laypeople and lay interpretations was opposed by the sociocultural elite and the Buddhist monastic establishment. In this interpretation, the so-called lateMing Buddhist revival is not so much a revival of something old and decaying as an attempt to reestablish institutional control. Unlike the western European case, the lay Buddhist nonelite reformers in China were successfully marginalized by the mid-seventeenth century because they never managed to get the highest level of the educational and bureaucratic elite on their side, and there was no geographical niche where they could carry through their innovations under political protection. In China, the countermovement, led by the educated elite (including elite Buddhist monks) and supported by the repressive state, ultimately won.

Notes

. MJBJ: Zhongguo zongjiao lishi wenxian jicheng: Minjian baojuan Ё೟ᅫᬭ⅋৆᭛ ⥏䲚៤˖⇥䭧ᇇो (Hefei: Huangshan shushe, 2005). MJSC: Wang Jianchuan, Li Shiwei ᴢϪ‫؝‬, and others, eds. Minjian sicang: Taiwan zongjiao ziliao huibian: minjian xinyang, minjian wenhua ⇥䭧⾕㮣 : 㟎☷ᅫᬭ䊛 ᭭ᔭ㎼ : ⇥䭧ֵӄ⇥䭧᭛࣪ (Luzhou: Boyang wenhua shiye youxian gongsi, 2009). MQWX: Wang Jianchuan ⥟㽟Ꮁ and Lin Wanchuan ᵫ㨀‫ڇ‬, eds. Ming Qing minjian zongjiao jingjuan wenxian ᯢ⏙⇥䭧ᅫᬭ㍧ो᭛⥏ (Taibei: Xinwenfeng chubangongsi, 1999). MQXB: Wang Jianchuan and others. Ming Qing minjian jingjuan wenxian xubian ᯢ⏙⇥䭧㍧ो᭛⥏㑠㎼ (Taipei: Xinwenfeng chuban gongsi, 2006). YZ 7: Yongzheng 7 (1729) edition of the Five Books in Six Volumes (Wubu liuce), republished in MQWX vol. 1.

Chapter 1: Introduction 1. The autonym Great Vehicle Teachings was used by various other groups in the same period as well. In the late imperial period, the name Dragon Flower Gathering was used as an autonym by our movement, although only in Fujian. As a concept, the term was also used in messianic contexts, for instance, in the Republican period Sharing Goodness Society or Tongshanshe ৠ୘⼒ movement and in oral traditions influenced by the Dragon Flower Classic or longhuajing 啡㧃㍧. In Chapter 5, I contend that it was not used in a messianic connotation by the Non-Action Teachings, and I have therefore decided not to use the term as a general appellation for the movement. 2. Qizhi yinguo, 506–511 (MQWX 495–497). 3. For the “Journey to the West” story in the Five Books in Six Volumes, see Tanshi juan, 1: 4a–5a (159). In the Non-Action Teachings, see Shanming jushi, Mingzong xiaoyi, 34a–36b (234–235). On its Complete Perfection background, see Plaks, The Four Masterworks, 194–199. The belief in this background remains a relevant historical fact, whether true in terms of the novel’s origins or not. 4. Ter Haar, The White Lotus Teachings, passim. 5. Edkins, “Notice,” passim; De Groot, Sectarianism, 170–241. Chinese research is based exclusively on texts, with the exception of Lin and Zu, “Zaijia fojiao,” passim; Lin, Taiwan de zhaitang, passim; and Zhang, Taiwan de laozhaitang, passim. 6. Seiwert, Volksreligion, 161–194; Seiwert, “Popu lar Religious Sects,” 33–60; Seiwert, Popular Religious Movements, passim.

235

236

Notes to Pages 9–13

7. Wang Jianchuan and Lin Wanchuan ᵫ㨀‫ڇ‬, eds., Ming Qing minjian zongjiao jingjuan wenxian ᯢ⏙⇥䭧ᅫᬭ㍧ो᭛⥏ (Taibei: Xinwenfeng chubangongsi, 1999) (henceforth MQWX); Wang Jianchuan and others, Ming Qing minjian jingjuan wenxian xubian ᯢ⏙⇥䭧㍧ो᭛⥏㑠㎼ (Taipei: Xinwenfeng chuban gongsi, 2006) (henceforth MQXB); Wang Jianchuan, Li Shiwei ᴢϪ‫؝‬, and others, eds., Minjian sicang: Taiwan zongjiao ziliao huibian: minjian xinyang, minjian wenhua ⇥䭧⾕㮣 : 㟎☷ᅫᬭ䊛᭭ᔭ㎼ : ⇥䭧ֵӄ⇥䭧᭛࣪ (Luzhou: Boyang wenhua shiye youxian gongsi, 2009) (henceforth MJSC). 8. Lin and Zu, ”Zaijia fojiao,” 235. 9. Nikolas Broy’s doctoral research should address part of this problem. 10. On this Japanese scholarship, as well as its strengths and weaknesses, see Ter Haar, The White Lotus Teachings, passim. 11. Asai, Minshin jidai, 23–113, and “Taiwan zhaijiao,” passim. 12. Zhongguo zongjiao lishi wenxian jicheng: Minjian baojuan Ё೟ᅫᬭ⅋৆᭛⥏䲚៤˖ ⇥䭧ᇇो (Hefei: Huangshan shushe, 2005) (henceforth MJBJ). 13. Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, passim. 14. I have looked closely at the rich literature from mainland China, but the impact of traditional and modern stereotyping and insufficiently critical use of sources made it impossible to rely on it too much. 15. Nadeau, “Popu lar Sectarianism,” passim; Naquin, “The Transmission,” 255–291; Overmyer, Folk Buddhist Religion, passim; Overmyer, Precious Volumes, passim; Shek, “Religion and Society,” passim. 16. Seiwert, Popular Religious Movements, passim. 17. For a good discussion of the state of the field, see Ownby, “Sect and Secularism,” passim.

Chapter 2: Patriarch Luo: From Soldier to Religious Teacher 1. Sawada, Zōho hōken, 301–309, combines sources of very different quality, including a late edition of the Five Books in Six Volumes with additions to the original, as well as much later Precious Scrolls. Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 166–173, 245–250, and most subsequent research suffer from the same problem. 2. Szonyi, “Soldiers, Smugglers and Pirates,” passim. 3. See my discussion later. 4. Taishan juan (YZ 7) 94b–95a (394), and less detailed Zhengxin juan (YZ 7), 111a (344). It is also included in the 1615 edition of the Taishan juan (reprinted by his purported descendant Luo Wenju; formerly in the collection of Sawada Mizuho, now in the library of Waseda University: http://archive.wul.waseda.ac.jp/kosho /bunko19/bunko19_f0399/bunko19_f0399_0004). It is also in the reconstructed version, discussed later, but left out in the Kaixin fayao edition most commonly used in the Non-Action Teachings. In note 67, I explain my preference for the translation of xin as “heart” rather than “heart-mind” or “mind.” 5. I have profited much from the collated edition by Lin Chaocheng ᵫᳱ៤, in Lin, “Ming Jiajing ban.” It is based on an edition preserved at Tsukuba University in Japan, from the collection of Sakai Tadao, collated with the Yongzheng 7

Notes to Pages 13–16

6. 7.

8. 9.

10.

11. 12.

13.

14. 15. 16.

17.

237

(1729) version and others. None of the editions at Tsukuba University is explicitly marked as a Jiajing edition (e-mail from Professor Maruyama Hiroshi of January 31, 2012). As Lin points out, the “Wondrous hymn in [lines of] ten characters of the peregrinations of Patriarch Luo” is one of many additions of, and changes to, the Kaixin fayao; see Kaixin fayao, kugong 1: 7a–8b (411–412). Because referring to an online edition is cumbersome, I usually refer to the printed Yongzheng 7 edition (as YZ 7), but all references have been checked in the digital version. Hanshan, Hanshan dashi, 53: 481a, 482b. Biography in Hsu, A Buddhist Leader, passim. Meng ᄳ is a common generation marker in people’s personal names, meaning “oldest” of the male children. Two-character personal names were quite rare until the late sixteenth century, certainly among ordinary people. The version with meng ໶ (“dream”) is a further literary embellishment. Peizhi (1596) 6: page number unclear. Seiwert, Popular Religious Movements, 216–250, follows the secondary scholarship in accepting this material as historically reliable, whereas I see it as fundamentally mythological. In my opinion, the material tells us nothing about the historical Patriarch Luo, but everything about people of much later times who claimed to be his followers. Contrary to Seiwert (and our Chinese and Japanese colleagues), I do not think that we possess any reliable evidence of direct transmission by the patriarch. For the poem, see Kaixin fayao, kugong 1: 7a–8b (412–413). Most publications (for instance, Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 166) give 1442 because most of the relevant seventh year of the Zhengtong ℷ㍅ period corresponds to that year. The same dates are implied (date of birth) or given (date of death) in the Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, 6a (243), 29a (255). Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 166. See Kugong juan (MJBJ), vol. 1, 98–170 (the Yongzheng 7 edition does not contain these materials). From Che Xilun’s䒞䣿‫ ׿‬detailed description of the Wujing huijie in Che, “Ming Wang Haichao,” it is clear that this volume stems from that par ticu lar late-Ming edition. Che Xilun thinks that the book must have been compiled before 1598 because of Zhu Zhifan’s preface, but the actual printing is three decades later. Kugong juan (MJBJ), vol. 1, 100–105, esp. 100. The bureaucratic functions given for Zhu Zhifan in the preface are historically correct. For more on him, see Goodrich and Fang, Dictionary of Ming Biography, 304–305. See Pan, Xinjuan Zhu Lanou. On the novel itself, see Berling, “Religion and Popu lar Culture,” 188–218. Kugong juan (MJBJ), vol. 1, 106–111. The bureaucratic titles given for Zhou Rudi are historically correct. I have relied on his biography in http://hi.baidu.com. Kugong juan (MJBJ), vol. 1, 158–161. For a summary of the research to date on Daning and other possible “pupils” of Luo Qing’s, see Wang, Taiwan de zhaijiao, 8–11, 137. Overmyer, Precious Volumes, 391, gives the main literature. Sawada, “Raso no mugikyô,” in Sawada, Zōho hōken, 309–315; and Ma and Han, Zhongguo

238

18. 19.

20.

21. 22. 23.

24.

25. 26.

27. 28. 29. 30. 31.

Notes to Pages 16–21 minjian, 177–187. The dates of most early editions seen by Sawada and others can no longer be verified. Kugong juan (YZ 7), passim. The jin’gang keyi in the Buddhist canon writes 㢹䙘ֵফᗫ՚㞾⁶ⳟ(ZZK, 74n1494_p0651), which could translate as “if you return and accept in faith, you must investigate it yourself all at your leisure.” He uses kan in different meanings, but also in the meaning of “to read,” for instance, in “if you read a recipe and do not administer the medicine” (Poxie juan [YZ 7] 20: 37b [268]) and in Poxie juan (YZ 7) 24: 57b (278) on reading the Lotus Sutra. For a discussion of kan as a more intense and self-conscious way of looking, see Clunas, Pictures and Visuality, 116–117, 129–130. Inagaki and Stewart, The Three Pure Land Sutras, 25–26. For a discussion, see Kaji, “Rakyō no shinkō” and “1482 nen no ‘kō.’ ” See Seiwert, Popular Religious Movements, 219–229; and Overmyer, Precious Volumes, 92–124. The author frequently uses bu as a kind of measure word for Buddhist sutras. See, for instance, toward the end of Poxie juan, 24 (digital edition; section is missing in the Yongzheng 7 and Kaixin fayao editions), where the author uses wuben jingjuan Ѩᴀ㍧ो and wubu jingjuan as synonyms. On this system of grading Buddhist sutras, see, for instance, Lusthaus, “Buddhist philosophy.” Taishan juan (YZ 7) 1: 7b–10a (350–352). He again refers to wubu jingjuan in the final postscript to the same scroll and lists their titles as well; see Taishan juan (YZ 7) 95a–b (394). In the postscript to the fourth scroll, he still refers to sibu jingjuan or four scrolls; this is only in the digital edition; the Yongzheng 7 edition “miscorrects” this to six or liubu jingjuan but lists only four titles, confirming that this correction is not in the original. Curiously, the Poxie juan (YZ 7) 24: 70b (285, also in the digital edition), refers to five books or wubu jingjuan. Unlike the passages at the end of the Zhengxin juan and Taishan juan, however, this is not an autobiographical passage and mentions only three of the five titles. It seems more likely that the original passage was later edited incorrectly and is no longer preserved in the original format. The phrase “extensive perusal and compilation” (lanji 㾑䲚) also refers to his main source of quotations, the anthology Collection of the Great Canon in One Glance (dazang yilanji ໻㮣ϔ㾑䲚). On the notion of extracting the most important bits and pieces out of the Buddhist canon, see also Poxie juan (YZ 7) 3: 11a–12a (215–216). Keyi baojuan, zhong shang 11a–b (417). Nadeau, “Popu lar Sectarianism,” 239–248, summarizes the results obtained until now. I hope to publish my own analysis of the author’s way of quoting texts elsewhere. Kaixin fayao (MQWX, vol. 1); Kugong juan, shou 8 (407). Lin, “Ming Jiajing ban.” See Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 178–181; and Lian and Qin, Zhongguo mimi shehui, 144–152. The practice of reciting a kind of catechism is quite common, but such texts are usually brief selections of existing sutras. Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 341–342. Qu, Wanli wugonglu, 1: 6a–7b (101), mentions a teacher who is identified as “Teachings of the way of Luo” (luodao-

Notes to Pages 21–26

32. 33. 34.

35.

36.

37.

38. 39.

40. 41. 42. 43.

44.

45. 46.

239

jiao 㕙䘧ᬭ). They supposedly followed the “Five Books in Six Sutras” (wubu liujing Ѩ䚼݁㍧), but nothing in this group’s practice can be related to Luo Qing’s actual texts. Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 245–256. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Luo: 39a (255), refers briefly to it but does not develop it any further. Pu, Huijiao huizhu huiping, 7: 877–878. Both Zhou Rudi (quoted earlier) and the Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, 2b (241), refer to the grotto, which they call Peach Blossom Grotto, inspired by the famous story by Tao Yuanming. Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 172, discuss the grave cult. Overmyer, Precious Volumes, 128–130, 311–312. Li and Naquin, “The Baoming Temple,” 153–154, associate the scroll with the Great Vehicle Teachings of Nun Guiyuan in Beijing. Lian and Qin, Zhongguo mimi shehui, 158–159, summarize the work of Sawada Mizuho, Ma Xisha and Han Bingfang, and Wang Jianchuan. The authors conclude that these genealogies are not historically correct. Curiously, in 160–161, they still claim that somehow these people must have been real pupils of the patriarch. Overmyer, Precious Volumes, 132–135, 321–335; Shek, “Religion and Society,” 167–175; Song, Qingdai hongyangjiao, 107–111. The movement’s scriptures are included in MQWX, vol. 6. Hunyuan hongyang linfan piaogao jing ⏋‫ܗ‬ᓬ䱑㞼޵亘催㍧ (MQWX), vol. 6: 718–719 (section 24). Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 245–256 and 256–339. For more on the Grand Canal laborers, see Kelley, “Temples and Tribute Fleets,” 361–391. On the Green Gangs, see Martin, “The Origins,” 67–86. Ter Haar, Ritual and Mythology, 390–400. Zongben, Guiyuan zhizhi (author’s preface, 1553), 119a–120a (notice seven). On this book, see Chen, “Cong mingdai sengren zhuoshu,” especially 171–175. Zhuhong, Da jingtu sishiba wen, 511a05. Zhuhong, Zhuchuang sanbi, 47b. See also Zhuhong, Zheng’eji, 19b; and Zhuhong, Yunqi jishi, 36b. On the life and works of Zhuhong, see Yü, The Renewal of Buddhism. Mizang, Zangyi jingshu biaomu (1597), 10b and 11a–b. Most scholars only quote the text without much comment. The phrase binghu qiuyue ‫⾟໊ބ‬᳜ is an old saying referring to someone’s pure nature; the “ice vase” is a jade vase fi lled with water in which the “autumn moon” can be reflected. The term reworks the enlightenment poem by Huineng, which said that one’s nature is like a mirror to which dust does not adhere, to be found in the Platform Sutra. Briefly in Harvey, An Introduction, 270–276. More elaborately in Buswell, “The Short-Cut Approach,” 321–377; and Sharf, “How to Think,” 205–243. The two names were also used for other groups or networks. Wang Sen (1542–1619) founded a Great Vehicle Teachings, which lasted into the nineteenth century under a variety of alternative names. See Ter Haar, The White Lotus Teachings, 229 and the sources given there, and Seiwert, Popular Religious Movements, passim, for numerous examples.

240

Notes to Pages 26–32

47. Harvey, An Introduction, 272. 48. Qizhi yinguo, 545–547. 49. I do not understand the meaning of moti 咬ᦤ and have left these two characters out of my translation. 50. Also see De Groot, Sectarianism, 212–213. 51. Lushan lianzong baojian, Chapter 7, p. 116. Background in Ter Haar, Ritual and Mythology, 162–165; and Katz, When Valleys Turned Blood Red, 869–901. 52. See Chapter 3, incident of Wu Jian. 53. See Chapter 6, case of Zhang Qikun and Gui Zibang from 1814–1815. 54. Taking guixiang ⅌৥ as guiyi ⅌ձ, “to take refuge in” in the Three Jewels (sanbao). 55. The “Gatha of the Dharmaboat” (fazhoujie ⊩㟳‫ )؜‬could also be translated as the “Gatha of Fazhou.” In his notice on Lanfeng, Mizang also mentions a teacher called Fazhou ⊩㟳. 56. Kugong juan (undated early edition in Baojuan chuji ᇇो߱䲚; Shanxi renmin: Taiyuan, 1994) 1: 241 (date of the edition as 1514 seems highly implausible), 251–252 (poem, dated 1518). Also in Kugong juan (YZ 7) 149. For a summary of research on Daning and other possible “pupils” of Luo Qing’s, see Wang, Taiwan de zhaijiao, 8–11, 137. 57. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu (1683), Yin: 40a (p. 275). Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 225–227, presume as much without specifying Mizang as their source. 58. Shanming jushi, Mingzong xiaoyi, 1b, 4a (201–202). The author of the preface was a traveling merchant and may have played a role in the transmission of our text, which involved a “translator” from the commercial center of Xin’an ᮄᅝ (modern Huizhou Prefecture). He refers to a “pupil Mingkong” (dizi mingkong ᓳᄤᯢ ぎ), who is supposed to go back to Patriarch Luo, according to a late-Ming tradition. If true, this places the preface in the early seventeenth century because this Mingkong was active from at least 1611 to 1629. He also preached a messianic message, cf. Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 232–235, which conflicts with the teachings of Luo Qing as a historical figure. See also Wang Jianchuan, Taiwan de zhaijiao, 7. 59. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 5a (285). 60. Sharf, “On Pure Land Buddhism,” passim. 61. Useful remarks in McRae, Seeing through Zen, passim. Also Grant, Eminent Nuns, 49–50, 199, note 22; and Hasebe, Min Shin Bukkyō, 353–354. Wu, Enlightenment in Dispute, passim, is devoted to the revival of Chan-lineage thinking in the late-Ming and early-Qing period. On Yongzheng as a lay Buddhist, see Ter Haar, “Yongzheng,” passim. 62. Kaixin fayao (MQWX, vol. 1), Kugong juan, 1: 8a–b (413). The more common translation of deng ➜ is “lamp,” but when you use a lamp to light another lamp, the real transmission is of the flame between them. 63. Kaixin fayao (MQWX, vol. 1), Kugong juan, 1: shou 8a (407). 64. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 9b–15b (287–290); Keyi baojuan, shang 13a–14b, 15a–b, 19a–21b (399, 400, 402–403). 65. Qizhi yinguo, passim; Anonymous, “Qingdai longhua hui,” 40 and 42; Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu (see also Chapter 6); Luozu baojuan (MJBJ), 1a–8b (241–244).

Notes to Pages 33–34

241

66. Useful discussion by Welter, The Linji lu, 14, 38–41, 50–51, 124–125, 132–133. According to him, the first line goes back to the Tang period. 67. Limei jushi, Jiaowai biechuan (ZZK), 84: 1580: 157c. Welter, The Linji lu, 14, translates differently and in a different sequence: “A special transmission outside the teaching”; “do not establish words and letters”; “directly point to the human mind”; and “see one’s nature and become Buddha.” Since what Welter translates as “words and letters” in our period referred primarily to writings, I have opted for a more literal translation. The term mind is a translation of the term heart (xin) from a Western perspective; one also finds the translation “heart-mind.” In Western culture, we associate the heart more with emotions (despite the fact that these, too, are processes in the brain). Americans put a hand on the heart when listening to their national anthem. What is meant by “heart” in the Chinese context is certainly not the brain, but really a more direct and fundamental place beyond and above the regular thought processes. I think the term heart still reflects this notion best. Finally, it seems to me that the idea of “becoming a buddha” is more appropriate than the historical “Buddha,” as seems to be implied by leaving out the indefinite pronoun. 68. Jörgensen, Inventing Hui-neng, 392–393, 469–470, 546–547. 69. Limei jushi, Jiaowai biechuan (ZZK), 84: 1580: 157c. 70. Foulk, “Sung Controversies,” 220–294. 71. Keyi baojuan, zhong xia 25a (424). 72. Only fragments and allusions can be found, in Poxie juan (YZ 7), 11: 86a (248); Zhengxin juan (YZ 7) 4: 15a (301); 12: 53b (315); 25: 108a (343); Taishan juan (YZ 7) 14: 56a (375) and 19: 71a (382). 73. Qizhi yinguo 543–550 (MQWX 487–489), 579–5845 (MQWX 545–547); Keyi baojuan, zhong xia 27a. 74. Zhengxin juan (YZ 7) 5: 30b (304), although the shorter compound mingxin occurs quite regularly. 75. Patriarch Luo mentions a Gatha of the Four Lines (siju jie ಯহ‫)؜‬, but this refers to a gatha from the Diamond Sutra. See Poxie juan (YZ 7) 1: 8b (209), 1: 10a (210), 8: 66a–b (238), 11: 85b–86b (247–248); Taishan juan (YZ 7) 1: 8b–9a (351), and so forth. 76. Jörgensen, Inventing Hui-neng, passim. 77. Kugong juan (YZ 7) 134–135 (quoting the Platform Sutra, T48n2008: 0349c); Poxie juan (YZ 7) 6: 51b–52b (230–231) (three partial quotations combined into one long quotation) (quoting the Platform Sutra, T48n2008: 0349c; 0358b; 0358a–0358b, including the famous poem by which Huineng demonstrates his superior understanding of Chan); Poxie juan (YZ 7) 20: 38b (269) (quoting the Platform Sutra, T48n2008: 0355b–355c, two fragments from the same anecdote against senseless sutra recitation); Zhengxin juan (YZ 7) 20: 86a (332) (quoting the Platform Sutra, T48n2008: 0352a, including the crucial statement that the Pure Land is really within oneself ). McRae, The Platform Sutra, allows the reader to consult the translation next to the Chinese edition in the Taishō daizōkyō edition. 78. Xingmipian, 314. 79. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 3b–4a (284). Polydactyly is a relatively common phenomenon, but usually the stories are intended to mark

242

80. 81. 82. 83. 84. 85. 86.

87. 88.

89.

90. 91. 92.

93. 94. 95. 96.

97. 98. 99. 100. 101. 102.

Notes to Pages 34–43 someone as exceptional. What is more interesting, given the widespread practice of foot binding, is that the patriarch claims to have seen her naked feet. Qizhi yinguo, 550–554 (MQWX 489–490). Qizhi yinguo, 534–538 (MQWX 484–485), 514–515 (only in MQWX). Edkins, “Notice,” 371. Based on a written source by the movement, probably from Shanghai. Keyi baojuan, shang 6a (395), shang 10b (397), zhongxia 26a–b (424). Lin and Zu, “Zaijia fojiao,” 229–230. On the background, see my discussion in Chapter 3. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 36a (300). See, for instance, Keyi baojuan, shang 4b (394), shang 5b (395). The term also appears in the digital version of the Wubu liuce, though not often: Poxie juan (YZ 7) 11: 86a (248); Zhengxin juan (YZ 7) 25: 108a; Taishan juan (YZ 7) 19: 71a (382). Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 36a–b (300). Heffernan, Sacred Biography, 5–6 and passim on sacred biography. Campany, To Live as Long, 100–102 and passim, for an excellent discussion in a Chinese context. I follow the sequence as given in the Luo chapter of the Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu. Indentation indicates a change in rhyme. The story as summarized by Joseph Edkins, “Notice,” diverges slightly because of his incorrect understanding of the original. Mochizuki and Tsukamoto, Mochizuki, 4718–4719; Xingyun, Foguang da cidian, 1960. The Six Thieves are the six senses of the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind, which cause ignorance. These cannot be identified in historical sources. The Lord of the Fief of Wei would have been a Ming prince of the blood. Wang, “Ming Princes,” passim, tells us that Ming princes were often interested in religious practices. The names of villages in northern China often contain the last element she, as a remnant of a Yuan type of subbureaucratic administrative unit. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Luo: 21b–22a. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Luo: 27a (254). Identified as Zhang Yong in Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Luo: 16a (248). Followers of the Non-Action Teachings could have obtained information on this eunuch from a wealth of contemporary sources. On Zhang Yong, see Goodrich and Fang, Dictionary of Ming Biography, 111–113. Naquin, Peking, passim; Goossaert, The Taoists, 209–234. Song, Qingdai hongyangjiao, 130–133; Dang, “Shanxi Xi xian,” passim. The Chinese term for “Tatar” does not contain the r that is common in older (and incorrect) Western versions of this ethnonym. Shen, “Accommodating Barbarians,” 37–93. Groeneveld, “De Nederlanders in China,” passim. This was even true of many of the most prestigious Chan abbots of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries; see Ter Haar, “Yongzheng,” passim.

Notes to Pages 43–51

243

103. See my discussion in the section “The Chan Dimension of the Non-Action Teachings.” 104. Wieger, Bouddhisme Chinois, 80–82. His translation is based on a mid-Ming compilation of stories on the life of the Buddha, which was often reprinted in the late imperial period, Baocheng’s ᇇ៤, Shishi yuanliu yinghua shiji 䞟⇣⑤⌕ ឝ࣪џ䐳. 105. See my discussion in Chapter 3. 106. See my discussion in the section “The Historical Figure.” 107. Fraser, Performing the Visual, 169–174. 108. Wieger, Bouddhisme Chinois, 155–156. 109. Wieger, Bouddhisme Chinois, 180. Devadatta is the archetypical bad figure of Buddhist mythology, whose precise relationship to the Buddha shifts somewhat per story. 110. Idema, Prinses Miaoshan, 134–135. This story was itself inspired by the Buddha’s promise in the Lotus Sutra that thinking of the power of the Bodhisattva Guanshiyin would be enough to ward off an executioner’s sword. See Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom, 312, 317. 111. Inagaki and Stewart, The Three Pure Land Sutras, 75–100. Part of the story is also contained in Baocheng’s life of the Buddha; see Wieger, Bouddhisme Chinois, 190–191. 112. Tianyuan jiejing zhujie, jiejing baojuan, 6b (319); and Kaixin fayao (MQWX), vol. 1, Kugong juan, 1: shou 4b (404). 113. For example in Keyi baojuan, zhong xia 26b (424). 114. Qizhi yinguo, zhen: 496 (only in MQWX). 115. Xingmipian, 241. We have no explicit evidence on this Andreas. 116. Xingmipian, 315, mentions the autonym “Old Official,” which was common in this region. See the discussion in Chapter 7. The name Luo Ying is probably an aural mistake for the name Luo Yin that is given in the Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu. 117. Xingmipian, 314–315. 118. For a similar example, see Li and Naquin, “The Baoming Temple,” 133–145. 119. Stübel and Li, Die Hsia-min, passim; Ling, “Shemin tuteng,” 127–173; Eberhard, “A Genealogical Chronicle,” 137–144. On the foundation myth of the Yao, see Ter Haar, “A New Interpretation,” passim. 120. Chuzhou fuzhi (1877) 24: 7b–8a (Lishui County). 121. Ter Haar, Ritual and Mythology, 373, 411. 122. Griffiths, Religious Reading, passim.

Chapter 3: Charismatic Teachers against the Current 1. Chuzhou fuzhi (1877) 24: 1a–21b. 2. Rawski, Agricultural Change, 57–100; Averill, “Shed People,” 84–126; Lin, “Fukien’s Private Sea Trade,” 163–215. 3. I profited much from a reading of Falco, Charisma and Myth, passim. 4. The version in De Groot, Sectarianism, 179–184, places Patriarch Luo in Shandong and on the border but also in Jinyun in southern Zhejiang, where Patriarch Ying had been born. De Groot, Sectarianism, 180–181 and 184,

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5.

6. 7. 8. 9.

10.

11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16.

17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22.

23.

24.

Notes to Pages 51–58 quotes two long passages in Chinese. The second of these is the same in content as the 1683 printed edition (Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Luo: 20b–24a [250–252]) but more concise and phrased in different language, reflecting a common oral or written original. The version used by Edkins, “Notice,” is essentially the same as the one used in this investigation. In addition to the material quoted in the previous footnote, see the incidents listed in Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 394 (1748), 395 (1753), 398 (1780– 1781), and 400 (1814), as well as Pan Sanduo ┬ϝ໮ in the late 1860s and 1870s (see Chapter 7). Qin, “Ming Qing mimi shehui,” 87–88; and Wang, Taiwan de zhaijiao, 11–12, with some of my additions. Kaixin fayao, Kugong juan: 1:4b (404); Keyi baojuan, zhong xia 25a–28a (424–425). Qizhi yinguo, 504–505. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 3a (284). On the same pages, the term Yin is also mentioned several times. In the ritual manual, see Keyi baojuan, zhong xia 27a (425). Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 397; Lian and Qin, Zhongguo mimi shehui, 289–291, summarize the evidence. For the original title, see Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yin: 54a (282). These are years in sui ጫ, meaning that we must subtract between one and two years to get a Western-style count. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yin: 9a–12a (256–261), Yin: 36b–40b (275). Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yin: 40a–41a (275–276). Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yin: 38a–b (274). Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yin: 41a–42a (276). Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yin: 41a–b (276). The poem (Yin: 43a [277]) states that he was in prison for a period of eight months. I have ignored this information, since the previous treatment is quite specific on the dates of his arrests and subsequent death. Strictly speaking, he was in prison not for “eight” (ba ܿ) months, but for “half” (ban ञ, pronounced similarly) a month. Since he was beaten all the time, he would have died much earlier if he had been beaten for eight months. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yin: 46a (278). Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yin: 46b–47a (278–279). Wenzhou fuzhi (1605) 7: 19b, 9: 15a–b; Chuzhou fuzhi 13: 10a–b. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yin: 53a–54b (282). Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yin: 40a (275). Wenzhou fuzhi (1605) 11: 74a–76b. Wenzhou fuzhi, 10: 89a–b; 11: 82b–83b, discusses the honors given to his sons. On Zhang Cong and these debates, see Goodrich and Fang, Dictionary of Ming Biography, 67–70; and Fisher, The Chosen One, passim. Yongjia xianzhi (1566) 1: 6b, 7: 31a–32a, 8: 48b. For today, see www.51766.com/ img/wzsts/. On “Setting Free Life,” see Handlin Smith, The Art of Doing Good, 15–42. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yin: 49b–50a (280).

Notes to Pages 59–64 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31.

32. 33. 34. 35.

36. 37. 38. 39. 40.

41.

42. 43. 44. 45.

46. 47.

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On the Unborn Venerable Mother, see Chapter 5. On which, see Chapters 2 and 5. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yin: 40b–41a (275–276). Chongxiang, tiaoyi ṱ䅄: 2: 52a–54b. Zhu Guozhen in his Yongchuang xiaopin, 32: 776–777, has altered Dong’s original on crucial points and cannot be used. On the karma mirror, see Ter Haar, The White Lotus Teachings, 52, 167, 169–170, 191, 193–194, 233–234. Songqi xianzhi (1700), 1: 46b–47a. Chongxiang ji, tiaoyi 2: 52a–53a. Dong quotes an eyewitness by name (2: 54a) who explicitly states that the incident and the Non-Action Teachings were not connected. On the practice of vengeance in premodern Fujian, see Lamley, “Lineage Feuding,” 27–64; and Ownby, “The Ethnic Feud,” 75–98. Fieldwork in 1992 and 1993 in Shishan (near Quanzhou), Hong Kong, and Taiwan. De Groot, Sectarianism, 122–123. Qizhi yinguo, 543–550 (MQWX 487–489); 579–584 (MQWX 545–547); 601–604 (MQWX 551–552); 610–615 (MQWX 554–555); 615–618 (MQWX 557–559); 645–651 (MQWX 567–568). See my geographical analysis of the Qizhi yinguo in Chapter 4. Qizhi yinguo, 543–550 (MQWX 487–489). He also appears in 610–615 (MQWX 554–555). Qizhi yinguo, 579–584 (MQWX 545–547). Song, Qingdai hongyangjiao, 130–133. Fuzhe xingcao, 4: 25a–29a. Ōzawa, “Minmatsu shinsho,” 373–375. Ōzawa combines these cases with the completely different cases of Liu Tianxu ࡝໽㎪ (a messianic movement in Nanjing) and Wu Jian (discussed earlier in the main text). Also discussed by Lian and Qin, Zhongguo mimi shehui, 297, but with far fewer sources. One problem in their work (and that of others) is the tendency to assume all references to contemporary heresy to be interrelated on the basis of the old White Lotus Teachings stereotype. In addition, Ms. Wang seems to have “shopped” from different teachers. Her movement does not have any of the characteristic practices of the Non-Action Teachings, such as the religious affi liation character pu or the rejection of ancestor worship. Ōzawa, “Minmatsu shinsho,” 374. Wang, Taiwan de zhaijiao, 62–64. Precise details vary according to the different versions. Ibid., 63 and 65. See also Gufo zongpai সԯᅫ⌒ in Wang, Jintang jiao wenjian sanzhong, 959–960. Qizhi yinguo, 504–505 (only in MQWX). His alternative name is confirmed by internal sources of the Golden Pennant Teachings; see Wang, Taiwan de zhaijiao, 63. He is also the only person in the Causes and Fruits who does not have a religious name with the character pu. Caigong chushi 㫵݀ߎϪ, in Wang, Jintang jiao wenjian sanzhong, 964–967. Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 394 (1748), 395 (1753), 397 (1775, very detailed list), 398 (1780–1781, 1781), 400 (1814, 1815), 401 (1816). Slightly different survey

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48. 49.

50. 51. 52.

53. 54. 55.

56.

57. 58. 59.

60. 61. 62.

63. 64.

Notes to Pages 64–67 in Zhuang, Zhenkong jiaxiang, 381–388, and see cases from 1761–1779 (139– 140); 1798, 1804–1805, and 1814 (384, 386, 397); 1809 (384, 398). Kaixin fayao, Taishan juan, juan 4: 69a–70a (881). Full titles Tianyuanjing zhujie ໽㎷㍧䀏㾷 and Jiejing fenju luejie ㌤㍧ߚহ⬹㾷 (MQWX, vol. 6, 303–330). The two texts share none of the genre characteristics of the Precious Scroll. For these two sutras in the Changle manual, see Keyi baojuan, shang 10a–11b (398–399) and zhong xia 14a–15a (418–419). Tianjing (MQWX, vol. 6) 15a (312), 16b (316); and Jiejing (MQWX, vol. 6) 6a–b (319), 15b–16a (323–324) refer to the movement’ s mythology. Shanming jushi, Mingzong xiaoyi, shang 1b, 4a (201–202). The only objection would be the name of the purported translator, Retired Scholar Shanming from Xin’an (ᮄᅝ୘ᯢሙ຿), which does not seem to fit Daning. One ad hoc explication would be that Mizang’s identification of this work as Daning’s was only partly correct and that the work actually stemmed from Daning’s pupils. Shanming jushi, Mingzong xiaoyi, xia: 3b–4b (219); xia 29a–b, 29b–30a (232). The Unborn Father and Mother, or Amitābha, should not be confused with the Unborn Venerable Mother. See detailed discussion in Chapter 5. Qin, “Guanyu Taiwan zhaijiao,” passim, discusses his life based on a genealogy he obtained from the Yao family in Qingyuan. Based on the biography of Yao Wenyu in the family genealogy, Qin, “Guanyu Taiwan zhaijiao,” 136, gives his age at death as seventy-four but gives neither a date of birth nor of death. When we fit this with the other information, this would put his date of death five years later, in 1651. Since the biography in the Overall Record of the Three Patriarchs is much closer to the actual events than this genealogy (compiled in the nineteenth century), I put more faith in that source. Furthermore, by 1648, he was no longer mentioned in the story of the repair of a local bridge, but his son Yao Duo was. Clearly, by this time, his baby son had already taken over the symbolic leadership of the movement, which could have happened only after the patriarch’s death. See Chuzhou fuzhi (1877), 6: 14a. This also indicates that by the time Patriarch Yao made his claim, somewhere in the 1620s, there was a standard biography of Patriarch Ying in circulation that could no longer be changed without raising protests. Chuzhou fuzhi (1877) 9: 37a mentions a cloister by this name, but it was founded in 1647 by a local magistrate. Chuzhou fuzhi (1877) 9: 36a. Brokaw, The Ledgers of Merit and Demerit, 82. For Yuan Huang, making an appeal to this Bodhisattva was part of his practice of the Ledger of Merit and Demerit. Chuzhou fuzhi (1877) 6: 14b, 15b, 16a; 7: 15b, 29b, 31a, 34a; 16: 70b. Chuzhou fuzhi (1877) 6: 15b, 7: 29b. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 1a–3a (283–284). Since Yao’s dates do not support his reincarnation claim, it is probable that they have not been tampered with. Lin, “Fukien’s Private Sea Trade,” 201–203. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 3b–4a (284).

Notes to Pages 67–74

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65. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 3b–4a (284), 10a–14a (287–289). None of these figures is listed as a direct pupil of Patriarch Ying. 66. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 4a–b (284). 67. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yin: 34a (272) and 40b (275). 68. Kaixin fayao, Taishan juan, juan, 4: 69a–70a (881). 69. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yin: 40a (275); Yao: 4b, 9a (284, 287). 70. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 6a–7a (285–286). 71. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 5a (285). 72. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 5b–6a (2195), 8b–9a (286–287). 73. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 21b (293), 24a–b (294). 74. For a good example, see Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 6a (285). 75. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 10a–15a (287–290). The map excludes one place-name that is unidentified (Yanshan ᓊቅ). Gan is written ⎺, and my identification is tentative. 76. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 17b–18b (291–292). 77. Mentioned as such in Qingyuan xianzhi (1801) 8: 5a and Chuzhou fuzhi (1877) 14: 87a. 78. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 20a–b (292). 79. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 26a–27a (295–296). 80. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 32a (298). 81. Chuzhou fuzhi (1877) 6: 14a. 82. Chuzhou fuzhi (1877) 12: 40b–47b describes some of the unrest in this prefecture during the dynastic transition. 83. Yang Dingqing was the son of the Ming loyalist official, and minor painter, Yang Wencong ἞᭛倘 (1596–1646). See Hummel, Eminent Chinese, 895–896. 84. See my earlier discussion of Wu Jian in 1604. We encounter the accusation again in a small-scale violent incident in 1847 (Chapter 6). 85. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 32a–33a (298–299). Yang Dingqing implies that the stepson was the origin of these stories (Yao: 35a [300]). 86. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 33a–b (299). 87. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 32a–34b (298–299). His family biography omits the fact that his eldest son was a stepson and makes no mention of any familial conflicts. This biography appears to be cleaning up the record and is therefore less reliable. 88. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 35b (300). 89. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 8b (286). 90. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 24b–25a (294–295). 91. Ter Haar, “Where Are China’s Witches.” 92. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 8a–9a (287). On him and his tradition, see Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 473–482. The family name ∾ differs slightly from that of Wang Changsheng ⥟䭋⫳ in the later movement but clearly refers to the same figure. The list of the patriarch’s pupils in the Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 10a–b (287), 13b (289), includes several persons with the family name Wang (both ∾ and ⥟), but they cannot be linked explicitly to Wang Changsheng or Wang Yang. Chen Zhongxi 䱇ⴒ୰(1821–after 1850), the author of the Zhongxi cuyuan baojuan (1850) links him to the northern Chinese Way of Yellow Heaven—possibly to hide Wang’s roots in the Non-Action

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93. 94. 95.

96. 97. 98. 99.

100.

101. 102. 103.

104.

105. 106. 107. 108. 109. 110. 111. 112. 113. 114.

115.

116.

Notes to Pages 74–78 Teachings movement. Since the beliefs of the Way of Yellow Heaven do not match those of the Long Life Teachings, this new genealogy is highly implausible. Chen is also writing more than two centuries after the events. Contrary to most Japanese and Chinese scholars to date, I do not think that we can take him seriously. Yongkang xianzhi ∌ᒋ㏷ᖫ (1672) 10: 7b. Kuhn, Soulstealers, passim; Ter Haar, Telling Stories, 145–146. Shiliao xunkan, tian 449a–451b, 528a–531a. Contents teachings tian 449b–450a, 451a, 528b–529a. See Overmyer, Folk Buddhist Religion, 7–11; also Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 473–487; Cao, Song, and Bao, Zhongguo mimi shehui, 86–94. Shiliao xunkan, tian 531a. Zhongguo huidaomen shiliao jicheng, 429. Zhongguo huidaomen shiliao jicheng, 429; 448. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 12a (288) lists a Transformation Teacher from Shicheng with the same family name. Shicheng is located in southwestern Fujian, where Lai Ziming was later active. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 25a–26a (295). Osawa, “Minmatsu shinsho,” 380–381, discusses Lai Ziming without reference to the Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 26a–b (295). Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 26a–27a (295–296). Qingchu nongmin qiyi ziliao jilu, 305 (quoting from a local history). Lian, Fujian mimi shehui, 52–54, summarizes several local incidents, based entirely on this source compilation. Based on Qingchu nongmin qiyi ziliao jilu, 305–306, and the Ninghua xianzhi (1870) 7: 66a. Ōzawa, “Minmatsu shinsho,” 380–381. He makes no reference to the Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu and the Non-Action Teachings’ point of view. Ninghua xianzhi (1870) 7: 66a (329). Ninghua xianzhi (1870) 7: 66a (329). Ter Haar, Ritual and Mythology, 64–80. Ninghua xianzhi (1870) 7: 66a (329). Ter Haar, Ritual and Mythology, 225–262; and Ter Haar, “Myth in the Shape,” 19–31. This event is discussed in the next subsection. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 5a–b (285) and 10a (287). See Chapter 5. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 17b (291). Ruitenbeek, Carpentry and Building, 68, on the ritual of putting up the roof beam. Elsewhere, the Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 7b (286), records an incident when the patriarch is explicitly protected by heavenly dragons. The animal remained indigenous until the 1950s. Chuzhou fuzhi (1877) 25: 12b–13a, 15a, 16b–18a, 19a, 21b, mo: 7a. Liu, “Ming Qing Min Yue Gan,” 120–124. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 16a (290).

Notes to Pages 78–85 117. 118. 119. 120. 121. 122.

123.

124. 125. 126.

127.

128. 129. 130.

131. 132.

133. 134.

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Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 17b (291). Jingde xianzhi (1925 expanded) 8: 2a–b. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 18a–19a (291–292). The term jinlu 䞥⟤ might refer to gold or silver as well, but these are unlikely metals for an incense burner. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 19b–20a (292). Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 20a–b (292). The disease is described as a “contagious disease” (ranji ᶧ⮒), but the rest of the text indicates that he was possessed. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 21b–24a (293–294), describes a half-year visit in 1640 to followers in and around the city of Hangzhou. He visited famous Buddhist sites, which he linked to his own history and religious practice. Similarly, Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 21a–b (293) records a visit between 1636 and 1640 to the temple of a local God of the Earth. Jiaxing xian zhi (1637) 15: 35b–37a. Jiaxing xian zhi (1637) 14: 31a. See Zürcher, Kouduo richao, 59. My summary is directly based on the original evidence in Dias, Histoire, 182, and diverges slightly from earlier discussions. The group also worshipped unspecified “idols,” possibly Guanyin, who is commonly worshipped by the movement. Dunyn Szpot, Collectaneorum pro Historia Sinarum, ad annum 1648. All secondary accounts of this incident place the event in 1647, but here it is placed at the beginning of 1648, just before the discussion of Aleni’s death. Dias, Histoire, 181. For much fuller discussion, see Ter Haar, “The Non-Action Teachings,” passim. Xingmipian, 312–319. For bibliographical information, see Ad Dudink and Nicolas Standaert, “Chinese Christian Texts Database” (CCT-Database): www .arts.kuleuven.be/sinology/cct. I have used other parts of this account in Chapters 2 and 6. After the passage you wu wei zhi ᳝⛵⠆П follows a clear punctuation mark. However, a different punctuation mark would also not make sense. Nonetheless, my translation is tentative. Falco, Charisma and Myth, passim. Ter Haar, “The Buddhist Option,” passim.

Chapter 4: Spirited Debates and Sudden Conversions 1. The first three chapters of the Qizhi yinguo will be quoted from a 1915 manuscript version reprinted in MJSC and the fourth chapter on women from the undated manuscript reprinted in MQWX. Because the MJSC may not be available everywhere, I include page references for the first chapter to the undated manuscript version, as reprinted in MQWX, and for the second and third chapters to the edited edition of 1932, as reprinted in MQWX (which have been slightly altered but remain roughly similar in contents). In the appendix section of this chapter, I discuss the most likely date for this source. The author is unknown.

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Notes to Pages 85–93

2. Patriarch Yao’s pupils are listed fragmentarily in Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 10a–15a (287–290). The fullest list in a ritual manual is Keyi baojuan, shang 19a–21b (402–403). 3. Great Vehicle: Qizhi yinguo, 529–534 (MQWX 483–484); 495–497 (only in MQWX); 579–584 (MQWX 545–547); 514–515 (only in MQWX). Dragon Flower: 495–497 (only in MQWX); 509–511 (only in MQWX); 601–604 (MQWX 551–552); 605–609 (MQWX 552–554); 628–633 (MQWX 562–563); 665–674 (MQWX 573–574). Non-Action: 497–498 (only in MQWX); 572–574. 4. Zhou, Chenzhong, 9: 147a. Lay Buddhist women often used miao. See Yü, Kuan-yin, 309–310. 5. Lin and Zu, “Zaijia fojiao,” 191–249. 6. Qizhi yinguo, 674 (MQWX 575). Her family name, Bai, in this account does not accord with the family name of either of Yao Duo’s two wives as given in the family genealogy. In the latter source, both wives are identified with the family name Wu, which also seems unlikely, unless they were sisters. 7. On practical benefits, see Reader and Tanabe, Practically Religious, passim. 8. Qizhi yinguo, 624–627 (MQWX 560–562). Not in the list of Patriarch Ying’s pupils in the Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yin: 40b–41a (275–276). 9. Qizhi yinguo, 624–627 (MQWX 560–562). In another anecdote, one adherent appears to refer to Li as his teacher. See Qizhi yinguo, 575–579 (MQWX 544–545). He is not among the known pupils of Patriarch Ying; see Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yin: 40b–41a (275–276). 10. Qizhi yinguo, 610–615 (MQWX 554–555). 11. Qizhi yinguo, 628–633 (MQWX 562–563). 12. Qizhi yinguo, 615–618 (MQWX 557–559). 13. Qizhi yinguo, 595–600 (MQWX 550–551), 610–615 (MQWX 554–555), or 645–651 (MQWX 567–568). 14. Qizhi yinguo, 624–627 (MQWX 560–562). 15. Qizhi yinguo, 514–515 (only in MQWX). 16. Qizhi yinguo, 590–594 (MQWX 548–550). 17. Zhang and Xu, “Qingzhi shiqi Taiwan zhaitang,” 81–97; Zhang, Taiwan de laozhaitang, 76–89. 18. Qizhi yinguo, 486–487, 595–600 (MQWX 550–551), 610–615 (MQWX 554– 555), 645–651 (MQWX 567–568). 19. See Chapter 6. 20. Qizhi yinguo, 554–559 (MQWX 490–491) and 619–623 (MQWX 559–560). 21. See Chapters 3 and 5. 22. Qizhi yinguo, 524–529 (MQWX 481–482). 23. Qizhi yinguo, 550–554 (MQWX 489–490). 24. Qizhi yinguo, 529–534 (MQWX 483–484), 639–645 (MQWX 565–567). 25. Qizhi yinguo, 554–559 (MQWX 490–491). 26. Qizhi yinguo, 619–623 (MQWX 559–560). 27. Explicit in a Ningbo confession, discussed in Chapter 6. I discuss the Dragon Flower Gathering extensively in Chapter 5. 28. Qizhi yinguo, 519–523 (MQWX 480–481). 29. Qizhi yinguo, 543–550 (MQWX 487–489). 30. See Chapter 6.

Notes to Pages 93–103

251

31. Qizhi yinguo, 554–559 (MQWX 490–491). 32. As it is put very explicitly in a dialogue between two female members in Qizhi yinguo, 514–515 (only in MQWX). 33. Poxie juan 2: 40b (270). Also Zhengxin juan, 4: 56 and Taishan juan, 10: 6ff. 34. Poxie juan 13: 5a–b (252), 13: 6a (253); 14: 7b (253); 18: 29a–b (264); 23: 51a–b (275); Taishan juan, 11: 43b (368). 35. Kaixin fayao, Poxie juan, 3: 13: 9b–10a (599). 36. Qizhi yinguo, 534–538 (MQWX 484–485). 37. Brokaw, The Ledgers of Merit and Demerit, esp. 86–87. 38. Qizhi yinguo, 539–543 (MQWX 486–487). 39. Fried, Fabric of Chinese Society, passim. 40. Apart from cases discussed in the main text, see Qizhi yinguo, 524–529 (MQWX 481–482); 559–563 (MQWX 492–493); 500–501 (only in MQWX); 506–508 (only in MQWX); 509–511 (only in MQWX); 571–575 (MQWX 543–544); 601–604 (MQWX 551–552); 605–609 (MQWX 552–554); 633–639 (MQWX 563–565). In Qizhi yinguo, 658–665 (MQWX 571–573), an opponent tries to present the adherents as hungry ghosts, reversing the imagery. 41. See Chapter 3. 42. Qizhi yinguo, 610–615 (MQWX 554–555); 628–633 (MQWX 562–563). 43. Qizhi yinguo, 590–594 (MQWX 548–550). See also Qizhi yinguo, 595–600 (MQWX 550–551); 601–604 (MQWX 551–552); 605–609 (MQWX 552–554); 675–682 (MQWX 575–577). 44. Qizhi yinguo, 639–645 (MQWX 565–567). 45. Qizhi yinguo, 645–651 (MQWX 567–568). 46. Also compare the explanations in Triad ritual, in Ter Haar, Ritual and Mythology, 73–88. 47. Watson, “Rites or Beliefs,” 80–103, but also Ter Haar, Ritual and Mythology, 149–150 and Szonyi, “Making Claims,” 47–71. I use the term without making the assumption that this stability was a unifying factor in Chinese culture. 48. Qizhi yinguo, 506–511 (MQWX 475–477). Also Qizhi yinguo, 550–554 (MQWX 489–490). 49. Taishan juan, 14: 55a–56b (374–375). 50. Elman, A Cultural History, 272–276ff., 383; Nienhauser, The Indiana Companion, 494–504. 51. Qizhi yinguo, 514–515 (only in MQWX). The last line refers to a Mencius anecdote. 52. See Chapter 1. 53. Apart from the examples discussed in the main text, see Qizhi yinguo, 511–518 (MQWX 477–479), 519–523 (MQWX 480–481), and 605–609 (MQWX 552–554). 54. Qizhi yinguo, 619–623 (MQWX 559–560). 55. Qizhi yinguo, 579–584 (MQWX 545–547). 56. Goossaert, L’interdit du boeuf, passim. 57. Qizhi yinguo, 524–529 (MQWX 481–482). 58. Qizhi yinguo, 529–534 (MQWX 483–484). On the worship of Guanyin, see Qizhi yinguo, 619–623 (MQWX 559–560). 59. See Chapter 2.

252 60. 61. 62. 63. 64. 65.

66.

67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72.

73. 74. 75. 76. 77.

78.

79. 80. 81. 82. 83.

84.

Notes to Pages 103–106 Ter Haar, The White Lotus Teachings, 33, 68–70, 72, 77, 82–84, 87. Qizhi yinguo, 619–623 (MQWX 559–560). Qizhi yinguo, 651–658 (MQWX 568–570). See the discussions in the Five Books in Six Volumes quoted in Chapter 5. Qizhi yinguo, 499–500 (only in MQWX). See Luo Youyi’s account discussed in this section and the case of Feng Duanming discussed later. Nonetheless, toward the end of his life, Patriarch Yao did engage in charitable activities. Qizhi yinguo, 495–497 (only in MQWX); 514–515 (only in MQWX); 615–618 (MQWX 557–559); 628–633 (MQWX 562–563). The first three instances are put in the mouths of women. Qizhi yinguo, 550–554 (MQWX 489–490); 497–498 (only in MQWX); 610–615 (MQWX 554–555); 633–639 (MQWX 563–565). Qizhi yinguo, 550–554 (MQWX 489–490). Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 1b–2b (283). Qizhi yinguo, 554–559 (MQWX 490–491). The ritual manual is discussed in Chapter 5. Qizhi yinguo, 550–554 (MQWX 489–490). Qizhi yinguo, 554–559 (MQWX 490–491). The text is corrected in smaller characters into Wanli 36 (1608) and Fuzhou ᩿Ꮂ Prefecture in Jiangxi province, respectively. Without additional sources, I am unable to ascertain which version is correct. Qizhi yinguo, 559 (MQWX 491). Éliasberg, Le roman du pourfendeur, passim. Qizhi yinguo, 554–559 (MQWX 490–491) misses a line in both versions of the manuscript. I follow the 1932 printed edition. Quoting the Attached Statements of the Book of Changes, see A Concordance to the Zhouyi (Shangwu yinshuguan: Hong Kong, 1995), 76, line 24. Quoting the Analects, see A Concordance to the Lunyu (Shangwu yinshuguan: Hong Kong, 1995) 56: 19: line 25. The quotation is slightly inaccurate, as the statement was made by Zigong ᄤ䉶 about rulers or princes in general. Quoting the Analects (lunyu 䂪䁲), again partly inaccurate. See A Concordance to the Lunyu, 8: 4: line 15. Here Confucius is speaking about his own teachings, instead of about Master Zeng. A general reference to a chapter from the Zhuangzi 㥞ᄤ, see Zhuangzi yinde 㥞 ᄤᓩᕫ (Harvard Yenching index) 31: 86–88. Rough reference to a story in the Zhuangzi, see Zhuangzi yinde, 66: 24: line 32 Refers to a story from the Three Character Classic. Partial discussion in Kinney, Representations of Childhood, 39–41. A general reference to a story from the Analects; see A Concordance to the Lunyu, 7: 29. Qizhi yinguo, 506–511 (MQWX 475–477); 539–543 (MQWX 486–487); 497–498 (only in MQWX); 610–615 (MQWX 554–555); 619–623 (MQWX 559–560); 633–639 (MQWX 563–565); 645–651 (MQWX 567–568); 665–674 (MQWX 573–574); 675–682 (MQWX 575–577). In addition to the references from the Four Books, see Qizhi yinguo, 511–518 (MQWX 477–479); 519–523 (MQWX 480–481); 529–534 (MQWX 483–484);

Notes to Pages 106–109

85. 86. 87. 88. 89.

90. 91. 92. 93. 94. 95. 96. 97. 98. 99.

100. 101. 102. 103. 104. 105.

253

554–559 (MQWX 490–491); 554–559 (MQWX 490–491); 565–570 (MQWX 542–543); 595–600 (MQWX 550–551); 552–553; 639–645 (MQWX 565–567). This list does not include references to Buddhist works. Qizhi yinguo, 495–497 (only in MQWX) and 497–498 (only in MQWX). Qizhi yinguo, 499–500 (only in MQWX). Qizhi yinguo, 509–511 (only in MQWX). Ter Haar, “The Genesis and Spread,” esp. 356–357, 373–376. Qizhi yinguo, 506–511 (MQWX 475–477); 511–518 (MQWX 477–479); 519–523 (MQWX 480–481); 529–534 (MQWX 483–484); 534–538 (MQWX 484–485); 539–543 (MQWX 486–487); 543–550 (MQWX 487–489); 550–554 (MQWX 489–490); 554–559 (MQWX 490–491); 565–570 (MQWX 542–543); 571–575 (MQWX 543–544); 575–579 (MQWX 544–545); 584–590 (MQWX 547–548); 595–600 (MQWX 550–551); 601–604 (MQWX 551–552); 610–615 (MQWX 554–555); 615–618 (MQWX 557–559); 619–623 (MQWX 559–560); 624–627 (MQWX 560–562); 633–639 (MQWX 563–565); 639–645 (MQWX 565–567); 651–658 (MQWX 568–570); 658–665 (MQWX 571–573); 665–674 (MQWX 573–574); 502–503 (only in MQWX); 506–508 (only in MQWX); 508–509 (only in MQWX); 511–513 (only in MQWX). Qizhi yinguo, 579–584 (MQWX 545–547); 590–594 (MQWX 548–550); 595–600 (MQWX 550–551); 675–682 (MQWX 575–577). Qizhi yinguo, 506–511 (MQWX 475–477); 595–600 (MQWX 550–551). Qizhi yinguo¸ 615–618 (MQWX 557–559). Qizhi yinguo¸ 610–615 (MQWX 554–555). Qizhi yinguo, 506–508 (only in MQWX). Qizhi yinguo, 559–563 (MQWX 492–493); 624–627 (MQWX 560–562). Qizhi yinguo, 508–509 (only in MQWX). Qizhi yinguo, 511–513 (only in MQWX). Qizhi yinguo, 499–500 (only in MQWX); 504–505 (only in MQWX). Qingyuan: Qizhi yinguo, 519–523 (MQWX 480–481); 539–543 (MQWX 486–487); 590–594 (MQWX 548–550); 619– 623 (MQWX 559–560); 645– 651 (MQWX 567–568); 514–515 (only in MQWX). Suzhou: Qizhi yinguo, 554–559 (MQWX 490–491); 628– 633 (MQWX 562–563); 651– 658 (MQWX 568–570); 495–497 (only in MQWX); 511–513 (only in MQWX). Wenzhou: Qizhi yinguo, 543–550 (MQWX 487–489); 579–584 (MQWX 545–547); 610– 615 (MQWX 554–555); 615– 618 (MQWX 557–559). Shaowu: Qizhi yinguo, 506–511 (MQWX 475–477); 595– 600 (MQWX 550–551); 502–503 (only in MQWX). Jiaxing: Qizhi yinguo, 658– 665 (MQWX 571–573); 506–508 (only in MQWX). Two accounts are only labeled Zhejiang, namely Qizhi yinguo, 511–518 (MQWX 477–479); 559–563 (MQWX 492–493). All other places appear only once. Ter Haar, “Local religious culture in late imperial China.” Qizhi yinguo, 665–674 (MQWX 573–574). Qizhi yinguo, 529–534 (MQWX 483–484). A hall of Wang De is also mentioned at 619–623 (MQWX 559–560), together with a Guanyin statue. Qizhi yinguo, 550–554 (MQWX 489–490) and 565–570 (MQWX 542–543). Qizhi yinguo, 575–579 (MQWX 544–545). Qizhi yinguo, 524–529 (MQWX 481–482).

254

Notes to Pages 109–116

106. Qizhi yinguo, 497 and 498 (as Companion in the Way; only in MQWX); 509 (as married; only in MQWX); 511 (as married; only in MQWX); 513 (as married; only in MQWX); 514 (as married; only in MQWX); 615–618 (MQWX 557–559); 628–633 (MQWX 562–563); 658–665 (MQWX 571–573). 107. From the late Ming on, more and more elite women could engage in literary activities, but the vast majority of women remained largely or completely illiterate. On educated women, see Ko, Teachers of the Inner Chambers, passim. 108. Qizhi yinguo, 497–498 (only in MQWX). 109. Compare Qizhi yinguo, 500–501 (only in MQWX) and 509–511 (only in MQWX). 110. Qizhi yinguo, 514–515 (only in MQWX). 111. Bray, Technology and Gender, 128–150. 112. Women only: Qizhi yinguo, 495–497 (only in MQWX); 497–498 (only in MQWX); 499–500 (only in MQWX); 500–501 (only in MQWX); 502–503 (only in MQWX); 506–508 (only in MQWX); 508–509 (only in MQWX); 509–511 (only in MQWX); 511–513 (only in MQWX); 514–515 (only in MQWX). Mixed accounts: 511–518 (MQWX 477–479); 504–505 (only in MQWX); 615–618 (MQWX 557–559); 628–633 (MQWX 562–563); 658–665 (MQWX 571–573). 113. Qizhi yinguo, 511–518 (MQWX 477–479). 114. Qizhi yinguo, 504–505 (only in MQWX). 115. Qizhi yinguo, 615–618 (MQWX 557–559). 116. Ancestor tablets are called “divine positions” (shenwei ⼲ԡ). I interpret the phrase shengwei in a similar way, as a reference to a type of spirit tablet, rather than a statue. 117. Qizhi yinguo, 658–665 (MQWX 571–573). The source gives Jiaxing Prefecture, but Yuyao is actually located in nearby Shaoxing Prefecture. I have been unable to trace this magistrate in local sources. 118. Hymes, “Not Quite Gentlemen,” passim, for an earlier period, but the same is also true for later periods. 119. Qizhi yinguo, 628–633 (MQWX 562–563). 120. For example, Qizhi yinguo, 502–503 (only in MQWX). 121. Qizhi yinguo, 511–518 (MQWX 477–479). 122. Epstein, Competing Discourses, 88–90, argues that women were depicted in late-Ming and Qing vernacular fiction as a source of authentic moral expression. A similar mechanism may be at work here as well. 123. Ter Haar, The White Lotus Teachings, 202, note 14. 124. Qizhi yinguo, 511–518 (MQWX 477–479); 539–543 (MQWX 486–487); 590–594 (MQWX 548–550); 633–639 (MQWX 563–565); 665–674 (MQWX 573–574). 125. Qizhi yinguo, 543–550 (MQWX 487–489) (xiejiao 䙾ᬭ); 633–639 (MQWX 563–565) (xiejing 䙾㍧); 665–674 (MQWX 573–574) (xiedao 䙾䘧) (three accounts, two of which also use yiduan). Also use xie 䙾 to refer to the previous behavior of a thief and zheng ℷ to the new behavior of the adherent, at 615–618 (MQWX 557–559). 126. Qizhi yinguo, 579–584 (MQWX 545–547). 127. On legal terminology, see Ter Haar, The White Lotus Teachings, 123–125, 19–130, 244–246, and Ter Haar, “Whose Norm,” passim. 128. Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 397.

Notes to Pages 116–119 129. 130. 131. 132.

133. 134. 135.

136. 137. 138.

139. 140. 141. 142. 143.

255

On initiation ranks, see Chapter 6. Qizhi yinguo, MQWX edition, 516, and MJSC edition, 698. Date of reprint, see Qizhi yinguo (MQWX edition), 519. Lidai zushi chuanfa, 145–146. These dates may be partly incorrect because Lord Tang was still alive toward the end of Patriarch Yao’s life; see Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 25a–b (295). Qizhi yinguo, 554–559 (MQWX 490–491); 511–513 (only in MQWX); 619–623 (MQWX 559–560); 624–627 (MQWX 560–562). Qizhi yinguo, 543–550 (MQWX 487–489). Qizhi yinguo, 507 (MQWX 475). Qizhi yinguo, 519–523 (MQWX 480–481) is dated to a year that does not exist. A forger would, however, have provided the correct date. Qizhi yinguo, 639–645 (MQWX 565–567) and 645–651 (MQWX 567–568). Qizhi yinguo, 524–529 (MQWX 481–482). Perhaps also Qizhi yinguo, 534–538 (MQWX 484–485), “from the present dynasty.” Yao Duo is not mentioned in the manuscript version in Qizhi yinguo, 633 (MJSC) but only in the later printed version in Qizhi yinguo (MQWX) 563. Because the comment in the 1915 manuscript version is a bit muddled in other aspects as well, I continue to use the 1932 printed version. The daughter-in-law is mentioned in both versions, Qizhi yinguo, 674 (MQWX 575). Also see Keyi baojuan, shang 19a–b (402). Adamek, “A Good Son Is Sad,” passim. For this reason, diaries use alternative names, kinship terms, or their official titles. Qizhi yinguo, 579–584 (MQWX 545–547). Qizhi yinguo, 601–604 (MQWX 551–552). Qizhi yinguo, 619–623 (MQWX 559–560). Qizhi yinguo, 624–627 (MQWX 560–562). Wang De and Li Shizhong are not mentioned in the two lists of pupils of Patriarchs Ying (as Yin) and Yao in the Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yin: 40b–41a (275–2776), and Yao: 10a–15a (287–290).

Chapter 5: Religious Beliefs and Ritual Practices 1. On icons in Chinese culture, see Kieschnick, The Impact of Buddhism, 52–82, and on iconoclasm, 69–80. 2. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu Yin: 5b (258). 3. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu Yin: 6b–8a (258–259). The original poem was by the Song monk Foyin ԯॄ. 4. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu Yin: 15a–17b (263–264). 5. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu Yin: 20a–b (265). 6. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu Yin: 22b–25a (266–268); also see Yin: 14b–16b (262–263). 7. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu Yin: 9a (260), 25a–26a (268). 8. Ter Haar, “Teaching with Incense,” passim. For instance, Shanming jushi, Mingzong xiaoyi, 4a–b (202); Tianyuan jiejing zhujie, 1a (305); and, of course, the various rituals discussed later in this chapter. 9. See Chapter 7.

256 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15.

16. 17.

18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23.

24. 25.

26. 27. 28.

29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36.

Notes to Pages 119–124 Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu Yin: 26a–b (268). Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu Yin: 40b (275). Cole, Mothers and Sons, passim; and Teiser, The Ghost Festival, passim. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu Yin: 26a–b (268). Zhang and Xu, Qingdai shiqi Taiwan zhaitang, 81–97; Zhang, Taiwan de laozhaitang, 76–89. Zhang, Taiwan de laozhaitang, 87–89. I did find a reference to the worship of three spirit tablets for the three patriarchs in the Jiangxi group arrested in 1847 and discussed in Chapter 6. To be discussed in Chapters 6 and 7. Asai, Minshin jidai, 80–101; Seiwert, Popular Religious Movements, 253–254. Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 340–391 do not pay attention to this possible dimension, but are very much interested in any connections with the White Lotus Teachings in the traditional interpretation of this term. Zhengxin juan (YZ 7) 19: 84a–85a (331). For the antecedents of this notion, see Ter Haar, Ritual and Mythology, 93–95. Overmyer, Folk Buddhist Religion, 135–145; Seiwert, Popular Religious Movements, 302–311, 330–331, 368–376, 427–428, 441–444. Ter Haar, Ritual and Mythology, 224–262. Zhengxin juan (YZ 7) 16: 66a–b (322). For another interpretation, see Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 210–215. Kugong juan (YZ 7) 145. Same idea in Zhengxin juan (YZ 7) 16: 72 (325). The term is mentioned three times in two quotations from the Jingang keyi. See Zhengxin juan (YZ 7) 14: 63b–64a (320–321) and Taishan juan (YZ 7) 1: 11a–b (352). All three references stem from the same fift h book by the patriarch, Taishan juan (YZ 7) 4: 18a (356), 24: 85a (389) and 90b (392). Zürcher, “Prince Moonlight,” 8. On this topic, also see the detailed discussion by Nattier, Once upon a Future Time, 65–66, 90–118. She does not use Zürcher’s article. Zürcher, “ ‘Prince Moonlight,’ ” 8. Mochizuki and Tsukamoto, Mochizuki, 1584–1586. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yin: 28a–30a (269–270). The fact that Yang in “Yellow Yang” is written incorrectly suggests an uninformed woodblock cutter and probably has no further significance. In Shanming jushi, Mingzong xiaoyi, xia: 3b (219), there is a reference to the wusheng fumu ⛵⫳⠊ ↡, which was already discussed. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yin: 35a–36b (273). Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yin: 32a–b (271). Shanming jushi, Mingzong xiaoyi, xia: 3b–4b (219); xia 29a–b, 29b–30a (232); Tianyuan jiejing zhujie, 10b (310), 14a–b (312), 16b (313). As discussed in Chapter 3. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yin: 46a–53a (278–282). Kaixin fayao, Taishan juan, juan 4: 69a–70a (881). Dates based on the postscript. This man also appears in Patriarch Yao’s biography as someone who has tried to recruit him for his own network. See discussion in Chapter 3.

Notes to Pages 125–133 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43.

44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53.

54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67.

257

Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 33a (299). Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 16b (290). Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 24a (294). Handlin Smith, The Art of Doing Good, 157–219; Dunstan, “The Late Ming Epidemics,” passim. Keyi baojuan, zhong xia 26b (424). Seiwert, Popular Religious Movements, 126–127; Hou, “The Buddhist Pantheon,” 1113–1116. Wucheng xianzhi (1638) 4: 26b and Xihu wenxian jicheng (Hangzhou) 19 (2004) 207; Changxing xianzhi (1873) 16: 11a; Nan’an fuzhi (1609) 15: 15a; Ruizhou fuzhi (1629) 6: 28b; Tingzhou fuzhi (1752) 6: 7b; Haicheng xianzhi (1633) 11: 7b; Fuzhou fuzhi (1751) 24: 8b. Also see Haikang wenshi 14 (1990:2) 54; Zhangping wenshi ziliao 8 (1985) 52; Zhangqiu wenshiziliao 12 (1996) 11; Zhangzhou wenshi ziliao 8 (1986) 104. On the custom of washing the Buddha, see De Groot, Les fêtes, vol. 1: 307–312. Nanjing wenshi ziliao 16 (1992) 158. Qizhi yinguo, 573–574; 551–552 (possibly Yao Duo himself ), 562–563 (explicitly followers of Patriarch Yao). Qizhi yinguo, 480–481. Also see 495–497; 509–511; 552–554. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yin: 40b–41a (275–276) and Yao: 9b–15a (287–290). Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 7a (286). Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 8a–b (286). Discussed in Chapter 3. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 16b (290). Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 25b–26a (295). Other mentions are Yao: 9a (287), 11a–b (288), 21a (293). Asai, “Taiwan zhaijiao,” 27–44, provides an early study of this manual. MQWX, vol. 6. Dacheng zhengjiao keyi baojuan, ໻Ьℷᬭ⾥‫۔‬ᇇो (367–389) and Keyi baojuan ⾥‫۔‬ᇇो (393–429). Other versions do not add more data. Lin, “Putian jizhong minjian zongjiao,” 120–123, draws on a manual in the same tradition, but his discussion does not allow a reliable comparison. Keyi baojuan, 394–410, 412–419, 420–429. Luozu baojuan 㕙⼪ᇇो (MJBJ), vol. 2: 225–280. My comments are based on a detailed comparison of the two manuals that could not be included here for reasons of space. Keyi baojuan, zhong xia 17a–36b (420–429). See De Groot, Sectarianism, 204–220. Keyi baojuan, zhong xia 420; also see Longhua keyi, 442. This refers to the overall ceremony, rather than a recitation of the actual vows. Keyi baojuan, zhong xia 18b (420). Keyi baojuan, zhong xia 19a–20a (420–421). Keyi baojuan, zhong xia 20a–22a (421–422). Keyi baojuan, zhong xia 22a (422). Mair, “Language and Ideology,” 327–328. Keyi baojuan, zhong xia 22b–23a (422–423). Qin, “Guanyu Taiwan zhaijiao,” passim. Keyi baojuan, zhong xia 19a–20a (422). Keyi baojuan, zhong xia 23a–25a (423–424).

258

Notes to Pages 133–141

68. Qin, “Guanyu Taiwan zhaijiao,” passim. 69. I interpret the two versions of gen as “root.” On the basis of jie (~strong) in the Gui Zibang confession, I interpret jian in the family manuscript as a variant for jian ‫( ع‬different radical), also meaning “strong.” I have no satisfactory translation for either form of ba, but Ꮘ can mean “tight, close.” I am interpreting chang 䭋 in the Gui Zibang version as chang ᐌ in the family manuscript. 70. I read jinanduo baitana and xidaduo badana as xiadaduo bandaluo ᙝᗯ໮㠀 ᗯ㕙 or sitātapatra, the white umbrella. I am interpreting suitaluo and xidanu (the distinction between l and n is not made in the south) as xidaduo ᙝ䘨໮ or the personal name of the Buddha, Siddhartha. 71. Men must be a mistake for he, possibly based on a slight similarity of sound. 72. The original 1,800 years must be a copying error. I have changed it to 1,100 years on the basis of the Luozu baojuan, 34b. 73. Keyi baojuan, zhong xia 25a–28a (424–425). 74. Keyi baojuan, zhong xia 26a (424). 75. Keyi baojuan, zhong xia 27a (425). 76. Keyi baojuan, zhong xia 28b–33b (425–428). 77. Keyi baojuan, zhong xia 34a–36b (428–429). 78. See Chapter 3. 79. The evidence comes from the cases of the Zhang Qikun network arrested in the 1800s and the Jiangxi case of 1847, both discussed in Chapter 6. The titles from the ritual manual come from Keyi baojuan, shang 16b (401), shang 22a (404), and 34a–b (428). Some versions write “pool” chi ∴ instead of “command” chi, which is clearly a mistake based on homophones. 80. Ter Haar, “The Buddhist Option,” 133–134. 81. See Chapter 4. 82. Keyi baojuan, shang 3a–7a (394–396). 83. Keyi baojuan, shang 7a–9a (396–397). On the Eight Immortals, see Ter Haar, Ritual and Mythology, 121, 140. 84. Keyi baojuan, shang 9a (397). On incense, see Ter Haar, “Teaching with Incense,” passim, and Ter Haar, Ritual and Mythology, 55–63. 85. Qizhi yinguo, 567–568. See discussion in Chapter 4. 86. Lagerwey, Le continent des esprits, passim. 87. Lopez, Elaborations on Emptiness, passim; McRae, “Ch’an Commentaries,” passim. 88. Keyi baojuan, shang 9a–11b (397–398). 89. Keyi baojuan, shang 11b–14b, 15a–b (398–400). 90. Keyi baojuan, shang 16b–17a (401). Many mountains had a cliff from which one could reach Heaven by jumping off. 91. The term heart is often translated as “mind” or “heart-mind” in Western texts, but it seems to me that keeping the original meaning of the Western term and its connotations of intuitiveness works just as well. 92. Keyi baojuan, shang 17b–22b (401–404). 93. Keyi baojuan, shang 22b–24b (404–405). Also shang 17a (401). 94. Keyi baojuan, shang 24b–25b (405).

Notes to Pages 141–146

259

95. Keyi baojuan, shang 28b–29a (407). 96. Keyi baojuan, shang 29b–24b (407–410). 97. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 16b (290), 18b (291), 21a (293), 26a (295). The poem is quoted at 16b (290), and the corresponding lines can be found partially in Keyi baojuan, zhong shang 2b (412), 3a (413). 98. De Groot, Sectarianism, 189. 99. Qizhi yinguo, 560–562. See also, for instance, the Jiangxi group of 1847 (Chapter 6). 100. See www.youtube.com/results?search_query=%E9%BE%99%E5%8D%8E+%E 6%BC%A2%E9%99%BD%E5%A0%82&page=1. Alternatively, search Youtube for 啡㧃 and ⓶䱑ූ. 101. Keyi baojuan, zhong shang 1a–3b (411–413). 102. Keyi baojuan, zhong shang 3b–5b (413–414). Zhang, Taiwan de laozhaitang, 35, has a photograph of this ritual act. 103. Keyi baojuan, zhong shang 5b–6b (414). 104. Poxie juan (YZ 7) 20: 39a–b (269). I have decided to translate the term po somewhat anachronistically as “deconstructing” because I interpret his view not as a total rejection but as a taking apart in order to build a new way of reading and recitation without undue attachments. 105. Keyi baojuan, zhong shang 6a–8b (415). 106. Dacheng zhengjiao keyi baojuan ໻Ьℷᬭ⾥‫۔‬ᇇो (1879 manuscript; reprinted in MQWX, vol. 6), 389 (final page). 107. Keyi baojuan, zhong shang 8b–11b (415–417). 108. Keyi baojuan, zhong shang 12a–14a (417–418). 109. Keyi baojuan, zhong shang 14a–15b (418–419). 110. Kawakatsu, Min Shin kōnan shichin, 484–485, 457–458, 470–472, 499–542. See also Brook, “Funerary Ritual,” passim, and Ebrey, “Cremation,” passim. 111. See Chapters 3 and 4. 112. De Groot, Sectarianism, 231–241. 113. Luozu baojuan, 53a (271). 114. Luozu baojuan, 53b–55a (271). 115. Idema, The Resurrected Skeleton, has translated the twenty-one skeleton songs by, or ascribed to, Luo Qing in an appendix. This one is not among them, but it is very similar in flavor. 116. Luozu baojuan, 55a–59b (272–274). 117. Luozu baojuan, 59b–61a (274–275). 118. Luozu baojuan, 61a–b (275). 119. Luozu baojuan, 61b–64a (275–276). 120. Luozu baojuan, 64a–66a (276–277), 66a–67b (277–278). 121. Luozu baojuan, 67b–69a (278–279). 122. Luozu baojuan, 69a–71b (279–280). 123. Luozu baojuan, 71b–72a (280). 124. Ebrey, Chu Hsi’s Family Ritual, 65–152; Standaert, The Interweaving of Rituals, passim. 125. Liu, “Vegetarian Women,” passim; and Tam, “A Historiographic and Ethnographic Study,” passim. Also good descriptions in Kamata, Chūgoku no Bukkyō, 222–235, 318–324; and Lagerwey, Taoist Ritual, 216–237.

260

Notes to Pages 146–155

126. Berezkin, “Scripture Telling” and “An Analysis,” passim, discuss the practice of reciting Precious Scrolls. 127. Overmyer, Precious Volumes, 92–135. At 103–105, he discusses the use of quotations. 128. Clunas, Pictures and Visuality, 101, 149. 129. Ibid., 165. 130. See Chapter 6. 131. See Chapter 6. 132. Keyi baojuan, shang 1b (393). 133. Qin, “Guanyu Taiwan zhaijiao,” passim. 134. Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 395 (1753), 397 (1775), 400 (1815), 357 and 401 (Yao family itself in 1815), 402 (1832); Zhuang, Zhenkong jiaxiang, 384, 397 (1797, 1798). 135. Keyi baojuan, shang 13b (399) and Luozu baojuan, 231. 136. The Changshu manual gives only the names Puzhu and Puen, using the same alternative version as in the family genealogy. Because it mentions [Pu]ren after the next generation, I suspect that this par ticu lar detail is merely a copying error. 137. Zumai yuanliu, 150.

Chapter 6: The Routinization of Charisma 1. The next section is based on Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 35a–37b (300–301). 2. The family genealogy, quoted by Yao, “Yao Wenyu,” 28, states that the first wife did have a son but that he died young when she was living in Fujian. The Overall Record mentions only the adopted son. In either case, no other son survived. 3. On the house, see Ling, ”Yaojia jinxi,” passim. The author is probably the same as Yao, “Yao Wenyu,” parts of which look very similar to the 2007 article. The 1988 author is definitely the same descendant who owned the family documents published in Qin, “Guanyu Taiwan zhaijiao” and “Ming Qing mimi shehui.” 4. Ling, “Yao Wenyu.” 5. Shiliao xunkan, tian 966a; Anonymous, “Qingdai longhua hui,” 41 (fragment before zai). 6. Keyi baojuan ⾥‫۔‬ᇇो, shang 13a–b (399). 7. Qin, “Guanyu Taiwan zhaijiao,” 133–134; Lian and Qin, Zhongguo mimi shehui, 314–317. 8. Qin, “Guanyu Taiwan zhaijiao,” 135–136. 9. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 37b. 10. Qin, “Guanyu Taiwan zhaijiao,” 136; and Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 37b (301). 11. Chuzhou fuzhi (1877) 23: 86a. The official who proposed this served in 1662– 1667, when Yao Duo was still alive, so there must be a mistake somewhere. 12. Qin, “Guanyu Taiwan zhaijiao,” 136. One wife is identified as Ms. Wu from Xiaguan and the other as Ms. Wu from Houshan. The Keiyi baojuan, shang 19a–b (402) identifies two wives with the religious names Lian and Shang.

Notes to Pages 155–159

261

13. Qizhi yinguo, 674 (MQWX 574) and 633 (MQWX 563). 14. Biographies of Yao Duo and Yao Shi, see Qin, “Guanyu Taiwan zhaijiao,” 136–137. Yao Duo and Yao Shi are mentioned with the rank of Student in the Chuzhou fuzhi (1680) 4: 15a–b. 15. Also Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 355, 357. 16. Qin, “Guanyu Taiwan zhaijiao,” 137. 17. Chuzhou fuzhi (1877), 17: 50b, 51a. Names obtained from Qin, “Guanyu Taiwan zhaijiao,” 134–135. 18. Chuzhou fuzhi (1877) 16: 53a, 70b. Yao Liang’s biographies in Chuzhou fuzhi (1877) 18: 82a, and in Zhongguo lishi dang’anguan zang Qingdai guanyuan lüli dang’an quanbian, 1: 423 shang; 22: 563 xia; and 22: 568 xia. Family genealogy in Qin, “Guanyu Taiwan zhaijiao,” 134–135. See also Baidu baike ⱒᑺⱒ⾥ (baike.baidu.com/view/2048070.htm); and Anonymous (Chen Fen 䱇㢀 ed.), “Junjichu zhangjing Yao Liang” ‫ݯ‬ᴎ໘ゴҀྮṕ, published on the Zhongguo qingyuan wang Ё೑ᑚ‫ܗ‬㔥—(http://qynews.zjol.com.cn/qynews/system/2007 /12/28/010286154.shtml), especially note 4. 19. Ling, “Yaojia jinxi,” passim. 20. Shiliao xunkan, tian 861b. See also Qin, “Guanyu Taiwan zhaijiao,” 134–135. 21. Qin, “Guanyu Taiwan zhaijiao,” 134–135; Chuzhou fuzhi (1877) 16: 70b. 22. Anonymous, “Qingdai longhua hui,” 41. A brother of Yao Biqi’s, Yao Bisheng, had also been arrested in 1748, but had already died in 1753. 23. Anonymous, “Qingdai longhua hui,” 41. 24. The Virtuous Transformation Hall (dehuatang ᖋ࣪ූ) in Tainan, the prefectural capital of old Taiwan, is also within three minutes’ walking distance from the Confucius Temple. 25. Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 401 and 405. The names mentioned in the memorial can be identified in the Yao genealogy in generations seven and eight. 26. Qin, “Ming Qing mimi shehui,” 91. Qin’s informant is the author of Yao, “Yao Wenyu”; Ling, “Yaojia jinxi”; and Ling, “Yao Wenyu,” He makes no mention of any religious practices by the family after 1949, but this might reflect due caution, rather than fact. 27. Yao, “Houtian ‘Huofo’ ”; and Yao, “Yao Wenyu.” 28. Yao, “Houtian ‘Huofo’ ”; and Yao, “Yao Wenyu.” According to Yao, “Yao Wenyu,” 29, she was the daughter of Yao Shanglian, the first known “lordship” of the Jiangxi hall discussed later. The author was living in Qingyuan and probably reporting local stories, rather than those from Jiangxi. 29. Sterckx, The Animal and the Daemon, 77. 30. See Ter Haar, Ritual and Mythology, 390–400; and Ter Haar, “A New Interpretation,” passim. Compare Watson, “Waking the Dragon,” passim. 31. This term is not unique to the movement. Local deities, stage actors, and others could also be referred to in this way. 32. Yao, “Houtian ‘Huofo,’ ” and Ling, “Yao Wenyu,” draw on family biographies. Luo, “Jianguo chuqi,” confirms the local status of the Yao family hall and provides relevant information on the local initiation levels in the early 1950s, which roughly conforms to the historical evidence on Jiangxi. 33. Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 358–359.

262

Notes to Pages 159–169

34. Lian and Qin, Zhongguo mimi shehui, 316–317, feel that this line of descent was excluded from the family genealogy and biographies because it descended from the son of Patriarch Yao’s first wife. In my opinion, the infringement of the name taboo makes this impossible. 35. Chongming manlu, 1: 30a–31a. 36. Anonymous, “Qingdai longhua hui,” 41. 37. Zhongguo huidaomen shiliao jicheng, 429, 445, 449, 609, 615. 38. Ling, “Yao Wenyu,” passim. Confirmed by the police records quoted in the preceding note. 39. Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 340–405, have established the basis on which most subsequent researchers have built, adding a little material here or there and changing some interpretations. Their discussion of any connections with Manichaeism and the White Lotus Teachings is superseded by Ter Haar, The White Lotus Teachings. 40. Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 363–368; Overmyer, Folk Buddhist Religion, 119–123. 41. Shiliao xunkan, di 67a–b. Some halls may have been found during an earlier survey fifteen years before. See Goossaert, “Counting the Monks.” 42. This zhuang ᐶ is pronounced as tông in the local languages of southern Fujian. Tong ス can be pronounced as tông or tang. 43. Menegon, Ancestors, Virgins, and Friars, 75. 44. Shiliao xunkan, di 67a–b. 45. Shiliao xunkan, tian 964a. 46. Zhangpu xianzhi (1928 reprint from the 1708 edition), za section, no pages (at the very end). 47. Shiliao xunkan, tian 966a. 48. Shiliao xunkan, di 33a. 49. Shiliao xunkan, di 67b–68a. On the shed people, see Averill, “Shed People,” passim. 50. Combining Shiliao xunkan, di 30b and tian 966a–b. 51. Shiliao xunkan, di 32b. 52. Compare the coastal lineage. 53. Shiliao xunkan, di 34a. 54. Shiliao xunkan, tian 966a–b. 55. Ter Haar, Ritual and Mythology, 225–262, 284–290. 56. Combining information in Shiliao xunkan, di 30b and tian 966a–b. 57. Shiliao xunkan, di 30b–31a, 33b; Shiliao xunkan, 966b–967b. 58. Shiliao xunkan, di 31b. Local magistrates comment that the incident was not representative of these groups; see di 67b. 59. Ter Haar, Ritual and Mythology, 316–324, 333–336. 60. Xingmipian, 314–317. 61. Zhangpu xianzhi (1928 reprint from the 1708 edition), za section, no pages (at the very end). 62. Menegon, Ancestors, Virgins, and Friars, 75. 63. Ter Haar, Telling Stories, 145–146, 250–251. 64. Anonymous, “Qingdai longhua hui,” 40–59, esp. 40–43.

Notes to Pages 170–176

263

65. Combining two separate passages; see Anonymous, “Qingdai longhua hui,” 40, 41. Later confessions do not add new information. 66. Ibid., 40 (opening statement) and 42. 67. Ibid., 41, 42. 68. Hsiao, Rural China, 185–205. 69. See discussion in Chapter 5. 70. Anonymous, “Qingdai longhua hui,” 40. 71. In the following discussions, I am combining three memorials, which are quoted extensively in Qin, Zhongguo dixia shehui, 359–365. I leave the role of Wu Zixiang ਇᄤ⼹ (fl. 1783–1784) out of consideration, since his role remains vague, and he is not identified as an adherent through an affi liation character. 72. Ter Haar, Ritual and Mythology, 420–424. 73. See Chapter 7. 74. Qizhi yinyou, passim; Keyi baojuan, shang 19a (402). 75. The term fuqi ӣ⇷ is explained in inner meditation techniques as a method of inhaling and exhaling Qi (breath). 76. Keyi baojuan, zhongxia 27a–28a (425). See Chapters 2 and 5. 77. Lagerwey, Le continent des esprits, 143–161. 78. Keyi baojuan, shang 32a–33a (409). The first four lines quote the Heart Sutra, after which the text takes its own direction. 79. Keyi baojuan, zhong shang 3b–5a (413–414). 80. The text says “ear.” Given the nickname and the fact that the ears are mentioned later using a much more meaningful nickname, this mention should be corrected to “nose.” 81. At this point, Qin provides partly paraphrase and partly quotation, so I have decided to provide a paraphrase as well. 82. Men and Guo, A General Introduction, 81. 83. The text actually says “acupuncture points” (xuemen え䭔), which makes no sense. I have emended xue to the similar liu ݁. The Six Gates are an important element of the movement’s ritual. 84. Fieldwork by Robin Ruizendaal and me in 1991 and 1993 in Taibei. Also see Pan Sanduo’s reference to this use of bowls in Chapter 7. 85. See Chapter 5. 86. Scholars usually base themselves on the Chongming manlu account. The best historical analysis is Noguchi, Mindai byakurenkyō, 456–467, which is the only one to use the very detailed account in the Wuwenjie yiji. 87. Changning xianzhi 䭋ᆻ㏷ᖫ(1907) 9: 6a–8a is much more detailed than the Chongming manlu, 1: 30a–31a (359), our usual source for these events. On the karma mirror, see Ter Haar, The White Lotus Teachings, 52, 167, 169–170, 191, 193–194, 216, 233–234. 88. Wuwenjie yiji, 14: 3a–15b, 15: 1a–10a. 89. Wuwenjie yiji, 14: 4a. 90. Wuwenjie yiji, 14: 7b–8b. Wuwenjie yiji, 14: 4b mentions that a “vegetarian gentleman from outside” (wailai zhaigong ໪՚唟݀), Luo Puzhang 㕙᱂ゴ, offered his cooperation. 91. Wuwenjie yiji, 14: 9b.

264

Notes to Pages 176–182

92. Wakeman, Strangers at the Gate, passim; and Ter Haar, “Myth in the Shape of History,” passim. 93. See earlier in Chapter 6 and Chapter 7. 94. Wuwenjie yiji, 14: 3b. 95. Wuwenjie yiji, 15: 3b. 96. Chongming manlu, 1: 30a–31b. 97. Eberhard, Guilt and Sin, passim. 98. Transformation Teachers; see Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 3b (284), 10a–15a (287–290) and passim; Recruiters, see 6a (285), 8b (286), 16a (290), 18b (291), 19b (292), 24b (294), 26a (295); Overall Command, see 19b (292). Li Fei is mentioned as a Transformation Teacher in Qizhi yinguo, 560–562. 99. Taishang zushi sanshi yinyou zonglu, Yao: 5a (285), 9a (287), 18a (291), 25a (295). For the term Dharma Treasure, see Keyi baojuan, zhong xia 22b (422), 23a (423). 100. De Groot, Sectarianism, 201–203. Compare Putian xianzhi (1945) 8: 29b–30b (283–284) and Zhangpu xianzhi (1928 reprint from the 1708 edition), za section, no pages (at the very end). 101. See Chapter 7. 102. Zhongguo huidaomen shiliao jicheng, 452. The source writes zongle ᘏࢦ (an error for zongchi 㐑ᬩ) and lela ࢦ㳵 (an error for lachi 㷳ᬩ). We do not know whether the mistakes were made by the adherents or the police. 103. Zumai yuanliu, 22: 145–158. After the fifteenth patriarch, this source concentrates solely on the Hanyang Hall. 104. Zumai yuanliu, 147. This source places the death of Patriarch Yao earlier in time. 105. Zumai yuanliu, 150. This was around the same time that the Yao family in Qingyuan also came under pressure, during the life of Yao Shi (see earlier in Chapter 6). 106. The vegetarian hall in Fuqing was discontinued in 1940. See Wang, “Taiwan fojiao,” 307, note 13, based on research by Li Tianchun ᴢ⏏᯹. The location of Changle is also given for the Yishi Hall (for instance by Lin, “Putian jizhong minjian zongjiao,” 119–120), and a hall by this name exists in Changle today. The Zumai yuanliu does not mention the Yishi Hall by name but is quite clear that the ancestral hall of the Hanyang Hall was in Guanyin pu in Fuqing. Late-Qing sources also mention Fuqing as the place of residence of the patriarch of the local movement. Maybe later sources changed the location of the Yishi Hall to Changle because of the internal conflicts around the turn of the nineteenth century, as described later. 107. Zumai yuanliu, 152–153. 108. Zumai yuanliu, 153–154, using the term nianjiu ᢜ儂. 109. Zumai yuanliu, 157–158. 110. Zumai yuanliu, 158–159. 111. Zumai yuanliu, 160–161 (quotation), 159–166. 112. Zumai yuanliu, 160–161. His biography follows later, at 167–168. The Five Eyes are inner eyes, to wit: (1) the heavenly eye, (2) the flesh-eye, (3) the dharmaeye, (4) the wisdom-eye, and (5) the Buddha-eye.

Notes to Pages 182–187

265

113. Zumai yuanliu, 167–171. The account continues with information on the Taiwanese lineage founded by Lu Desheng. 114. I have made grateful use of the excellent textual analysis by Song, “Ming Qing minjian,” and added the material from the Causes and Fruits and contextual information. The analysis of the contents is largely my own. Zhuang, “Qingdai minjian zongjiao,” 172, quotes from a different source and at 174 mentions an 1815 case with a direct quote from the extant proclamation (with one different character, pu ᱂ instead of ban ䷦). 115. Song, “Ming Qing minjian,” 110–111. 116. Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 186–187, 396; Song, “Ming Qing minjian,” 114–116. 117. Qizhi yinguo, 585 (MJSC). 118. Hummel, Eminent Chinese, 190. 119. Li and Naquin, “The Baoming Temple,” 138–143, 160–162. 120. The version from the Dehua Hall is transcribed by Song, “Ming Qing minjian,” 102–103. An illustration is in Wang, Tainan dehuatang, 86. I am grateful for the photocopy of this version sent to me by Wang Jianchuan, together with another version from the Chaotian Hall in Zhanghua. 121. Song, “Ming Qing minjian,” 104–106, reproduces the 1899 version and at 111 briefly refers to the Tianjin version. 122. Song, “Ming Qing minjian,” 106–108, also reproduces the text. Also in Chen, Zhongxi cuyan baojuan, 93: 70a–b (vol. 21: 325–326). 123. Song, “Ming Qing minjian,” 102, note 3, specifies the format of the 1899 edition. He does not indicate whether other pictorial materials were included. The Chaotian Hall version was written in the form of a folded sutra. 124. Wang, Tainan dehuatang. De Visser, The Dragon, 103–108, points out the common nature of this symbolism. Schipper, Le corps taoïste, 35, suggests that the flaming pearl represents the cosmic energy produced by the incense burner in a temple. 125. Passage A in Song, “Ming Qing minjian,” 102–103. 126. Only the mythical figure of Yang Mingzong appears elsewhere in the movement’s texts. See Chapter 3. 127. Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 395 (1753), 400 (1815), 404 (1832). Zhuang, “Qingdai minjian zongjiao,” 169 (1798–1805), 170 (1816). 128. Please note that “first” refers here to the oldest piece of extant evidence and not to claims in later confessions that the “Proclamation” was obtained much earlier. For an example of this misunderstanding, see Han, “Luojiao de jiaopai,” 87–110, esp. 96 (using archival material from the early nineteenth century). 129. Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 395, 890. 130. Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 889–890 (1811 case); Zhuang, “Qingdai minjian zongjiao,” 169 (1811 and 1812 cases). 131. Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 1109–1112. 132. Similar documents were produced in great numbers by the Yao and She in southern China. See Ter Haar, “A New Interpretation,” passim; Jonsson, Mien Relations, esp. 26–34 but also 83, 121; Alberts, “Commemorating,” 19–65. 133. Hung, Protest with Chinese Characteristics, 83–84.

266

Notes to Pages 189–198

134. Ter Haar, The White Lotus Teachings, 24–28, 81, 84, 131. I have searched hundreds of local gazetteers from the Ming and Qing period for information but was largely unsuccessful. 135. Handlin Smith, The Art of Doing Good, passim, discusses charity in late-Ming times. The only example is that of Patriarch Yao and his son Yao Duo discussed in Chapter 3.

Chapter 7: The Movement under Duress 1. See Shenbao, vol. 17, p. 10714; and Ter Haar, The White Lotus Teachings, 277–279. 2. Goossaert and Palmer, The Religious Question, passim, for a general discussion; Hung, “The Anti-Unity Sect Campaign,” on the repression of the Unity Way. 3. Excerpts in Takeuchi, “Taiwan zhaijiao longhuapai;” 16–22; and Overmyer, Precious Volumes, 125–128. 4. Liu, “ ‘Wenda baojuan,’ ” 77–85. 5. Juexing baojuan, shang 1a–b. 6. Juexing baojuan, shang 1b. 7. Juexing baojuan, shang 1b. 8. This refers to a poem in the Book of Odes that sings of the loneliness and homesickness of a soldier away on campaign. Legge, The Chinese Classics, 195–197. 9. Juexing baojuan, shang 2b. 10. Liu, “ ‘Wenda baojuan,’ ” 77–85, esp. 78. 11. Juexing baojuan, shang 3a–b. 12. Any local gazetteer that treats this period will confirm the amount of destruction that had taken place. The Jinhua county gazetteer lists, by name, more than 1,300 male deaths in fights alone. Jinhua xianzhi (1894 edition), Appendix, 941ff. 13. Juexing baojuan, shang 4a–b. 14. Juexing baojuan, shang 7b, 8b. 15. Juexing baojuan, shang 8b. 16. Juexing baojuan, xia 35b–36a. 17. Juexing baojuan, xia 38b–42b. 18. De Groot, Sectarianism, 190. 19. De Groot, Sectarianism, 177–192. 20. Juexing baojuan, shang 6b–7a. 21. See “Patriarch Luo and textuality” in Chapter 2. 22. Juexing baojuan, shang 13b. In Juexing baojuan, xia 21b, he labels Non-Action as the start of all things by the same term as “dotting the numinous root.” 23. Juexing baojuan, shang 14a–b. 24. Juexing baojuan, xia 32b–33a. 25. Juexing baojuan, xia 34a. 26. On this issue, see Ter Haar, Ritual and Mythology, 424–439. 27. In my discussion of the movement’s rituals, I have called this the ritual of Lighting the Candles. 28. Paraphrased from Juexing baojuan, shang 9a–10a. Juexing baojuan, xia 24b–33b contains further cosmological discussions.

Notes to Pages 199–204

267

29. Filial Tents are probably temporary constructions for ritual purposes, as is customary in funerary rituals. 30. Juexing baojuan, xia 23a–b. 31. Juexing baojuan, xia 23a–24b. 32. Juexing baojuan, xia 20a. 33. For example, Tanshi juan 3: 15a–b (164) and 10: 54a–56a (184–185). 34. For example, Poxie juan 13: 5a–6b (251–252). 35. Zhongxi cuyan baojuan, 484–486. 36. Takeuchi, “Taiwan zhaijiao longhuapai,” 10–12, first pointed out this passage. 37. Takeuchi, “Taiwan zhaijiao longhuapai,” 5–6. 38. This discussion is based on Zhongguo huidaomen shiliao jicheng, 431, 444, 449, 451, 465, 601, 604, 609. 39. After completing this study and on the brink of sending the manuscript off to the publisher, I came across Shen, Dong, and Gan, Zhongguo mimi shehui, 232–238. It contains some very interesting information on local practices, probably in the Shanghai region. Sadly, they give no indication as to their sources. They confi rm the flourishing of the movement in the Republican period and suggest it was eventually pushed out by the Unity Way. 40. Luo, “Jianguo chuqi,” 387. Some of the information here, such as his mention of a variety of generation markers, seems to stem from another religious movement; 388 clearly refers to the rituals of the Non-Action Teachings as described in this study. 41. Luo, “Jianguo chuqi,” 390–391. 42. Zhongguo huidaomen shiliao jicheng, 394. 43. Bays, “Christianity and Chinese Sects,” passim. 44. Taylor, Hudson Taylor, 334–335; Guinness, The Story, 170–171. 45. Austin, China’s Millions, 67–69, with a few additional comments. I have retained Austin’s (probably Taylor’s) transcription of their names. 46. Austin, China’s Millions, 77, 237, 265–266, 281, 382. 47. Edkins, “Notice,” 371, also uses this term. 48. On this vegetarianism, see Reinders, “Blessed Are the Meat Eaters,” passim. 49. Gibson, Mission Problems, 178. Also Edkins, “Notice,” 371, 379. 50. Darley, The Light of the Morning, 140–145. On these lay nuns, see Liu, “Vegetarian Women”; and Tam, “A Historiographic and Ethnographic Study,” esp. 73–85. 51. Moule, “Some Remarks,” 130–137. 52. http://www.cczj.org/info.asp?id=2711. Also copied on other sites. No sources are given. 53. Li, “Wanqing jiaohui shili,” 39–47. The author bases himself on missionary sources. Lo, “The Order of Local Things,” 102–166, has an extensive discussion of vegetarian movements in the Wenzhou region. He includes material on the conversion of adherents of the Non-Action Teachings to local Christianity. Sadly, his analysis ignores the results of my investigation into the labeling of new religious groups in Ter Haar, The White Lotus Teachings. 54. De Groot, Sectarianism, 192. 55. Quoted in Welch, “The Flower Mountain Murders,” 23.

268

Notes to Pages 204–210

56. “The Fuh-Kien Mission,” Church Missionary Gleaner, September 1884, 105 and “Vegetarian Converts in China,” Church Missionary Gleaner, September 1885, 99. I would not have found these references without the excellent article by Reinders, “Blessed Are the Meat Eaters.” 57. Juexing baojuan (reprint 1921) xia 18b. 58. See for instance Bays, “Christianity and Chinese Sects,” 121–134; Tiedemann, “Christianity and Chinese ‘Heterodox Sects,’ ” 339–382; Lee, The Bible and the Gun, 34–36. 59. Rankin, “The Ku-t’ien Incident,” 30–61. Also see Satō, “1895 nen no koten kyōan,” 65–123, which partly relies on unpublished Chinese sources collected by local historians in Fujian. It is difficult to separate out older contextual evidence (derived from earlier sources on the Non-Action Teachings) and evidence from the actual case fi les at the time. For the basic events I rely largely on Welch, “The Flower Mountain Murders.” The report by the U.S. consul confirms that we are dealing with the Non-Action Teachings. See Welch, “The Flower Mountain Murders,” 901–906. 60. See, for instance, Rankin, “The Ku-t’ien Incident,” 39. 61. Quoted in Welch, “The Flower Mountain Murders,” 20–23, 164. 168, 259–260, 304–305, 327 and passim. Welch, “The Flower Mountain Murders,” 803, quotes a consular report which blames a clerk for advising the arrest of four Vegetarians and mentions that a local “graduate” (precise rank unclear) acted on behalf of the Vegetarians in the negotiations. 62. Ter Haar, Telling Stories, 196–201. 63. My discussion of the group is based on Jiaowu jiaoan dang, 5: 4 ce 2023–2067, and Welch, “The Flower Mountain Murders,” 913–916. 64. I have corrected one case from Guangxu 12 to Guangxu 20, 1894. 65. The missionary is identified by the name of Shi ৆ in Zheng Huai’s confession. 66. Liu Yong gives two dates in his confession, namely the fift h month and the intercalary fi ft h month. That year does not have an intercalary month and I assume that he still meant the fift h month. 67. Quoted in Welch, “The Flower Mountain Murders,” 916. 68. Overall, see Jiaowu jiaoan dang vols. 5: 3+4 ce, 1995–2072, vol. 6: 2 ce, 1388– 1456. The material in vol. 5 also includes religious information (esp. 2013, 2017, 2022–2067). 69. Litzinger, “Temple community,” passim; Sweeten, Christianity in Rural China, passim. 70. Carlson, The Foochow Missionaries, 135–136, 141–148, 163–165. 71. Lamley, “Lineage Feuding,” passim; Ownby, “The Ethnic Feud,” passim. On rural violence in a slightly later period, see Perry, “Collective Violence” and “Rural Violence,” passim. 72. The notion of large-scale opposition is mostly a Western construct, reflected strongly in Rankin, “The Ku-t’ien Incident,” 54–55 and passim. 73. Seiwert, Volksreligion, 161–198; Jones, Buddhism in Taiwan, 19–24, deals with the Dragon Flower Gathering (still ignoring the work done by Seiwert at the time) and Jones, “Religion in Taiwan,” 16–19 (but treating the vegetarian movements as messianic).

Notes to Pages 210–214

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74. Zhang Kunzhen, Taiwan de laozhaitang, 19–20; and Lin Meirong, Taiwan de zhaitang, 74, connect the late spread of the movement to the incident of 1748. 75. Shepherd, Statecraft and Political Economy, 143–146, gives the following periods when it was permitted: 1732–1740, 1746–1748, 1760–1761, and permanently from 1788 on. 76. Katz, When Valleys Turned Blood Red, 92–94, 111, and passim. 77. Yao, “Riju shiqi,” 71–79. 78. Yao, “Riju shiqi,” 79–80. 79. Wang, “Luelun,” 176–177. 80. Yao, “Riju shiqi,” passim; and Wang, “Luelun,” 169. More data in Miyamoto, Nihon tōchi jidai, 87. 81. Lin, Taiwan de zhaitang, 19–48. 82. Wang, “Luelun,” passim. 83. Wang, “Luelun,” 164–166. 84. Lin, Taiwan de zhaitang, 19–48. She analyzes this phenomenon explicitly in 78–80 but uses a different set of numbers, concluding that at the time of writing only thirty-six of the movement’s halls had survived. Similar analysis for Tainan in Kan, “Cong Taiwan zhaijiao,” 228–247. Kan also provides a good discussion of the Buddhist criticism of the movement, although this criticism itself is usually rather vague. Lin and Zu, “Zaijia fojiao,” 231, quote the leaders of the hall they studied as pessimistic about the future of their tradition due to the lack of new adherents. See also Jones, Buddhism in Taiwan, passim, on the rise of monastic Buddhism. 85. Jiang, “Zhanhou Taiwan zhaijiao,” 255–269. 86. A first and important attempt to sketch these events is Goossaert and Palmer, The Religious Question. 87. Zhongguo huidaomen shiliao jicheng, 383, 387, 393–394 (good information), 419 (against marriage), 428–429 (good, though colored information), 431 (fusion with Buddhist organization after 1949), 443, 444, 445, 449 (some good information), 450 and 452 (good information in table), 465, 470, 581, 588 (many details), 604, 609, and 611, 615. The general discussions, per province, incorporate academic discourse, and as a result, we cannot be sure how well they reflect local circumstances. Additional material was found in New Local Gazetteers, which I have consulted through the Wanfang database (Tonglu and Fenshui [96–97]; Wujin [37, with some errors but clearly giving the correct initiation ranks]; Gaoan [548]; Ji’an [on Yongfeng, 2318]). I have added page references; where available, the original gazetteers can be found by looking for the place name and the suffi x ㏷ᖫ xianzhi. Shen, Dong, and Gan, Zhongguo mimi shehui, 232–238, appear to provide information on Shanghai. 88. I have left out references to Hubei and Hunan because they were too vague. See Zhongguo huidaomen shiliao jicheng, 775, 776, 783, 798, 817, 819–820. 89. Zhongguo huidaomen shiliao jicheng, 429, gives 24,000 and 24,900. No doubt the highest figure is still an undercount. 90. In a case from 1761–1770, it is simply stated that there were many followers in Qiantang, Shanyin, Wukang, Yuhang, and Haiyan. See Zhuang, Zhenkong jiaxiang, 139–140.

270

Notes to Pages 214–230

91. Putian xianzhi, 8: 30b (284). Pu, Zhongguo minjian mimi zongjiao, 63, quotes a 1963 Putian yearbook saying that the movement was roughly like ordinary Buddhism. 92. Lin, “Putian jizhong minjian zongjiao,” 123. 93. Dean and Zheng, Ritual Alliances, 166–170. Their discussion of the Dragon Flower Gathering combines internal information with academic (but mistaken) views of their possible messianic tenets. 94. Zhongguo huidaomen shiliao jicheng, 394. 95. Zhongguo huidaomen shiliao jicheng, 428–429. 96. Zhongguo huidaomen shiliao jicheng, 419. 97. Zhongguo huidaomen shiliao jicheng, 429, 432, 588. 98. Luo, “Jianguo chuqi,” 389–391. I am grateful to David Palmer for sharing this article with me. 99. Zhongguo huidaomen shiliao jicheng, 609 and 611. 100. Luo, “Jianguo chuqi,” 389–390. He is copying literally from official records, as if the present is 1955. The comments are my own. 101. Ter Haar, Ritual and Mythology, 420–424. 102. Luo, “Jianguo chuqi,” 389–390. 103. Zhou, The Great Famine, 91–113, contains some brief and stereotyped materials on the role of religious culture during the Great Famine. 104. Luo, “Jianguo chuqi,” 389–390. 105. Zhongguo huidaomen shiliao jicheng, 615. 106. Wanfang database of New Local Gazeteers (p. 548 of the Gaoan gazetteer). 107. Zhongguo huidaomen shiliao jicheng, 435, 465, 470, 581, 606. For Tonglu and Yongfeng, I have consulted the Wanfang database of New Local Gazetteers mentioned earlier. 108. Dean and Zheng, Ritual Alliances, 166–170. 109. “Hanyangtang longhua sanhui” ⓶䱑ූ啡㧃ϝ᳗(www.youtube.com/results ?search _query=%E9%BE%99%E5%8D%8E+%E6%BC%A2%E9%99%BD%E5 %A0%82& page=1; in a series of separate videos covering the ritual that lasted from February 13 to 15, 2012. Alternatively search Youtube for 啡㧃 and ⓶䱑ූ. 110. http://zh.wikipedia.org>ኅቅও.

Chapter 8: Rediscovering Lay Buddhism 1. Reader and Tanabe, Practically Religious, passim. 2. Griffiths, Religious Reading, 40–54 and passim. 3. On the basis of the digital version by Lin, “Ming Jiajing ban,” the term zheng appears sixty-nine times in the abbreviated form 䀐 and ninety-five times in the full form 䄝. It refers to either the use of quotations as evidence or as the evidence of future enlightenment. 4. Griffiths, Religious Reading, esp. 54–59, 97–104. 5. This much is clear, for instance, from the police archives on which the 2004 survey is based. 6. Seiwert, Popular Religious Movements, 260–267. 7. Cameron, The European Reformation, passim; and Lindberg, The European Reformations, passim.

Notes to Pages 230–234

271

8. Similarly, the essays in Dixon, Freist, and Greengrass, Living with Religious Diversity, passim, show that the Reformation was also at best characterized by a recognition that the other existed and at worst by persecution. 9. We are still lacking a study of such criticism and ridicule from a religious history point of view. A literary point of view can be found in Rummel, Der Mönche und Nonnen Sündenmeer, passim. 10. Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 447–448, 461. 11. Brook, Praying for Power, passim, on the Lower Yangzi region; and T’ien, “The Decadence of Buddhist Temples,” passim on the Fujian region. We still lack similar studies for other regions. 12. Rawski, Education and Popular Literacy, passim; and Idema, “Review,” passim. 13. Berling, The Syncretic Religion, passim; Berling, “Religion and Popu lar Culture,” passim; Dean, Lord of the Three In One, passim; Dean and Zheng, Ritual Alliances, passim. 14. Ma and Han, Zhongguo minjian, 1351–1387; Olles, “The Way of the Locust Tree Studio,” 107–117. 15. Ter Haar, The White Lotus Teachings, 66, 72, 74, 86. 16. De Groot, Sectarianism, 201.

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Index

. I have excluded from the index references to the Buddha in general, Buddhism, Patriarch Luo (Luo Qing) and Patriarch Yao (Yao Wenyu), since they are discussed throughout this book. alcoholic (beverages): as sacrifice, 30, 96, 137, 138, 204; rejection of, 1, 2, 6, 81, 88, 90, 95, 96, 101, 111, 119, 127, 130, 131, 138, 162, 184, 223 Amitābha, 6, 18, 41, 44, 45, 58, 65, 105, 121, 123, 124, 126, 130, 137, 139, 140, 141, 227, 246n. 54; entry in his Pure Land or Western Paradise, 2, 4, 6, 29, 31, 36, 56, 64, 66, 118, 120, 122, 123, 130, 134, 139, 145, 146, 227; recitation of his name, 6, 16, 18, 26, 30, 37, 74, 95, 109, 132–134, 136, 138, 140, 141, 143, 144, 167, 174, 201, 220, 225, 227 Analects, 106 ancestor (ancestor worship), 2, 3, 30, 32, 37, 57, 66, 89, 108, 114, 117, 120, 140, 141, 147, 158, 164, 165, 227, 228; Christian view, 7; worship rejected, 2, 4, 6, 61, 62, 80, 101, 108, 119, 120, 147, 184, 227, 228, 232, 245n. 41 ancestor tablet. See spirit tablet bailian ( jiao). See White Lotus movement; White Lotus Teachings baiyun zong. See White Cloud Tradition baojuan. See Precious Scroll barbarian, 12, 34, 35, 38, 39, 41–44, 46, 53, 157 benlai mianmu. See Original Face bitter practice (kuxing), 14, 16, 18, 25, 43, 102, 180

Bodhidharma, 31, 33–35, 97, 100, 135 Bodhisattva, 19, 35, 47, 58, 94, 123, 132, 133, 138, 139, 165, 166, 206, 221, 246n. 59; Guanyin, 6, 44, 45, 138, 207, 243n. 110; vow, 13, 103 Book of Changes, 97, 106 Book of Documents, 105 Books of Odes, 105, 266n. 8 Broad Yang Teachings (hongyang jiao), 21, 22, 224, 230 Buddha Tathagatha (historical Buddha), 16, 24, 31, 32, 125, 132, 160, 222, 242n. 67 Buddhist canon, 2, 4, 19, 20, 22, 47, 48, 142, 143, 146, 219–222, 238n. 24 Cai Wenju, 63, 64 candles, as sacrifice, 39, 41, 61, 68, 79, 91, 120, 128, 130, 138, 176, 186, 190, 193, 207, 216; symbolism of, 96, 173, 196, 197. See also Lighting the Candles Candle Command (lachi), 137, 176, 178 Candle Gathering (candle gathering). See Lighting the Candles candle lighting. See Lighting the Candles Causes and Fruits of the Seven Branches (qizhi yinguo), 4, 34, 45, 52, 62, 63, 65, 67, 68, 80, 87–90, 93, 95–97, 100–104, 106–110, 113–116, 118, 119, 127, 131, 138, 144, 148, 154, 173, 179, 182, 197, 223, 227, 232; its nature as a source, 85, 86, 115–116

291

292

Index

Chan, 21, 24, 29–35, 67, 87, 97, 102–104, 112, 118, 119, 131, 135, 137–140, 148, 178, 184, 192, 193, 219, 221, 225, 233, 240n. 61, 241n. 77, 242n. 102 changsheng jiao. See Long Life Teachings charisma, 3, 32, 35, 50, 58, 59, 72, 115, 119, 120, 153, 159, 164, 169, 178, 186, 198; accusation against, 72; definition of, 2, 51, 56, 83, 84; routinization of, 151, 153, 154, 157, 177 charitable works, 30, 70, 72, 94, 104, 120, 124, 163, 188, 212 charity, 120, 188, 212, 266n. 135 Chen Guangyai, 164, 166 Chen Zhongxi, 183, 199, 203, 247n. 92 Cheng Pushen, 51, 64, 66, 124, 125 Chi. See Command Christianity 6–8, 11, 19, 94, 228; early (seventeenth–eighteenth centuries), 8, 34, 45, 67, 81–83, 162, 166–170, 177; late (nineteenth century), 8, 3, 189, 195, 198, 201, 203–205, 207–209, 212, 217, 227, 267n. 53. See also Lord of Heaven; Protestantism Chuandeng. See Transmitting the Flame City God, 7, 8, 79, 141, 156, 174, 229 civil ser vice examinations, 6, 15, 43, 50, 55, 56, 66, 78, 79, 86, 87, 90, 91, 97, 99, 105, 107, 108, 112–116, 150, 154–156 Classicism, 6, 15, 50, 62, 80, 96, 99, 100, 102, 146, 154, 183, 222 classics. See Five Classics Command (chi) (Overall Command (zongchi), 79, 89, 136, 137, 159, 176, 178, 180, 258n. 79 Communists (Chinese Communist Party), 1, 4, 8, 170, 199, 201, 214, 217 Complete Perfection (quanzhen), 5, 13, 101 Confucian school, 3, 90, 108, 111, 116 Confucianism (neo-Confucianism), 3, 5, 50, 62, 80, 97, 99, 102, 104, 131, 211, 221, 222 cosmos (cosmology), 4, 21, 36, 43, 75, 80, 97–99, 102, 138, 172–174, 196, 197

covenant. See oath Cultural Revolution, 10, 215, 217 dacheng ( jiao). See Great Vehicle (Teachings) Daning, 15, 25–29, 65, 232, 237n. 16, 246n. 52 Daoism, 5, 80, 96, 103 demonological, 77, 121, 164 dharma, 16, 19, 25, 30, 32, 33, 35, 39, 44, 52, 54, 59, 65, 69, 73, 77–79, 82, 90, 92, 93, 97, 102–105, 111, 120, 122–125, 130, 131, 135–137, 143, 144, 148, 153, 169, 177, 179–182, 186, 196, 264n. 112; dharmaname 52, 66, 67, 90, 116, 118, 159, 168, 171, 172, 175, 190, 192, 205, 206; dharma treasure, 59, 124, 125, 177, 179, 180, 223, 264n. 99; Final Dharma (mofa) 122, 123–125, 128, 226 Diamond Sutra ( jin’gang jing), 22, 34, 43, 74, 98, 241. See also Graded Ritual of the Diamond Sutra “directly point to the human heart,” 33, 153, 241n. 67 Dizang, 145 Dominican(s), 7, 81 Dong Yingliang (Dong Qingcao), 63, 64, 111, 228 Dragon Flower: concept, 2, 72–74, 89, 90, 118, 120, 122, 125–129, 139–141, 143, 145, 152–153, 165, 168, 177, 195, 216, 220, 225, 227, 235n. 1; Dragon Flower Association (Taiwan), 210, 211; religious group, 1, 8, 9, 20, 63, 70, 85, 116, 127, 193, 204, 209, 211–213, 218, 235n. 1 Eight Immortals, 138, 139, 155 Eight Trigrams rebellion, 166, 169, 181 Eight Trigrams (Trigram), 76, 91, 96, 97, 116, 172, 194, 196, 207 encounter dialogue, 148 energy. See Qi enlightenment, 17, 21, 22, 29, 35–37, 52, 54, 56, 59, 66, 104, 108, 123, 124, 137, 139, 140, 142, 171–173, 180–182, 232, 239n. 44; Chan-model, 21, 24, 25,

Index 31–34, 139, 140, of Lanfeng, 24, 25; of Pan Sanduo, 190, 192, 197, 233; of Patriarch Luo, 12, 15–17, 25, 33, 34, 37, 39, 40, 43, 126, 135, 219, 270n. 3 esoteric. See secret Essence of the Dharma Which Opens Up the Heart (kaixin fayao), 20, 21, 23, 32, 33, 51, 64, 68, 93, 116, 124 exams, examinations. See civil ser vice examinations exorcism (exorcist), 73, 75–77, 136, 154, 157 famine, 13, 70, 125, 216, 217 fast (general term for vegetarian fast), 2, 25, 37, 39, 81, 82, 85, 88, 93, 96, 98, 101, 102, 110, 124, 164, 167–170, 173, 184, 196, 216; Vegetarian Fast (as a ritual) 32, 85, 87, 127, 129, 136, 138, 140, 141, 143, 145, 164, 173, 174, 190, 211 fi lial (piety), 28, 57, 65, 66, 80, 119–120, 146, 196, 198 Final Dharma (mofa). See dharma Five Books in Six Volumes (Wubu liuce), 2, 9, 10, 33–34, 50, 51, 62, 63, 65, 78, 84, 93, 97, 114, 126, 146, 148, 170, 182, 184, 193, 215, 219–222, 225, 227, 233; and their original author, 12–22, 39–41, 43, 45, 47, 93, 97, 119, 122, 135, 141–143, 198; attacks on, 23, 25, 26, 80; messianism or millenarianism and, 121, 122; Pan Sanduo and, 190, 191, 193, 196–198; Patriarch Yao and, 66, 78; Patriarch Ying and, 53, 57, 64, 119, 120; reading of, 4, 5, 47–49, 100, 101, 220–222; ritual for, 2, 4, 21, 78, 87, 129, 137, 141, 143, 145, 146, 172, 176, 181, 186, 187, 215, 217; southward transmission, 15, 25, 26, 28, 29, 32. See also Essence of the Dharma Which Opens Up the Heart (kaixin fayao); Lighting the Candles (mingla) Five Injunctions, 6, 30, 3984, 118, 119, 131, 133, 136, 172, 190, 193, 225 Five Phases, 171–173, 194 formulation (huatou), 24, 135, 136 Four Books, 91, 104, 106, 219, 222

293

Five Classics (classics), 100, 13, 219, 222 Four Lines/four lines, 131, 136, 177 Franciscans, 7, 81 fruit (as sacrifice), 39, 74, 96, 130, 138, 141, 193, 197 funerary ritual, 30, 31, 87, 94, 95, 103, 120, 123, 129, 143, 144, 146, 197, 198, 220 gatha, 28, 28, 37, 39, 77, 86, 104, 136, 137, 168, 177 gender, 85, 86, 97, 111, 113, 222 geomancy, 80, 153, 206, 208 gift, 70, 72, 81, 91, 92, 95, 96, 145, 167–171, 197, 207 God of the Earth, 78, 79 Golden Hall Teachings ( jintang jiao), 63 Golden Mean (zhongyong), 106 Golden Pennant Teachings ( jinzhuang jiao), 63, 64, 160, 162, 211, 228 Gongan. See public case Graded Ritual of the Diamond Sutra ( jin’gang keyi), 16, 34, 43 Great Learning, 106 Great Vehicle (level of initiation), 133, 135, 136, 164, 168, 169, 171, 172, 233 Great Vehicle (Teachings) (dacheng jiao) (religious group), 1, 26, 58, 82, 85, 94, 101, 104, 116, 161, 162, 164, 170, 184, 185, 235n. 1, 239n. 35, 239n. 46 Great Void, 96, 178, 181 guwen. See Old Prose Guan Yu, 174 Guanyin, 6, 30, 74; Non-Action Teachings and, 101, 102, 109, 112, 120, 134, 138, 139, 161, 162, 170, 171 192, 207, 216, 227, 249n. 126; ritual and mythology of, 44, 45, 61, 66 Gui Zibang, 132–134 Guilio Aleni, 67, 81 Guiyi. See Taking Refuge Han Piaogao, 22 Han Taihu, 22 Hanshan Deqing, 13

294

Index

Hanyang Hall, 141, 179, 180, 209, 210, 217, 264n. 106 Haochi. See Signal Command He Zhengdao, 111, 112, 116 heart (heart-mind, mind), 13, 16, 17, 19, 28, 33, 36–40, 56, 82, 91–93, 98–100, 102, 112, 126, 130, 132–135, 142, 145, 153, 167, 173, 181, 184, 190–192, 195, 197; terminology, 39–40, 134, 192, 236n. 4, 241n. 67. See also heart-seal Heart Sutra, 20, 62, 74, 138, 141, 143, 144, 172, 174, 220 heart-seal, 33, 34, 133, 135, 136, 139, 140, 171, 172, 197, 222, 225. See also seal Heavenly Kingdom of Great Peace, 151, 152, 189, 191, 198, 200, 201, 217, 224 Heavenly Master, 63, 74, 77, 101, 106, 221 heresy (heretic) (xie), 27, 33, 44, 62, 76, 91, 112–114, 156, 184, 215, 227, 245n. 41, 254n. 125; as a term used by the movement itself, 18, 25, 73, 74, 91, 124, 126, 143, 203 heterodox (yao), 8, 44, 62, 76, 97, 114, 154 Hong Xiuquan, 191 Hong Zhengchun, 87, 112 hongyang jiao. See Broad Yang Teachings Hu Bishun, 89, 102, 109 hudao/jing bangwen. See Proclamation to Protect the Way/Sutras huashi. See Transformation Teacher huatou. See formulation Huineng, 12, 30, 31, 33, 34, 43, 45, 67, 97, 104, 135, 167, 192, 239n. 44, 241n. 77 hungry ghosts, 41, 95, 101, 112, 142, 251n. 40 iconoclasm, 118 iconophobia (rejection of icons), 6, 118–120, 191, 193, 201–203, 221, 227 illiteracy, 104, 110, 113, 187 Impermanence (demon), 33, 83, 93, 144, 145 incense, 37–39, 61, 62, 70, 79, 81, 94, 100, 103, 119, 130, 138, 139, 141, 144–146, 163, 167, 176, 190, 192, 197, 200, 207, 220, 265n. 124; burner, 79, 153, 173, 197; Incense Mountain hall, 88; explana-

tions of, 41, 96, 102, 172, 173; internalization of, 41, 132, 133; rejection of, 21, 23, 41, 52, 82, 119, 120, 193, 197 initiation, 27, 30, 31, 33, 36, 41, 45, 52, 59, 118, 128, 129, 130–139, 143, 164, 167, 169, 171, 174–177, 207, 220, 232, 233; movement’s definition of, 4, 33, 118, 132, 137, 148, 193, 195, 225; ranks, 89, 177, 186, 212, 213, 215, 216, 229. See also Taking Refuge. Jade Emperor, 57, 78, 101, 102 Jesuits, 7, 45, 67, 81, 82 Jiejing. See Sutra of Binding jin’gang jing. See Diamond Sutra jin’gang keyi. See Graded Ritual of the Diamond Sutra Jintang jiao. See Golden Hall Teachings Jinzhuang jiao. See Golden Pennant Teachings Journey to the West, 5, 22 Kaixin fayao. See Essence of the Dharma Which Opens Up the Heart Kangxi Emperor, 1, 169, 182, 185, 224 karma, 2, 18, 38, 40, 43, 53–55, 60, 87, 123, 174 kongkong. See Supreme Void kuxing. See bitter practice lachi. See Candle Command Lai Ziming, 74, 75, 79 Lamplighter Buddha, 122, 192 Lanfeng, 20, 23–26, 28, 29, 32, 48, 64, 101, 116, 232 Laoguan. See Old Official Laozi, 100, 126, 221 Ledger of Merit and Demerit, 94, 232, 246n.59 Li Mingfu, 89, 102, 109 Li Shizhong, 87, 88, 117, 255n. 143 Liang Youtai, 62, 87, 88, 90–93, 109, 114, 116 light, 25, 38, 44, 91, 125, 129, 135, 139, 142, 190, 191; symbolic importance of, 17, 18, 137, 141, 195–197 Lighting the Candles (mingla), 20, 87, 88, 129, 146, 153, 157, 163, 176, 187, 191,

Index 196, 197, 200, 204, 214, 220, 222; early evidence, 62, 78, 120, 138, 141; and initiation ranks, 136, 137 Lin Guantian, 89, 90 Lin Zhaoen, 14, 87, 228, 231 lineage, 29, 32, 75, 1219, 137, 150, 151, 160, 179 -181, 183, 207–210, 223; Causes and Fruits of the Seven Branches, 89, 91, 118; Chan, 24, 30–35; Daning and Lanfeng 28, 32; Luo Qing, 21, 32, 37, 69; the Non-Action Teachings (the movement itself), 32, 85, 86; Patriarch Yao and his family, 29, 32, 52, 66–69, 72, 83, 84, 85–86, 153, 154, 158, 159, 164, 169, 178, 186, 208, 223, 229; Patriarch Ying, 51, 55, 59, 63, 64, 69, 83, 119–120 literacy, 3, 48, 87, 104–107, 187, 195, 202, 205, 206, 231 Long Life Teachings (changsheng jiao), 74, 168, 182, 199, 203, 228, 248 n. 92 longhua hui. See Dragon Flower Gathering Lord of Heaven, teachings of the, 83, 161, 162, 168, 203. See also Christianity; Protestantism Lotus Sutra, 103, 142, 192 Luo Jing, 13, 25 Luo Menghong, 13–14, 15 Luo Yin, 37 Luo Youyi, 100, 101, 103 Luojiao. See Teachings of Luo Maitreya: devotional, 2, 72, 118, 120, 122, 126–128, 139, 140, 164, 165, 188, 226, 228; messianic, 2, 114, 122, 123, 126, 139, 164, 165, 188, 192, 226, 228 Mao Ziyuan, 232 Matteo Ricci, 81 meat, 1, 2, 6, 30, 75, 76, 81, 82, 90, 91, 96, 101, 106, 110, 112, 127, 130, 137, 138, 159, 162, 187, 190, 204, 209, 223 meditation, 17, 24–27, 41, 93, 101, 148, 164–166, 173, 181 medium, 73, 147, 164–166 Mencius, 98, 99, 105, 106 messianism (messianic), 2, 7, 10, 11, 22, 47, 65, 76, 77, 114, 121–128, 169, 182,

295

188, 216, 227, 228, 235n. 1, 240n. 58; definition of, 118, 121, 122, 225, 226; Luo Qing and, 121, 122; Non-Action Teachings ritual and, 139–141, 147; Old Officials Vegetarians, 160, 164–166; Patriarch Yao and, 125, 128; Patriarch Ying and, 123, 124. See also Unborn Venerable Mother; Dragon Flower millenarianism (millenarian), 62, 76, 121, 124 mind. See heart mingla. See Lighting the Candles Mingzong’s Precious Scroll of Filial Piety and Righteousness Reaching the Foundation (mingzong xiaoyi dazong baojuan), 28, 57, 65, 119–120, 123, 171 mirror, 60, 72, 111, 112, 156, 157, 174, 192, 239n. 44, 245n. 29, 263n. 87 missionary: Buddhist, 2, 29, 50, 58, 68, 70, 80, 81, 89, 170, 181, 198–200, 210, 232; Christian, 7–9, 67, 81, 152, 168, 169, 175, 189, 195, 201–205, 207–209, 217, 221, 227 Mizang, 13–15, 22–31, 51, 64, 65 Mofa. See dharma moral behavior, 119, 120, 178; morality, 5, 7, 94, 95, 100, 232; Morality Book, 232 Mulian, 91, 145 Nationalist Party (nationalists), 200, 209, 215, 219 neo-Confucianism. See Confucianism Nirvana, 122, 144, 145, 175 oath (covenant), 19, 26, 27, 29, 39, 57, 76, 133, 136, 174, 194, 195, 200 Old Official(s) (Vegetarians) (laoguan zhai), 7, 82, 160, 163, 164, 167, 243n. 116 Old Prose (guwen), 99, 104, 106 One Right Hall. See Yishi Hall oral traditions, 16, 44, 48, 156, 235n. 1 Original Face (benlai mianmu), 37, 191 orthodoxy, 6, 31, 155, 184 Overall Command (zongchi). See Command

296

Index

Overall Record of the Circumstances under Which the Three Patriarchs On-High Traveled Around and Taught (taishang sanzu xingjiao yinyou zonglu), 36, 51–53, 55, 56, 59, 64, 65, 68, 72, 73, 75, 80, 83, 85, 89, 123, 128, 146, 152, 158, 164, 169, 192 Pan Sanduo, 119, 174, 201, 203, 204, 217, 220–224, 226, 233; life and works, 189, 190–198 paper money, 21, 91, 94, 95, 101, 108, 119, 120, 144, 184, 198, 232 Patriarch Ying. See Ying Ji’nan Precious Scroll (baojuan), 4, 13, 18, 21, 28, 41, 52, 53, 57, 64, 65, 119–120, 123, 146, 171, 183, 190, 191, 194; definition of the genre, 47, 146, 219–221 Prior Heaven (xiantian), 193, 196, 197, 203 Proclamation to Protect the Way/Sutras (hudao/jing bangwen), 1, 45, 47, 53, 65, 93, 151, 169, 179, 182–187, 224, 225, 227, 231 Protestantism, 6, 7, 202, 204. See also Christianity; Lord of Heaven public case (gongan), 24, 136 Pure and Empty (qingxu), 136, 176, 178 Pure Land, 23, 56, 61, 64, 65, 82, 120–122, 130, 132, 134, 164, 171, 216, 222, 227; Luo Qing on, 16–18, 43–44; Pure Land and Chan Buddhism, 29–31, 138–140; Pure Land sutra, 17, 44, 225; rebirth in, 2, 4, 6, 29, 36, 120, 123, 124, 127, 129, 132, 139–141, 143–145, 220, 225, 227. See also Amitābha; Guanyin Qi (energy), 27, 37, 38, 96–98, 119, 138, 171–178, 195, 197, 265n. 124 Qingxu. See Pure and Empty Qiong Pufu, 55, 56, 58, 59, 68, 83, 124 Qizhi yinguo. See Causes and Fruits of the Seven Branches rebirth, 13, 16, 36, 37, 90, 94, 105, 144, 146; in the Pure Land, 29, 31, 66, 72, 82, 118, 120, 144, 220, 225, 227. See also Pure Land

Recruiter (yinjin), 35, 57, 68, 73, 74, 133, 153, 205–207; rank of, 136, 172, 173, 175, 178, 187 Red Haired Barbarians, 37, 42, 43 Reformation (western Europe), 16, 202, 219, 228–233, 271n. 8 religious affi liation character, 2, 20, 29, 74, 82, 85, 86, 125, 130, 156, 164, 186, 245n. 41 religious freedom, x, 12, 185, 186, 189 righteousness, 28, 110, 120 ru (rujiao). See Classicism sacrifice, 74–76, 78, 95–97, 105, 110, 138, 141, 145, 173, 190, 193, 198, 200, 220; of the body, 41, 56, 180; conventional sacrifice, 30, 95, 96, 101, 102, 223; rejection of, 1, 30, 41, 91, 95, 106, 120, 184, 193, 197 Saintly Edict (shengyu), 41, 53, 169 salvation, 4, 64, 118–120, 123, 125, 127–129, 137, 139, 140, 153, 166, 177, 195, 220 sangha, 30, 104, 130, 131 savior, 2, 8, 77, 118, 120–122, 126, 128, 139, 140, 164–166, 192, 226, 228 seal, 77, 156, 157, 171, 187, 200, 216. See also heart-seal secret (esoteric), 26, 27, 34, 46, 59, 61, 64, 73, 75, 104, 147, 167 secret societies, 8, 212. See also Triads Sections of Response and Retribution by the Highest One (taishang ganying pian), 100 “separate transmission outside the teachings,” 4, 33, 118, 130, 131, 133, 137, 171, 177, 187, 219 Shakyamuni, 1, 23, 122, 123, 140, 160, 192 Shengyu. See Saintly Edict Shenwei. See spirit tablet Siju. See Four Lines Small Vehicle (xiaocheng), 13, 132, 135, 136, 164, 168, 169, 177, 233 spirit tablet (ancestor tablet), 32, 120, 147, 228, 254n.116, 256n. 15 spirit writing, 210, 222 statues, 2, 4, 6, 23, 41, 82, 89, 100, 110, 119–121, 147, 167, 190, 191, 193, 195, 197

Index Stewart, Robert, 207, 208 suffering, 19, 27, 36, 43, 55, 56, 72, 118, 125, 126, 128, 133, 135, 138, 148, 159, 191, 196, 198; kuxing (suffering as a practice), 43, 102, 127, 148, 180; mother’s suffering, 119, 228 Supreme Void (kongkong), 115, 178 Sutra of Binding ( jiejing), 57, 64, 65, 94, 123, 146 Sutra of Heaven (tianjing), 45, 57, 64, 65, 123 Tablet. See spirit tablet taishang ganying pian. See Sections of Response and Retribution by the Highest One taishang sanzu xingjiao yinyou zonglu. See Overall Record of the Circumstances under Which the Three Patriarchs On-High Traveled Around and Taught Taking Refuge, 104, 129, 130, 131, 110, 139. See also Three Refuges Tang Kejun, 74, 89, 90, 104, 105, 107, 115, 116, 127, 128, 148 tea, 69, 96, 97, 104, 138, 141, 143, 145, 173, 197 Teachings of Luo (Iuojiao), 29, 34, 58, 59, 82, 161, 163, 167, 168, 170, 185 Third Vehicle, 123, 135, 136, 169, 171, 233 Three Refuges, 30, 39, 84, 118, 119, 131, 133, 136, 172, 175, 190, 196, 225. See also Taking Refuge Three Vehicles (Teachings), 35, 123, 124, 152, 153, 175. See also Third Vehicle Three-in-One Teachings, 14, 213, 228, 230, 231 Tianjing. See Sutra of Heaven Transformation Teacher (huashi), 52, 54, 55, 57, 58, 67, 68, 83, 112, 113 Transmitting the Flame (chuandeng), 137, 180, 217 Triads, 46, 157, 224. See also secret societies Trigram. See Eight Trigrams

297

Unborn Father and Mother (wusheng fumu), 65, 121, 246n. 54 Unborn Venerable Mother (wusheng laomu), 22, 59, 118, 121–126, 135, 139, 147, 175, 225, 226, 228, 246n. 54 underworld, 33, 60, 86, 93–95, 99, 123, 124, 131, 132, 140, 143–146, 167, 198, 220, 225, 232; Patriarch Luo and, 198; punishment in the, 57, 90, 93. See also Yama Unity Way (yiguandao), 198, 211, 212, 224 vegetarian, 22, 39, 66, 74, 90–94, 96, 102, 103, 108, 110, 114, 129, 130, 141, 157, 159–166, 168, 175, 176, 183, 184, 187, 189, 190, 193, 199, 202, 209–212, 216–218, 220, 228; as a category of people, 55, 60– 62, 67, 81, 92, 99, 110, 162–163, 165–166, 178, 179, 203–207; criticism, 88, 91, 92, 108, 112; defi nition, 2; Vegetarian Fast (ritual), 32, 78, 85, 89, 127, 129, 136, 138, 140, 141, 143, 144, 164, 173, 174, 211. See also fast; Old Official (Vegetarians) vernacular (ritual, language), 2, 5, 16, 19, 20, 36, 39, 76, 79, 86, 174, 229, 254n. 122 Wang Changsheng, 74, 79, 228, 247n. 92 Wang De, 89, 90, 93, 100, 102–106, 108, 109, 116, 117, 255n. 143 Wang Kong, 97, 98, 99, 107 Wang Kongyi, 109, 116 Wang Qingtian, 89, 104, 105, 109, 110 Wang Suxin, 90, 116 Way of the Left (zuodao), 114 Western Paradise, 4, 29, 31, 59, 61, 66, 72, 118, 122, 130, 149, 144–146, 178 White Cloud Tradition (baiyun zong), 48, 103, 162, 221 White Lotus: movement (bailian), 27, 28, 31, 48, 103, 104, 221, 232; Teachings (bailian jiao), 7, 8, 10, 11, 27, 80, 82, 147, 152, 162, 199, 203, 228, 230, 245n. 41, 256n. 17, 262n. 39

298

Index

women, 4, 5, 8, 13, 19, 27, 34, 61, 67, 73, 77, 82, 86, 88, 99, 103, 106, 107, 109–114, 121, 125, 130, 135, 139, 145, 161, 162, 164, 166, 168, 184, 202, 254n. 107, 254n. 11; positive attitude toward women and its limitations, 79, 86, 113, 115, 138, 178, 193, 195, 223, 224; rhetorical use of women, 97, 115; stayed at home, 87, 110–111, 131. Wu Jian, 59–61 Wubu liuce. See Five Books in Six Volumes wujie. See Five Injunctions wusheng fumu. See Unborn Father and Mother wusheng laomu. See Unborn Venerable Mother xiantian. See Prior Heaven Xiao Yan, 4, 5, 100, 109, 112 Xiaocheng. See Small Vehicle Xie. See heresy Xin. See heart Xinyin. See heart-seal Xuanzang, 4, 22 Yama (King, Lord), 60, 88, 90, 92–95, 100, 111, 198, 200, 225 Yang Mingzong, 65, 265n. 126 Yang Shichun, 87, 89, 100, 103, 116, 179 Yang Xiuqing, 191 Yao. See heterodox Yao Dabin, 150, 155, 156

Yao Duo, 35, 66, 69, 71, 116, 149, 152–154, 157, 223, 246n. 55, 250n. 6 Yao Shi, 155, 154, 157, 261n. 14, 264n. 105 Yao Zhe, 154, 157 yiduan, 114, 254n. 125 Yiguandao. See Unity Way Yin Ji’nan, 3, 51 Ying Ji’nan, 2, 3, 6, 28, 29, 32, 36, 43, 45, 79, 83, 85, 90, 94, 117, 139, 146, 177, 222, 223, 225, 227, 228, 230; life and works, 50–54, 56–60, 62–66, 107, 118–120, 123–126, 147, 192; Patriarch Yao modeling upon, 66–68, 72, 83 Yinjin. See Recruiter Yishi Hall (One Right Hall), 179, 209, 210, 264n. 106 Yu Qiao, 4, 5, 100, 112 Yuan Huang, 94, 116, 246n. 59 Zhai. See vegetarian Zhang Cong, 107 Zhang Dafa, 150, 179, 180 Zhang Yong, 39–42, 45 Zhao Bi, 70, 75, 79 Zheng Chenggong, 76 Zhengde Emperor, 1, 5, 25, 42, 45, 53, 64, 157, 158, 167, 224 Zhou Rudi, 15, 43 Zhu Yuanzhang, 13, 131 Zhuangzi, 106 Zhuhong, 23, 29 Zongchi. See Overall Command Zuodao. See Way of the Left

About the Author

.

Barend J. ter Haar was trained at Leiden University, Liaoning University, Osaka Foreign Languages University, and Kyushu University and has taught at the universities of Leiden and Heidelberg. Since 2013, he has been the Run Run Shaw Chair of Chinese at the University of Oxford. He has published numerous books on Chinese social and religious history, including The White Lotus Teachings in Chinese Religious History (1992), The Ritual and Mythology of the Chinese Triads: Creating an Identity (1998), and Telling Stories: Witchcraft and Scapegoating in Chinese History (2006), and a Dutch-language history of imperial China. His recent articles deal with the role of violence in Chinese religious culture, the history of Dutch sinology, and the relationship between textuality and orality in early Chinese written culture. He is currently finishing a history of the religious cult of Lord Guan.

Production Notes for ter Haar / Practicing Scripture Jacket design by Julie Matsu-Chun Composition by Westchester Publishing Ser vices, with text in Minion Pro, and display in Myriad Pro Printing and binding by Sheridan Books, Inc. Printed on 60 lb. House White, 444 ppi.