For the last two thousand years, Chinese culture has largely been shaped by a cocktail of儒佛道 Rú-Fú-Dào philosophies and teachings. There might still be some purists amongst those who are deeply into these three philosophies/religions, but I do not know if there are pure-Rú or pure-Fú or pure-Dào followers amongst Chinese men-in-the-street now. There is much 我中有你，你中有我 (Wǒ zhōng yǒu nǐ, Nǐ zhōng yǒu wǒ) – which can loosely be defined as “there is me in you, and there is also you in me” – in them. In short, what we are seeing in what is being believed and practised amongst Chinese at folks level is something in a melting pot of these three great teachings.
Rú is Confucianism, which is a philosophy. Fú stands for Buddhism, which many regard as a religion; and Dào or Daoism takes two very distinct forms – philosophy and metaphysics.
I would not go into the esoteric part of these three philosophies and/or teachings, save to talk about my personal takes of what I have seen in the region.
My late father was a typical Rú-Fú-Dào follower. But in mindset, he was very much a practitioner of mystical or superstitious Daoism, not the Lao-zi 老子or 道德經 (Dào Dé-jīng) variety. He was the acknowledged village authority on the rituals of marriage and death. Tong-shu (通書), which is a Chinese divination almanac that is released before the beginning of a lunar year, was his manual on these ceremonies. His calligraphy was good, and villagers would ask him to oblige them with 对联 (duì lián, a couplet in poetry that rhymes about good wishes to owner’s fortune or health or career advancement). They will adorn their main doors to welcome a new year. Father’s deep belief in mystic Daoism was always a source of conflict between him and me. I thought it was all superstitions and being the youngest son, I got away with brushing him off often. When I moved into a new house in Taman Tun Dr Ismail in Kuala Lumpur, we had the “luxury” of being served by two broad roads. But the geography was no-no to him.
Oh, your front gate is facing a perpendicular road. This allows bad qi (气) to pierce through uninterrupted. You need to place a pakua (八卦, a small wooden frame with Daoist symbol carved on it) on your main door to ward off this bad qi! He urged.
Things like this were rubbish to me at that time.
Years after his passing, I began to reflect on some of the predictions he had made on me based on what he had deciphered from the Tong-shu. I must admit that several of his predictions did appear to happen. They might be coincidences, but I had begun to convince myself that mystic Daoism should not be brushed off as totally superstitious. Maybe there is more to it that meets the eye.
I also remember vividly this incident: On our family altar there was a very fine wooden figurine to which we worshipped as Lord Zhu. I was then too young to know who Lord Zhu was, but I later learned that the figure was supposed to be that of the founder of the Ming dynasty Zhu Yuanzhang (朱元璋). The wood work was apparently given to my grandpa after a friend converted to Christianity. To the village folks, punting in 4-digits was a way to become rich overnight. Many would go out of the way to seek divine help. It was an illegal form of gambling, nonetheless, this was “So What?” to most people. One day several friends approached my father to seek our Lord Zhu’s help. An amateur medium was duly recruited and recited to “invite” Lord Zhu to manifest in him. Soon he was in trance and some blood-flowing grotesque acts followed. His state of existence – as if it was from a different world – left my young mind totally awed. Lord Zhu favoured the devotees with a number. The reverse of the number came up first prize. For every one Ringgit, the payout was two thousand. Several friends made a considerable fortune from it. Lord Zhu was for real, so everybody was convinced. (A footnote on this episode: The lucky devotees sponsored the figurine to be sent to China to be “redecorated.” The one that was finally returned – after many reminders – was certainly not the original; someone had made a switch!)
I recently got reconnected with a high school classmate who used to run a temple in Singapore. He has become a devout born-again Christian. I believe he has also earned a living as a temple medium before. I asked him about the phenomenon. Oh, we are surrounded by stray spirits; these are the stray spirits! And they pretended to be the deity you were seeking to summon. Nothing unusual. He explained.
Buy that?
A great number of Chinese believe in fēngshuǐ (风水). I had the opportunity to speak with the fēngshuǐ master of the late Tan Sri Lim Goh Tong. He told me that he was skeptical of the practice at the beginning, but as he researched and practised more, he began to appreciate the 奥妙(àomiào – inexplicable) nature of this form of metaphysics. Undoubtedly, there is some science in it; but they are pretty rudimentary or commonsensical to sceptics like me. Regardless, I am still far from convinced that fēngshuǐ is for real. The practice of fēngshuǐ is to help future generations achieve great fortunes or statuses. In Malaysia we live in a multicultural world. Many of the practices of the other cultures seem to go against our fēngshuǐ rituals. Have they disadvantaged their offspring? Great fortunes appear to fall on their laps!
Back to Rú-Fú-Dào: The melting pot is exemplified in Chinese temples. A case in point is the 1,500-year-old Shao-lin Monastery at Song-shan, Henan. It is supposed to be a Buddhist monastic institution, but there are many traces of Daoist practices in it. Several years ago I attended a 10-day meditation cum Taichi course conducted by a senior monk (who is said to be the younger brethren of the chief monk of the Shao-lin monastery) and I thought the Taichi that was taught to us was very much a Daoist form of kungfu.
Our everyday Rú is much about the way we conduct ourselves, especially in the aspects of filial piety or xiào shùn (孝顺, meaning "respect and obedience") to our parents. An unfilial son runs the risk of not being blessed with offspring, so the teaching cautions. Rú is also supposed to help harmonize the relationships between rulers and his subjects, between parents, and children, and amongst relatives and friends. And much of this is also anchored on Dao beliefs and practices, which have preceded Confucianism for generations.
And much about Chinese Buddhism is premised on compassion, and again, the deity that is often associated with is actually Goddess of Mercy Guān Yīn 觀音. To many Chinese, Buddha is worshipped as Rúlái 如来 – the forever happy, pot-bellied, Chinese-looking deity. So much for our knowledge in respect of the founder of Buddhism Siddhartha Gautama! (I heard somewhere recently why the monks were largely confined to monasteries – apparently, to avoid them getting involved in politics!)
In short, much of Chinese Rú-Fú-Dào Culture revolves around relationships, filial piety, spiritual merits, and retributions (因果 yīn guǒ or karma cause and effect) and continuous reincarnations. Fear and superstitions are just a natural part of this culture. And all these are evident in practices throughout the East and Southeast Asia regions. Many have gone to great lengths to stage elaborate ceremonies and rituals to demonstrate their devotion. And surprisingly, much of the practice of this melting pot culture is now absent in China! How the world has changed.
Deities out of Classics…
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