I did plan this week to write something original but didn't make the time in the end, so, er, it's repost time again! Yay!

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Perhaps my favourite historical painting is The Yongzheng Emperor Hunting a Tiger, composed by anonymous court painters at some point during his brief reign (1722-35).

It's a fascinating portrait for a number of reasons, not least the fact that it depicts the emperor in an attempt at Western garb (modelled mainly on Louis XIII and XIV of France), and wielding a trident of uncertain design but definitely distinct from the single-broad-bladed Manchu tiger-hunting spear (see here). The costume is probably the most immediately striking part, and suggests for one that the costume was not actually modelled for, and for another that there was minimal if any input from Jesuit courtiers, some of whom did see employment as court painters though most prominently under Yongzheng's son the Qianlong Emperor. In all likelihood, the painters only had a few Jesuit-sourced portrait busts for reference, which is reflected in the complete stylistic mangling the further down the costume goes: the waistcoat and overcoat become rather flappy below the waist, and are held together by a tied cord (similar to Japanese haori) instead of a leather belt, while the leg and footwear are of decidedly Sino-Manchurian style.

But the context is in many ways equally fascinating: this portrait forms part of what was originally a set of fourteen paintings, collated in an album titled, rather descriptively, The Yongzheng Emperor in Costumes, depicting the emperor in various garbs a various people, some mythic, some historical, some generic. On one level, the tiger-hunting portrait's depiction of the emperor as a French aristocrat is pretty par for the course in an album that also portrays him, among other things, as a Tibetan lama in meditation, a Persian archer hunting birds, a Daoist magician summoning a dragon, and a Chinese fisherman daydreaming on the shore. But what makes it weird is that the act of tiger-hunting does have some significance in Chinese religious art: one of the eighteen Arhats in Chinese Buddhism (and one of two to be added to the ranks of the previously sixteen Arhats in the late Tang), often associated with Maitreya, is also known as Subduing-Tiger or Taming-Tiger, and depictions of Maitreya subduing a tiger were relatively common as a motif in this part of the Qing. What we have then is a fascinatingly weird blend of established Chinese Buddhism with Qing multiculturalism to... uncertain effect.

One aspect to consider is that although the Yongzheng Emperor subscribed to a relatively assimilationist approach to identity and ethnicity and more or less allowed cultural erosion in the Banners while supporting efforts at colonial expansion in southwest China and Taiwan, he nevertheless continued some of the multifaceted imperial expression associated more strongly with his predecessor and his successor. The depiction of him in a variety of different outfits, even if skewing towards Han elites (at least three of the fourteen portraits show him as a Chinese scholar), is a particularly striking, but also quite private expression of that sort of self-image. Another is that the Yongzheng Emperor was never formally designated the heir apparent, leaving his succession to the throne open to some degree of question. Association with the great monarchs of France may, like the use of Western-style cartography and portraiture by other emperors, have been seen as an alternative, external language of power that could bolster legitimacy to some extent. Or, perhaps, there is the rather strange fact that a Kangxi-era woodblock album, Fifty-Three Transformation Bodies of Guanyin, rather inexplicably included an image of a European aristocrat, reminiscent of Louis XIII, as a depiction of one of the aspects of the boddhisatva Avalokitasvara, giving the Bourbon-inspired garb another roundabout religious significance of its own.

This was not the only portrait the emperor had made of himself in imitation French garb, as there is also a portrait bust of him in similar though differently-coloured wig and clothing, though I thought the more animated portrait was more interesting. I basically concur with Sun Jing's argument that these portraits were an attempt to satiate a personal curiosity about Europeans, trying to create a 'view from within' by having himself placed in the position of one of them, as well as demonstrating the legitimacy of the 'universal empire' by having him portray figures from both within and beyond its borders.

Most of the above is sourced from Sun Jing's chapter in Thijs Weststeijn (ed.), Foreign Devils and Philosophers: Cultural Encounters between the Chinese, the Dutch, and Other Europeans, 1590-1800.

HOW DO LOCAL CHINESE DEITIES GO GLOBAL?

I have recently been reading up on the spread of Chinese folk religion in Singapore. It is fascinating that local deities that, in China, may not be known outside one part of a single province, have several temples dedicated to them miles away in several different countries altogether. This is despite Chinese folk religion not lending itself to religious conversion. In fact, it suffers several disadvantages in this regard.

Chinese folk religion is not a proselytising religion. Its adherents worship a dizzying array of deities, but most do not encourage their followers to ‘spread the word’. Worshippers of one deity may never have heard of another, and each temple acts almost independently. Nor are the majority of worshippers concerned with spiritual matters such as ‘God’s love’, ‘enlightenment’ or ‘transcendence’. Most worshippers have more mundane concerns - good health, long life, marriage, children, and, of course, wealth. Most cults under the vast umbrella of Chinese folk religion have no sacred texts that prescribe standardised religious practices or deity origin stories.

In some cases this can be overcome by appealing to common desires. For example, a huge number of Chinese folk temples in Singapore, no matter who their main deity, have the Heibai Wuchang (黑白无常, Black and White Spirits of Impermanence - with ‘impermanence’ being a reference to the nature of life) as secondary deities. Meeting these two spirits, one black and one white, either means that you’re dead, and they’ve come to collect your soul, or that you’re about to strike the lottery. They’re worshipped as the patron spirits of winning lottery numbers, and worshippers seek to gain their favour through offerings of Guinness Stout and cigarettes. Fun fact: before 1989, when Singapore introduced the death penalty for opium dealers, instead of cigarettes, opium was smeared on the mouths of the Heibai Wuchang by worshippers seeking their favour. This may help explain their presence in so many temples - temple caretakers and priests had the delightful job of clearing the opium each evening.

More puzzling is the spread of the worship of local or regional deities such as Guangze Zunwang（广泽尊王, the Reverent King of Broad Compassion）, a deity that originated and became popular in the Nanan（南安）region of Fujian province, an area of just 2,000 square kilometres. He is practically unknown in other parts of China. Unlike the Heibai Wuchang, he’s not really recognised as the patron deity of anything, yet his temples have spread to Southeast Asia and endured till today.

HOW OVERSEAS TEMPLES ARE FOUNDED

Chinese folk temple networks are built through fenxiang (分香, literally, sharing of incense). If you’ve been to a Chinese temple you’ll have seen incense burners filled with the ash of joss sticks. Worshippers stick lit joss sticks in the ash, and as the joss sticks burn down, their ash adds to the mound of ash already in the burner.

A wave of Chinese immigration to Singapore and Malaya took place during the 19th and early 20th centuries, with Chinese enduring horrific conditions to travel to the region looking for work. Before leaving their hometown they would fill a pouch with incense ash from the central incense burner of their local temple and pass it through the incense smoke. This functioned as a talisman, bringing the blessings and protection of their local deity with them, no matter how far they travelled. This simple ritual could be done by anyone - no religious master was required.

When enough Chinese who had worshipped at the same temple back home got together in Singapore, they might decide to raise their own temple, or at least a small altar, to their deity. In many cases, they could not afford to have a consecrated statue of the deity shipped in from the main temple. Instead, they would commission a statue to be made locally. Then, their incense ash would be pooled and placed in a new central burner. This ‘seed’ incense ash provided a link to the main temple, and cemented the new temple’s status as an official branch.

TEMPLES AS COMMUNITY CENTRES

In the absence of institutions in those early days of British colonial government, new temples, funded by donations from the more well-off, functioned as community welfare centres. They gave financial assistance, paid for funerals, provided schooling or scholarships and medical care.

This had the effect of fostering regional identity - immigrants from different parts of Nanan, for example, were quickly integrated into the Guangze Zunwang temple network on arrival, sharing religious celebrations and welfare provision. The temple didn’t gain many adherents from outside Nanan, but there were enough Nanan immigrants to keep it going strong.

The temples also provided a way for members of the community to acquire status as community leaders. There was no scholar-gentry class in the early days of migration to Singapore and Malaya. Wealthy businessmen were looked up to, but it was not enough to just possess wealth. The temples provided a way to channel wealth to a particular community in a very visible way. For example, a businessman might pay for the meals of 30 people at a temple feast. Or he might fund a scholarship or pay for the upkeep of the temple school. Eventually, such a benefactor might be invited to sit on the temple’s board, or to mediate disputes in the community.

MAIN TEMPLES ARE LOST AND FOUND

Links between the overseas temples and the ‘main temples’ in China were weakened in the 1950s. In Singapore and Malaya, the British colonial government grappled with a communist insurgency and strongly discouraged communication with communist China. Meanwhile, China, despite enshrining freedom of religion in its constitution, viewed religion with suspicion. Then, in 1966, the Cultural Revolution completely severed the weakened links as temples were demolished and religious leaders were arrested. Eventually, it was not just religious ties that fell apart, but family ties as well. An entire generation of overseas Chinese grew up thinking of themselves as Malaysians and Singaporeans, and never knew their ancestral homes in China.

In the 1980s, religious persecution died down and China began to open its doors. Many of the overseas temples began digging up old contacts and searching for their ‘motherships’ (this was before the internet!). When found, the overseas temples were able to collect donations from their devotees - some of whom had never seen China in their lives - and channel them to the main temple in China for rebuilding. As the Chinese took a renewed interest in their religion, some of the rebuilt main temples functioned as important pilgrimage sites, boosting regional tourism revenues.

The main temples returned the favour to the overseas temples by helping to organise pilgrimages to sacred sites for overseas devotees. Getting to the main Guangze Zunwang temple, for example, involves a flight to Xiamen airport, a 2-hour bus ride to the Nanan Bus Terminal, a 1-hour bus ride to the Shishan Bus Terminal, and then a journey by motorbike taxi to the temple. And that’s the most accessible sacred site on the Guangze Zunwang pilgrimage route! It was only through the main temple that transport, meals, lodging and other requirements could be arranged. Naturally, the main temple also benefited from tourist revenue.

These pilgrimages were not just born out of religious fervour. Since deities like Guangze Zunwang are specific to an area and a community, and since they had been gaining adherents with ancestry in that area, a pilgrimage also gave devotees a chance to discover ancestral roots in China.

As mentioned, some devotees had never even seen China before. In some cases the only information they had was the name of their ancestral village and the name of their ancestor who had first arrived in Southeast Asia. Religious leaders at the main temples might have links to leaders of other temples in the area, who in turn could help make inquiries in their communities to see if anyone recognised the name (again, this was before the internet!).

Thus, the overseas Chinese folk temple network played an important role beyond just worship and religious comfort. They catered to community needs before national institutions (or indeed, the concept of Singapore and Malaysia as nations) were developed. They acted as ‘keepers of the faith’ during the Cultural Revolution. When China opened its doors, overseas temples were able to reinvigorate the old network, funding the reconstruction of temples in China. And they were also able to help devotees discover their ancestral roots.

[Continued in reply]