Supernatural--A Series of Books on Culture

Author: Chen Pingyuan
Publisher:
Publishing Date: 2005-05-01
Features: To understand a nation, one cannot ignore its concepts of ghosts and gods. After all, isn’t life and death the essence of human existence? The events of life are vividly before our eyes, needing no further explanation; yet the mysteries and uncertainties of death strongly attract the ancestors of every nation. The term "ghost" (guǐ) literally means "return" (《》). The question is, after the lively "human" has returned, does it still have a sense of existence, and can it continue to move about? This truly leaves one unsettled. It is said that when Zigong asked Confucius about whether the dead have awareness, Confucius replied with a touch of humor: "To know whether the dead are aware or not, wait until they find out themselves—it’s not too late" (Liu Xiang, 《》). Unfortunately, few people in the world are as enlightened as Confucius. The ordinary, who tend to "disturb themselves without cause," insist on debating the mysteries of the afterlife, which can only be resolved after death. In the eyes of the general populace, "ghosts" (guǐ) and "gods" (shén) are vastly different. The former bring harm to the human world, so they are feared, avoided, and driven out; the latter protect the human world, so they are revered, worshipped, and their blessings are sought. "Fear" and "reverence," "driving away" and "seeking," are essentially two psychological genes created by humans to give rise to mysterious phenomena. The former solidifies into "ghosts," while the latter externalizes into "gods." As a result, "ghosts" and "gods" seem to be worlds apart, and the various terms derived from them carry clear emotional tendencies. "Ghastly realms" (guǐyù) and "divine lands" (shénzhōu) cannot be compared; a "gentleman" must be "divine" (shénmíng), while a "petty man" can only be "wily" (guǐxiá); calling someone "" (harboring sinister intentions) or "" (suspiciously stealthy) is entirely different from calling them "" (mysterious and ingenious) or "" (divine in demeanor). However, when it comes to emphasizing their otherworldly or non-human nature, ghosts and gods can be used interchangeably. For example, "" (supernatural craftsmanship) is the same as "" (divine craftsmanship), and in phrases like "" (appearing and disappearing like gods and ghosts) and "" (acting under the influence of ghosts and gods), the distinction between them is blurred. As for the highly used term "" (monstrous ghosts and reptiles) during the Cultural Revolution, it lumped ghosts and gods together in one pot.
There are also philosophers who have strived to distinguish between ghosts and gods, with perspectives and approaches different from those of the general populace. Wang Chong of the Han Dynasty explained ghosts and gods in terms of yin and yang: "When yin qi deviates from its proper place and returns, it is called a ghost; when yang qi guides things to life, it is called a god" (《》). Zhu Xi of the Song Dynasty, on the other hand, gave new meanings to the terms "ghost" and "god," using them as synonyms for contraction and expansion, devoid of any religious connotation: "When qi flows, it is yang, hence god; when qi returns, it is yin, hence ghost. Before noon is god; after noon is ghost. After the first day of the lunar month is god; after the sixteenth day is ghost. When plants sprout, it is god; when they wither, it is ghost. From youth to adulthood is god; from old age to death is ghost" (《》). Such a description of ghosts and gods has lost their original meaning: everything under heaven is both god and ghost, rendering the concept of ghosts and gods meaningless. My reluctance to distinguish between them is not because the philosophies of the ancients have gone too far or because the general populace’s definitions are vague, but rather because it seems more natural to speak this way. The human-made psychological constructs of ghosts and gods are like two sides of a coin, fundamentally inseparable.
Take the immediate context, for instance. In real life, there are many cases of "making ghosts into gods" or "deifying spirits into ghosts"—the boundary between ghosts and gods is not insurmountable. In the distant past, classical texts from the pre-Qin era often used the terms "ghosts and gods" together without any distinction between their sanctity or commonality, such as "" (《》), "" (《》), "" (《》), and "" (《》). In the pre-Qin era, ghosts and gods seemed to possess equal power and were equally revered and worshipped.
Moreover, it is the scholars’ job to meticulously analyze the evolution and changes in the concept of ghosts and gods and to define them accurately. As for writers’ discussions of ghosts and gods, there is no need to take them too seriously or to be overly rigid about the use of concepts. Otherwise, the writing might lack both "divine craftsmanship" and "ghostly artistry," leaving only a pile of plain prose. That is to say, if it were a scientific paper, the first requirement would be "correct argumentation." Following the thinking of most modern people who have been influenced by science, it would naturally be better to promote atheism or to extensively discuss stories about not fearing ghosts. However, as for literary essays, it doesn’t matter whether ghosts are mentioned or not; the key lies in "how it is said," not "what is said." As long as the writing is beautiful, it doesn’t matter whether it claims ghosts exist or not—both are acceptable. Interestingly, most talented and thoughtful essays neither affirm nor deny the existence of ghosts but instead adopt a tone of "skeptical yet affectionate toward ghosts"—with a touch of irony woven into their descriptions of ghost stories. Perhaps those who insist on the existence of ghosts and those who are determined to debunk them are both too fiery and too didactic, lacking a relaxed and composed attitude, which makes their essays somewhat frantic.
II Zhou Zuoren once said in 《》 that he had two different kinds of interests in ghost stories: one artistic and the other historical (folkloric). For Chinese writers of the 20th century, there should be a third: political. Discussing ghosts from an artistic appreciation perspective, from a folkloric perspective, or from a political struggle perspective are all vastly different. It is not right to dismiss or praise one over the other simply because of their perspectives, but this does not mean that no evaluation is possible. It must be remembered that such evaluations still differ in sociological, folkloric, and literary terms. For 20th-century Chinese writers, life was too tense and serious, leaving little leisure for the kind of "all-day ghost talk" Zhou Zuoren described. It is no wonder that after Zhou’s 《》 was published, it provoked the anger of so many radical youth. The real-world harm of ghosts and gods was at its peak, leaving no room for playful appreciation. So, writers took up their pens, fought against gods and chased after ghosts. Although ghosts and gods could not be completely eradicated, the writers at least fulfilled their social responsibilities. Later generations may not understand why writers of that era were so keen on writing essays that resembled "popular science," even coming up with slogans like "understanding ghosts is to eliminate them," which seemed somewhat tasteless compared to Su Dongpo’s "listen to it all in vain" or Zhou Zuoren’s "talking about foxes and ghosts is ordinary." Chen Duxiu’s words partially explain this: "Our country has long been dominated by ghost and god stories, and the most powerful influence on the hearts of the people is this unconscious religious concept" (《》). Modern Chinese writers committed to social progress could not but call upon science to dispel ghosts—even though they knew it would lack poetic charm.
Indeed, looking back, ghost stories can be poetic: "With ghosts, the universe becomes mysterious and meaningful" (Xu Qinwen, 《》). But when ghost stories become a hindrance to a nation’s development, fighting against ghosts becomes necessary, and writers have no right to stand idly by, let alone defend them. The breaking of superstitions in the late Qing and early Republican era, as well as the 1980s’ crackdown on modern deities, were all aimed at liberating people’s souls. Such profound social transformations are poetic in the history of human development—though when applied to every individual essay, the situation is different.
It is undeniable that writers have a natural inclination to talk about ghosts. Ancient Chinese writers left behind so many ghost-related notes, poems, novels, and plays that it makes one eager to try writing about them. Although there are differences between writing about ghosts for self-clarification, for play, or for teaching (Liu Qingyuan, 《》), talking about ghosts can be both self-entertaining and entertaining to others. I think no one would deny this. Li Jinfa laments: "The thrill and love one feels when listening to ghost stories in childhood can never be regained—how pityful!" (《》) The reason it "cannot be regained" is that with the acceptance of modern science, people no longer believe in ghosts. If abandoning ghost stories benefits social progress, then a little less of the "thrill and love" should not be a major complaint. This is also why writers of this century, despite their fondness for discussing ghosts and gods, often restrained themselves or even voluntarily gave up this hobby. In the mid-1930s, the 《》 magazine planned to publish a special issue on ghost stories, and within just 15 days from the announcement to the final layout, enough submissions were received to compile two issues, showing the great interest writers had in ghosts. In addition to Zhou Zuoren, who had written about ghosts before and after, writers like Lao She, Feng Zikai, Liang Shiqiu, Li Jinfa, Shi Zhicun, Cao Juren, Lao Xiang, Chen Quan, Lin Geng, and Xu Qinwen—all of whom were not experts in ghost studies—also joined the fray. Many writers stopped talking about ghosts later, not necessarily because they lost interest, but because the issue of ghosts and gods in 20th-century China was largely a political one, not a cultural one. Without fighting ghosts or shutting up, there was little room for a "lighthearted" attitude like "listen to it all in vain" or "treat it all as a joke." Thus, in the 1930s, there was a relatively carefree and culturally meaningful discussion about ghosts, but most other discussions were framed from a political perspective. Not to mention the various "anti-ghost movements" with real or fake claims, even compiling a book of "ghost stories that defy fear" or discussing a ghost play could signal or mark a political struggle. As a result, talking about ghosts and gods became a matter of state governance, and ordinary essayists had no business weighing in. If they had to, their writing would likely be too serious and preachy, making it somewhat stiff.
III "，," Li Shangyin’s poem 《》 once moved many talented but unsuccessful writers to lament. In the 20th century, even those who still claimed to be as talented as "Jian Sheng of the Jin Dynasty" no longer dared to hope for "seeking talent in the palace" for dismissed officials. Even so, not talking about the people and talking about ghosts still made people feel uneasy and instinctively. Ancient writers, of course, loved to talk about ghosts, with famous examples like Su Dongpo, Pu Songling, Ji Yun, and Yuan Mei, who either had their own reasons or vented their frustrations. Modern writers are no different—they are also asking about both the people and the ghosts. Right as the special issue on ghost stories was being published, someone wrote an essay to expose the tragedy of talking about ghosts instead of the people, concluding, "In a foreign land, with nothing to do, I can only talk about ghosts, unaware that the world has become dark and gloomy" (Chen Zixian, 《》). While "" (don’t talk about national affairs) was posted in teahouses, it did not prohibit "talking about ghosts in broad daylight"; while newspapers demanded uniform opinions, they occasionally allowed "a pile of ghost stories." Without the right to ask about the people, one could only have leisure to talk about ghosts; this was one explanation. Without the right to directly ask about the people, one could only pretend to talk about ghosts, which was another explanation. Among modern Chinese writers, there were very few who were indifferent to the people, so they often used ghosts to talk about the people. The ghosts in Lu Xun’s "a scream against injustice" in 《》; the "unknowing, everywhere, always annoying ghost" in Lao She’s 《》；the "beasts and ghosts attached to many living people" in Zhou Zuoren’s 《》；and Li Boyuan’s "ghosts of lust, gambling, drinking, and opium" (《》)—all pointed to this "bright world under the bright sky." Long ago, Wu Zhao of the Qing Dynasty said in his preface to 《》: "Try to say whether the underworld is filled with more people or ghosts." Regardless of the writers’ intentions, readers were already inclined to take ghost stories as human stories and to read them as human tales, making it easy to discern the implied satire, allegory, or even the absence of hidden meanings. It was not strange for a purely entertaining ghost story to be misread as a profound political allegory, because the "ghost world" was, after all, a reflection and satire of the "human world." As Cao Juren said: "Creating halls for ghosts in the underworld, setting up heavens and hells, establishing ghost markets and ghost cities—is all deeply pitiful; because this is again a mirage based on the human world" (《》). Generally speaking, "when it comes to human matters, it’s never easy to talk about them; talking about ghosts is relatively safer" (Huang Miaozi, 《》). However, there are exceptions. Talking about ghosts could be safe or dangerous, because ghost stories are inherently ambiguous in meaning and imply satire. When a society is rife with political interpretations and public judgments, and the author has no right to interpret, ghost stories might disappear. Who can prove that your creation is not a "political allegory" or "venting dissatisfaction"? Can the "ghost" prove it?
There is another way of talking about ghosts that is somewhat detached from the people but relatively distant from political realities—that is, examining ghosts from an anthropological perspective to glimpse the heart of a nation. Unlike using ghosts to talk about the people, this involves talking about the people within ghosts, or studying the "human" in ghosts. This requires more understanding, more sympathy, more cultural sense, and more scholarly cultivation, rather than just acting on impulse. Zhou Zuoren said well: "I don’t believe in ghosts after death, but I believe there are people after ghosts; I don’t understand what the 'two powers' of yin and yang can do, but I believe that ghosts are the projections of the joys, fears, and desires of the living" (《》). As early as the 1st century CE, the philosopher Wang Chong had said that ghosts arise from human thoughts: "In the world between heaven and earth, there are ghosts, not because of the spirits of the dead, but because of human thoughts and imaginations" (《》). However, Wang Chong focused on refuting the belief in ghosts, while Zhou Zuoren emphasized the cultural and psychological background of ghosts’ origins—there was still a great difference between them. In theory, Zhou Zuoren did not make much of a contribution, as the Western anthropologists he repeatedly cited, such as Lai Ze, had made more refined distinctions. However, as a highly knowledgeable essayist, Zhou Zuoren recognized that "there are people after ghosts" and that "listening to people talk about ghosts is like listening to them talk about their hearts" (《》), and he extracted many descriptions of ghosts from ancient classics, thereby understanding the "true thoughts and intentions of the Chinese nation" from a specific angle. The numerous ghost stories collected and analyzed by Zhou Zuoren, as well as the essays and short stories discussing them, were indeed, as he claimed, "extremely interesting and meaningful." As for the purpose and methods of this work, Zhou Zuoren had a clear statement: "We like to know the state of ghosts and their lives, searching for them in documents and customs from all angles, in order to understand some human emotions that are not easily known, in other words, to understand the people within ghosts" (《》).
The great classics passed down through generations undoubtedly contain the soul of a nation, but the ghost and god beliefs and their related rituals, active in the folk and not recognized by the elite, do not represent the hidden world of a nation’s soul any less. The former has always been valued by scholars, while the latter’s significance in the study of intellectual history has not yet been widely recognized. Of course, one cannot expect essayists to make significant academic contributions, but such essays on ghosts and gods have indeed sparked cultural interest in them. Borrowing Wang Zengqi’s words, "We must understand our nation" (《》), so we cannot ignore ghosts and gods. In this regard, essayists still have great potential.
IV At the beginning of the 20th century, when scholars were vigorously advocating the expulsion of gods and ghosts, Lin Shu translated plays and novels by Shakespeare and Haggard, who often used "the use of imagery in plays and novels often relies on the supernatural." To explain the value of literary works that focus solely on ghosts and gods, Lin Shu listed two reasons: first, the concept of ghosts and gods, though barbaric, is the opposite of civilization. "Knowing the extent of barbarism is also knowing the extent of civilization" (《〈〉》); second, separating politics and religion, after enriching the country and strengthening the military, one could use literary works to entertain the hearts and minds of the people, even if Shakespeare and Haggard were old-fashioned in thought and relied on the supernatural, civilized people would not mind (《〈〉》). In old terms, the former is the significance of cognition, and the latter is the literary value. Thirty years later, when Liang Shiqiu discussed ghosts in Shakespeare’s works, he only affirmed that ghosts were a useful technique in Shakespeare’s plays and even suggested that if Shakespeare had lived in modern times, he might not have written about these ghosts (《》).
Perhaps ordinary readers have not completely the shackles of ghost and god beliefs and find it difficult to objectively examine the origins and development of ghosts and gods from an anthropological perspective, so literary works should not contain too many ghosts and gods. When it comes to ancient ghost poems, ghost paintings, ghost plays, and ghost novels, writers generally held an appreciative attitude, but when it came to contemporary creations, they were much more cautious and dared not to make statements casually. "If it’s a good ghost, it can inspire people’s fighting spirit and appear more often on the stage—what harm would that do?" This was a reasonable statement. But don’t forget the premise: "ghosts and gods in ancient operas are also an objective existence, and there is no way to change it" (《》). That is to say, Liao Moshan only affirmed the ghosts and gods in adapted old plays, and whether ghosts and gods could appear in plays depicting modern life was still not directly addressed. Here, it is indeed necessary to consider the acceptance level of Chinese readers. In theory, modern plays could also include gods and ghosts, as they are merely artistic techniques, not representing the level of the author’s ideological understanding, let alone "promoting superstition." But in practice, few writers did so, because it was difficult to the scale. Zhou Zuoren, when discussing "zombies" in foreign and Chinese literature, called such spirit beliefs "in fact, they hinder cultural development, but from an artistic perspective, calmly and objectively, we can glimpse the common sorrow or terror of humanity in strange legends, which is not meaningless" (《》). Conversely, if it is not viewed through an artistic lens, not "calmly and objectively" appreciated, ghost stories may still "hinder cultural development." Understanding the overall cultural level of 20th-century Chinese readers and the general enlightenment consciousness of Chinese writers makes it easy to understand why they were hesitant and ambiguous about the issue of ghosts and gods in contemporary creations. It wasn’t until the mid-1980s that this situation began to change.
As for why ghosts and gods are mentioned together, but in the essays of this century, ghosts are clearly given more weight than gods, there are at least two reasons worth noting: first, the human touch of ghosts, and second, the free and easy mindset required by essays. No longer "revere ghosts and gods but keep a distance," the folk has long been revering gods while driving away ghosts. Modern people may admire or criticize gods, with a common tendency to either idealize or demonize them, so the image of gods lacks humanity, and writers may also write with excessive seriousness. As for ghosts, it is different—people may fear or mock them, but because they have more of a taste of the non-sacred and non-secular, the profane and the sacred, it is acceptable to joke and ridicule them. It is said that when a person dies, they become a ghost, which is a "natural correction," requiring no application or selection; while those who become gods after death are rare, perhaps occurring only once every hundred years. Clearly, ghosts are closer to the mortal world and more human-like. Legends say that there are people among ghosts and ghosts among people, sometimes even indistinguishable; when writers tell such ghost stories that blend the supernatural with human emotions and logic, though they may have some transcendent mystery, they are ultimately lighter. And such a carefree and relaxed mindset is undoubtedly more suitable for the creation of essays and short stories.
Regarding the role of ghosts and gods in artistic creation, writers have repeatedly mentioned it, but they have not seriously studied it. Lao She merely said that ghosts and gods can "create a sense of terror, deliberately providing a for those with hollow minds—like a cold shower for the nerves" (《》); while Shao Xunmei’s analysis of the "five changes" in the use of ghost stories in literary works clearly carried a mocking tone（《》). If there is anything worth noting about the 20th-century essayists’ study of ghosts in literature, it is first the many writers’ comments on Luo Liangfeng’s 《》 and second, Lu Xun’s descriptions of the images of the ghostly "Wuchang" and the "Red-Clad Lady" in the opera 《》. "This ghost who is human, this logic that is emotion, this terrifying yet lovable Wuchang" (《》), this "red robe, black long vest, messy hair, neck hanging two paper ingots," "preparing to revenge as a ghost" Red-Clad Lady"（《》), with Lu Xun’s unique perception and vivid writing, profoundly moved millions of modern readers. This human touch in ghost plays is easily understood by the "lower classes"; while Luo Liangfeng’s 《》 and the accompanying inscriptions by various authors are more appreciated by literati. Modern writers were unable to theoretically clarify the artistic characteristics of ghost poems, ghost paintings, ghost plays, and ghost novels, but their introductions and analyses of literary works that use ghosts as subjects are still worth pondering—here lies the implicit and strong interest of a generation of writers in ghosts and gods and their "ghostly literature."