Shifting Daoist Ritual Practices, Specialists and Practitioners in Hong Kong

David A. Palmer 宗树人

Department of Sociology, The University of Hong Kong

PRE-PUBLICATION VERSION
Published in Jin Ze and Chen Jinguo eds., Zongjiao renleixue XXX

This set of four articles, focusing on cases in Hong Kong, offer rich materials for
studying the evolution of ritual practices in Chinese religion, within a local social
context. Scholarship on Daoism and Chinese religion has identified a number of broad
categories of religious specialist and organization: the non-monastic “householder
priests” 活居道士 typically of the Zhengyi 正一 order, and other, “vernacular” ritual
masters; the monastic Daoist monks of the Quanzhen 全真 order; lay spirit-writing
groups often called “phoenix halls” 鸞 堂 ; salvationist movements and redemptive
societies, and so on. Each of these represents a specific type of religious lineage and
organization, and of relationship between religious professionals and lay clients and
practitioners. But these categorizations are merely convenient abstractions: as these
four articles show, the boundaries between them are blurred, negotiated, and evolving.
Over time, a single group may evolve from one type to another, or one type of group
may replace another as the dominant provider of a specific set of local rituals. The
content and significance of rituals also evolves within a shifting ecology of religious
providers, community organizations, socio-political contexts and spacial
transformations.

Two of the articles, by Wei Jinxin and Ma Jianxing, deal with the evolution of
local rituals in the New Territories. Wei focuses on the “Anlong” 安 龍 or “dragon
pacifying” rituals of the Hakka villages of the New Territories. Anlong is a ritual
conducted one month after the construction of a new village or settlement, in order to
pacify and re-order the spirits and geo-energetic “Dragon veins” 龙脉 disturbed by
new constructions and settlers. According to field research conducted by Barbara
Ward, David Faure and others in the 1970s, most Anlong rituals appear to have been
previously conducted by Hakka “red-hat” priests of the Lüshan 闾 山 tradition.
However, since the late 1980s most Anlong rituals have been provided by punti 本地
(Cantonese) Zhengyi priests. The latter have simply adapted the jiao 太平清醮
repertoire typical of New Territories communal festivals, adding a simplified Anlong
rite to the standard programme. The “martial altar” 武 坛 and cross-dressing rites
typical of Lüshan rituals have disappeared, as well as other distinctive elements of the
traditional Hakka Anlong. The switch from Hakka Lüshan priests to Cantonese
Zhengyi seems to be the result of the Hakka tradition simply dying out – Hakka
priests simply can’t be found who are able to conduct the rites at the desired scale ;
another factor is shifting political dynamics in villagers, where non-Hakka residents
are playing a greater role in financing and managing rituals.
Ma’s article examines the Dunfu 趸 符 , Diantu 奠 土 and Shangliang 上 梁
rituals, which are conducted before and after the construction of buildings, roads or
other structures, in order to protect or restore the disturbed fengshui. These rites have
traditionally been offered by Cantonese or Hakka Zhengyi priests, but, with
increasing urbanization in the New Territories, the demand for the rites has increased,
while the large Quanzhen Daoist temples such as the Ching Chung Koon 青松观, the
Feng Ying Seen Koon 蓬瀛仙馆 and the Yuen Yuen Institute 圆玄学院, have also
entered the market for these rituals. These Quanzhen temples were originally
established as urban spirit-writing halls or as offshoots of salvationist movements
dedicated to spiritual cultivation; they did not specialize in ritual services outside
temple premises, nor did they cater to the religious needs of the rural population of the
New Territories. They have gradually become fully integrated into Hong Kong
society, however, developing a strong (though non-monastic) Quanzhen identity, and
becoming the upholders of Daoist orthodoxy in the territory. They began offering
ritual services in the New Territories in the 1980s, and since then have persistently
challenged the Zhengyi dominance of the New Territories ritual market, both for
communal jiao festivals and for private fengshui-related rites. This phenomenon, Ma
claims, is associated with political factors: the Daoist temples have become important
providers of social services in the New Territories, and have nurtured close
relationships with the indigenous political elites of the New Territories – the Rural
Committees and the powerful ‘kuk’, the Rural Council 乡议局 – which, directly or
indirectly, influence the choice of ritual specialists for festivals and ceremonies. But
the Quanzhen liturgies of the Daoist temples are quite different from the Zhengyi
rituals traditionally performed in the villages. Notably, they are almost exclusively
based on scripture recitation and involve little body movement.
In the cases described by Wei and Ma, we see Zhengyi priests replacing
Lüshan ones, and Quanzhen replacing Zhengyi – always with a process of
simplification, standardization and rites becoming more wen or “literary” than the
tradition being replaced. But these changes are not without adaptations and
negotiations. The priests of the newly introduced tradition need to deal with the
expectations of the village heads and committees who hire them – who may know
little about the intricacies of different liturgical schools, but do know how things have
been traditionally done in their villages. They expect the new priests to follow past
convention – but the priests either do not know some of the specific rites requested, or
they have their own traditional orthopraxy to uphold, which can’t be changed on a
whim. Both Wei and Ma’s articles describe the negotiations and compromises made
between the priests and the clients. Of particular interest is the scripture-recitation
troupes of the Quanzhen temples – these include large numbers of women, often in
leading roles, but village tradition excludes women from officiating at communal
rituals. Various compromises have been reached, with the temples sending few or no
women, or reducing their role.
Liao Xiaoqing’s and Luo Dan’s articles explore the evolution of phoenix halls
in Hong Kong. The Xinggong Caotang 省躬草堂 was established in Guangzhou in
1894; a branch hall was opened in Hong Kong in 1936. For the next half-century, the
Hong Kong hall survived as a low-key phoenix hall, whose activities were closed to
non-members. But, in 1990, after the hall moved to new premises owing to urban
development, two important changes occurred: the practice of spirit-writing was
abandoned, and the hall’s activities were largely opened to the public. Since then, the
number of members and worshippers has increased. From its origins as an exclusive
organization of literati and merchants, the Xinggong Caotang has become a typical
popular urban temple in Hong Kong. This trajectory parallels that of all the major
Hong Kong Daoist temples. Temples such as Wong Tai Sin 黄大仙, the Feng Ying
Seen Kong and the Yuen Yuen Institute, now firmly integrated into Hong Kong’s
religious culture as well-attended Daoist temples, all started like the Xinggong
Caotang as spirit-writing halls or branches of salvationist movements, devoted to self-
cultivation and philanthropy. All of them, like the Xinggong Caotang, have
abandoned or drastically reduced the practice of spirit-writing. Liao speculates as to
the reason for this change. One reason typically given by temple members is that the
original spirit-mediums have died, and no suitable successors have been trained.
Another reason suggested by Liao is a growing suspicion of the authenticity of spirit-
messages, in a context when rising levels of scientific education undermine the
legitimacy of such practices. This suspicion is reinforced at times of disunity in the
organization, when mediums are suspected of using their role to advance one factional
agenda. Indeed, a defining characteristic of many phoenix halls is the direct
involvement of the gods in the organization’s management, through seeking the god’s
advice on major and minor decisions and plans through spirit-writing. The potential
instability and abuse of this method has led many branches of the large redemptive
societies in Taiwan and Malaysia, such as Yiguandao 一 贯 道 and Dejiao 德 教 , to
abandon or minimize the practice. In Hong Kong, this trend is reinforced by the
governance requirements of registration as a corporation under Hong Kong law.
Since most Hong Kong phoenix halls, founded in the early or mid 20 th century,
have undergone such an evolution into professionally-managed popular Daoist
temples, the Feiyandong 飞雁洞 studied by Luo Dan presents a fascinating case: it
was founded as recently as 1980 on the instructions of Lü Dongbin 吕 洞 宾 as
received by a refugee from Vietnam, and spirit-writing is still pivotal to the group,
which has grown into an important actor in the Hong Kong and even mainland Daoist
circle. This is vividly portrayed in Luo’s description of the group’s root-searching trip
to Sichuan, when Patriarch Lü was consulted during the trip at every turn, leading the
delegation to the original Feiyandong cave at Hemingshan 鹤鸣山. (The Feiyandong
generously sponsored a conference I co-organised a few years ago, and consulted
Patriarch Lü on every decision of the planning process. The Patriarch was most
cooperative!). Through the Feiyandong, we can follow the evolution of a spirit-
writing group in its early phases. What we see is that, though the written revelations
provide “charisma”, enthusiasm and guidance to the group, this is not sufficient to
ensure the young temple’s legitimacy, since it is not a branch of any pre-existing
organization or lineage, lacking any authority in relation to the older, well-established
Daoist temples of Hong Kong, all of which claim an orthodox Quanzhen lineage. By
finding its root in Hemingshan, site of Zhang Daoling’s 张 道 陵 revelations, and
consequently adopting a Zhengyi lineage, the Feiyandong trumps the other Hong
Kong temples by claiming a direct connection to the very source and origin of
Daoism. At the same time, it has differentiated itself from the other temples as the
only temple practicing Zhengyi rituals – which are otherwise practiced only by the
householder nanmouh-lo 喃 嘸 佬 priests in the New Territories and the funeral
specialists. The other legitimation strategy described by Luo is philanthropy – in the
case of the Feiyandong, directed primarily at contributing to temple construction and
large-scale rituals in mainland China. Thanks to these efforts, the Feiyandong, though
it remains comparatively small, already enjoys a strong reputation among the official
Daoist associations in the mainland. I should point out, however, the incitement to
philanthropy is typical in spirit-writing messages – it is central to their teachings and
practices, and should not be considered merely as a strategic practice. Luo Dan notes
that the Feiyandong’s philanthropy seems to blur or weaken its religious identity in
the eyes of the state-sponsored mainland Daoist temples which are the recipients of its
largesse, and suggests that this is a problem that contemporary phoenix halls need to
reflect upon. But the “problem” may be in the eyes of the beholder, caused by a
concept of “religion” or of Daoism which draws a clear distinction between the sacred
and the secular, between “pure” spiritual pursuits and social service. What this case,
and the other three articles, suggest, is that religion is not a stable package of priests,
rituals and lay communities. Rather, the content of all three, and the relationship
between them, is constantly evolving and negotiated, within a changing social
context.