Coupled with what may be called intellectual Taoism, as opposed to the grosser form under which this faith appeals to the people at large, is a curious theory that human life reaches the earth from some extraordinarily dazzling centre away in the depths of space, “beyond the range of conceptions.”  This centre appears to be the home of eternal principles, the abode of a First Cause, where perfectly spotless and pure beings “drink of the spiritual and feed on force,” and where likeness exists without form.  To get back to that state should be the object of all men, and this is only to be attained by a process of mental and physical purification prolonged through all conditions of existence.  Then, when body and soul are fitted for the change, there comes what ordinary mortals call death; and the pure being closes his eyes, to awake forthwith in his original glory from the sleep which mortals call life.

For many centuries Buddhism and Taoism were in bitter antagonism.  Sometimes the court was Buddhist, sometimes Taoist; first one faith was suppressed altogether, then the other; in A.D. 574 both were abolished in deference to Confucianism, which, however, no emperor has ever dared to interfere with seriously.  At present, all the “three religions” flourish happily side by side.

The Chinese believe firmly in the existence of spirits, which they classify simply as good and evil.  They do not trouble their heads much about the former, but they are terribly afraid of the latter.  Hideous devils infest dark corners, and lie in wait to injure unfortunate passers-by, often for no cause whatever.  The spirits of persons who have been wronged are especially dreaded by those who have done the wrong.  A man who has been defrauded of money will commit suicide, usually by poison, at the door of the wrongdoer, who will thereby first fall into the hands of the authorities, and if he escapes in that quarter, will still have to count with the injured ghost of his victim.  A daughter-in-law will drown or hang herself to get free from, and also to avenge, the tyranny or cruelty of her husband’s mother.  These acts lead at once to family feuds, which sometimes end in bloodshed; more often in money compensation; and the known risk of such contingencies operates as a wholesome check upon aggressive treatment of the weak by the strong.

Divination and fortune-telling have always played a conspicuous part in ordinary Chinese life.  Wise men, of the magician type, sit at stalls in street and market-place, ready for a small fee to advise those who consult them on any enterprise to be undertaken, even of the most trivial kind.  The omens can be taken in various ways, as by calculation based upon books, of which there is quite a literature, or by drawing lots inscribed with mystic signs, to be interpreted by the fortune-teller.  Even at Buddhist temples may be found two kidney-shaped pieces of wood, flat on one side and round on the other, which are thrown into the air before an altar, the results—­two flats, two rounds, or one of each—­being interpreted as unfavourable, medium, and very favourable, respectively.