Hi!

I’m John Green, and  welcome…to my unboxing video!

Today on Crash Course Religions  we’re opening up Food For Ghosts.

Let’s see what we’ve got in here!

We got some Kit Kats, ghosts love that.

Oh, we've also got some Boo Berry cereal.

Not just food for ghosts, also food by ghosts.

We've got some rice cakes.

Funyuns!

Stan, you shouldn't have.

And we've got some ramen as well.

There's some rice wine in here,  everybody likes rice wine.

It's also… I don't know what's going on here, but  there's some paper money, which is weird- Oh, boy!

[THEME MUSIC] So, you might be wondering what any of this has to  do with religion.

And trust me, we’ll get there.

But first, some background.

About forty percent of Chinese adults say they  believe in a religious figure, god, or deity.

About one-quarter say they regularly  burn incense to worship one.

But only one-tenth say they’re part of a religion.

In fact, if you asked the average person in China,   “What’s your religion?” they’d probably  find your question… quite weird.

That’s partially because religious  practices of any kind were suppressed   for decades under Mao Zedong, the former  leader of the Chinese Communist Party.

Zedong’s death in 1976 eventually led  to a loosening of these restrictions,   but still, the Chinese government maintains tight  control over religious traditions in the country.

And also other things, like, for instance, uhh…  if you’re in China you’re not seeing this video.

But one of those traditions is the Ghost Festival.

Let’s head to the Thought Bubble… Every year in China, during the seventh  lunar month, ghosts come out to play.

It’s said that ancestral spirits roam the earth,  along with some more unsavory specters from Hell.

So what’s a human to do?

Well, the ghosts are hungry,  so it’s best to wine and dine   them with whatever you think they’d  enjoy—chips, biscuits, wine, Funyuns.

Some folks put on performances of operas   and songs, leaving the front row  open for their invisible guests.

Heaps of paper money are burned to give  the ghosts riches in the afterlife.

And some of these ghosts are pretty unhappy,   so if you don’t give them offerings,  they may just consume you instead.

In fact, there are a bunch of  things you need to watch out for lest you risk running into—and  being possessed by—a ghost.

Don’t do anything that  could attract ghosts to you,   like wearing red or hanging  clothes outside at night.

Want to go for a swim?

Well, you may be drowned by water spirits.

And don’t even think about picking up that  coin on the ground.

It may belong to someone… who wants you to belong to them.

Now, when the Ghost Festival comes to a close,  it’s time to send the ghosts home in style.

Paper boats and lanterns float on the water to  guide them, and the humans are left to celebrate.

Thanks, Thought Bubble.

So while it may seem somewhat religious in nature,   the Ghost Festival isn’t unique  to one religious tradition.

It has roots in multiple religious practices  and has been going on for centuries.

Also, people who don’t identify with  any of those religious traditions can   still enjoy and appreciate the  Ghost Festival, just as lots of   people who don’t think of themselves as  Christians still enjoy a Christmas tree.

So it’s not really accurate to say that  this is something that, like, brings   people together across religious divides—because  those divides weren’t really there to begin with.

If we were to unbox the “officially recognized”  religions in China, we would pull out five – Buddhism,   Catholicism, Islam, Protestantism, and Daoism  – and even those are strictly regulated.

On top of that, the Western category  of “religion” doesn’t make much sense   in Chinese culture, where identifying  with specifically one religion would   typically be reserved for  folks like priests or monks.

So to really wrap our heads around  the Ghost Festival, we’ve got to   get acquainted with the Three Teachings of  China: Buddhism, Confucianism, and Daoism.

The Three Teachings aren’t viewed as  rivals but as complements to each other.

Together, they shape the Chinese Lunar  Calendar and holidays, society, and culture.

They’re so intertwined that it’s hard  to declare a certain practice distinctly   “Confucian,” or “Buddhist,” or “Daoist.” Now, for more on Buddhism, you can check out Episode 6.

But today, we’ll dive into  the other two Teachings.

First up: the man, the  sage, the legend: Confucius.

From before Confucius was born,  he was destined for greatness.

Around 551 BCE, a legendary creature called  the Qilin appeared before his expectant mother,   Yan Zhengzai, and upon his birth,  two great dragons circled overhead.

But Confucius was a late bloomer.

He held a career in government while he  thought about ways to make his society better,   but he didn’t share his ideas  until he was in his fifties.

First, he wanted to improve  the world through filial piety,   or xiao: respecting and caring  for one’s parents and ancestors.

Second, through humaneness, or ren: leading  with kindness and compassion toward everyone.

And third, through ritual propriety, or li:   the etiquette and norms that  keep society running smoothly.

Most of the leaders he shared  his ideas with didn’t listen.

Some of them put a target on his back.

But Confucius spent the rest of his  life teaching, studying, and writing,   amassing thousands of students, who  carried his values forward after he died.

They compiled his ideas in a  single text called the Analects,   to be passed on for generations to come.

While Confucius was beloved by his students,  he was not popular with those in power.

Like, the Emperor of the Qin Dynasty  destroyed as much of Confucius’s writing   as he could get his hands on…when  he wasn’t slowly poisoning himself   with mercury and ordering his subjects  to locate the secret to immortality.

And let that be a lesson to us all, “Live fast,  die never, burn books” is a bad life motto.

But if you are looking to live  forever, cut down on the mercury.

It took about three hundred years, but eventually,  under the Han Dynasty, the Chinese government   turned pro-Confucius, especially under  the Emperor Wu starting in the 130s BCE.

Wu was quite the Confucius stan.

He established Confucianism as the state  ideology, turned Confucius’s home in Qufu   into a state-sponsored shrine, and started an  imperial academy for studying Confucian writing.

Stan, I know you don’t love it  when “stan” is used as, like,   slang for “huge fan” because  of course you don’t love it.

You, and I mean this with  tremendous love… hate everything.

In fact, it became a requirement that anyone seeking a  government job had to pass a test on the Five   Confucian Classics, books of ancient knowledge  that Confucius had compiled and edited.

That reading list was eventually  pared down to just four books.

But the requirement stuck around  for about a thousand years.

And to this day, Confucian values  are a big part of Chinese culture.

The value of li, or ritual propriety, for example,   still defines the etiquette for welcoming guests,  giving gifts, and bowing hello and goodbye.

Xiao, or filial piety, is found in the  way Chinese people honor their relatives,   respecting and listening to their elders  even when they disagree with them.

And it shows up in how they honor their dead  relatives, too, like with the Ghost Festival.

And in many Chinese homes, you’ll find a shrine with  wooden tablets thought to hold ancestors’ spirits.

Rituals honoring ancestors are  commonly practiced not just at home,   but also in public, in cemeteries, and in temples.

Right, did I mention there are Confucian temples?

People pray in and make pilgrimages to them,  especially to the one in Confucius’s hometown.

And if you’re thinking that all of  this sounds quite religious…well,   many scholars would agree with you.

But others say Confucianism is more like a secular   philosophy with some religion inside  of it—like an existential Hot Pocket.

Still others reject the “religious  or not religious?” binary altogether,   like philosopher Herbert Fingarette who said  Confucianism is “the sacred as secular.” Not “either or,” but “yes and”.

And here’s where things get a little blurrier.

Venerating ancestors is definitely  an extension of Confucian filial   piety — but it’s also a big part of Daoism,  the third of those Three Teachings of China.

Daoism, sometimes called Taoism, gets its name  from The Dao, which literally means “The Way.” You can think of the Dao as the  mysterious source of all existence.

It’s not a god—more like  an impersonal cosmic power.

Daoism’s core text, the Daodejing, is often  credited to Laozi, a philosopher whose   name means “Old Master,” thought to have  lived around the same time as Confucius.

During his life, Laozi was said to  be a mortal.

But after his death,   he was eventually deified and  worshiped as a god known as Lord Lao.

Now, it’s likely that Laozi wasn’t  a real, in-the-flesh person,   and that the Daodejing was actually  written by many different authors.

But Laozi is remembered today as the  legend behind it, both mortal and god.

The opening lines of the Daodejing have  been translated in many different ways.

One version reads like this: “Nature  can never be completely described,   for such a description of nature  would have to duplicate Nature.

No name can fully express what it represents.” Another translation I really like is “The  Dao that can be told is not the eternal Dao.” Like there's not even an effort to translate Dao   because it's just too  complicated a word to translate.

You can only know it through context.

But in either case, those first  few lines really drive home the   point that the Dao is kinda unknowable.

And you might be thinking, why read a book  if you’re telling me I won’t understand it?

I mean, fair point I guess,  but tell that to Faulker.

Also, the more you read it,  the more you understand it.

What the Daodejing offers is ways of living  in harmony with the Dao and all its grand   unknowableness, a harmony that’s believed to  not just improve but also prolong your life.

So actually, maybe “live long, die  never, read books” is a good motto?

Practices called yangsheng are  special techniques for quote,   “nourishing life,” that help  people connect with the Dao.

These can include specific  ways of breathing, moving,   and meditating that improve the flow of qi,  or vital energy, coursing through the body.

Like, there’s qigong, which involves gentle,   coordinated movements that you might’ve  seen people practice in the park.

But there’s more to Daoism than  trying to connect with the universe.

Making communal offerings to gods,  often led by priests at temples,   is one of the most important Daoist rituals; it's  a way of renewing your connection to the Dao.

And during Grand Offerings—which can  last weeks and span whole villages   or cities—practitioners sing,  dance, and lead parades through   the streets while leaving offerings  of fruit, candles, flowers, and wine.

They even invite the ghosts of  dead family members to join in.

So, making offerings, going to temples…this  all feels kind of “religious,” right?

And yet, most people participating  in these Daoist practices wouldn’t   identify as “religious”— they probably  wouldn’t even call themselves “Daoist.” Because, again, that’s a label  typically used for priests and   nuns who’ve hitched themselves  to the Daoist tradition for life.

So what do we call these traditions then?

Well, when Chinese people burn incense,  believe in deities, or lay out offerings   for ghosts, many scholars would say they are  participating in Chinese popular religion,   a broad term for beliefs and practices  that exist in the general population.

This term includes practices indigenous to China  that have been passed down for generations,   practices that have been blended into  those traditions, and ones that may or   may not be seen as “officially” religious,  like venerating ancestors in home shrines.

Hundreds of millions of Chinese people engage  in some aspect of Chinese popular religion,   though I’d bet none of them would  say “I’m a popular religionist.” Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue.

It’s another  reminder that there’s a difference between the   academic understanding or classification of  religion and the lived experience of religion.

Because, as the Daodejing reminds us, no name  can fully express what the Dao represents.

As for the Ghost Festival, it’s fruitless  to try to pin it to any one tradition.

Yes, there are hints of Confucianism in  its devotion to family – dead or alive.

And Buddhism and Daoism are  definitely in the box, too.

But if you asked the people joining  in on the festival how they identify,   very few would call themselves  Confucian, Buddhist, or Daoist.

The influence of those traditions in  Chinese culture is pulsing and present.

But tethering yourself to any  one of them is not the point.

It’s not a contradiction to be connected  to all three but committed to none.

Next episode, we’re talking about atheism:   what does religion look like for  people who don’t believe in a god?