OF JOSS PAPER AND INCENSE: A STUDY OF CHINESE RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE IN MALACCA

OF JOSS PAPER AND INCENSE: A STUDY OF CHINESE RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE IN MALACCA

CHIA HUANG PIN

Introduction

In the practice of Chinese religion, the main areas of focus have constantly been the study of ecclesiastical institutions. Eminent scholars like Steven Sangren, Jean DeBernardi and Tam Wai Lun have focused their attention upon temples and monasteries, as well as major festivals organized within them in their scholarly research. As a result, our knowledge of these institutions has been greatly increased and greater attention has been placed upon rites, rituals and festivals of these institutions that these scholars have addressed.

With such intense focus placed upon the study of major festivals, rites and rituals that occur within temple grounds, there appears to be a dearth of articles or published material on the private worship of lay believers. As Tam Wai Lun mentions in his article Religious Festivals in Northern Guangdong, ‘religion is both a system of beliefs and rituals, and a system of social structure and practice.’[1] However, most academic works on Chinese religion tend to focus upon the faith as ‘a system of social structure and practice’ within the area of ‘beliefs and rituals’, whilst giving the private religious practices of worshippers the most perfunctory of mention. Arguably, the practice of rites and rituals within temple grounds are personal devotions, but one would argue that those practiced at ecclesiastical institutions are not necessarily continued at home; rather, there is a strong distinction between the personal devotions of lay worshippers within their homes and in temples.

C.K. Yang notes that it is religion in its ‘diffused’ form, rather than its ‘institutional’ form that ‘people made their most intimate contact with religion,’[2] with diffused religion defined as ‘a religion having its theology, cultus, and personnel so intimately diffused into one or more secular social institutions that they become a part of the concept, rituals, and structure of the latter, thus having no significant independent existence.’[3] However, most students of Chinese religion ‘have dismissed diffused religion as superstition, or have given it some other label to avoid the term religion.’[4] Thomas Dubois further remarks in his study of Cang County in North China that ‘the household owed social and financial support to the religious resources of the village, but its ritual obligation was owed primarily to itself.’[5] Thus, the household is an important area of religious study that has been lacking.

More importantly, questions arise as to the transmission of knowledge. How do lay devotees learn how to pray? What offerings should be offered? When should they pray? There appears to be a missing link between the ecclesiastical institutions and the home, and most academic works fail to address this area. While such people are not recognized as members of the ecclesiastical institutions (most of those interviewed do not join as committee members or play an active role in temple affairs; my main interviewer even sniffed in disdain at the notion that being part of the temple committee would aid her business), they nevertheless are transmitters of religious knowledge as well as practitioners of Chinese religion, and it is hoped that this paper will shed some light on the transmission of knowledge of worship practices of Chinese worshippers in Malacca through an interview of a shopkeeper, Madam Lee[6], who sells religious paraphernalia in the old Chinatown of Malacca and situate this group of people, who stand as a bridge between ecclesiastical institutions and private home devotions, within the framework of Chinese religion.

Location

As a thriving entrepot centre in its heyday, Malacca was a top draw for many immigrants eager to make a fortune. The area of focus for this paper revolves around the old Chinatown of Malacca. Comprising of 3 avenues – Jalan Tun Tan Cheng Lock, Jalan Hang Jebat and Jalan Tokong, the main tourist attraction for this area is the Cheng Hoon Teng (紫云亭) temple. Founded in 1645 by Lee Wei King, it is the oldest functioning temple in Malaysia, and attracts many devotees from all across the country[7]. The temple’s existence is important, not simply because of its attraction to devotees, but also for the businesses that have spawned and evolved around it. Along the same avenue leading up to the temple (on a one-way street) are eight shops that also sell religious paraphernalia for worship at the temple and more importantly, for the private worship of devotees at home.

Defining Parameters

A distinction must be drawn as to what defines communal worship as well as personal worship. While it is true that many Chinese lay worshippers perform what can be considered personal devotions at temples, in essence their presence in these ecclesiastical institutions suggests participation at a communal level. Madam Lee noted that many lay worshippers come to Cheng Hoon Teng following the lunar calendar, and usually congregate on the first and fifteenth day of the lunar month, in addition to the myriad of Chinese festivals found within the lunar calendar. Many Chinese festivals are designated special dates for communal celebration. The Hungry Ghosts’ Festival (Ulambana) in the 7^th lunar month and the Nine Emperor Gods Festival (traditionally associated with the ninth day of the ninth lunar month) are two examples of these festivals that are regarded as celebratory festivals for the community.

For the purpose of this study, personal devotion and worship refers to worship that occurs away from ecclesiastical institutions and communal festivals. While some might argue that it is tenuous to look away from temples and monasteries, pointing out that most lay worshippers are in reality performing only private obeisance to the many deities there as an extension of their personal worship, it is imperative to realize that when worshippers enter temple grounds, they are subject to temple rules and regulations. Their worship is no longer, strictly speaking, their own, but rather has to conform to a set pattern of fixed rules, be it in the number of joss sticks they can offer to the deities or the process in which they should offer their votive prayers. Hence, it can be argued that once devotees enter the temple, they leave behind diffused religion and conform to institutionalized religion.

In his book The Sacred Village, Thomas Dubois observes that ‘the public religious life of the village was an important arena in which the floating culture of tales and stories was made into a concrete regimen of rituals and locus of identity, but this did not coerce the individual in a way similar to the Christianity of early modern Europe.’[8] He further goes on to add that ‘the degree and manner in which the individual engages the sacred in a votive or ritual setting is largely a personal decision.’[9] Thus, while participation in certain rituals and festivals are regarded as communal, personal and private devotions might differ from these communal rites, and this paper will assess the role shopkeepers play in influencing ‘personal decision’.

Situating between Spheres

Just two shop houses away from Cheng Hoon Teng temple is Madam Lee’s shop. The knowledge Madam Lee possesses has an impact on the devotions of lay worshippers. During an interview session, I chanced upon her selling some prayer items to a customer, Madam Xu. When Madam Xu decided to purchase some altar lights for her altar at home, the shopkeeper warned her against buying altar lights that were too elaborate, and while answering my queries about candles versus altar lights, her customer agreed that candles were only to be used for ancestors and ghosts propitiation, not deities.

Upon further questioning, Madam Xu revealed that when she had questions about worship at home, she would ask Madam Lee instead of asking the temple, although she does visit the temple on special occasions, like Guanyin’s birthday. At the temple, she usually just offers incense, burns some joss paper to the deities, and then leaves, without speaking to the caretakers or any monk or priest.

How does Madam Lee come to fill this role in the framework of Chinese religion hierarchy, that she can influence the buying patterns of her consumers? As mentioned before, she does not belong to any ecclesiastical institution committee. Neither does she go to the temple regularly (only on the 1^st and 15^th of every month) despite its proximity to her shop. Instead, she chooses to pray to the altar in her house, which has a statue of Dabo Gong (大伯公) on it. While C.K. Yang mentions in his book that ‘most occupations and trades in China, as in many other cultures, had patron gods’[10], she instead prays to a deity associated more with her dialect group (Teochew). This is not to say that she was unaware of the association that she was affiliated to. When I pressed her for details, she replied somewhat grudgingly that there was an association to which she was affiliated. However, she was reticent about divulging further information to me other than the fact that the association was located on the outskirts of the city, and was generally inactive and had little bearing on her livelihood. She noted with some pride that the choice of purchasing the items in the shop for sale was based upon her own decision and that of her son, and the association did little more than organize an annual dinner during the 7^th month to which she attended. While this is of course a rather one sided account, it can be construed to mean that the association, even if it did more than organize a dinner, mattered little in the lives of these proprietors.

Why would Madam Xu turn to a lay person (Madam Lee) for help in religious affairs outside of the temple, and with no seeming affiliation to any other association, whose only claim to any source of religious know how is a shop stocked with religious paraphernalia? One main reason could be familiarity. Madam Lee confirmed that a vast majority of her customers were regulars, and that most other shops in the vicinity operated upon the same basis. Hence, that Madam Xu chose to purchase her items from Madam Lee’s shop despite many other shops around the area that sold similar items speaks of the close ties they share in a buyer-seller relationship. Steven Sangren mentions this when he compares the category of ghosts to strangers[11] who, while not necessarily are harmful, should still nevertheless be avoided if possible. Donald DeGlopper attempts a somewhat tenuous tracing of how a stranger becomes a trusted acquaintance in his book Lukang, Commerce and Community in a Chinese City; and while the evolution of such relationships are not necessary for this paper, what is of note is his description of a trusting relationship as ‘one of “sentiment” or ch’ing.’[12] This also was the term that Madam Xu used to describe the relationship she had with Madam Lee, and if we are convinced by DeGlopper’s argument, ‘it is always achieved or built up, never ascribed or given; and is essentially a variable term.’[13] Madam Xu and Madam Lee clearly enjoyed a close buyer-seller relationship. While I was there, both women were talking about the latest gossips, the feasibility of a trip to China and even their children. Hence, that shopkeepers like Madam Lee come to occupy such a significant role in Malaccan society as a transmitter of religious knowledge can be ascribed to trust (信任) and ch’ing (情) between her and her clients. Her clients trust her information, and are willing to follow her advice.

Religious Knowledge in Temple Street

Thomas Dubois notes in Chapter 4 of his book The Sacred Village that ‘some interviewees described the Cang County countryside as having contained large numbers of Buddhist monks… others, in fact the majority, insisted that Buddhist monks were extremely rare or completely absent and were certainly not present in sufficient numbers to exert a lasting influence on rural religion life.’[14] This contradiction and frustration of his research is also reflected in Malacca. Who (or where) were the ecclesiastical elite? During my fieldwork there, the only definite people recognizable as nuns were those in a Mahayana Buddhist temple formed by the Malayan Buddhist Association across the road from the Cheng Hoon Teng temple. However, these nuns kept to themselves and did not, during my time there, intervene or participate in the activities at Cheng Hoon Teng. I managed to speak to a elderly nun there on my first visit, and she mentioned that the temple she was caretaker of was Buddhist, whereas Cheng Hoon Teng was not, and hence they did not participate in each other’s activities. This was despite Cheng Hoon Teng having statues of Amida Buddha and Guan Yin within their temple compound[15]. She mentioned that devotees who came over to the temple set up by the Malayan Buddhist Association were those who sought ‘tranquility’ (清静) away from the world and proudly said that her temple did not burn joss papers to the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas – they only offered incense.

Inside Cheng Hoon Teng, there were no religious experts easily discernible. When I approached the lady behind the counter for information, she replied that she was just there to ‘help out’ (帮忙), and did not know anything much about rites and rituals. Most worshippers who were there did not appear to be religious experts; for the most part, they offered their prayers while holding incense, burnt some joss papers and then left. None asked around for help, barring the occasional inquisitive tourist. Given the reticence of the caretakers there in identifying themselves as religious experts as well as the non-involvement of those who were easily recognizable as religious experts (i.e. the nuns) in Chinese religion, it is hence little wonder that people like Madam Lee play such vital roles in determining the religious lives of lay worshippers away from the temples.

In his chapter on xiangtou, Thomas Dubois questions their role in village society. The same can also be asked about shopkeepers like Madam Lee. Just as there are mediums ‘who sees patients primarily from her own community’[16], and others ‘who routinely travels as far as Cangzhou City and even Tianjin to see patients’[17], the disparity in religious knowledge too applies to Madam Lee. On the one hand, there are dispensers of religious knowledge in Malaysia of high prominence like Lilian Too, who provides feng-shui tips over national television and even has a website devoted to her,[18] not unlike xiangtou of the second category. Madam Lee, however, would most probably fall within the first category described, whose sphere of influence is limited to little more than her own immediate community of the old Chinatown of Malacca.

Just as how Dubois notes ‘most (villagers) recognize the xiangtou as a friend and neighbor, rather than an abstract village phenomenon,’[19] Madam Lee’s place in the community is viewed more than just her role as a shopkeeper dispensing religious know-how and selling religious paraphernalia to her customers. As evinced by her relationship with Madam Xu, she too is considered a friend with whom one could exchange the latest gossip and happenings, unlike the nuns within the Buddhist temple, who choose to remain within their temple grounds and have minimal interactions with the rest of the street.

The xiangtou, according to Dubois, ‘have no formal affiliation with a teacher, are not members of networks, and are not identified with the village community in the way that temples or sectarians often are.’[20] He goes on to mention that ‘although their rituals are largely common knowledge, these activities are more often performed within the confines of the household than in public space.’[21] Within the Chinese community of old Malacca Chinatown, Madam Lee is easily recognized as NOT being a person belonging to any religious order. Her religious knowledge is also usually construed as information that is common knowledge to practitioners of Chinese religion and, although she does not perform any rituals (unlike the xiangtou), her information and advice has a larger impact upon devotions of worshippers in their personal space rather than the public space of ecclesiastical institutions. Hence, if one were to draw a parallel, Madam Lee’s position within her community is not unlike a xiangtou, someone who possesses more esoteric knowledge than a common worshipper, but yet does not fit into the ecclesiastical framework of Chinese religion.

Paper Paraphernalia Categorization

When queried about the items on sale, Madam Lee replied that many items in her shop were staples. Such items included joss sticks and paper, fragrant oil for oil lamps, incense burners and altar lights. However, when probed further, she admitted as well that there were ‘seasonal’ items. One such approaching season during this research period was the ‘Tomb Sweeping Festival’ (清明节). As a result, she was making space for new items – basically paper paraphernalia that people bought to burn for their ancestors during this festival. Such items ranged from simple items like Hell notes (whose function was not unlike the normal joss paper that most people burnt) to more exotic ones like credit cards, computers, laptops, paper cars – complete with chauffeur, and even paper airplanes.

Madam Lee was reticent about the orthodoxy of such practices. While she was adamant about the need to burn these offerings to placate one’s ancestors, she was unsure who decided burning items like paper credit cards, computers and even airplanes (especially if one’s ancestors did not have a license to fly one) was permissible. However, she maintained that it was up to the personal choice of the devotee, and if they so chose, they could purchase these items for offering to their ancestors.

It must be noted that there is a distinction between ancestor and deity, and while there are areas of ambiguity (for instance someone who was surnamed ‘Kong’ (孔) could theoretically claim Confucius as his ancestor), in most other cases, the line between ancestors and deities is quite clearly drawn. Steven Sangren addresses this issue in his book History and Magical Power in a Chinese Community, ‘the three most important categories of supernatural beings in Chinese culture – gods, ghosts, and ancestors – are modeled directly on the three most important categories in peasants’ experience – officials, strangers and kin.’[22] He quotes further from Emily Ahern that, ‘one propitiates dangerous ghosts, provides for the material and spiritual needs of deceased kin, and bribes powerful gods.’[23] Hence, it would be necessary to purchase different items to propitiate the different categories of supernatural beings.

This is confirmed by Madam Lee. What was of interest was, rather than the mild response I expected, she was adamant to the point of being forceful that the demarcation between ancestors and deities must be clearly drawn. When I questioned if the bank notes one offered to ancestors could likewise be offered to deities, she rejected the idea outright, explaining that to do so would offend the deities, who ‘do not use this type of money’. Furthermore, she explained that the items used to propitiate ancestors and ghosts were generally the same; only items used to worship deities were different. Broadly speaking, the items can be divided into two categories as follows:

For ancestors and ghosts, generally only the following items could be offered to them. These items include joss papers that were plain except for a square of silver or gold in its middle, small joss sticks, Hell bank notes, and yellow papers with intricate designs on them that resembled sutras known as tongxinzhi (通心纸). A fundamental difference between worship of ancestors and deities is also seen in the types of lighting used. Madam Lee insisted that candles could only be used for propitiating ancestors and ghosts, whom she also termed ‘our good brothers’ (好兄弟); deities had either oil wick lamps or electric lamps that were usually of a red color to symbolize auspiciousness and bring in good fortune.

Lest one should think that ancestors were treated no differently from the ‘good brothers’, my informant further clarified that while these offerings were similar for both ancestors and ghosts, one big difference between the two categories was the personalization of items for the former. Ancestors were a privileged class entitled to items like airplanes, cars, credit cards, and even houses (which although uncommon, are not unheard of), usually offered to them either on their death anniversary or the Tomb Sweeping Festival; ghosts on the other hand, defined as those who had died without proper burial and hence having no descendants to care for them, only received these items once a year, during the 7^th month festival when they were believed to be released from Hell to roam the earth for a whole month (hence its other moniker ‘Hungry Ghost Festival’).

Deities on the other hand, could not be offered the above items. Their burnt offerings also included joss paper, but the joss papers had a different design from those offered to ancestors. Instead of a simple square of either plain gold or silver, they had a square of gold in the middle that was further chopped with a red stamp. These joss papers also came in different sizes, with the biggest up to 12” x 17”. In addition to that, deities were also burnt pieces of red paper imprinted with court official figurines in various poses of obeisance. These pieces of joss paper, also known as guirenzhi (贵人纸) were offered to deities in the hope that they would assist the devotee to have a prosperous and blessed life.

In Singapore, I managed to interview a cleaner, Uncle Chan who, although he does not open a shop selling paper paraphernalia, worships many Chinese deities in his home, and who not only confirmed the above, but further added that ancestors and ghosts could only be offered fruit offerings in even numbers (e.g. 2, 4 or 6) whereas deities had to have fruit offerings in odd numbers (usually 3 or 5). When asked what would happen if the order was reversed, or if we offered the wrong offerings, he answered indignantly that we had better not try, or else ‘bad things’ and ‘bad karma’ (罪孽) would happen.

New Products, Old Traditions

In her book The Price of Death, Hikaru Suzuki examines the bathing ceremony and describes how it becomes a ‘commodity’, with the term being defined as a product ‘that is subject to ready exchange or exploitation within a market.’[24] To her, ‘no matter how sophisticated the product it cannot be considered a commodity unless it moves from the hands of a producer to the hands of consumers, because this exchange generates the value that turns a product into a commodity.’[25]

Suzuki further notes that ‘the commoditization of process includes designing, testing, producing, and marketing a product. The product is then exchanged, and at that point, consumed. When the product is exchanged for money, it is endowed with a value that may lead to further marketing, exchanges, consumption, wider distribution and finally mass consumption.’[26] While it is unclear how long these items have been in use by the Chinese community in Malacca, one can observe through the description given by Madam Lee how such a product came to have a place in the religious life of lay worshippers there.

As mentioned above, the joss papers offered to deities differed from those offered to ancestors. Furthermore, they came in different sizes, with the usual size being 7” x 8” but with some reaching up to 12” x 17” in size. While this might not strike most as being unusual, the 12” x 17” size joss papers are a recent phenomenon, and hence can be examined using Suzuki’s framework of commoditization and marketing.

These 12” x 17” size joss papers, according to Madam Lee, were unheard of as recently as five to six years ago. When questioned about its origin, she replied that this form of joss papers came about only recently because the Chinese in Malacca wanted to showcase their affluence as well as their devotions to the deities. She confirmed that she herself did not burn these joss papers to the deities because she felt that it was not ‘traditional’, but when asked who could burn the papers, she mentioned that it was up to personal choice (随意). However, she also said that the joss papers could only be burnt in certain quantities. With each piece of joss paper equating to ‘one hundred’, worshippers could burn either ‘one thousand’ or ‘two thousand’ worth of the joss paper. Burning more or less than the prescribed amount was discouraged. When she was queried as to who set the amount to be burnt, she was evasive and simply mumbled ‘those priests’. When pressed further, she admitted that she did not have a very clear idea, but that this was ‘what people say’, and was the norm along the whole street.

Thus, we can see that what Suzuki describes as a commoditization of a product occurs in the context of these joss papers being sold. She notes that ‘this value (of the product) is not born in a vacuum or imposed by collective anonymous forces, but comes into being gradually, through verbal negotiations and interactions between consumers and producers.’[27] This is true as well for these bigger than usual joss papers. In the past few, if any, people asked for these sorts of paraphernalia for offering to deities. However, in the two visits I was there, consumers purchased these joss papers for worship on both occasions. Madam Lee also replied to the affirmative that she only started stocking these joss papers in the past few years because customers had asked for them, and that they were in truth not necessary for the propitiation of deities. The papers would have remained little more than a ‘product’, especially if it had been unpopular with consumers.

Hence, if successful commodification of a product is assumed to have occurred when it is ‘subject to ready exchange within the market’[28], that these big pieces of joss paper were readily accepted by consumers meant that it had in essence become a ‘commodity’, and was now considered a quintessential aspect of worship for deities, especially if one could afford it. Since the benchmark of a successful commodity is ‘mass consumption, a process through which people assimilate and adopt forces that a commodity embodies’[29], it can be seen that these 12” x 17” joss papers have been marketed successfully. However, one feels that it is not just market forces that determine the successful commodification of a product; as mentioned earlier, the person who transmits the knowledge is a key factor as well.

What was of interest, however, is that when I mentioned the usage of these joss papers as offering to the deities to Uncle Chan, he treated my information with disdain, and proclaimed that ‘pure’ Chinese religion did not have to resort to using bigger pieces of joss paper to receive favor from the gods, suggestion, perhaps, that successful commodification of a product is never uniform, and also providing further evidence of the diversity within Chinese religion.

Conclusion

Jean DeBernardi writes in the conclusion of her book Rites of Belonging of an encounter she had with a spirit medium, who questions the idea of Chinese religion as superstition. He says ‘what is superstition? It has one meaning, a bad one, but for Daoists it means worship. Mi (迷) is what one person tells another; xin (信) is what you yourself as Chinese or as American believe. The Chinese mixin is the worship of Daoist deities.’[30] While this is hardly the case for practitioners and believers of the faith, DeBernardi notes that ‘that label, which stigmatizes beliefs and practices as irrational and ignorant, is a pejorative that Western rationalists, Chinese reformists, and Malaysians who practice Buddhism, Islam or Christianity have applied to Penang’s polytheists and animists.’[31] This scenario, even if it does not apply to Malacca now, would be a reality in the near future, especially if Chinese religion is only viewed as Chinese ‘civilization’ or ‘culture’ (文化)[32].

My research appears to lend credence to the validity of DeBernardi’s observations. Throughout the duration of my fieldwork, the majority of the worshippers at Cheng Hoon Teng, as well as those who bought prayer items from Madam Lee’s shop, tended to be middle aged Chinese. In Singapore, some worshippers have eschewed the traditional shops that sell such religious paraphernalia for convenience, preferring to purchase prayer items from supermarkets and convenience stores. While this doubtless has led to greater efficiency and convenience for consumers, it also means that shops like those of Madam Lee’s are in a twilight industry.

‘Chinese local religious culture remains at a disadvantage since … it is not a recognized world religion,’[33] notes DeBernardi in her concluding remarks. Surely, Chinese local religious culture, if dependent only upon ecclesiastical institutions to sustain it, would only end up as cultural symbols, not taken seriously as places of worship but rather as centers of Chinese heritage. Here is where this intermediate group of devotees like Madam Lee and Uncle Chan step in to fill in the gap (even if they face an uphill battle) to educate the younger generation about Chinese religion, for it can be argued that without their presence as a bridge between the esoteric knowledge offered by ecclesiastical institutions and the personal devotions of lay worshippers at home, Chinese local religious culture will be nothing more than a magnificent, gaudy colored husks of Chinese heritage, serving as much of an educational purpose to the Chinese community as pretty painted Chinatown shop houses that sell Starbucks coffee within.

Bibliography

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DeGlopper, Donald Robert. Lukang : commerce and community in a Chinese city. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1995

Dubois, Thomas David. The sacred village: social change and religious life in rural north China. Honolulu: University of Hawai'i Press, 2005

Lagerwey, John (editor). Religion and Chinese society: the transformation of a field. Hong Kong: Chinese University Press, 2004

Sangren, Paul Steven. History and magical power in a Chinese community. Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1987

Suzuki, Hikaru. The price of death: the funeral industry in contemporary Japan. Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 2001

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[1]Tam Wai Lun, “Religious Festivals in Northern Guangdong”, in Religion and Chinese society, Volume II, edited by John Lagerwey. (Hong Kong: Chinese University Press, 2004), pg. 817.

[2] C.K. Yang, Religion in Chinese Society – a study of contemporary social functions of religion and some of their historical factors (Illinois: Waveland Press. Inc. 1991), p. 296.

[5] Thomas Dubois, “Village Community and the Reconstruction of Religious Life in Rural North China”, in Religion and Chinese society, Volume II, edited by John Lagerwey (Hong Kong: Chinese University Press, 2004), p. 838.

[6] For the privacy of my informants, personal names have been altered.

[8] Thomas Dubois, The Sacred Village (Honolulu: University of Hawai'i Press, 2005), p. 190.

[10] C.K. Yang, Religion in Chinese Society – a study of contemporary social functions of religion and some of their historical factors (Illinois: Waveland Press. Inc. 1991) p. 71.

[11] Steven Sangren, History and Magical Power in a Chinese Community (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1987), p. 52.

[12] Donald DeGlopper, Lukang, Commerce and Community in a Chinese City (Albany: State University of New York Press , c1995), p. 31.

[14] Thomas Dubois, The Sacred Village (Honolulu: University of Hawai'i Press, 2005) p. 87.

[16] Thomas David Dubois, The Sacred Village (Honolulu: University of Hawai'i Press, 2005), p. 82.

[19] Thomas David Dubois, The Sacred Village (Honolulu: University of Hawai'i Press, 2005), p. 83.

[22] Steven Sangren, History and Magical Power in a Chinese Community ( Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1987) p. 52.

[25] Hikaru Suzuki, The Price of Death (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 2001), p. 191.

[29] Hikaru Suzuki, The Price of Death (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 2001), p. 201.

[30] Jean DeBernardi, Rites of Belonging – Memory, Modernity and Identity in a Malaysian Chinese Community (Stanford, Calif. : Stanford University Press, 2004), p. 219.