Just because there are many ways to enter the Taoist pantheon doesn’t make it easy.
In addition to rewriting China’s box office record book, the animated hit “Ne Zha 2” — which tells the story of a rebellious god child — has drawn renewed interest to the Taoist canon. But fans of the film may be surprised to learn that Ne Zha and his family are actually rather marginal members of the Taoist pantheon — at least on paper.
That doesn’t mean they’re not gods. Rather, it’s just another example of the complex nature of Taoist divinity, which can be attained via religious ceremony, imperial decree, or simple mass acclamation.
Take Ne Zha, for example. Originating in India, the Ne Zha myth arrived in China centuries ago, where it spread through informal channels until he was granted a minor divine title by the Northern Song dynasty (960–1127) court. But the impish god didn’t really come into his own until his appearance in two of the best-known works of Ming-dynasty (1368–1644) fiction: Xu Zhonglin’s “Investiture of the Gods” and “Journey to the West” by Wu Cheng’en.
Although wildly popular and drawn from Taoist beliefs, neither novel is a Taoist text, and both authors took significant liberties with the established canon — including promoting Ne Zha to a more important role and fleshing out his personality.
A special feature of Taoism is that ordinary humans can and do become gods and immortals. For much of history, this process was governed by two separate but interrelated processes: what scholars like Chang Hsun call Taoist canonization (dao feng) and state canonization (guo feng).
Let’s start by looking at Taoist canonization, which refers to the process of elevating a deity within Taoism — the Jade Emperor, for example — usually through religious scriptures composed by priests and constructing a deity’s image, rituals, and granting them an official title. These deities were then entered into the official “Taoist Canon,” of which only copies of one version still exist. This version, a revision of earlier texts produced in the Ming, consists of over 5,000 scrolls compiled at two different periods: “The Taoist Canon of the Zhengtong Emperor” (1427–1464) and the “Taoist Canon of the Wanli Emperor” (1572–1620).
As the names of these texts might suggest, Taoist canonization was all but inseparable from the related process of state canonization, sometimes also referred to as imperial canonization. Traditionally, there was no clear line between secular and religious authority in China, and a god derived much of its official powers and status through titles conferred by the imperial court and inclusion in state rituals.
The process resembled bureaucratic appointment, as gods considered to be effective administrators and guardians at the local level were presented to the imperial court by local officials. The prospective deities would then be subject to examination by the Department of State Affairs under the Ministry of Rites. If they passed muster, the Emperor would issue an edict declaring their legitimacy.
Chang Hsun, an anthropologist of religion, argues that state canonization and Taoist canonization operated in tandem to grant gods both political authority and religious legitimacy, and that this process reflected the dual governance of the state and Taoism at the local level. Within this system, state canonization provided gods with political authority and a standardized series of rituals, while Taoist canonization provided them with sacred theology and practices.
This phenomenon first really started to take hold in China during the Northern Song, a period in which the local gentry gradually grew in power relative to the central government. Local officials sought to obtain official titles for their hometown deities as a reward for protecting the peace, while the court was willing to grant these titles to reaffirm its legitimacy and the authority of state governance over the region.
People take photos of a Mazu statue in Putian, Fujian province, Feb. 5, 2025. Yu Yongle/VCG
Consider a typical example: Mazu. According to tradition, Mazu was originally an ordinary woman born into the Lin family of the eastern coastal Fujian province in the second half of the 10th century. Venerated even in life for her purported powers to grant rain and rescue wayward seafarers, locals erected a temple in her honor after a rescue attempt took her life.
Such local deities are a dime a dozen in China, but Mazu progressed quickly through the divine ranks. She was awarded the title of “Lady of Numinous Grace” in 1156 for rescuing the Emperor’s envoy Lu Yundi, saving the lives of plague victims, and suppressing bandits in the eastern cities of Wenzhou and Taizhou. In 1409, during the Ming, her title was upgraded further to the “Celestial Consort of Sublime Numinosity, Glorious Response, Magnanimous Humanity, and Universal Salvation, Who Protects the State and Guards the People.”
Meanwhile, Taoist figures also sought to promote Mazu worship, granting her the title of “Jade Woman of Marvelous Deeds” and emphasizing her links to the Big Dipper — an important constellation in Taoist cosmology. Taoism also provided practical methods for Mazu devotees to practice their faith: A believer can recite the “Scripture of the Miracles (worked) by the Celestial Consort for Saving from Mistress, Pronounced by Taishang Laojun” the requisite number of times to eliminate misfortunes, recover from illness, or avoid bureaucratic troubles. Relevant scriptures also included reference to a “Talisman of Celestial Consort for Relieving Distress,” which could be swallowed to enhance the effect.
This close relationship between the state and Taoist canonization reflects the complicated relationship between politics and religion in imperial China. Taoism provided support for the legitimacy of state power, while the imperial court was also a necessary pillar for Taoism to establish its divine authority.
This produced a surprisingly bureaucratic pantheon. For example, the Taoist incantation used to ward off evil spirits, “jiji ru lüling” — now commonly used in movies and TV shows — was originally a phrase appended to official documents during the Han dynasty (206 BC–AD 220), meaning “Let this order be carried out immediately.”
Interestingly, however, the state and Taoist orders were never able to establish total control over religious canonization. Even at the height of their power, there was another very important way in which beings could be deified: popular canonization. Indeed, most officially recognized deities had already been worshipped by ordinary people for some time before they were granted a formal title. Mazu, for example, had temples long before the Emperor was aware of her existence.
Whereas state and Taoist canonization are clearly more organized and systematic, they were not always widely respected. The abovementioned “Scripture of the Miracles (worked) by the Celestial Consort for Saving from Mistress, Pronounced by Taishang Laojun,” seems to have left little lasting impact on later generations, as believers preferred other legends and stories. Even her name, Mazu, is an informal title that prevailed over the official “Celestial Consort.”
Popular novels, such as “Investiture of the Gods” and “Journey to the West,” could also produce new gods. Meir Shahar, a professor at Tel Aviv University in Israel, argues that vernacular fiction, oral literature, and drama all played a huge role in disseminating knowledge about deities and beliefs in China. Indeed, vernacular fiction was particularly important in standardizing the pantheon of deities in post-Ming imperial China, Shahar says.
Posters for “Ne Zha 2” (left) and “Nezha Conquers the Dragon King.” From Douban
“Investiture of the Gods” didn’t just canonize Ne Zha. In the novel, Jiang Ziya, acting at the command of the Primeval Lord of Heaven, grants Huang Feihu the posts of Leader of the Rulers of the Five Sacred Mountains and Overseer of the 18 Levels of Hell, and appoints him as the “Benevolent and Holy Emperor of the Eastern Peak, Equal to Heaven,” from where he decides the fortunes and fates of mortals. Originally, Mount Tai was rarely anthropomorphized, but under the influence of this novel, some Chinese temples began inscribing “Huang Feihu” onto tablets dedicated to the mountain.
Paul Katz, a historian of Chinese religion who specializes in the interaction between religion and local society, calls this interplay between official and grassroots faith “reverberation,” in which differing images and perceptions of deities among the people, officials, and Taoists influenced each other, with no single one able to achieve mainstream status.
Today, state canonization no longer occurs, while the “Taoist Canon” hasn’t been updated since the late Ming. In other words, the two traditional pillars of canonization have largely collapsed. But that doesn’t mean the Taoist pantheon is static: Popular canonization has never stopped, as believers extend their love and faith to great figures and moral exemplars.
One potential addition to the Taoist faith is Yuan Longping — known in China as the “father of hybrid rice.” Not long after Yuan’s death in 2021, social media users began jokingly referring to him as the new Shennong — a deity associated with farming. Some even photoshopped Yuan’s face onto Taoist iconography.
There was a time when these jokes might have grown into widespread religious practice, but for now, the Yuan cult can exist only at the individual or local level. After all, there are no more official bodies capable of granting him a formal title in the Taoist bureaucracy.
Zhu Yiwen holds a Ph.D. in Taoist studies from the Chinese University of Hong Kong. She works at the Shanghai Center for the Studies of Religion and Culture.
Translator: David Ball; editor: Wu Haiyun.
(Header image: Murals and statues at Chunyang temple in Datong, Shanxi province, 2025. 500px/VCG)