Religion and Poetry in Medieval China: The Way and the Words (Global Chinese Histories, 250-1650) 9463721177, 9789463721172

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G L O B A L C H I N E S E H I S T O R I E S , 2 5 0 -165 0

Edited by Gil Raz and Anna M. Shields

Religion and Poetry in Medieval China The Way and the Words

Religion and Poetry in Medieval China

Global Chinese Histories, 250-1650 Global Chinese Histories, 250-1650 focuses on new research that locates Chinese histories within their wider regional contexts including cross-border and/or comparative perspectives. We are interested in manuscripts in a broad range of fields including humanities and social-science based approaches to politics and society, art and architecture, literature and intellectual developments, gender and family, religious text and practice, landscape and environment, war and peace, trade and exchange, and urban and rural life. We encourage innovative approaches and welcome work all along the theoretical-evidential spectrum. Our interest also extends to books that analyze historical changes to the meaning and geography of sovereignty in the Chinese territories, the complexity of interchange on the cultural and political peripheries in Chinese history, and the ways in which Chinese polities have historically been situated in a wider Afro-Eurasian world. The editorial board of Global Chinese Histories 250–1650 welcomes submission of manuscripts on Chinese history in the 1400 years from the early medieval period through the Ming dynasty. We invite scholars at any stage of their careers to share their book proposals and draft manuscripts with us. Series Editor Hilde De Weerdt, Professor of Chinese and Early Modern Global History, KU Leuven, Belgium Editorial Board Ruth Mostern, University of California, Merced Sarah Schneewind, University of California, San Diego Naomi Standen, University of Birmingham, UK Ping Yao, California State University, Los Angeles

Religion and Poetry in Medieval China The Way and the Words

Edited by Gil Raz and Anna M. Shields

Amsterdam University Press

Cover illustration: Detail from Pelliot chinois 2440, courtesy of Bibliothèque Nationale de France. Cover design: Coördesign, Leiden Lay-out: Crius Group, Hulshout ISBN 978 94 6372 117 2 e-ISBN 978 90 4855 526 0 DOI 10.5117/9789463721172 NUR 718 © G. Raz & A.M. Shields / Amsterdam University Press 2023 All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the written permission of both the copyright owner and the author of the book.



Table of Contents

Conventions for Frequently Cited Works

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Introduction 9 Gil Raz and Anna M. Shields

1 Brushing Past Rainbows: Religion and Poetry in the Xu Mi Stele

19

2 Li Bo and Hu Ziyang: Companions of the Way

41

3 The Vicarious Angler: Gao Pian’s Daoist Poetry

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J.E.E. Pettit

Paul W. Kroll

Franciscus Verellen

4 Traces of the Way: The Poetry of “Divine Transcendence” in the Northern Song Anthology Literature’s Finest (Wen cui 文粹) 87 Anna M. Shields

5 A Re-examination of the Second Juanof the Array of the Five Talismans of the Numinous Treasure 太上靈寶五符序

109

6 “True Forms” and “True Faces”: Daoist and Buddhist Discourse on Images

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7 After the Apocalypse: The Evolving Ethos of the Celestial Master Daoists

161

8 Shangqing Scriptures as Performative Texts

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9 My Back Pages: The Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters Revisited

197

Wang Zongyu 王宗昱 (translated by Gil Raz)

Gil Raz

Terry Kleeman

Robert Ford Campany

James Robson

10 Taking Stock

John Lagerwey

221

Epilogue 241 Traversing the Golden Porte—The Problem with Daoist Studies Stephen R. Bokenkamp

Index 259



Conventions for Frequently Cited Works

Standard dynastic histories are cited by their Zhonghua shuju editions. Refers to works in the Ming Daoist canon Zhengtong daozang DZ 正統道藏. Citations are by title, followed by DZ number, followed by folio page as they appear in the 1926 reprint of Zhengtong daozang as photo-reduced in the 60-volume edition by Xinwenfeng (Taibei, 1977). DZ numbers follow The Taoist Canon: A Historical Companion to the Daozang, edited by Kristofer Schipper and Franciscus Verellen. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004. DKW Refers to Dai kan-wa jiten 大漢和辭典, edited by Morohashi Tetsuji 諸橋轍次. Tokyo: Taishūkan shoten, 1955–60. ZHDZ Refers to Zhonghua daozang 中華道藏, edited by Zhang Jiyu 張繼禹. Beijing: Huaxia chubanshe, 2004. Citations are by title, volume number, and page number. SSJZS Refers to works collated in Shisanjing zhushu, fu jiaokan ji 十三 經注疏附校勘記, edited by Ruan Yuan 阮元 (1764–1849). Refers to works in Taishō shinshū daizōkyō 太正新修大藏經 T. [Taisho Buddhist canon], edited by Takako Junjirō 高楠順次 郎 and Watanabe Kaikyoku 渡辺海旭. 85 vols. Tokyo: Daizo shuppan kai, 1924–33. Citations are by title, followed by volume number, number of work, page number, and register letters. Refers to Kristofer Schipper and Franciscus Verellen, eds. The TC Taoist Canon: A Historical Companion to the Daozang. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004.

Introduction Gil Raz and Anna M. Shields Studies of the ancient Chinese classics, medieval Chinese history, Buddhism, Daoism, poetry, and prose have all too often been constrained within traditional disciplinary silos, such as literature, politics, philosophy, art, and religion.1 As a consequence, historians have infrequently read religious texts, scholars of Tang poetry have rarely engaged with archeological and epigraphic materials, while scholars of Buddhism have not often explored Daoist materials. Authors and readers in medieval China were of course not constrained by such boundaries. On the contrary, government and military officials, historians, poets, Buddhists, Daoists, and authors of tomb epitaphs and of imperial inscriptions shared cultural interests, and medieval authors read and found inspiration in each other’s diverse works. Our contemporary disciplinary labels tend to simplify the identities of medieval Chinese people—as adherents to a particular religion, or writers of a specific literary form—and thereby occlude the reality of their intertwined, multiple cultural practices. Indeed, people were rarely restricted to a single social identity or narrow set of cultural interests. But the blind spots in our understanding of medieval Chinese culture are not merely a result of contemporary disciplinary views: they are also shaped by the contours and gaps in the textual archive as it was transmitted and refashioned by centuries of readers. The surviving textual record from early and medieval China represents only a minute portion of the cultural productions of this era. In order to create a richer understanding of lived medieval culture, including the intersections of religious and literary practices, we need to not only read across the grain of modern disciplinary categories but also to expand our source base to include epigraphic and artistic materials, among others that have survived outside orthodox compilations of literary and scriptural traditions. The subtitle of this volume, “The Way and the Words,” points to a fundamental critique of our very project. The Dao, the Way, is formless and nameless; it is the “teaching without words.” However, as humans we are forced to use words to communicate, and we are constrained within specific language and script communities. People in medieval China sought to 1 In this volume, we use the term medieval to refer to the period extending from the Han dynasty (206 BCE–220 CE) to the end of the Tang dynasty (618–907 CE). Raz, Gil and Anna M. Shields (eds): Religion and Poetry in Medieval China. The Way and the Words. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2023 DOI: 10.5117/9789463721172_INTRO

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attain the Way, and they realized that their words were mere traces of the ineffable. And yet, as the poems, inscriptions, scriptures, and commentaries explored in this volume demonstrate, medieval people continually sought to use words to trace the ineffable, and their ceaseless efforts to do so require our careful, attentive reading. The essays in this volume were written with an interdisciplinary perspective intended to cut across traditional disciplinary categories and limited sources, focusing in particular at the interfaces of religion, literature, art, and material culture revealed in a wide range of textual and visual media. We explicitly read across traditions and disciplines, providing new contexts for their specific topics, whether reading Daoist scriptures in light of medical compilations, determining the religious leanings of compilers of poetry anthologies, and of poets, examining archeological and epigraphic sources across religious traditions, and delving into the complexities of Buddhist and Daoist interactions. All these chapters offer new insights that challenge unidimensional visions of medieval Chinese culture. Each essay provides a deep examination of particular medieval authors, texts, stele inscriptions, and collections, and together they present a broad exploration of the intersection of religion and literature in medieval China. The volume is centered on the impact of Buddhism and Daoism on elite and popular literary texts and religious practices. While it is nearly impossible for a single scholar to master all the necessary linguistic, methodological, and technical skills to fully explore the entangled religious and literary phenomena of second- to eleventh-century China, the essays demonstrate the potential of shared scholarly expertise to shed light in many directions. Grouped in three broad topical categories, the chapters explore the interfaces of several shared thematic concerns. Forms of textual transmission, adaptation, and reformulation are central to all the essays in the volume. Medieval textual adaptation includes explorations of Buddhist, Daoist, and Confucian syntheses, which reveal a variety of adaptive tendencies and modalities. Exploring these syntheses leads several of us to rediscover hidden or heretofore unnoticed Daoist and Buddhist dimensions within the texts and in the motivations of their authors. Several essays also illuminate the social and political implications of poetic corpora and religious practices, showing the embeddedness of authors in multiple practice communities. Another goal of the volume is to enhance our awareness of the significance of material and visual sources and the materiality of texts. Discussions of materiality examined here include embodiment and the somatic dimensions of literary and religious practice, which in some cases are even difficult to

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distinguish. Finally, two of the essays survey the field of medieval Daoism and provide a historical perspective on its development. The volume is organized into three topical categories: Poetry, Visuality and Materiality, and Texts and Contexts. Part One, Poetry, includes four essays exploring poetry on Daoist sites, figures, and topics from different historical moments. The first essay, by Jonathan Pettit, “Brushing Past Rainbows: Religion and Poetry in the Xu Mi Stele,” examines an inscription composed in 519 by Tao Hongjing upon completion of the Scarlet Solarity Lodge on Mount Mao. While providing careful analysis of the poetic and prose sections of the inscription, and discussing Tao’s combined Buddhist and Daoist practices, Pettit emphasizes the materiality of the stele on which this text was inscribed, the esoteric topography that pervades the medieval imaginary, and the ritual contexts alluded to in the poem. In his chapter, “Li Bo and Hu Ziyang: Companions of the Way,” Paul W. Kroll explores a series of poetic and prose compositions by High Tang poet Li Bo dedicated to Hu Ziyang, a Daoist master who transmitted to Li Bo the esoteric technique of absorbing solar essence and conferred Daoist registers on other of Li Bo’s companions. Li Bo’s most extensive composition on Hu Ziyang is an inscribed stele erected at his tomb site, again alerting us to the significance of materiality in discussing the effect and efficacy of texts. As Kroll reminds us, Li Bo was asked to eulogize Master Hu by the Buddhist monk Zhenqian, revealing the close personal links among Buddhist monks, Daoist priests, and poets. The third essay in this part, Franciscus Verellen’s “Gao Pian (822–87): Poet and Patron,” examines the Daoist poems by general Gao Pian, who was also an alchemist, an engineer and architect of citadels, and a poet with deep interest in Daoism, as well as in military cults and esoteric techniques. The ten poems analyzed in this essay were inspired by the Daoist rite of “Pacing the Void,” alchemical practice, and local cults. Several poems were dedicated to Daoist masters sought by the general. The Daoist poetry of Gao Pian reminds us of the complex and contested socio-cultural identities of Tang officials and military leaders. In the fourth essay in this part, “Traces of the Way: The Poetry of Divine Transcendence in the Northern Song Anthology Literature’s Finest (Wen cui),” Anna M. Shields questions the very categories of religion and poetry as she explores the classification of poems in an important yet still understudied Song anthology. By tracing the shifting conceptualizations of Daoism, Buddhism, and “religion” in this anthology, she reveals that we may be hampered in understanding Tang Daoist poetry not only by our

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own modern categorizations, but also by dynamic changes in cultural and literary contexts that shaped the reception of Tang literature during the Song. The two essays in Part Two, Visuality and Materiality, focus on different aspects of materiality in Chinese religious culture, ranging from textual problems of Daoist and medical recipe manuscript culture, to intertwined discourses and practices of medieval Buddhists and Daoists. Wang Zongyu’s “A Reexamination of the Second Chapter of the Array of the Five Talismans (Taishang lingbao wufu xu)” is a philological analysis of different recensions of medical recipes in the seminal Daoist text Array of the Five Talismans, found in Daoist and medical collectanea. Beyond reminding us of the common discourse and practice among Daoists and physicians, Wang’s essay alerts us to the materiality of manuscripts that is occluded not only by modern print editions but by traditional woodblock prints as well. In the second essay in this part, “‘True Forms’ and ‘True Faces’: Daoist and Buddhist Discourse on Images,” Gil Raz notes that the rhetoric of Buddhist devotional inscriptions changed at the same time that Daoists began to produce anthropomorphic imagery of Lord Lao in the late fifth century. Analyzing a variety of scriptures, poems, and epigraphic sources, Raz reveals complex trends of convergence: Daoists adapted Buddhist iconographic practices while Buddhists adopted Daoist notions of ineffability to explicate the use of images, showing hitherto unnoticed impacts of Daoist ideas on Buddhist attitudes to images. The four essays in Part Three, Texts and Contexts, reflect on the history of religion in China, from the lived religion of medieval Daoists to modern constructions of medieval religion. In his chapter “After the Apocalypse: The Evolving Ethos of the Celestial Master Daoists,” Terry Kleeman reconstructs the lived religion of the Celestial Master community during the fourth and fifth centuries by careful collation and readings of the extant scriptures. During this period, characterized by less millennial fervor and more Buddhist impact, the community transitioned to a more routinized and established structure. This nuanced and detailed analysis provides a far more granular portrayal of the Celestial Master community and its continuing evolution in medieval China. In his contribution, “Shangqing Scriptures as Performative Texts,” Robert Ford Campany focuses on the ritualized and performative aspects of the Shangqing scriptures. He shows that the multisensory impact of acting out the instructions would project the initiated practitioner into the imaginary of the scriptures. Thus, rather than future promises of salvation, we should understand the scriptures as scripts for the performance of

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new esoteric identities, be they that of a divinely rejuvenated being or cosmic recluse. James Robson’s “My Back Pages: The Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters Revisited” explores the fascinating history of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters, the first Buddhist scripture to be translated into a Western language in the eighteenth century, and supposedly the first Buddhist sūtra translated to Chinese, in the first century. Intriguingly, the earliest witness to this text is the Daoist Declarations of the Perfected (Zhen’gao). Moving beyond a comparison of extant editions and recensions of this text in Daoist and Buddhist reformulations, Robson emphasizes the enormous impact of this text on modern Western (mis)understandings of Buddhism. John Lagerwey, in his chapter “Taking Stock: The Scholarship of Daoism in Recent Decades,” reflects on his journey as a scholar of Chinese religion. He provides a narrative of his realization that the dominant Eurocentric definition of religion and Confucian-centric vision of Chinese history occlude the historical social reality of Chinese religion, in which Daoism played a crucial role. This realization entailed moving away from the mainstream literary and historical canons, delving into the Daoist textual and, especially, the ritual tradition. The epilogue of the volume, “Traversing the Golden Porte—The Problem with Daoist Studies,” by Stephen R. Bokenkamp, is a response to the essays collected in the volume, a reflection on the intersection of poetry and Daoism, and a consideration of the state of Daoist Studies. Centered on the changing uses of a single Daoist image, the essay traces its deployment in poetic, prognosticatory, and political contexts. In Bokenkamp’s signature style, the essay uses a closely argued philological analysis as a springboard for a wide-ranging discussion of issues of broader scholarly significance. These essays all engage the work of Bokenkamp, one of the most influential scholars of religious Daoism. His scholarship has been groundbreaking for bringing together the many crosscurrents of religious, intellectual, and literary traditions in medieval China that are usually studied separately. His books and many articles (in English, Chinese, and Japanese) have given us a vivid picture of medieval Chinese religion and culture as it was actually lived. Bokenkamp’s research served as both inspiration and model for many of the scholars whose work is represented here. He has always crossed the imagined boundaries between ancient Chinese classics, medieval history, Buddhism, Daoism, poetry, and prose to show how the culture of medieval China can only be understood by close reading of texts from various genres and traditions. With a deep familiarity with the different religious and intellectual trends interacting in medieval China, Bokenkamp has revealed

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the various modes of cross-fertilization, competition, and synthesis that constituted the culture of medieval China. While his main focus has been on the adoption of Buddhist ideas and practices in early medieval Daoist scripture, he has written on areas as diverse as somatic concepts, female lineages, metaphor, pantheon, tale literature, and alchemy. We provide a few key examples of his scholarship here to explain his unique contributions to multiple fields. In an early essay, “The Peach Flower Font and the Grotto Passage,” (1986) Bokenkamp explored a common trope in medieval literature and art, a journey of a sage to a hidden paradise within a cave.2 By tracing the religious roots of this trope from second- and third-century prose narratives to eighth-century poetry, he showed the significance of this trope in the development of Chinese ideas of utopia, eschatology, and salvation. Perhaps most importantly, this examination reveals the profound effects of Daoist religious imagination on the arts and politics in medieval China. In a later essay, “Time After Time: Taoist Apocalyptic History and the Founding of the T’ang Dynasty,” Bokenkamp examined the transformation of Han era (f irst and second centuries) cosmological speculations through the synthesis of Buddho-Daoist eschatological imagination to form a theological basis for the establishment of the Tang Dynasty in the seventh century.3 This essay demonstrates that Daoist and Buddhist messianic and cosmological speculations were critical for the Tang imperial project. Indeed, more familiarity with Daoist and Buddhist medieval eschatological and messianic writings would help clarify much of the textual and ritual means by which later dynasties justified their ascent. In both articles, Bokenkamp provided extensive translations and discussions of poetry, ranging from the Han through the Tang. This should remind us that his early training and passion was indeed in the study of poetry. His PhD dissertation was a study of the “Ledger on the Rhapsody” (Fu Pu 賦譜), a Tang era manual for the composition of rhapsodies for the examination for civil service candidates, which survives in a single manuscript in Japan. 4 In what is perhaps his best-known essay, “Sources of the Ling-pao Scriptures,” published in 1983, which remains the classic and unsurpassed examination of the Lingbao scriptures,5 Bokenkamp traces with meticulous 2 Bokenkamp, “The Peach Flower Font and the Grotto Passage.” 3 Bokenkamp, “Time After Time: Taoist Apocalyptic History and the Founding of the T’ang Dynasty.” 4 Bokenkamp, “The Ledger on the Rhapsody: Studies in the Art of the T’ang Fu.” 5 Bokenkamp, “Sources of the Ling-pao Scriptures.”

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care the filiation and complex intertextual relations between the Lingbao scriptures, composed around the year 400, and various earlier religious compositions, including the Shangqing 上清 scriptures, Ge Hong’s 葛洪 works, and, perhaps most importantly, Buddhist texts. Many of these texts were composed in Jurong 句容, a town in the foothills of Mount Mao not far from the southern capital Jiankang 建康, within a closely knit group of elite families. In the following years, the complex and multifaceted interaction between Buddhism and Daoism, developed in the many texts produced within the influential Lingbao scriptural tradition, became Bokenkamp’s primary focus as he further elucidated the adaptations, adoptions, and manipulations of texts, practices, and religious ideas in medieval China. Another crucial aspect in Bokenkamp’s oeuvre has been his particular care to present careful translations of primary texts. For Bokenkamp, translation is not simply a tool for analysis, but stems from a sincere effort to introduce these texts, be they Daoist scriptures or medieval poetry, to a non-specialist audience so as to expand the archive of Chinese texts known in the west. A prime example of this project was his first book, Early Daoist Scriptures,6 which presented fully annotated translations of five key texts produced by different Daoist lineages between the second and fifth centuries. Each text is introduced with a detailed analysis of its specific historical context and theological premises. The introductions to the translations thus form a narrative history of Daoism. This book remains vital for the teaching of Daoism and Chinese religions. In a second book, Ancestors and Anxiety: Daoism and the Birth of Rebirth in China,7 Bokenkamp explores the widespread, and near universal, adoption of the concept of individual post-mortem retribution and rebirth in Daoist texts in the early fifth century CE. Recognizing that the initiators of such a radical change in their religion were unlikely to record reasons for their choice, he collected a variety of family narratives and journal entries to demonstrate the threats newly adopted Buddhist ideas represented to traditional Chinese ancestral practice. Thus, rather than a typical history of religion text, Bokenkamp presents us with a vivid description of religion as lived and practiced among a tightly knit group of families in medieval China. Recently, Bokenkamp published the first volume of A Fourth-Century Daoist Family: The Zhen’gao, or Declarations of the Perfected.8 This publication, projected at three volumes, is a culmination of a multi-year intensive study 6 Bokenkamp, Early Daoist Scriptures. 7 Bokenkamp, Ancestors and Anxiety: Daoism and the Birth of Rebirth in China. 8 Bokenkamp, A Fourth-Century Daoist Family: The Zhen’gao.

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of the Declarations of the Perfected (Zhen’gao真誥), a magnum opus of twenty chapters compiled by the sixth-century alchemist and erudite Tao Hongjing 陶弘景 (456–536). This compilation consists of the revelations, letters, poems, narratives by Yang Xi 楊羲 (330–86), the revelator of the Shangqing scriptures. Alongside the transformation of indigenous traditions of alchemy and visualization, Bokenkamp also sheds light on Yang Xi’s deployment of innovative concepts inspired by Buddhist text, including his version of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters, the further history of which is studied by Robson in this volume. The Declarations of the Perfected is a key document for understanding the formation of the Shangqing revelations as well as for exploring the lived religion from which this form of Daoism arose. All the essays in the volume are inspired by and respond to Bokenkamp’s work in some fashion. We have engaged in interdisciplinary conversations with each other in which we read and reread medieval texts, whether Buddhist sūtras, Daoist scriptures, poems, inscriptions carved in stone or on tomb walls, or preserved as fragmentary manuscripts. We hope this collection provides new insights and textured understandings to the rich, multifaceted reality of the religious and cultural landscape of medieval China.

Bibliography Bokenkamp, Stephen R. “Sources of the Ling-pao Scriptures.” In “Tantric and Taoist Studies in Honour of R. A. Stein, II,” edited by Michel Strickmann. Mélanges Chinois et Bouddhiques Bruxelles 21 (1983), 434–86. Bokenkamp, Stephen R. “The Ledger on the Rhapsody: Studies in the Art of the T’ang Fu.” PhD diss., University of California, Berkeley, 1986. Bokenkamp, Stephen R. “The Peach Flower Font and the Grotto Passage.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 106. 1 (1986): 65–77. Bokenkamp, Stephen R. “Time After Time: Taoist Apocalyptic History and the Founding of the T’ang Dynasty.” Asia Major 7.1 (1994): 59–88. Bokenkamp, Stephen R. Early Daoist Scriptures. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1997. Bokenkamp, Stephen R. Ancestors and Anxiety: Daoism and the Birth of Rebirth in China. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2007. Bokenkamp, Stephen R. A Fourth-Century Daoist Family: The Zhen’gao, or Declarations of the Perfected. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2020.

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About the Authors Anna M. Shields, Gordon Wu ’58 Professor of Chinese Studies, Princeton University, specializes in the literary history of the Tang through Northern Song. Her most recent book is One Who Knows Me: Friendship and Literary Culture in Mid-Tang China (2015); current research examines the reception of Tang literature, 10th–11th centuries. Gil Raz is Associate Professor of Religion at Dartmouth College, specializing in the study of medieval Chinese religion. His book The Emergence of Daoism: Creation of Tradition (2012) and many publications examine Daoist notions of space and time, sexual practices, and religious interactions in medieval China.

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Brushing Past Rainbows: Religion and Poetry in the Xu Mi Stele J.E.E. Pettit

Abstract Pettit’s essay examines an inscription composed in 519 by early medieval literatus Tao Hongjing upon completion of the Scarlet Solarity Lodge on Mount Mao. While providing careful analysis of the poetic and prose sections of the inscription, and discussing Tao’s combined Buddhist and Daoist practices, Pettit emphasizes the materiality of the stele on which this text was inscribed, the esoteric topography that pervades the medieval imaginary, and the ritual contexts alluded to in the poem. Keywords: stele inscriptions, Tao Hongjing, Mount Mao, medieval poetry

The “Stele Inscription for the Altar at the Old Lodge of Senior Administrator Xu” (Xu changshi jiuguan tan bei 許長史舊館壇碑, hereafter “Xu Mi Stele”) is a record of Tao Hongjing’s 陶弘景 (456–536) largest construction project, the Scarlet Solarity Lodge (Zhuyang guan 朱陽館).1 Written in 519 CE, the “Xu Mi Stele” contains a short passage describing a reliquary stupa Tao built. This short passage is known to historians as the only extant text in which Tao mentions his Buddhist program at Mount Mao.2 The rest of the 1 I have consulted the following transcriptions of the “Xu Mi Stele”: Quan Liang wen 全梁 文 (hereafter QLW), 47.8b–10b (pp. 3221–22); Yiwen leiju 藝文類聚 (hereafter YWLJ), 78.1342; DZ 304, 20.7a–13b; ZHDZ, 48.454a–56b; Weng Danian 翁大年 (1811–90), “Jiuguantan bei kao” 舊館壇碑考 (hereafter JGT), A1–6 (pp. 620–22); Gu Yuangou 顧沅鉤, “Shangqing zhenren Xu changshi jiugaun tan bei” 上清真人許長史舊館壇碑 (hereafter SQZR), 1–12 (pp. 569–74); Tao Hongjing ji jiaozhu 陶弘景集校注 (hereafter THJJJZ), 171–74; Chen Yuan 陳垣 et al, Daojia jinshi lue 道家金石略,18–21. For more on the dating of this text, see Li Jing, “Xu Changshi jiuguan tan bei luekao,” 190. 2 See DZ 304, 17.2a–3a (ZHDZ, 48.445c–46a); Ōfuchi, Dōkyō to sono kyōten, 428–30; Mugitani, “Tō Kōkei nenpu kōryaku [2]” 陶弘景年譜考略, “Rikuchō kōki ni okeru Dōkan no seiritsu,” 327.

Raz, Gil and Anna M. Shields (eds): Religion and Poetry in Medieval China. The Way and the Words. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2023 DOI: 10.5117/9789463721172_CH01

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inscription, which includes a history of this sacred site and a long ritual hymn, remains largely unstudied and unknown. One key theme of the inscription is the idea that the sacred mountains can be a locus for profound spiritual transformation. More specifically, the Scarlet Solarity Lodge, built at a site where Mount Mao’s earlier patriarchs once practiced, made liberation from the human world not only possible, but seemingly effortless. The poet describes an individual whose mind had become “cleansed” (qing 清) and underwent a “true awakening” (zhengjue 正 覺). This, in turn, produced a supernatural state of consciousness whereby the subject of the hymn flew throughout the cosmos and brushed past rainbows: 飛行欻恍 捫景帶虹 振苦排鄣 還明返聰

To take a flying course so sudden and swift,3 Brushing past phosphors and around rainbows. And shakes off suffering and dispenses with obstructions, To bring back illumination and restoring sapience.

Since this poem lacks pronouns and other grammatical markers, the identity of the individual experiencing this transformation is not clear. The poet commemorates an individual (patron Emperor Wu), but does not specify whether the imagined effects of Scarlet Solarity Lodge extend to all readers: Would the act of reading Tao’s stele inscription reveal the hidden realms of the mountain for all readers? Would the inscription afford any person (either reader or listener) the opportunity to brush against rainbows? Recent scholarship on medieval inscriptions opens the possibility that readers of the “Xu Mi Stele” might play an active role in imagining themselves as brushing against rainbows. In his study of Han stelae, Ken Brashier argues that these hymns were the focal point of an inscription. The text functioned as a kind of performative text where the speaker and listener (i.e., reader) drew from classical inspiration to create a tangible memory for the present.4 A similar reading for the transformative effects of inscriptions is found in Robert Harrist’s study of the inscriptions of one of Tao’s contemporaries, Tao had first uncovered these ruins, which he called the Jade Dawn Observatory (Yuchen guan 玉晨觀), at the foot of Leiping Peak in the late 490s; see DZ 1016, 13.17b. 3 I can find no other use of xuhuang 欻恍, but it is likely a cognate to words like xuxi 欻吸 (swiftly), xuhu 欻忽, and xuran 欻然 (instantly). See Dai kan-wa jiten 大漢和辭典 (hereafter DKW), 6.6128c. This line implies that visiting Tao’s new lodge creates a sensation in the minds of onlookers that they have attained superhuman powers and can travel to the distant reaches of the universe. 4 Brashier, “Text and Ritual in Early Chinese Stelae,” 267–68.

Brushing Past R ainbows: Religion and Poe try in the Xu Mi Stele

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Zheng Daozhao 鄭道昭 (455?–516). In one of Zheng’s inscriptions, engraved near a mountain east of present-day Laizhou 萊州 (Yantai prefecture, Shandong), the poet describes altars dedicated to transcendent beings (xian), and imagines a mystical ascent through the scene in the following pentasyllabic verse: 神居杳漢眇 The spirits’ abode is remote and indistinct as the Milky Way, 接景拂霓裳 But we can touch their shadows and brush their rainbow skirts. 希微三四子 Hazy and indistinct are the three or four figures, 披霞度仙房 Cloaked in tinged clouds passing by the immortals’ chamber. 蕭蕭步林石 We walk casually among the woods and rocks, 寮寮歌道章 With clear resonant voices we sing Daoist verses.5

Harrist synthesizes scholarship about medieval Daoist ritual to consider the religious activities undergirding the text. Since many of Zheng’s inscriptions were engraved in or near caves, Harrist surmises that the producers engaged in meditation and visualization practices in these caves, which served as “quiet chambers” for Daoists like Zheng. Subsequently, Zheng’s inscriptions are depicted as texts with transformational qualities that oriented readers “in relation to mythic realms and the beings and forces to be encountered there.”6 Reading an inscription ushered a reader into “an imaginary world of phoenix chariots, sages, and sparing towers rising to the Milky Way” intended “to facilitate access to them.”7 Missing from Harrist’s analysis, however, are details about the local religious communities who shaped the ways these texts were read, circulated, and understood. Inscriptions, after all, attracted attention among medieval readers not necessarily for personal reasons, but because they were key sources for the local history of a place or the spiritual efficacy of the god(s) enshrined in a temple. Rather than appeal to the uninitiated and random reader, inscriptions reflect the religious worlds of a community that carved them.8 Inscriptions

5 Translated by Harrist, The Landscape of Words, 102. 6 Ibid., 96. 7 Ibid., 131. 8 Bokenkamp, “The Yao Boduo Stele as Evidence For ‘Dao-Buddhism’ Of the Early Lingbao Scriptures,” 65.

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reflect the collective memory of a family and/or community coalesced and preserved at specific moments in time.9 This chapter delves into the literary and ritual contexts of Tao Honging’s “Xu Mi Stele” to better understand how readers might have interpreted the person who is brushing against rainbows. The primary purpose of Tao’s ritual hymn, I argue, was to raise awareness about the transformative effects of reconstructing sacred sites on behalf of patrons. Brushing the rainbows of Mount Mao, while known to all readers of the “Xu Mi Stele,” described a spiritual transformation afforded only to a limited few.

Reading the Xu Mi Stele: Internal Evidence While polymath Tao Hongjing’s early writing focused on Daoist ritual and pharmacology, his later works increasingly focused on Buddhism. In 512, Tao took Buddhist vows and planned to make his temple into a center for Buddhist and Daoist learning.10 Both Buddhist and Daoist sources corroborate Tao’s integration of Buddhist rituals at Mount Mao. Sixth-century catalogues attest that Tao wrote extensively about Buddhism in texts such as Li Fo wen 禮佛文 (Honoring the Buddha’s writings) and Fa jian lun 法檢論 (Treatise on the dharma sword).11 Falin 法琳 (572–640 CE) reports that Tao alternated between Buddhist and Daoist rites on a daily basis.12 And items recovered in archaeological studies such as a stone wellhead and placards from a nearby grave all contain short inscriptions referring to Tao as both a Buddhist and Daoist master of the arts.13 A lack of sources from this period makes a detailed knowledge of Tao’s new Buddhist-Daoist center difficult. The “Xu Mi Stele” is the longest extant record from this period.14 Tao loosely based his “Xu Mi Stele” on an ancient 9 Campany, Making Transcendents: Ascetics and Social Memory in Early Medieval China, 183. 10 Both Buddhist and Daoist sources attest that Tao took the five Buddhist precepts (wujie 五戒)—no killing, no stealing, no debauchery, no false speech, and no alcohol—at the Aśoka stupa in Maoxian 鄮縣 (present-day Ningbo). See Funayama, “Tō Hōkei to Bukkyō no kairitsu,” 369–70. 11 Wang, Tao Hongjing congkao 陶弘景叢考, 110; Strickmann, “Saintly Fools and Chinese Masters,” 43. 12 T 2110, 52.546c. 13 See Shodō zenshū 書道全集, 5.142–43, pls. 34–35; Chen, “Tao Hongjing shu muzhuan mingwen faxian ji kaozheng,” 54–56; Mugitani, “Ryo tenkan juhachi nen kinenmei bosen to tenkan nenkan no to kokei,” 292–95; Lei Xue, “The Elusive Crane,” 10. 14 A fire destroyed the monument bearing Tao’s inscription in 1524, but the text is preserved in a number of transcriptions: SQZR, 1–11a (pp. 569–74); Chen, Baoke congbian 寶刻叢編, 15.24b

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style of composition known as “eulogy and dirge” (minglei 銘耒), a literary from combining a prose biography dedicated to an ancient hero with a ritual hymn.15 In the prose introduction of the “Xu Mi Stele,” Tao opens with a passage about the mysterious ways that divinity manifests and continually transforms on earth. He then shifts attention to the features of Mount Mao, most notably the vast chthonic caverns beneath the mountain. He claims that the peak is a “source-mont” (xiu 岫), a mountain with heavenly realms beneath that humans could not distinguish from their exterior.16 Mount Mao is particularly important because of the presence of passageways, adytum (wei 闈).17 These entrances, writes Tao, would lead one from the human realm above ground into a divine grotto below, the Floriate Solarity (Huayang dong 華陽洞) home to a palace known as the Golden Platform (Jintan 金壇).18 Throughout the prose introduction, Tao underscores the hallowed history of the site of his temple at the foot of Leiping Peak. He depicts the early settlement of Mount Mao by the Mao brothers, the Xu family, and an earlier (p. 18333); Ouyang Fei, Jigu lumu 集古錄目, 3.6a (p. 17958); Miao Quansu, Jiangsu jinshi zhi 江 蘇金石志, 2.22a–25a (pp. 9482–83); Zhu Yizun, Pushu ting jinshi wenzi bawei 曝書亭金石文字 跋尾, 3.12a (p. 18696); Gu Yanwu, Jinshi wenzi ji 金石文字記, 2.8b (p. 9214); Wu Yi, Shoutang jinshi ba 授堂金石跋, 3.7b–8a (p. 19103); Han Chong, Baotie zhai jinshi wen bawei 寶鐵齋金石 文跋尾, 1.4a (p. 14401); JGT, A1a–6b (pp. 620–22). On the destruction of the monument, see JGT, B12b (p. 628); Xue, “The Elusive Crane,” 9, 261. The calligraphy of the text is attributed to Sun Wentao 孫文韜 (fl. early sixth century, byname Wencang 文藏), a disciple who accompanied Tao to Mount Mao in 512. 15 Brashier notes that the biographical prose portion of the inscription stressed a dedicatee’s distant forebears and recent lineage in way that mimicked the order of tablets in an ancestral hall. See his “Eastern Han Commemorative Stelae,” 1043–47. Studies of the ritual odes concluding these inscriptions indicate that these poems offered writers a chance to exhibit their literary prowess, and these texts were often copied as rubbings and disseminated widely. Wu, Monumentality in Early Chinese, 222; Brashier, “Text and Ritual,” 255–56, 266, and “Eastern Han Commemorative Stelae,” 1033; Harrist, The Landscape of Words, 236; Cutter, “Saying Goodbye,” 71–74. 16 Source-monts typically considered the source of clouds and medicinal springs. See Bokenkamp, “The Ledger on the Rhapsody,” 271, 298. 17 In classical literature, adytum (wei) was an inner door leading to the inner sanctum of temple complexes in high antiquity, most notably the mingtang compound. See Zhouli 周禮in SSJZS, 41.18a5–8 (p. 641). According to Zheng Xuan’s (127–200 CE) commentary, this small door (roughly two meters high) was named because wei was homophonous with wei 韋 (ward off). 18 Golden Platform ( jintan 金壇) is the name of the immensely large terrace upon which the palaces of Mount Mao’s Grotto-Heaven were built. Yang Xi identified thirty-seven or thirty-eight qing of land at Mount Mao thought to be positioned directly over the Golden Platform. At the sites, the earth was particularly fecund and the well water was of the highest quality. According to Yang, Golden Platform is an abbreviation for the Platform of Hooked Gold (Goujin zhi tan 句 金之壇), a name describing how the headwaters springing from this site meandered down the Gou[qu] mountains. See DZ 1016, 11.1b–3a (SKKK, 396–97).

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fifth-century temple. In depicting this lineage of sacred architecture, Tao casts the Scarlet Solarity Lodge as the most recent temple in an unbroken chain of holy sites. He also foregrounds the roles that royal sponsors played in these projects while also stressing his own contributions to recovering and rebuilding the site. During the time of Han Emperor Yuan, the three Mao Lords of Xianyang attained the Dao and came here to assume posts [over the three bureaus].19 Thus [this place] is called Mount Mao and this history is well documented. Afterwards, in the first year of the taihe reign in the Jin [366 CE], senior administrator Xu [Mi] constructed his hermitage here; traces of his [compound] survive [here] today. In the beginning of the [Liu-]Song dynasty [420–79 CE] King Jing of Changsha built a concentrative dwelling for a Daoist priest to the east [of Xu’s residence].20 In the thirteenth year of the tianjian reign [February 10, 514–January 30, 515 CE], there was an imperial decree to convert this site from a concentrative dwelling into the Scarlet Solarity Lodge. Soon thereafter came a distant auspice conferring that promising fortune lay in the Fire Calendar.21 West of this lodge [the emperor] built a hidden residence [for me].22 In the fourteenth year, [I] separately built a fasting room at Yugang Peak where I sought the traces of the Dark Continent.23 In the seventeenth year, [I now] erect a stele at this altar to reverently describe the traces of Perfection.24 前漢元帝世，有咸陽三茅君得道，來掌此任。故稱茅山，具詳。至晉 太和元年，句容許長史在斯營宅；厥跡猶存。宋初長沙景王，就其地 19 Han Emperor Yuan is Liu Shi 劉奭, r. 48–33 BCE. 20 For relevant sources on King Jing (Liu Daolian 劉道憐, 368–422 CE), see Songshu 宋書, 51.1461–64; Nanshi 南史, 13.353–54. 21 The f ire calendar (huoli 火曆) refers to the astro-calendrical calculation of f ire as the corresponding symbol of the five phases (wuxing 五行) for the Liang house. The association of a dynasty with fire was the result of a celestial portent involving the “fire star” (i.e., Mars). See Mansvelt-Beck, The Treatises of Later Han, 135, 143; Michael Loewe, Divination, Mythology and Monarchy, 59. For more on the correlation of the five phases symbol and dynastic reigns in early medieval China, see Bokenkamp, “Time after Time,” 62; Kalinowski, Cosmologie et divination dans le Chine ancienne, 389–96. 22 Usually Tao’s uses the term Yinju 隱居 (hidden resident; recluse) as his style, but since this term follows the active verb “to build” (zhu 築) it seems like Tao is using the word as “hidden residence.” Either way, Tao claimed that he lived nearby Xu Mi’s temple for one year prior to moving northeastward to his present residence on the Yugang Peak. 23 January 31, 515–February 17, 516. 24 January 27, 518–February 14, 519. QLW, 47.8b (p. 3221); DZ 304, 20.7b (ZHDZ, 48.454b); JGT, A1a–b (p. 620); SQZR, 2a–b (p. 569); THJJJZ, 172.

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之東，起道士精舍。梁天監十三年，敕質此精舍，立為朱陽館。將遠 符先徵，定祥火曆。於館西更築隱居。住止十四年，別創鬱岡齋室， 追玄洲之蹤。十七年乃繕勒碑壇，仰述真軌

After introducing the sacred site, Tao delves into the biographical details of Xu Mi and his family. Most of the content of this section is similar to Tao’s account in the Zhen’gao, which Michel Strickmann has studied in detail. Tao stresses the dual nature of Xu’s accomplishments by writing about his life both as an official in the capital and as a practitioner at Mount Mao. Perhaps the most notable difference between these two biographical accounts is that in this inscription Tao lays a greater emphasis on the role of the sacred qualities of Xu’s hermitage. Between the biography of Xu Mi and the ritual hymn, Tao recounts the events leading to the reconstruction of the Scarlet Solarity Lodge. The new sanctuary, writes Tao, was a physical manifestation of Emperor Wu’s mission to instruct and enlighten people throughout his land. Tao underscores his own role in the building campaign. His expertise as an editor and contractor made him the ideal person to assist the emperor in constructing the new complex. Together, the emperor and Tao’s joint effort has ensured the presence of a lavish temple at Maoshan might display the proper reverence for all the gods of old. The illustrious emperor took a great vow to come here [and act as] suzerain of this place. He fostered [relations with] all its divine residents by fashioning an array of metal vessels. He led others to the Practice and enlightened the common and fulfilled his destiny to “reveal the teachings.” [The emperor] has relied on the hidden recluse [Tao] to gather the scriptures and revelations of the Three Perfected. Since [Tao] took shelter at Huayang for a long time it is only right that he return to this ancient abode. [Tao] has been sponsored to undertake the restoration [of this site] by ordering the carpenters to build a “hall of silence” to revere the gods and models of the Thearchs.25 皇上乘弘誓本力，來君此土。燾育蒼祇，範鑄群品。導法開俗，隨緣 啟教。以隱居積蘊三真經誥。久栖華陽，宜還舊宅。供養修理，乃敕 工匠，建茲堂請，即仰蒼祗帝則。

25 QLW, 47.9b (p. 3222); DZ 304, 20.10a (ZHDZ, 48.455a); JGT, A1.3a–b (p. 621); SQZR, 7b (p. 572); THJJJZ, 179. There is a variant in this passage in which qing 請 is also read gou 構. I have chosen the former as it is probably a graphic variant for jing, as in jingshe (quiescent dwelling).

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At the center of Tao’s design was the foundation of Xu’s residence, the site upon which Tao would eventually build a monumental sanctuary. But before constructing the main ritual hall, Tao first erected a reliquary stupa and Daoist altar flanking the remains of Xu’s ancient home. East [of the sanctuary] is an azure altar and on its western side a white stupa; between the stupa and the altar lays the [old] foundation [of Xu Mi’s hermitage]. 東位青壇，西表素塔。壇塔之間，通是基趾。

After the prose portion of his inscription, Tao includes a lengthy tetrasyllabic poem that mirrors much of the information included in the prose preface. Here too Tao discusses the supernatural qualities of the site, its ancient residents, the recent attempts to build a temple at the site, and the possibilities of entering into transcendence. Tao begins his account of the history of construction with a description of the gods who first fashioned Mount Mao millennia before. Tao represents these deities as builders and developers; they were “artisans” ( jiang 匠) who “built their shanties” ( jia lu 架廬) out of rock. 亦有幽匠 開石架廬 情高身遠 天府地居 縈巒巴曲 畫壤肺浮

There was once an obscure artisan, Who excavated these rocks and built his shanty. His disposition and carriage was truly exceptional, As was his terrestrial home among the celestial bureau. He twisted the peaks to curve and coil, And designed the ramparts to rise like lungs.26

Tao develops a lineage of individuals who lived at Leiping Peak in subsequent centuries. Tao describes, for instance, how the three Mao brothers lived at the site during the Han dynasty prior to becoming deities in Mount Mao’s underworld bureaucracy. Tao writes that Xu Mi and Xu Hui later came to this site and established the foundation upon which Tao’s compound now rests. Tao asserts that the Xus’ “contact with the spirits” ( jie shen 接神) was directly related to the buildings and the well they constructed at Leiping Peak. 昔在西漢 三茅來賓

In the days of old during the Western Han, The three Mao [brothers] came here as guests.

26 QLW, 47.10a (p. 3222); DZ 304, 20.10b (ZHDZ, 48.455b); JGT, A4a (p. 621); SQZR, 9a (p. 573); THJJJZ, 182–83.

Brushing Past R ainbows: Religion and Poe try in the Xu Mi Stele

爰暨東晉 二許懷真 裁基浚井 栖道接神

27

By the time of the Eastern Jin, The two Xus had aspirations of perfection. They laid a foundation and dug a well, Dwelling with the Dao they contacted spirits.27

In the hymn, Tao also frequently emphasizes his personal accomplishments as the clerical resident of Mount Mao. He draws attention to his exploration of the site prior to construction, when he discovered ancient ruins. Tao writes that he found the clay vessels and bricks on the site of Xu’s former residence, as well as a staircase that had collapsed and fallen into pieces. Prior to his intervention, there was a thick canopy of trees and weeds covering the entire site. And the roots of these trees invaded the walls of Xu’s old buildings, causing the walls to crumble.28 甀甃將淪 沉階已毀 拱樹霜催 脩庭草委

The clay vessels and bricks are practically submerged. The sunken staircase is already demolished. Big trees have enabled the frost to creep in, The ritual hall has been overgrown with weeds.29

After writing about his preparation for construction at Leiping, Tao introduces Emperor Wu, who upon seeing Tao’s plan, ordered that an impressive sanctuary be built atop the ancient foundation. Tao represents the emperor as responsible for the ostentatious display of fine fragrances, gemstones, and imperial treasures that were thereafter housed in the sanctuary. Of all the attributes Tao uses to describe the new sanctuary, perhaps none was as symbolically charged as the jade tesserae (yu jian 玉檢), scroll tags stored in a gemstone chest with written announcements delivered from the emperor to spirits. Typically, these flat jade planks were associated with the shan 禪 sacrifices emperors made at the foot of mountains prior to ascended

27 QLW, 47.10a (p. 3222); DZ 304, 20.10b–11a (ZHDZ, 48.455b); JGT, A4a (p. 621); SQZR, 9b (p. 573); THJJJZ, 183. 28 The image of overgrown weeds on ancient architecture was an especially evocative image for Tao. In his “Wugui” 物軌 (The Traces of Things), a poem in the Huayang song, Tao describes apples that had been “left behind” (yu 餘) by ancient farmers, as well as pungent roots like onions and shallots that are “vestiges” (yi 遺) of the past. These plants, writes Tao, now “overflow” (yu 鬱) and “cover” (man 蔓) the mountainside hinting that traces of past residents lay hidden underneath. DZ 1016, 13.19a. 29 QLW, 47.10a (p. 3222); DZ 304, 20.11a (ZHDZ, 48.455b); JGT, A4a (p. 621); SQZR, 10a (p. 573); THJJJZ, 183.

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the peaks for a feng 封 ritual.30 The presence of the jade tesserae within the newly constructed Mount Mao sanctuary, which occupied a site on the northwestern foothills, meant that this site was likewise a platform from which Emperor Wu could communicate his wishes and worries to the spirit world. By highlighting these written treasures, Tao stresses the textual riches of Mount Mao and asserts that this compound would henceforth serve as the place from which the emperor would communicate his wishes to the spirit world. 永觀前猷 聿遵洪軌 帝曰懋哉 爾焉斯止 經之營之 輪乎奐矣 勝殿密響

Ever mindful of the plans of the past,31 And diligently following the great tracks.32 The emperor thus said, “Marvelous!” And he stopped at this [place]. [He] planned this and built this,33 So stately, a thing of real beauty.34 The deep echoes of this palace of victory,35

30 The earliest record of these tesserae are in Meng Kang’s 孟康 (fl. 220–49 CE) commentary to the Hanshu (6.191) in which Meng describes the logistics of a feng ritual held by Han Emperor Wu. Writers of Han dynasty apocryphal texts describe jade tesserae (yu jian 玉檢) as cases housing heavenly revealed texts. Lunyu chan 論語讖 in Yasui and Nakamura, Chōshū isho shūsei, 5.130; Hsieh, Writing from Heaven, 178–79. Yang Xi characterizes jade tesserae as powerful heavenly writings, and discloses three sets of talismans to Xu Mi purporting to record this celestial script. Yang further details how adepts should copy these talismans in triplicate and distribute them during mountain rituals. These talismans and descriptions of the requisite rituals are contained in Shangqing sanyuan yujian sanyuan bujing 上清三元玉檢三元布經 (Schipper, TC, 157). In this scripture, the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Commencement used jade tesserae when commanding his heavenly subordinates. DZ 354, 1a–b (ZHDZ, 1.344a–c). 31 “Plans of the past” (qian you 前猷) is a phrase describing the methods used by the kings of antiquity to govern their subjects. See Songshu, 5.89. 32 “Great tracks” (honggui 洪軌) is a term first used by Han philosopher Xun Yue 荀悅 (148–209 CE) to describe the laws developed in antiquity to effective order a prosperous society. 33 This first line of the couplet is a direct quote from a classical ode in which the subjects of the legendary King Wen arrive spontaneously to help the sovereign build an imperial park. Shijing, Mao 242 (SSJZS), 16d.4b. 34 This is a collapsed quote from a passage from the Liji 禮記 (SSJZS, 10.23b [p. 197]) in which the prominent officials serving under Xian Wenzi 獻文子 stare in awe at a newly constructed palace building. One of the elders exclaimed that the building was stately and magnificent. 35 Palace of victory (shengdian 勝殿) was used by early Buddhist writers to translate the Sanskrit Vaijayanta prāsāda (Palace of Victory). Vaijayanta (victory) was often symbolized by banners depicting Indra (Shitihuan 釋提桓), the chief Vedic god; it thus often referred to Indra. By the advent of Chinese Buddhism, the term was deployed as a name for the magnificent temple structures built in ancient India in honor of Indra. In the Da zhi du lun 大智度 論 (Mahāprajñāpāramitā-śāstra), a text translated by Kumārajīva in the late fourth century,

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瀉瓶揚芬 Bring forth the fragrances of overflowing jugs.36 瑤宮碧簡 The amazonite planks of this gemstone palace,37 絢采垂文 Embellished and enhanced with bequeathed texts.38 瓊函玉檢 Rose-gem cases [house] jade tesserae, 綺幕繡巾 [Hidden in] white damask curtains embroidered with fabric.39

In his triumphant representation of Emperor Wu, Tao draws upon the ancient ritual function of monuments to justify the imperial assertion of unity and world order. 40 Thus, in addition to acknowledging the emperor’s role in funding and designing the Scarlet Solarity Lodge, Tao also recognizes the renewed relations the emperor fostered between him, his subjects, and the gods of Mount Mao. It is at this point in the inscription that Tao describes the heavenly ascent where the unnamed individual soars into the heavens and brushes past rainbows. Since this passage immediately follows the representation of the there is a parable in which the Buddha spoke about a group of carpenters who wanted to build a “palace of victory” on behalf of Indra. T 1509, 25.535a. 36 Overflowing jugs (xie ping 瀉瓶) was a phrase common in Buddhist writings to describe how a master’s teachings were so great that they metaphorically spilled out of his jug and were shared by his disciples. T 1428, 22.794c. By Tao’s day writers used the term to praise the intellect of all kinds of individuals. Here, Tao uses the term both to denote the jugs, likely those filled with fragrant distilled liquor for rituals, and to connote the idea that the teachings left by Yang and Xu contain unending wisdom. 37 Gemstone palace (yaogong 瑤宮) was a term coined in the Liang dynasty as a hyperbolic reference to the profusion of colors on the exterior and interior of the sanctuary. In his rhapsody about the Liang royal gardens, the Park of the Mysterious Gardens (Xuanpu yuan 玄圃園), Xiao Ziyun 蕭子雲 (487–549 CE) claims that the designers of the park aimed to follow the traces (gui) of the gemstone palace in their construction. T 2103, 52.341b. The term is undoubtedly related to gemstone terrace (yaotai 瑤臺), a term used in ancient texts like the Guanzi and Chuci as a reference to the dwellings of spirits such as those in the fabled cities of the Kunlun Mountains. See DKW, 7.957n72; Lin, “A Good Place,” 129–30. 38 Bequeathed texts (chuiwen 垂文) was a phrase used in the Former Han dynasty to describe the finest texts surviving ancient writers. Liu Xiang 劉向 (77–6 BCE) used the phrase to praise the ancient writings of Qu Yuan (see Hawkes, Songs of the South, 285n66). Given the context of Tao’s project, the “bequeathed texts” inscribed (or painted) atop the temple structure should be quotes from Yang’s revelations. But it is possible that like the English word “text,” wen could refer not to written words, but patterns or designs. This is how Xi Kang (or Ji Kang) 嵇康 (223–62 CE) used the phrase in his “Qin fu” 琴賦 (Rhapsody on the Zither) to describe the “designs and patterns” inscribed atop a zither. See Knechtges, Wen Xuan, Volume Three, 287n92. 39 QLW, 47.10a–b (p. 3222); DZ 304, 20.11a (ZHDZ, 48.455b); JGT, A4a (p. 621); SQZR, 10a; THJJJZ, 183. 40 See especially the third century BCE stele monuments sponsored by Qin Shihuang in Kern, The Stele Inscriptions of Ch’in Shih-huang, 107–13, 124–25.

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emperor’s visit to the mountain, it certainly implies that he is the primary recipient of this spiritual transformation. The ability of the emperor to reach divinity was predicated on the help of Tao. Throughout the inscription, Tao couples the emperor’s lofty achievements with his own ability to read Mount Mao’s divine landscape and his ability to recreate the connection to the gods through the act of temple construction. In his study of the inscriptions near Leishan, Harrist raises the possibility that epigraphic texts piqued the interests of readers as they opened up the unseen world and afforded the possibility of divine transformation. Based on the evidence from the “Xu Mi Stele,” I would agree with the first half of this statement. Tao’s hymn would introduce the reader the reader to the hallowed past and sacred landscape of the mountain. But “brushing the rainbows” was not a kind of transformation that any reader of the text would expect to find. On the contrary, Tao’s poetic shaping of a historic event (real or imagined) focuses on how his imperial sponsor’s support resulted in heavenly approbation. If anything, the internal evidence of the “Xu Mi Stele” suggests that the divine response is limited to those individuals responsible for the site’s recovery and renovation.

Interpreting the Xu Mi Stele: External Evidence Although thousands of medieval inscriptions are extant either as physical monuments or as transcribed copies, very little is known about the ritual actors or communities that produced these texts. A majority of epigraphic texts are expressions of a community of followers where little or nothing else is known. In this sense, studying the “Xu Mi stele” is exciting because we can couple it with manuscript sources to furnish a richer context of its social and ritual worlds. These writings are enriched by passages about the plans for the Scarlet Solarity Lodge in Tao’s Zhoushi mingtong ji 周氏 冥通記 (Zhou’s record of his communications with the unseen; hereafter Record). Record is a collection of memoirs attributed to Tao’s disciple, Zhou Ziliang 周子良, who died by suicide less than a year after construction on the Scarlet Solarity Lodge commenced. In his preface to Record, Tao claims to have discovered Zhou’s memoirs nearly a year after Zhou’s death in a cave within a large, sealed letter-case. After transcribing these texts and appending his commentary, Tao submitted the text to the throne in 517. Tao edited Zhou’s revelations, at least in part, to shape public opinion on these unfortunate events, as well as to draw moral lessons for Emperor Wu. Tao diverted blame for his disciple’s death by arguing that Zhou’s suicide

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was not a tragic event, as onlookers might have assumed. Zhou’s writings, which were composed in a style similar to Yang Xi’s communication with the Perfected, indicate that the teenager’s suicide was, in fact, a ritual death ensuring the young adept a position among the otherworld bureaucracy. 41 Zhou’s suicide also reminded the emperor of the dangers of consuming drugs of the sort that Emperor Wu had incessantly requested of Tao. 42 Tao also circulated Record to advise his sponsor about the construction of the Scarlet Solarity Lodge. In the revelations and commentary to Record, both Zhou and Tao emphasize that the imperial order to move to Leiping Peak in the early winter of 515 was fraught with difficulty. Zhou was torn as to whether he should accompany Tao to Leiping or remain with his aunt in Mount Mao’s central valley. In a revelation dated August 13, 515, Zhou writes about a conversation with the deity Mao Gu 茅固 about building his own residence at Leiping. Mao told Zhou, who at the time was still living with his aunt, that Leiping, where he would live with Tao, was not as nice as his present residence. The deity assuages Zhou’s fears about moving to Mount Mao by reassuring him that all the sites are among the finest real estate in all southeast China. Be aware that the place behind Leiping Peak that you have expressed interest in living is not better than where you currently reside. It would be good [to live there] if you were looking for a place to avert the misfortunes of disasters or wars.43 This site was not originally destined to be the “silent place of the recluse” [i.e., Tao Hongjing’s residence], but was only a refuge [for those] escaping calamities. It will make no difference whether you decide to live [at Leiping] or not. As for that place in which you can “attach your form” [i.e., retire], you must make up your own mind. If you have not made up your mind, how could I possibly tell you what you will say in the future? Know that only Goushan [i.e., Mount Mao] is a place you should live. While there are many famous mountains in the southeast [China] I have never seen a place that rivals the scenery here. You should advise Tao [Hongjing] to reside on this mountain. 44 所云欲住雷平山後，此亦不勝今居。論災厲刀兵水火之事，乃為好耳。 此地本非可隱居寂處，直可以避災害。住與不住，無勝否也。又論方

41 DZ 302, 1.1a–4a. 42 Bokenkamp, “Answering a Summons,” 189, 196–99. 43 The phrase shuihuo 水火 (water and fire) refers to all kinds of disasters, particularly those involving drowning or arson. DKW, 6.859c. 44 DZ 302, 3.14a–b; Yoshikawa and Mugitani, Shūshi Meitsūki kenkyū (hereafter SSMTK), 184.

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託形何處，此由人心 。心既未發，吾寧得知方將而言？唯句曲可住， 昊越名山乃不少，未見有大勝地，猶勸陶居此山。

In his commentary to this passage, Tao writes that Zhou’s revelation verifies that the Mount Mao deities had been observing Tao’s plans to construct at Leiping Peak. Tao first addresses the fifth-century development of temple institutions near the site of Xu’s hermitage and notes that his plans had followed the emperor’s order to build on the site. Zhou’s revelations, however, gave Tao second thoughts about the imperial decision to build at this hallowed site. Tao expresses his remorse that he had not tried to contact deities prior to commencing construction of the Scarlet Solarity Lodge. Tao concludes that by unwittingly agreeing to build a temple atop Xu’s hermitage, he could possibly face retribution from the Perfected. The Ultimate Worthy [i.e., the emperor] bestowed his grace and endowed the Daoist priests [sponsored by the Liu]-Song King of Changsha with two station houses flanking the sides of an empty [parcel of] land. It is here at a site to the west of these station houses that we have built our observatory in front of [these old] buildings. 45 This is the ancient foundation of senior administrator Xu’s [temple], and I fear that it may be close to the traces of a Perfected [deity]. It is possible that I will be reprimanded [for these actions], and might have to undergo scrupulous interrogation [by the Perfected]. Thinking [about this] makes me regret that I did not directly write a letter [to the Perfected], for direct communication would have elicited a direct response. 46 于時至尊垂恩，為置宋長沙道士二廨并左右空地。於此廨西復為起 觀前左右。即是許長史舊基，竊恐則近真縱。或以致譴，故二三因聞 耳。追恨不得作方畐通辭，方畐通辭則亦應方畐酬答也。

In light of Zhou’s revelations, Tao proposes that while the emperor’s decision to build at Leiping Peak may not be wrong, the sponsor and cleric should consider how to ameliorate the relations between humans and gods of Mount Mao posthaste. It is unclear from extant texts what qualities of the Leiping site made living and building there such an arduous task. By the winter of 515, Zhou 45 Tao usually refers to compounds at Mount Mao as lodges (guǎn 館) rather than observatories (guàn 觀). The latter term was commonplace in later centuries to refer to Daoist institutions, and its appearance here is likely a scribal error. 46 DZ 302, 3.14b (SSMTK, 184–85).

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was still debating whether to move to Tao’s new community. In a revelation written on November 9, 515, the deity Mao Gu continues his discussion with Zhou concerning the latter’s move to Leiping. Lord Mao reluctantly gives Zhou permission to move near Tao’s compound and advises him on the spot that he should occupy: The Scarlet Solarity [Lodge] is not where you [should] be living, but if you must go be sure to live on the left side of the Scarlet Solarity. Liangchang [Peak] is a superb place, but I fear that you should not live there [either]. 47 朱陽非爾所居處，若不能遠去，只朱陽左側亦好。良常為勝，恐爾不 能處之耳 。

In his commentary to this record, Tao states that Zhou moved into Tao’s residence the following day, November 10. Tao further explains that Zhou’s hesitation to move to the Scarlet Solarity Lodge was the result of Zhou’s fear that he might interfere with bureaucratic entanglements at Tao’s “public lodge” (gongguan 公館). 48 This suggests that one of the biggest differences between Leiping Peak and the central valleys of Mount Mao, where Tao lived was that Leiping was more accessible to the capital and to an increased number of royal visitors. By living at Leiping, Tao and Zhou dwelled in closer proximity to and under closer scrutiny by the emperor. We also know that there was more direct contact with other lodges that had operated for decades prior to the construction of the Scarlet Solarity Lodge. One of Tao’s close associates, Jiang Fuchu 蔣負蒭, had built the Revered Solarity Lodge (Zongyang guan 宗陽館) under the auspices of emperor Gao of the Qi (Xiao Daocheng 蕭道成, 487–82 CE) and later constructed the Accompanying Perfection Lodge (Peizhen guan 陪真館) at the foot of Leiping Peak. 49 Tao also had described the latter institution four or five li away from the site of Xu’s hermitage in his commentary in Declarations.50 47 DZ 302, 4.9a (SSMTK, 213). 48 DZ 302, 4.9a (SSMTK, 213). Public lodges (gongguan 公館) as opposed to private lodges (siguan 私館) were hostels owned and operated by regents of the emperor. See “Zengzi wen” 曾子問 in the Liji (SSJZS), 39.19b (p. 384). 49 DZ 1132, 1.10a (ZHDZ, 28.385b); Bumbacher, The Fragments of the Daoxue zhuan, 238–39, and “On Pre-Tang Monastic Establishments at Mao Shan,” 153. In Jiang’s hagiography from the Daoxue zhuan, Mashu writes that Jiang retired from his abbotship of his Mount Mao community sometime in the early fifth century, but no exact date is given. If Jiang was not the head of the Accompanying Perfection Lodge when Tao received Emperor Wu’s orders to build at Leiping, then Jiang’s son, Jiang Hongsu 蔣弘素, would have served as the current head of these lodges. 50 DZ 1016, 11.5b (SKKK, 399).

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Record reflects the key rhetorical strategies that Tao used while in the process of building the Scarlet Solarity Lodge. Tao draws on the revelatory literature of the past to assert his present position as Mount Mao’s developer, and he uses these texts as evidence for why he (and not his competition) should lead future construction projects. Record asserts not only that Zhou’s revelations had never been seen but that they described events that had yet to reach completion. Zhou’s revelations and Tao’s commentary depict two different phases of a project still underway, and Tao argues that the content of these texts could impact the way that Emperor Wu decided to carry out the remainder of the project.

Conclusion These texts give insight into the deep level of involvement that clerics and sponsors played in the construction of large-scale imperial temples in this early era of Daoism. First, Zhou and Tao’s texts acknowledge the competing institutions vying for imperial support and make targeted claims about the superiority of their ritual program. Despite the lack of extant sources from the revelations, this underscores the way that texts (visual, epigraphic, manuscript) were arguments about the efficacy of this group. By extension, the textual shaping of one’s own community served as a way to demonstrate their superior ability to work for the weal of their sponsors, who were in many cases royal. Many if not most commemorative texts like the “Xu Mi Stele” represent the numinous qualities about religious sites as they looked at the end of the process. By the time the poet mentions “brushing against rainbows” in Tao’s inscription, the transformation of the mountain was already well underway. Emperor Wu had already pledged his support to Tao’s community; the stele helped bolster a relationship already established. In Record, however, this relationship is still in flux, and Tao must find ways to claim divine approbation for this group to proceed with his plans. Once again, the construction of what became the Scarlet Solarity Lodge was not a public enterprise that would render access to the divine for all. Rather, the perceived sacred realm of Mount Mao could only be accessed through a narrow group of people. Like other temple monuments of medieval China, the “Xu Mi Stele” was a public text—any person passing by could read, transcribe, make a rubbing and recirculate the text as they wished. These inscriptions likely piqued readers’ interests because of the mysterious and fantastic events described therein. In the “Xu Mi Stele,” Mount Mao is represented as a place that can

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literally sweep a person off his or her feet. This holy mountain, writes the poet, was known in antiquity and in recent times as a place from which human adepts had scared encounters and flew off into the heavens. Despite the potentially wide and inclusive readership of stele inscriptions, this essay offers evidence that these poetic encounters with the divine were not accessible to all readers. “Brushing against rainbows” at Mount Mao (i.e., the transfiguration and divinization of humans) as situated within a specific institutional context and ritual program. The “Xu Mi Stele” and Tao’s remarks in Record suggest that Tao’s development of sacred sites at Maoshan was undertaken primarily for the weal of its patron. For Tao, the recovery of Maoshan was an enterprise that the emperor (sponsor) and his immediate disciples would profit. It was this group, as the Record attests, who had rediscovered divine approbation on the mountain. Individuals responsible for discovering sacred sites could use inscriptions as a vehicle to shape public opinion about themselves. While Tao writes extensively about the history of site, he continually brings a reader’s attention to the role he plays in serving in a ministerial capacity at Mount Mao. He stresses his own auxiliary role in these events as the emperor’s excavator, builder, and ritual expert. If anything, the “Xu Mi Stele” underscores the importance of one’s ability as a writer in order to construct religious meaning in China. It is Tao’s skill as a writer, his “way with words,” that enables him to shape opinion and secure support for his religious program.

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About the Author Jonathan Pettit, Associate Professor of Daoism, University of Hawai‘i, specializes in medieval Chinese religion and literature. His recent book, A Library of Clouds: The Scripture of the Immaculate Numen and the Rewriting of Daoist Texts (with Chao-jan Chang, 2020), explores how Daoist scriptures were altered and changed over time.

2

Li Bo and Hu Ziyang: Companions of the Way Paul W. Kroll

Abstract Kroll’s essay explores a series of poetic and prose compositions by High Tang poet Li Bo dedicated to Hu Ziyang, a Daoist master who transmitted to Li Bo the esoteric technique of absorbing solar essence and conferred Daoist registers on other of Li Bo’s companions. Li Bo’s most extensive composition on Hu Ziyang is an inscribed stele erected at his tomb site, again alerting us to the significance of materiality in discussing the effect and efficacy of texts. As Kroll reminds us, Li Bo was asked to eulogize Master Hu by the Buddhist monk Zhenqian, revealing the close personal links among Buddhist monks, Daoist priests, and poets. Keywords: Li Bo, Tang poetry, Tang Daoism, stele inscriptions, Buddhist monks, Daoist priests

The most often and most warmly mentioned person in Li Bo’s collected works is Yuan Danqiu 元丹丘, a friend from his youthful days in Shu with whom he maintained close relations for over three decades, seeing each other in various places throughout China, and with whom he shared an abiding interest in Daoist matters.1 We do not know Yuan’s personal name; Li Bo invariably refers to him as Danqiu (Cinnabar Hill), which was likely his

1 My acquaintance with Stephen Bokenkamp goes back more than forty years, to autumn 1981, when I was a visiting professor at Berkeley and he was enrolled in my graduate seminar on the poetry of Li Bo. I might now be one of the last of his teachers still living. But even then I regarded him as more a colleague than a student, and it is in celebration of that sentiment that I offer to him this paper, dealing with the poet whose works were the proximate reason for our first meeting.

Raz, Gil and Anna M. Shields (eds): Religion and Poetry in Medieval China. The Way and the Words. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2023 DOI: 10.5117/9789463721172_CH02

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Daoist religious sobriquet.2 He is addressed or mentioned in at least a dozen different works, always with affection. The scholar Yu Xianhao 郁賢皓 has made a detailed study of Li’s and Yuan’s relationship as documented in the former’s poems and prose, so there is no need to go farther into this here.3 We shall turn instead to another figure with Daoist credentials, prominently mentioned in several works of both prose and verse of Li Bo, a certain Hu Ziyang 胡紫陽, “Hu, of Purple Yang.” At some time (we do not know exactly when) he bestowed Daoist registers (we do not know exactly which) on Yuan Danqiu. He was also known to Danqiu’s cousin, Yuan Yan 元演, about whom more of which anon. And he also transmitted to Li Bo himself, so the poet says, the esoteric technique of absorbing solar essence. Master Hu, like Yuan Danqiu, is referred to only by his religious name, one that also has resonance in the history of Daoism.4 He is associated particularly with Suizhou 隨州, in north-central Hubei (present-day Suixian 隨縣). In Chunqiu times this had been the center of the small and relatively short-lived state of Sui 隨. Its main claim on cultural heritage was as the area where the mythical founder of Chinese agriculture, Shennong 神農 (Divine Husbandman), was said to have been born and active. It was about thirty-five miles north of Anlu 安陸, where Li Bo spent much time from the late 720s to late 730s, and about 240 miles southeast of the Tang’s eastern capital, Luoyang 洛陽. In 742, when emperor Xuanzong 玄宗 had all of the empire’s prefectures (zhou 州) redesignated as commanderies ( jun 郡),5 Suizhou became Handongjun 漢東郡; this change of name is important in our dating of certain texts. Li Bo visited the place several times.6 Perhaps his most memorable reference to it and to Hu Ziyang is a passage in a long (63-line) poem in which he 2 The term “Cinnabar Hill” as a gathering place for immortals derives from a line in the “Yuan you” 遠遊 poem of the Chu ci 楚辭; see Chu ci buzhu 楚辭補注, 5.167: 仍羽人於丹丘兮, “I continued on to the feathered persons at the Hill of Cinnabar.” It is not, however, impossible that Danqiu was his personal name, if his father had a literary or religious bent. 3 See “Li Bo yu Yuan Danqiu jiaoyou kao” 李白與元丹丘交游考, in Yu’s Li Bo congkao 李白叢 考, 97–113; rpt. in Yu’s larger collection of essays, Tianshang zhexian ren de mimi: Li Bo kaolun ji 天上謫仙人的秘密：李白考論集, 151–68. 4 Especially in the celestial epithet, Ziyang zhenren 紫陽真人, bestowed on the individual who was born in 80 BCE into the mortal world as Zhou Yishan 周義山, later to ascend to transcendence and eventually to become one of the divinities who appeared to Yang Xi 楊羲 in the Shangqing 上 清 revelations of 363–70. Manfred Porkert’s Biographie d’un taoïste légendaire: Tcheou Tseu-yang is an annotated translation of his hagiography. 5 Along with many other changes attendant upon the institution of a new reign-era, Tianbao 天寶, to replace the previous Kaiyuan 開元. 6 There is a brief article by Leng Mingquan 冷明權, “Li Bo yu Suizhou” 李白與隨州, which I learned of only after writing the present essay, that touches on some of the same material I treat here, but it is rather cursory and gives most of its attention to Yuan Danqiu.

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fondly looks back on four too-brief meetings he has had in previous years with Yuan Yan.7 This is one of the thirteen poems by Li Bo included in Yin Fan’s 殷璠 influential anthology Heyue yingling ji 河嶽英靈集, compiled in 753.8 The relevant passage for our purposes is the following stanza: 相隨迢迢訪仙城 And going on together some time after, we visited Mount Xiancheng,9 三十六曲水迴縈 With the river winding round about six and thirty bends. 一溪初入千花明 Along one stream first we plunged into brilliance of a thousand flowers, 萬壑度盡松風聲 Passed all the way through a myriad vales to the sound of wind in the pines. 銀案金絡到平地 On silver saddles with halters of gold we moved on to the level ground, 漢東太守來相迎 Where the Prefect of Handong commandery came out to welcome us. 紫陽之真人 There the Perfected One of Purple Yang 邀我吹玉笙 Blew a jade mouth-organ, inviting us 餐霞樓上動仙樂 To his Loft for Quaffing Rose-clouds, where transcendent music was played, 嘈然宛似鸞鳳鳴 So dulcetly mellisonant as the calls of simurgh or phoenix.10

The succeeding stanza of the poem describes in more detail the night’s revelry, ending with Li Bo so drunk that he collapses insensate, “pillowed 7 The poem is called “Remembering our Former Travels, Sent to Yuan, Aide-de-Camp at Qiaojun” (Yi jiuyou, ji Yuan Qiaojun canjun” 憶舊遊寄元譙郡參軍; see Li Bo quanji jiaozhu huishi jiping 李白全集校注彙釋集評, ed. Zhan Ying 詹锳 et al., hereafter LBJP), 12.1942–59; Li Taibo quanji jiaozhu 李太白全集校注, ed. Yu Xianhao 郁賢皓 (hereafter LTBJZ), 11.1618–34. 8 See P. W. Kroll, “Heyue yingling ji and the Attributes of High Tang Poetry,” which includes a translation and discussion of the whole poem. Since Li Bo uses the term Handong in the poem, it must have been written after 742, and of course before 753 when it was included in Yin Fan’s anthology. Yu Xianhao thinks it was written in 746, as did Zhan Ying in his Li Bo shiwen xinian 李 白詩文繫年, 63. However, in his edition of Li Bo’s collected works, Zhan later changed his mind and agreed with An Qi 安旗, who had advanced 751 in her chronologically arranged edition of Li Bo’s works; see Xinban Li Bo quanji biannian zhushi 新版李白全集編年注釋, ed. An Qi et al., 853. I lean toward 746. 9 Mount Xiancheng (“Transcendents’ Fortress”) was some ways east of Suizhou. 10 These are lines 13 to 22 of the poem. Note the exuberant rhyming in all of the first four lines of this stanza before it settles down into normal even-line rhymes. Such variability in rhyme pattern, and also shifting meter—as seen here as well—occurs throughout this truly wonderful poem.

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on [the prefect’s] thigh.” But it is the mention of Master Hu’s Canxia lou 餐霞 樓 in the above lines that draws our attention. This structure is mentioned by Li Bo whenever he mentions Hu Ziyang. It was apparently named by Hu after the technique of imbibing solar esculents that Li Bo elsewhere will say was Ziyang’s special skill. Here is a poem inscribed by Li Bo on a wall of this building, written on this or perhaps an earlier occasion: “Inscribed on Master Ziyang of Suizhou’s Wall” 題隨州紫陽先生壁11 神農好長生 Shennong was avid to prolong human life, 風俗久已成 A custom and habit long cultivated here. 復聞紫陽客 We have heard too of the “visitor” Ziyang,12 4 早署丹臺名 A name early enrolled at the Cinnabar Terrace.13 喘息飡妙氣 With measured breaths he quaffs the subtle qi, 步虛吟真聲 “Pacing the void,” intones songs of the Perfected.14 道與古仙合 Matched in the Dao with transcendents of old, 8 心將元化并 His heart commingled with primal transformation. 樓疑出蓬海 This building appears to emerge from Penglai’s sea,15 鶴似飛玉京 The cranes seem in flight to the Jade Capitol.16 松雪窗外曉 Snow on the pinetrees is descried out the windows; 12 池水階下明 The pool’s water shows bright below the steps. 忽耽笙歌樂 Taken over suddenly with music of pipes and singing, 頓失軒冕情 All at once I’ve lost desire for coach and coronet. 終願惠金液 At last let me be favored with ichor of gold,17 16 提攜凌太清 And hand-in-hand we’ll surmount the heights of heaven.18 11 “Ti Suizhou Ziyang xiansheng bi,” LBJP 23.3563–68; LTBJZ 22.3190–95. 12 Hu Ziyang, like all transcendents, is a “visitor” to the subcelestial realm. 13 As recorded in his “esoteric biography,” Zhou Yishan, the original Ziyang zhenren 紫陽真 人, was told by Master Xianmen 羨門子 that his name was on the register of immortals in the Cinnabar Terrace. 14 The songs chanted by the Perfected when enacting the pace of Yu 禹步 in the process of ritualized astral excursions. The “pacing the void” poems of the Lingbao 靈寶 scriptures were studied by Stephen Bokenkamp in his MA thesis at the University of California, Berkeley, 1981. 15 The Eastern Sea, where Penglai (here abbreviated to its first syllable) and other isles of the immortals lie. 16 The Jade Capitol, centered on the Jade Capitoline Hill (Yujing shan 玉京山) is at the center of the Great Veil Heaven (Daluo tian 大羅天), the highest heaven in Lingbao cosmology, and the seat of Yuanshi Tianzun 元始天尊. 17 Alchemically transmuted potable gold, which conduces to a state of physical incorruptibility. 18 Literally, the heaven of “Greatest Clarity” (Taiqing 太清), technically the lowest of the three heavens of “Clarity” (Taiqing, Shangqing 上清, and Yuqing 玉清) in developed Daoist cosmology, but here used by Li Po—as often by medieval poets—to stand for Heaven itself.

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The opening reference to Shennong, here tying his agricultural discoveries to the later Daoist quest for long life, is a nod that Li Bo gives in virtually all of the compositions he wrote about persons or topics pertaining to Suizhou, whether or not Hu Ziyang figures in them. The relatively simple phrasing of the poem, and the almost expectable imagery and allusions it employs, suggest this may have been an impromptu production. If this piece was written on the same occasion celebrated in the passage from the reminiscent poem quoted earlier, when Yuan Yan and Li Bo were welcomed in Suizhou by the prefect and fêted by Master Hu at his Canxia lou, it must have been in the flower-blossoming springtime described in that poem’s lines about Mount Xiancheng. But that does not fit with the snow on the pines in the present poem. Perhaps that snow is not real, but just a desired literary conceit. But if not, it poses a problem for assigning all of Li Bo’s Suizhou compositions to a single occasion, as scholars uniformly do. An important document in this regard is the following prose piece, which also has more to say about Master Hu. Like all but one of Li Bo’s “prefaces” (xu 序), it is meant to provide the context for poems composed on a certain occasion. The participants in the gathering here are Yuan Yan, Yuan Danqiu, and Li Bo, along with Hu Ziyang at the latter’s Canxia lou. It is a winter night—as we see from the piece—before Yuan Yan had visited the Mount Xiancheng mentioned in our first poem. We will break this piece into separate paragraphs, for the sake of convenience: “On a Winter Night in Suizhou, at Master Ziyang’s Loft for Quaff ing Rose-Clouds, Seeing Off Master of Mists Yuan Yan Going into Reclusion on Mount Xiancheng” 冬夜於隨州紫陽先生飡霞樓送煙子元演隱仙 城山序19 Together with Master of the Rose-Clouds Yuan Dan, and Master of the Mists Yuan Yan,20 the drive of our temperaments coincides with the Dao and we have formed a connection pertaining to divine transcendence; alike at heart, though of different bodies, we are pledged to old age in the sea of clouds21—an oath that cannot be broken. 吾與霞子元丹、煙子元演，氣激道合，結神仙交。殊身同心，誓老雲 海，不可奪也。

19 “Dongye yu Suizhou Ziyang xiansheng Canxia lou, song Yanzi Yuan Yan yin Xiancheng shan xu,” LBJP 27.4143–49; LTBJZ 26.3836–43. 20 The cousins have complementary sobriquets, each of which reflects the semantic sense of their familiar names. 21 That is, into heavenly perpetuity.

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We have traveled throughout the empire, in search of mountains of renown, and come now into Shennong’s homeland, 22 where we may obtain the special knowledge of His Lordship Hu. Lord Hu can raise himself to the sun and moon, take wing in his heart to the paradise of Penglai. He erected here a singular loft-building for quaffing rose-clouds and for refining the purest qi from imbibing effulgences. He invites us together to converse on high about the primordial beginnings.23 The jade acroama of the writings in gold24 are all found in this place. 歷行天下，周求名山。入神農之故鄉，得胡公之精術。胡公身揭日月， 心飛蓬萊。起飡霞之孤樓，鍊吸景之精氣。延我數子，高談混元。金 書玉訣，盡在此矣。 When I, Bo, spoke of tangible sites of surpassing scenery, Master Ziyang then sang the praises of Mount Xiancheng. Upon hearing this, the noble Yuan [Yan] was taken with the desire to go there directly. For a cold pouring of a farewell wine, we drank our fill of “Green Fields,”25 detaining you 26 for a while; but your dreaming soul will fly at daybreak, crossing the Falernian River to be early on your way. 白乃語及形勝，紫陽因大誇仙城。元侯聞之，乘興將往。別酒寒酌，醉 青田而少留；夢魂曉飛，度淥水以先去。 I am myself not caught up by material circumstances, but advance and shift with the times: going out into the world, I make connections with princes and nobles, pulling back I lower my gaze before Chaofu and Xu You.27 Those with vermilion seal-cords are quite familiar with me, so I cannot yet take refuge among the green bindweed. But I regret not being 22 This suggests it is the first visit to Suizhou of all three men. 23 Of matters relating to the inchoate primordium before forms were differentiated, the primal stirrings of the Dao. 24 The secret teachings of Daoist scriptures. 25 The name of a particularly potent wine, originally from the small Central Asian state of the Wusun 烏孫, on the northeast side of the Tianshan 天山 range. Here the name is used metaphorically to compliment the wine they are drinking at the Canxia lou. Likewise, the reference soon following to the Lu River 淥水(near present-day Yifeng 宜豐, Jiangxi), famous for the brew made with its pure-green 綠 waters, is not literal; the adoption of Horace’s “Falernian” perhaps is allowable here to give a fittingly fabled tint to the name. 26 Now Li Bo begins to speak directly to Yuan Yan and continues to do so till the end of the piece. 27 Two legendary recluses: Chaofu 巢父 who “nested” in a tree during the time of the sage-king Yao 堯, keeping free of worldly matters, and Xu You 許由 who washed out his ears with river water when Yao tried to recruit him to share in ruling the empire.

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able to roost with you in the misty forests and sit across from you under the pinetrees’ moonlight. I am earnest enough to inscribe a promise on the mountain pool’s rocks: I will come to you in springtime, when, cradling a zither at ease amidst the flowers and pillowed on high, we can enjoy each other. For now, I recite and present to you a poem in deep-felt parting.28 吾不滯於物，與時推移。出則以平交王侯，遁則以俯視巢許。朱紱狎 我，綠蘿未歸。恨不得同棲煙林，對坐松月。有所款然，銘契潭石。乘 春當來，且抱琴臥花，高枕相待。詩以寵別，賦而贈之。

This was obviously written before Yuan Yan had ever been to Mount Xiancheng. It seems probable that the springtime excursion with Yan on the mountain, remembered by Li Bo and put into the long poem to Yan some years later, occurred in the spring season following this winter night gathering. The meeting with Master Hu that is described in that poem (which significantly does not include Yuan Danqiu, who was in attendance at the winter soiree) would then be a return visit, with Hu Ziyang welcoming Yuan Yan—and Li Bo along with him—back after Yan’s brief reclusion in the mountains to which Hu’s praise had inspired him to go. The only convenient times that fit this sequence of events, in light of other facts we know of Li Bo’s travels, would be the winter of Kaiyuan 22 (31 October 734 to 28 January 735) and spring of Kaiyuan 23 (29 January to 26 April, 735). With this understanding, certain chronological difficulties seem to be resolved. Li Bo’s most extensive writing about Hu Ziyang is a memorial inscription that he composed after Hu’s death in 743. This document has a curious textual history, for it was not included in the earliest Song and Yuan editions of Li’s works. However, it was referred to in Song-dynasty geographical works and gazetteers. For example, the 1227 Yudi jisheng 輿地紀勝 quotes several lines from a stele inscription for Hu Ziyang and notes that the obverse side of the stele credits Li Bo as author. It also says that one Li Chuo 李綽 was the calligraphist and that the stele is dated to Baoying 寶應 3, or 764. It adds that the corners of the stone have been chipped off and that some characters have eroded to the point of unreadability.29 Fortunately, the inscription—even in its incomplete state—was recorded in Liu Dabin’s 劉大 彬 Maoshan zhi 茅山志, compiled around 1330. This “mountain monograph,” 28 The poem has not been preserved. 29 Yudi jisheng, 83.7b–8a. The inscription is also mentioned, again with attribution to Li Bo, at 8.8b; there it says that the Taiping huanyu ji 太平寰宇記, from 976–83, records the stele as being located in the then defunct Guangta 光他 county; Guangta was a Tang county in the southeast section of Suizhou prefecture. (I have not yet found this quote in Taiping huanyu ji.)

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completed under the direction of the forty-fifth Maoshan patriarch, is a compendium of earlier documents pertaining to the mountain itself but also to scores of individuals, material objects, and texts relevant to the religious tradition that emanated from Maoshan. Li Bo’s inscription for Hu Ziyang is included there, along with many other inscriptions from the Tang period. The Maoshan zhi itself was later to be included in the Ming-dynasty Zhengtong 正統 edition (1444–45) of the Daozang 道藏.30 This inscription was f irst included in an edition of Li Bo’s collected works by the Qing scholar Wang Qi 王琦 (1696–1774), whose edition was the standard one from its publication in 1758 until the appearance of the recent editions of Zhan Ying and Yu Xianhao with their fuller collation notes and collected scholia and commentaries. The inscription, as Wang Qi notes, has many points of similarity with Li Bo’s other writings about Hu Ziyang, the Yuan cousins, and also a Buddhist monk named Zhenqian 真 倩 who was the person that requested Li Bo to write the inscription. This Zhenqian, as identified in more detail elsewhere,31 was a native of Suizhou who had also become a friend of Li Bo. Hu Ziyang’s death occurred in 743, as we shall see, while he was en route home to Suizhou from Luoyang where he had spent the preceding year in an important position in the capital’s central Daoist establishment. As mentioned above, the date indicated on the stele for its carving, with ascription to author and calligraphist, is 764; so it was twenty years before Li Bo’s composition (and indeed a year or two after his own death) would be made public at Master Hu’s tomb site. Many of Li Bo’s references and some of the phrasing in this lengthy piece will be familiar to us now, and we shall also learn much more about Hu Ziyang than we knew previously. Since Suizhou’s name had been changed in 742 to Handong, that is what it is called here. “Stele Inscription for Master Ziyang of Handong” 漢東紫陽先生碑銘32 Ah, alas! Ziyang finally is transfigured in silence, his intentions cut short; but has he not ascended to the Nine Heavens radiantly in the white light of day? He will soon now be a retainer of the Resplendent King,33 imperceptible to us, not to be fathomed by the world. . . . . . . . . . outstanding among the ranks of transcendents, with a noble bearing brightly prominent: his 30 For the inscription, see Maoshan zhi (DZ 304), 24.17a–19a; also Wang Gang’s 王岡 recent edition of the rare Yuchen guan 玉晨觀 edition of Maoshan zhi, sect. 11A, 12.344–46. 31 See the “Coda” below. 32 “Handong Ziyang xiansheng beiming,” LBJP, “jiwai shiwen,” 4494–510; LBJZ 30.4162–79. 33 A non-specific reference to a celestial thearch.

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hall of light level and clear,34 with long ears35 and a broad forehead; when he moved his fingers and shook his bones, his hundred joints rang out;36 with distinctive hair elegantly streaked; he was manifestly extraordinary. . . . . . . . . . . and directly unobstructed.37 But how can turtle and crane have a brief-ending life,38 or the early-summer cicada last until autumn?39 Is this original fate? Or is it unforeseen fate?40 I sigh long, for three days, not able to understand the inner workings of change and transformation. 嗚呼。紫陽竟夭其志以默化；不昭然白日而升九天乎。或將潛賓皇王， 非世所測，☐☐☐☐☐☐☐☐☐☐☐挺列仙明拔之英姿；明堂平白，長耳 廣顙，手揮振骨，百關有聲，殊毛秀采，居然逸異。☐☐☐☐☐☐☐☐☐☐ 而直達。何龜鶴早世，蟪蛄延秋。元命乎，遭命乎。予長息三日，懵于 變化之理。 The Master’s surname was from the Hu clan, being . . . . . . . kin-group. For generations they were dedicated to Huang-Lao, while in their gates was purified the untainted teachings of the Ru. But in all cases they were dragons shedding worldly entrapment, swan-geese rising unseen to the high clouds. They valued only heaven-given nobility, with no warrant for aristocratic gate-columns. 34 The “hall of light” in one’s body is located one inch behind the space between the eyebrows and is the first of the microcosmic “nine palaces” ( jiu gong 九宮) within the skull, known from the Huangting jing 黃庭經 and from later Shangqing texts. The titular association is with the Hall of Light of the earthly emperor, traditionally described as the place where he, as intermediary between heaven and earth, carries out periodic rituals that help to coordinate the cosmos. 35 Pendant ears are marks of long life and extensive wisdom. 36 His bodily articulation and coordination was so harmonized that his joints seemed to sing out when he moved, likely a result of advanced daoyin 導引 exercises. Such “singing skeletons” are known in medieval times as a feature of some extraordinary Buddhist monks as well. 37 The lacuna renders the grammatical subject of 而直達 unknowable; depending on the preceding phrase, this might also mean something like “straightly intuitive” or “able to communicate unimpededly.” 38 Unusual, since they are traditionally long-lived creatures. 39 The huigu 蟪蛄 (Platypleura kaempferi) was traditionally said to be born in the fourth month and to die by the f ifth month. The reversal of expected life spans mentioned in this sentence’s long-lived turtle and crane and the short-lived summer cicada obviously represents Li Bo’s complaint over what he considers the too early death of Master Hu. 40 “Unforeseen (or adverse) fate” was defined by Wang Chong 王充 (27–ca. 100) as “when good deeds result in misfortune; though not what one hopes for or anticipates, but when one meets unforeseen with outside events that lead to misfortune and calamity.” See Lunheng jiaoshi 論衡 校釋, 6.50. Li Bo’s anguished phrasing here of the two fated alternatives echoes exactly a passage in Chen Zi’ang’s 陳子昂 (659–700?) tomb inscription for his cousin Zi 孜 who died at 35 sui; see “Tangdi Zi muzhiming, bing xu” 堂弟孜墓誌銘並序, Chen Zi’ang ji jiaoshi 陳子昂集校釋, 6.1005.

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先生姓胡氏，☐☐☐☐☐☐族也。代業黃老，門清儒素；皆龍脫世網， 鴻冥高雲。但貴天爵，何徵閥閱。 At the start, in his eighth year he visited Mount Xiancheng, 41 . . . . . . . . . . . having faraway imaginings of the See of Purity and of Purple Tenuity. 42 In his ninth year he left home43 and at twelve gave up eating grains. 44 At twenty he traveled to Mount Heng, 45 seeking out grotto precincts in its clouds and exploring the undef ined valleys of its streams. The divine and kingly . . . . . . . . summoned him to be supervisor of ritual observances as well as scripture master for the entire empire. 46 He then encountered various Perfected Ones and received the [Scripture of the] Red Cinnabar, Essence of Yang, Effulgence of Mineral, Mother of Water. 47 41 See above. 42 The See of Purity is a celestial seat of the gods, as is Purple Tenuity; the latter is also specifically a circumpolar constellation of fifteen stars. Both of these terms may be used to refer flatteringly to the palace of the earthly emperor, but Hu Ziyang plainly has his mind set on supernal regions. The See of Purity is first mentioned in the “Yuan you” poem of Chu ci; see Chu ci buzhu 5.169. It and Purple Tenuity are mentioned together as seats of the gods, in Liezi; see Liezi jishi 列子集釋, 3.93. 43 I.e., entered a religious community. 44 Because grains feed the malevolent “three worms” (sanchong 三蟲) or “three corpses” (sanshi 三尸) within one, whose desire is to hasten one’s death. For more on this and on positive dietary regimens, see Robert Ford Campany, “The Meanings of Cuisines of Transcendence in Late Classical and Early Medieval China.” 45 The “Southern Marchmount” (Nanyue 南嶽), in central Hunan; on the religious history of which, see James Robson, Power of Place: The Religious Landscape of the Southern Sacred Peak (Nanyue) in Medieval China. 46 The latter title is, as far as I know, irregular and unique; the interpretation of it here is therefore tentative. There were Daoist “scripture masters” ( jingshi 經師) who presided over ordinations, but this seems to be something rather grander, perhaps literally “one who selects the scripture officers.” (I am grateful to James Robson for sharing his thoughts about this with me.) The title seems modeled on the secular “commissioners” that Xuanzong established in 730 for the ten province-size “circuits” (dao 道) of the empire, with titles such as caifangshi 採訪使 and jinglüeshi 經略使. But this is surely no governmental office, as Hu had no such bureaucratic connection. 47 This text (the title of which has minor variants in different sources) is associated with the Shangqing practice of absorbing solar pneuma, sometimes referred to as imbibing “the flying root of solar efflorescence” (rihua feigen 日華飛根). The earliest reference seems to be in Zhen gao 真誥 (DZ 1016), where it is briefly mentioned as the method for “plucking and consuming the flying root” possessed by the Holy Lord of the Golden Pylons (Jinque shengjun 金闕聖君), who says he was taught it by the Lord Heavenly Thearch of Greatest Tenuity (Taiwei tiandi jun 太微天帝君). That passage (9.24b) also gives the alternate name of “Scripture of Red Cinnabar, Essence of Metal, Effulgence of Mineral, Jade Placenta of the Mother of Water” (Chidan jinjing shijing shuimu yubao jing 赤丹金精石景水母玉胞經); earlier in Zhen gao (5.2b) the title is given as Li Bo has it. The practice itself is described at length and canonically in Huangtian shangqing

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Hence he regularly imbibed the flying root and took in the cloud-soul of the sun; he carried out this practice in private . . . . . . . the Cloister of Bitter Bamboo where he dwelt,48 he disposed a Loft-building for Quaffing Rose-clouds. There he planted by hand a pair of cinnamon trees, under which he would rest at leisure. 始八歲經仙城山☐☐☐☐☐☐☐☐☐☐☐有清都紫微之遐想。九歲出 家，十二休糧。二十遊衡山，雲尋洞府，水涉溟壑。神王☐☐☐☐☐☐☐☐ 召為威儀，及天下采經使。因遇諸真人，受赤丹陽精石景水母。故常 吸飛根，吞日魂，密而修之。☐☐☐☐☐☐所居苦竹院，置餐霞之樓； 手植雙桂，棲遲其下。 It is known that it was in the hills of Jinling that the Dao first thrived with the three Mao49 and surged forth with the four Xu.50 At Huayang . . . . . . . Tao the Recluse51 passed it on to Master Shengxuan,52 who then passed it on to Master Tixuan,53 who then passed it on to Master Zhenyi,54 who

jinque dijun lingshu ziwen shangjing 皇天上清金闕帝君靈書紫文上經 (DZ 639), 4a–5b; for translation, see Stephen R. Bokenkamp, Early Daoist Scriptures, 314–17. See also Taishang yuchen yuyi jielin tun riyue tu 太上玉晨鬱儀結璘吞日月圖 (DZ 435), 6a/b; and Wushang biyao 無上 秘要 (DZ 1138), 94.1a–2b. 48 A private place for his religious devotions, presumably sited near a grove of Pleioblastus amarus, hence the name. 49 These are the three brothers Mao—Mao Ying 茅盈, Mao Gu 茅固, and Mao Zhong 茅衷—of the Eastern Han dynasty, identif ied with the mountain southeast of Nanjing (i.e., Jinling, a name also used to refer to Maoshan itself) to which was attached their surname, and who were regarded as founding figures of what came to be Shangqing Daoism. 50 Xu Mi 許謐 (303–73) and his third son Hui 翽 (341–ca. 370), who were the chief patrons of Yang Xi 楊羲 (330–ca. 386) through whom came the Shangqing revelations, along with Xu’s elder two sons, Quan 甽 and Lian 聯. 51 That is, Tao Hongjing 陶弘景 (456–536), collector of the Shangqing manuscript tradition and effective founder of the Maoshan “patriarchal” tradition. Huayang was the name of the grotto-heaven within Mount Mao, by Tang times considered one of the ten “greater” grotto-heavens, and had been taken by Tao as part of his sobriquet, “Tao the Recluse of Huayang.” 52 Master “Ascending to the Mystery,” Wang Yuanzhi 王遠知 (528?–635), f irst of the great Tang Daoist masters and considered the spiritual successor to Tao Hongjiing, although the transmission was not (could not have been) personally “passed on” to him by Tao. 53 Master “Embodying the Mystery,” Pan Shizheng 潘師正 (585–682), next in the line of Tang Shangqing patriarchs. 54 Master of “Authentic Unity,” Sima Chengzhen 司馬承禎 (647–735), perhaps the greatest of the Tang Daoist prelates; among other activities, the effector of imperial sacrif ices to the Shangqing Perfected on the Five Marchmounts. Li Bo had met him early in his life and claimed him as the inspiration for his “Da peng fu” 大鵬賦; see Kroll, “Li Po’s Rhapsody on the Great P’eng-bird.”

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then passed it on to the Celestial Master Li Hanguang,55 who shared the covenant with Ziyang.56 聞金陵之墟，道始盛於三茅，波乎四許。華陽☐☐☐☐☐☐☐陶隱居傳 昇玄子，昇玄子傳體玄，體玄傳貞一先生，貞一先生傳天師李含光，李 含光合契乎紫陽。 . . . . . in Shennong’s hamlet,57 southward reaching to Vermilion Mound and northward beyond the White Water,58 where the disciples who received his instructions were more than three thousand persons. Prefects and governors of the surrounding regions, asking about the Dao in improving local mores, would suddenly appear where the Master was sitting tranquilly; . . . . . coming before him in hesitant fashion as though hiding their aims. The way he was esteemed by his contemporaries was very much in this kind. ☐☐☐☐☐於神農之里，南抵朱陵，北越白水，稟訓門下者三千餘人。 鄰境牡守，移風問道，忽遇先生之宴坐，☐☐☐☐☐隱機雁行；為時所 重，多此類也。 Yuan Danqiu, who at the beginning of the Tianbao era was a supervisor of ritual observances59 and a dragon or phoenix of the Daoist order, had bent to him in fullest reverence for the transmission of a register on Mount Song. The Temple of . .60 of the Great Tang in the eastern capital 55 Li Hanguang (683–769) was still alive at the time Li Bo wrote this inscription, so is not referred to by his later, canonical title of Xuanjingzi 玄靜子 (Master of Mystic Quiescence) but as a “Celestial Master.” Never resident at court, he was the most influential Daoist of his day and recognized as successor to Sima Chengzhen. An extensive correspondence between him and Xuanzong (who summoned him, unsuccessfully) remains. 56 Although some commentators say that Hu Ziyang was a disciple of Li Hanguang, the fact that no transmission from Li to Hu is mentioned here (as with the other master/disciple relationships), but instead that the two “shared the covenant” (or literally, “matched their tallies”) suggests rather that they were both disciples of Sima Chengzhen. 57 The mythical “Divine Husbandman” was said to have lived near Mount Li 厲山, about thirty miles north of Suizhou. The aura of his reputation covered the prefecture. 58 This denotes the geographical range of Master Hu’s personal spiritual influence. Vermilion Mound (Zhuling) was the name of the grotto-heaven associated with Mount Heng, about 350 miles south of Suizhou (where Hu visited in his youth). White Water (Baishui) is the present-day White River (Baihe 白河), a tributary of the Han 漢River, running through southeastern Henan and in Tang times especially associated with Nanyang 南陽 prefecture, about 100 miles north of Suizhou. 59 Yuan held the office of weiyi in the Zhaocheng 昭成 (Radiant Fulfillment) Abbey in Chang’an in 743 and possibly into 744. The reference to this title here is current and does not necessarily pertain to Yuan’s standing when he received ordination from Hu at Mount Song. 60 The two effaced characters have been plausibly suggested to be taiwei 太微, the name given to Luoyang’s chief Daoist abbey in spring 743, when Xuanzong decreed certain Daoist-related

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invited him three times, but he firmly refused. He had not been at ease for very long before an imperial order came down with a demand [for his presence], and he had no choice but to go. Upon entering the temple, he made wholesale alterations to the protocols and observances,61 which effected great change throughout the metropolitan area. But he was the overseas bird cheerless at Zang Wen’s repast,62 the macaque that shredded the clothing given it by the Duke of Zhou.63 His mind was elsewhere while his footmarks stayed behind; so pleading illness he took leave of the emperor.64 He set a date to depart the gatetowers, and on the verge of leaving he wrote a “Sacrifice for Himself,” the text of which said, “Spirit is fast becoming weary with me; it is not that I am weary of the world.” Then he made over a testamentary order to his nephew, the Daoist adept Hu Qiwu,65 that he should prepare a shoulder-level sedan-chair66 to return his bones to his native place. Royalty and high ministers escorted him all the way to Longmen.67 When he came into Ye county,68 he stopped at the shrine to Wang Qiao.69 There he seemed to be seeing things and very calmly he was transfigured. While a heaven-sent incense extended measures throughout the empire, including name changes for the palace abbeys in the two capitals as well as for the officially sponsored abbeys nationwide. 61 Or, “once he altered the protocols and observances, it effected…” 62 Alluding to the story in Guo yu 國語 of a phoenix-like yuanju 爰居 bird from across the sea that alighted in the late seventh century BCE outside the east gate of the capital city of the state of Lu 魯. Zang Wenzhong 臧文仲, wise minister of the marquis, had sacrifices made to it but to no avail. See Guo yu, 4.165–70. Li Bo seems to have conflated this with the story in Zhuangzi that adds the details that ritual music and dances were performed for the bird and a tailao 太 牢 offering spread for it, but it ignored everything and died after three days; see Zhuangzi jishi 莊子集釋, 18.621. 63 The allusion is to Zhuangzi jishi 14.515, where we find a passage telling how you can dress up a monkey (yuanju 猨狙; perhaps macaque) in the robes of the Duke of Zhou, but it will bite and shred them to be divested. Note the phonological equivalence between the term for this monkey and the Guo yu’s name for the sea-bird in the preceding note, which suggests these are both avatars of “an anomalous creature.” 64 Emperor Xuanzong spent the final twenty years of his reign in Chang’an, his last visit to Luoyang being from March 734 to November 736. But Hu’s stay in the eastern capital seems to have immediately preceded his death in 743, so he could not literally have “taken leave of the emperor.” 65 Not elsewhere mentioned, as far as I can find. His religious name is taken from the title of the second chapter of Zhuangzi. 66 A small palanquin for one person, carried by only two bearers. 67 About ten miles south of Luoyang, also called Yique 伊闕. 68 Roughly present-day Yexian, Henan, near Nanyang, about eighty miles south of Luoyang and not a third of the way home to Suizhou. 69 This is not the famous Zhou-dynasty “immortal,” Wang Ziqiao, but a mid-second-century Han official. The magistrate of Ye county, he was reputed to travel periodically by flight to the Eastern Han capital at Luoyang, his shoes being transformed into flying ducks. His death and

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along the road, his corpse was weightless, his clothing as if empty.70 When he arrived at his own commandery, the prefect Lord Pei71 came out to the near countryside to meet [the corpse], with ceremonial streamers and flowers. As the coff in was lifted up, thunder reverberated72 . . . . bright-faced as though alive.73 Those who came to view him numbered a myriad per day, and the discussions of the crowd led to widespread amazement. On the twenty-third day of the year’s tenth month,74 he was buried on Mount Xinsong,75 east of the city’s outskirts. His springs and autumns were two and sixty. 天寶初威移元丹丘，道門龍鳳，厚禮致屈，傳籙於嵩山。東京大唐☐☐ 宮三請，固辭。偃臥未幾而詔書下責，不得已而行。入宮，一革軌儀，大 變都邑。然海鳥愁臧文之享，猿狙裂周公之衣；志往跡留，稱疾辭帝。 剋期離闕，臨別自祭，其文曰：神將厭予，予非厭世。乃顧命姪道士胡 齊物具平肩輿，歸骨舊土。王公卿士送及龍門。入葉縣，次王喬之祠。 目若有睹，泊然而化。天香引道，尸輕空衣。及本郡，太守裴公以幡花 郊迎，舉椁雷動。☐☐☐☐開顏如生。觀者日萬，羣議駭俗。至其年十 月二十三日，葬於郭東之新松山，春秋六十有二。 The Master “had it in his power to make great and glorious,”76 but he never fussed over minor particulars. His calligraphy was infinitely wondrous, brimming with an intensity as of clouds breaking up; his writings were of uncommon artistry, often composed in bestirring dragon-carving. He was, when alive, without éclat in the wide world; when dead, was a cicada that molted in untroubled transformation. How could . . . . . . . . .? 先生含弘光大，不修小節。書不盡妙，鬱有崩雲之勢；文非夙工，時動雕 龍之作。存也，宇宙而無光； 歿也，浪化而蟬蛻。豈☐☐☐☐☐☐☐☐乎。 It was Zhenqian, a monk of this parish, a champion of refinement with an aura of genius, who requested that I compose this inscription. With Ziyang I had a spiritual connection, and of his spotless lessons on “quaffing burial were said to be equally magical. The shrine in his honor had been in existence for almost seven hundred years. 70 Formulaic phrases suggesting that he had undergone “liberation from the corpse” (shijie 尸 解). 71 Not otherwise identifiable. 72 Another formulaic phrase, signifying recognition from the celestial regions. 73 We should probably not ask how it is that his face could be seen in the coffin. Perhaps the effaced four words helped to explain this. 74 13 November 743, by the Western calendar. 75 Mount “New Pines,” to the southeast of Suizhou, in Guangta county as noted above. 76 Quoting from the tuan 彖commentary to the hexagram kun 坤, of the Yijing 易經.

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to satiety”77 I attained nine parts out of ten. His disciple Yuan Danqiu and others all bear in mind his plumed comportment78 as of phoenix or simurgh, recalling his cloud-like aura as of pearl or jade. They “sprinkle and sweep”79 in the pinetree moonlight, oh honoring high his air of transcendence. A stone is inscribed now to celebrate his virtue, imperishable as this very mountain. The words say: 有鄉僧貞倩，雅仗才氣，請予為銘。予與紫陽神交，飽餐素論，十得其 九。弟子元丹丘等，咸思鸞鳳之羽儀，想珠玉之雲氣。灑掃松月，載揚 仙風。篆石頌德，與茲山不朽。其詞曰： 4

賢哉仙士 Worthy, yes! This transcendent adept, 六十而化 After sixty years now transfigured. 光光紫陽 Lit with brilliance, Master Ziyang, 善與時而為龍蛇 Adapted expertly to the times, whether as dragon or snake.80

固亦以生死為晝夜 Surely may we take life and death as daytime and night, 有力者挈之而趨 Yet “someone stronger” will bear them off, hastening away.81 劫運頹落 The kalpas revolve, they waste and fall aside, 8 終歸於無 And we return finally to the indeterminate. 惟元神不滅 The primal spirit alone is not to be extinguished, 湛然清都 So deeply placid at the See of Purity. 延陵既沒 When the Lord of Yanling had died, 12 仲尼嗚呼 Zhongni wailed “ah, alas!”82 77 The esoteric method of imbibing solar pneuma, or “quaffing rose-clouds,” that Master Hu was expert in and after which he had named his loft-building. 78 A term traditionally used to suggest a model to be esteemed, as in the line-readings of Yijing hexagram 53 (漸, jian), but often employed in medieval literary texts on Daoist topics for the aptness of the literal image of a “plumed” person (=transcendent). 79 The phrase traditionally denotes preparation of a site for ritual sacrifice (and, on a lower plane, keeping a place properly clean and tidy). 80 That is, he showed himself or remained inconspicuous, according to what was best at the time. Cf. Zhuangzi jishi 20.668: “Once a dragon, once a snake, always transforming with the times, without accepting just a single role.” 81 Cf. Zhuangzi jishi 6.241, 243: “Death and life are fated; that they have the regularity of dawn and night is owing to Heaven. … Now, we hide a boat in a ravine, a fishnet in a marsh, but at midnight someone stronger puts it on their back and runs off with it.” 82 Upon seeing the tomb of the great nobleman Ji Zha 季札 of Yanling 延陵, from the Chunqiuperiod state of Wu 吳, Confucius inscribed on it “Ah, alas! It is the tomb of Master Ji of Yanling!” See Fangyu shenglan 方輿勝覽, 4.90.

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青青松柏 離離山隅 篆石頌德 名揚八區

Green, always green, be pine and cypress, Amply arrayed by the side of the hill. We inscribe the stone to celebrate his virtue, That his name be honored through all the land.

This is Li Bo’s farewell encomium to Hu Ziyang. We wish we knew still more of this attractive and intriguing figure. When Li Bo composed this inscription he was in Chang’an 長安, having been called there at imperial summons83 in autumn of 742. By the late spring of 744 he had departed Chang’an, and by late fall or winter of that year he was in Shandong where he participated in a Daoist ordination ceremony presided over by the priest Gao Rugui 高入貴, receiving a register that had been written out for him by the calligrapher Gai Huan 蓋寰.84 Li Bo had thus fulfilled the promise that Hu Ziyang had seen in him, and Sima Chengzhen before that. Thereafter he could truly present himself, though he seems rarely to have done so, as an ordained Daoist.

Coda To round out the circle of friends and acquaintances of Hu Ziyang who were known to Li Bo, let us look finally at the Buddhist monk Zhenqian 真倩. It was he who requested Li Bo to compose Hu Ziyang’s memorial stele. His role as the individual who took responsibility for soliciting the inscription speaks to the closeness of his own acquaintance with Master Hu and perhaps to some prominence among the Suizhou elite at that time. We are not surprised to find a close relationship between a Daoist priest and a Buddhist monk. Nor should we be surprised to find such a friendship between Li Bo and a monk, despite the traditional oversimplified characterization of Li Bo as such a thoroughly “Daoist” poet.85 83 Evidently at the instigation, as most scholars now agree, of the Princess Yuzhen 玉真 (“Perfected in Jade”) who had taken Daoist orders in 711. With Xuanzong’s recent increasingly avid interest in Daoist matters, this sister would have become even more important to him than previously. It is possible that Yuan Danqiu, who had been in the capital for a while, had successfully urged the Princess to ask for Li Bo’s presence. But she might already have been familiar with him herself, from an earlier visit to the capital in the early 730s. See Yu Xianhao’s essays, “Li Bo liang ru Chang’an ji youguan jiaoyou kaobian” 李白兩入長安及有關交遊考辯 and “Wu Yun jian Li Bo shuo bianyi” 吳荺薦李白說辯疑, in Li Bo congkao, 39–64, 65–78. 84 On the two poems he wrote on this occasion, heavy with abstruse Daoist terminology, see Kroll, “Li Po’s Transcendent Diction,” 108–13. 85 For more on Li Bo’s Buddhist writings, see Kroll, Dharma Bell and Dhāraṇī Pillar: Li Po’s Buddhist Inscriptions.

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Li Bo has left us a poem, with preface, addressed to Zhenqian. It was written sometime in mid-759, after Li Bo had received a pardon releasing him from his penal exile to distant Yelang 夜郎, near present-day Tongzi 桐梓 in Guizhou. It is unclear whether the poet ever actually reached Yelang—he had taken his time on his route into exile; but there is no doubt that he was at least long past the Yangzi gorges when the announcement of the pardon reached him. By summertime he had returned east to Jiangxia 江夏 (present-day Yunmeng 雲夢, Hubei), about twenty miles south of his quondam home of Anlu and about fifty-five miles south of Suizhou. There he saw Zhenqian, whom he had known and evidently met sometime previously. Zhenqian was at that time preparing to return to his native place of Suizhou (or Handong, as it was then called), and Li Bo wrote for him the following composition: “In Jiangxia, Seeing Off Sir Qian, Returning to Handong; with Preface ” 江夏送倩公歸漢東并序86 In the past Xie An was forty and lounging amid the white clouds in the Eastern Mountains.87 Lord Huan summoned him repeatedly, till, for the sake of the common folk, he finally rose.88 Habitually he roamed in enjoyment with Lord Zhi,89 their friendship unchanged even despite the accrual of honors [to Xie]. The great man and the junzi, with a bond of spiritual affection like the twin halves of a tally—really, it can be like this. From the first time Sir Qian and I met, we yielded nothing to those two men of old; and now that he says he must return home to Handong, “it makes my heart ache.”90 謝安四十，臥白雲于東山。桓公累徵，為蒼生而一起。常與支公遊賞， 貴而不移。大人君子神冥契合，正可乃爾。僕與倩公一面，不忝古人。 言歸漢東，使我心痗。 86 “Jiangxia song Qian gong gui Handong, bing xu,” LBJP 27.4106–12; LBJZ 15.2180–82. 87 Xie An (320–85), one of the great figures of elite mid-fourth-century qingtan 清談 circles, spent his first four decades in comfortable retirement in the hills of Guiji 會稽. After forty he finally accepted the call of Huan Wen (see next note) to serve in the government and eventually held high military positions; in 383 he was given major credit for defeating the invasion of Fu Jian 符堅, emperor of the northern state of Former Qin 先秦. The best study of him in a Western language is Jean-Pierre Diény, Portrait anecdotique d’un gentilhomme chinois: Xie An (320–385) d’après le Shishuo xinyu. 88 Huan Wen 桓溫 (312–73) was the chief power at the Eastern Jin court from 345 to his death in 373, being virtual dictator for the last decade of his life. 89 That is, the monk Zhi Dun 支遁 (314–66), the most respected Buddhist monk of the midfourth-century and an avid participant along with Xie An and others in qingtan activities and the literary life of the capital at Jiankang 建康. 90 Quoting from Shijing ode 62.

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It is the case that the territory of Handong is where a Sage emerged.91 After Shennong, Ji Liang was a great worthy [from the area].92 From then on it was blank and barren, with no one who was noteworthy. But at the resurgence of the Tang, the Master Ziyang was born; and in his sixtieth year he was transfigured in darkness.93 Of those arising who could continue his visible traces [in the world], there was only Sir Qian.94 When brooding on his grand goals in youth, he had no accomplishments, but rather set his mind on becoming experienced with age in his later days. What’s more, he was able to pour out his material resources and keep to his promises, was fond of the worthy and was skilled at literature. He is exactly like the Reverend Huixiu and his interactions with Jiang Yan and Bao Zhao95—he and Huixiu, each in his own time. I have made a draft of everything I have written in my unworthy life and given it to him.96 I already miss him as I would a family member proceeding on his travels, and tears flow as I rue his departure. 夫漢東之國, 聖人所出. 神農之後, 季良為大賢. 爾來寂寂, 無一 物可紀. 有唐中興, 始生紫陽先生. 先生六十而隱化. 若繼跡而起

91 The reference is to the mythical Shennong, as becomes immediately clear. 92 Ji Liang, in the late eighth century BCE, gave important advice to the Prince of Sui about conflicts with Chu 楚, on two noted occasions; see Zuo zhuan, Huan gong 6 and 8; Chunqiu Zuozhuan zhu 春秋左傳注, 111–12, 122. 93 The use of zhongxing 中興 (resurgence; restoration) is puzzling here. One would expect this term to refer to the year 705, when Empress Wu was deposed, her Zhou 周 dynasty abolished, and the Tang dynasty restored. But Hu Ziyang’s death at sixty sui was in the year 743, which places his birth in 684. Emperor Gaozong 高宗 died in December 683, and Empress Wu placed their young son Zhongzong 中宗 (as posthumously titled) on the throne while actually exercising complete control of the court herself. The reference might be to when Hu entered Daoist orders in his twenties, around the time of the Tang restoration, and acquired the religious name Ziyang. 94 That is, Zhenqian was the only local figure with character and virtue comparable to that of Hu Ziyang. The phrasing here (“visible traces”) is Buddhist in nature, fitting for Zhenqian, though of course Hu, whose notability Zhenqian is “continuing,” was a Daoist. 95 The monk Huixiu was a well-known poet of the mid-fifth century, included in elite literary gatherings. In 453 he returned to secular life, at the request of the newly ascendant emperor Xiaowu 孝武, resuming his surname Tang 湯. He was a friend of the poet Bao Zhao 鮑照 (ca. 414–66) and probably died sometime in the 470s. There is less evidence of a friendship with the poet Jiang Yan 江淹 (444–505), of the next generation. But Li Bo mistakenly thought that Huixiu lived into the early years of the Liang dynasty, which would have made an association with Jiang Yan seem logical as a coordinate pairing with Bao Zhao. Elsewhere Li says, “The Liang had its Tang Huixiu,” in the opening line of a poem sent to a monk called Xingrong (“Zeng seng Xingrong” 贈僧行融, LBJP 11.1845; LBJZ 10.1534). In our text Li Bo is portraying Zhenqian as Huixiu and himself as either Bao Zhao or Jiang Yan. 96 This is an immensely important sentence, rarely noticed, for biographers of Li Bo, stating explicitly that he had given a “collected works” to Zhenqian in 759.

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者, 惟倩公焉. 蓄妝志而未就，期老成于他日。且能傾產重諾，好賢 功文。即惠休上人于江鮑往復，各一時也。僕平生述作，罄其草而授 之。思親遂行，流涕惜別。 At present our sagely court has thrown aside its Ji Bu97 and ought to summon back its Mr. Jia.98 This would bring a smile to my face and moisture to my eyes, at a single sight of the bright sun.99 May I hope that we shall see each other and laugh together on Mount Xinsong?100 So I compose a brief poem in quatrain form, to express my feelings at parting. The words say: 今聖朝已捨季布，當徵賈生。開顏洗目，一見白日。冀相視而笑於新 松之山耶。作小詩絕句，以寫別意。辭曰： 路入漢東國 川藏明月輝 寧知喪亂後 更有一珠歸

Your route leads on to the domain of Handong;101 The river holds in the glow of the moonlight. How could we know that after death and disorder,102 There would now be a single pearl returning home?103

Slightly more than two years afterward, Li Bo himself would be dead. There seems to be no extant record of any later friends or disciples of either Hu Ziyang or Zhenqian.

97 Ji Bu was a brave follower of Xiang Yu 項羽; after the latter’s defeat and death in 202 BCE, Liu Bang 劉邦 (Han Gaozu 漢高祖) tried, unsuccessfully, to hunt Ji Bu down. Eventually Ji Bu came out of hiding and Liu Bang pardoned him, giving him a court appointment. Li Bo is using him here as a figure with whom to identify, given his own association with the prince of Yong’s ill-fated insurgence in 757 and subsequent banishment to Yelang; he is hopeful that, just as Ji Bu was given a position by Gaozu, so he might be brought back to court by emperor Suzong. 98 That is, Jia Yi 賈誼 (ca. 200–168 BCE), another figure for Li Bo to identify with. The brilliant young Jia Yi had attracted the attention of emperor Wen but, arousing the envy and suspicion of more established court officials, had been banished to Changsha. After some four years he was summoned back to court, as tutor to one of the princes—again, the kind of recall that Li Bo frankly hopes for. 99 The “bright sun” is also a metaphor for the emperor. 100 Mount “New Pines,” southeast of Handong (Suizhou), where Hu Ziyang was buried. 101 Accepting here the variant first two characters as given in Wenyuan yinghua 文苑英華, 721.6a, instead of the difficult to construe 彼美. 102 Referring to the An Lushan rebellion, temporarily quelled with the retaking of the capitals in the preceding year. 103 Zhenqian is “the single pearl,” in the moonlight on the river.

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Bibliography Primary Sources Chen Zi’ang ji jiaoshi 陳子昂集校釋, edited by Peng Qingsheng 彭慶生. Hefei: Huangshan chubanshe, 2015. Chu ci buzhu 楚辭補注, edited by Hong Xingzu 洪興祖 (1090–1155). Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1983. Chunqiu Zuozhuan zhu 春秋左傳注, edited by Yang Bojun 楊伯峻. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1983. Fangyu shenglan 方輿勝覽, edited by Shi Hejin 施和金. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2003. Guo yu 國語. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1978. Huangtian shangqing jinque dijun lingshu ziwen shangjing 皇天上清金闕帝君靈 書紫文上經. DZ 639. Liezi jishi 列子集釋, edited by Yang Bojun 楊伯峻. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1979. Lunheng jiaoshi 論衡校釋, edited by Huang Hui 黃暉. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1990. Maoshan zhi 茅山志, edited by Wang Gang 王岡. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2016. Taishang Yuchen yuyi jielin tun riyue tu 太上玉晨鬱儀結璘吞日月圖. DZ 435. Wenyuan yinghua 文苑英華. Taipei: Xinwenfeng chubanshe, 1979. Wushang biyao 無上秘要. DZ 1138. Zhen gao 真誥. DZ 1016. Zhuangzi jishi 莊子集釋, edited by Guo Qingfan 郭慶藩 (1844-1896). Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1989.

Secondary Bokenkamp, Stephen R. Early Daoist Scriptures. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1997. Campany, Robert Ford. “The Meanings of Cuisines of Transcendence in Late Classical and Early Medieval China.” T’oung Pao 91 (2005): 1–57. Diény, Jean-Pierre. Portrait anecdotique d’un gentilhomme chinois: Xie An (320–385) d’après le Shishuo xinyu. Paris: Institut des Hautes Études Chinoises, Collège de France, 1993. Kroll, Paul W. “Li Po’s Rhapsody on the Great P’eng-bird.” Journal of Chinese Religions 12 (1984): 1–17. Kroll, Paul W. “Li Po’s Transcendent Diction.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 106 (1986): 99–117.

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Kroll, Paul W. Dharma Bell and Dhāraṇī Pillar: Li Po’s Buddhist Inscriptions. Kyoto and Rome: Italian School of East Asian Studies, 2001. Kroll, Paul W. “Heyue yingling ji and the Attributes of High Tang Poetry.” In Reading Medieval Chinese Poetry: Text, Context, and Culture, edited by Kroll, 169–201. Leiden: Brill, 2015. Leng Mingquan 冷明權, “Li Bo yu Suizhou” 李白與隨州. Hubei daxue xuebao (zhexue shehui kexue ban) 湖北大學學報 (哲學社會科學版) 1986.1. Li Bo quanji jiaozhu huishi jiping 李白全集校注彙釋集評, edited by Zhan Ying 詹 锳 et al. Tianjin: Baihua wenyi chubanshe, 1996. Li Taibo quanji jiaozhu 李太白全集校注, edited by Yu Xianhao 郁賢皓. Nanjing: Fenghuang chubanshe, 2015. Porkert, Manfred. Biographie d’un taoïste légendaire: Tcheou Tseu-yang. Paris: Institut des Hautes Études Chinoises, Collège de France, 1979. Robson, James. Power of Place: The Religious Landscape of the Southern Sacred Peak (Nanyue) in Medieval China. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2009. Xinban Li Bo quanji biannian zhushi 新版李白全集編年注釋, edited by An Qi 安 旗et al. Chengdu: Ba Shu shushe, 1999. Yu Xianhao 郁賢皓. Li Bo congkao 李白叢考. Xi’an: Shaanxi renmin chubanshe, 1982. Yu Xianhao. Tianshang zhexian ren de mimi: Li Bo kaolun ji 天上謫仙人的秘密: 李白考論 集. Taipei: Taiwan Shangwu yinshuguan, 1997. Yudi jisheng 輿地紀勝. 1860 edition; rpt. Taipei: Wenhai chubanshe, n.d. Zhan Ying 詹锳. Li Bo shiwen xinian 李白詩文繫年. Beijing: Zuojia chubanshe, 1958

About the Author Paul W. Kroll, Professor Emeritus of Chinese, University of Colorado, Boulder, specializes in Tang literature and religion. His many recent publications include Reading Medieval Chinese Poetry: Text, Context, and Culture (2014), The Poetry of Meng Haoran (2021), and A Student’s Dictionary of Classical and Medieval Chinese (3rd ed. 2022).

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The Vicarious Angler: Gao Pian’s Daoist Poetry Franciscus Verellen

Abstract Verellen’s chapter examines the Daoist poems by late Tang dynasty general Gao Pian, who was also an alchemist, an engineer and architect of citadels, and a poet with a deep interest in Daoism, as well as in military cults and esoteric techniques. The ten poems analyzed in this essay were inspired by the Daoist rite of “Pacing the Void,” alchemical practice, and local cults. Several poems were dedicated to Daoist masters sought by the general. The Daoist poetry of Gao Pian reminds us of the complex and contested socio-cultural identities of Tang officials and military leaders. Keywords: Gao Pian, Tang military history, Pacing the Void, inner alchemy

The trajectory of Gao Pian 高駢 (821–87) is a case history of the powerful and ambiguous role of military governors in late Tang politics. Its underexplored record also reveals one of the most intriguing personalities involved in shaping the turbulent events of ninth-century China.1 Gao began his military career on the northwestern frontier, where he recovered strategic territories for the Tang. From the gateway to Central Asia, he transferred to the empire’s southernmost border as protector general of Annan (North Vietnam), then successively governed Shandong, Sichuan, the middle and lower Yangzi regions, and finally Huainan, the Tang’s economic heartland centered on the financial and commercial hub of Yangzhou. Having won two wars against the kingdom of Nanzhao and scored major victories against 1 This chapter is a product of research conducted with the generous support of the Chiang Ching-kuo Foundation for a forthcoming biography of Gao Pian. I am grateful for the comments offered by Paul Kroll and other participants on a draft version presented at the 2017 conference The Way and the Words.

Raz, Gil and Anna M. Shields (eds): Religion and Poetry in Medieval China. The Way and the Words. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2023 DOI: 10.5117/9789463721172_CH03

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the Tibetan Empire and the Tanguts, as commander-in-chief of the Joint Expeditionary Armies raised to suppress the Huang Chao 黃巢 rebellion (877–84), Gao Pian uncharacteristically allowed the insurgents to cross the Yangzi in 880, precipitating the fall of the capital, the emperor’s flight to Chengdu, and the government’s exile in 881–85. The portrait that emerges from Gao’s writings and the testimony of contemporaries is no less fraught with complexity than the issue of his ultimate responsibility for the fall of the Tang. A man of many talents and wide-ranging curiosity, Gao was versed in alchemy and the esoteric arts of war, an accomplished engineer, architect of the medieval citadels of Hanoi and Chengdu, and, not least, a respected poet. Some twenty percent of his surviving poems can be labeled “Daoist.” Gao Pian’s Daoist poems project a self-image that is jarringly at odds with his public persona. Like other officials seeking to preserve their private spheres from the harsh demands of the state, Gao Pian vicariously assumed the alter ego of a Daoist recluse living out his days in carefree serenity, unmindful of worldly honor and fame.

The Non-action of Action Compared with the exalted poetry of Supreme Clarity 上清 Daoism that Stephen Bokenkamp so skillfully decrypts for us, Gao Pian’s Daoist verse expresses the vision of a layman firmly rooted in this world. Gao was a man of action, and frequently violent action, whose constant engagement in contentious politics and gory conflicts plainly ran counter to Daoist ideals. In one incident, Gao Pian is putting the civilian families of mutinous militiamen to the sword when a loyal retainer appeals to his faith, reminding him that Daoists cherished life and abhorred death. Gao finally desists when admonished that, for the sake of saving his own soul, he needs to restrain his darker impulses.2 To gauge a person’s innermost beliefs is a hazardous undertaking, yet no attempt to characterize Gao Pian can ignore the religious dimension of his personality. The historical record underscores Gao’s practice of Daoism and his penchant for “magic.” Daoist narratives and anecdotal literature portray him as a devotee, an alchemist, and a miracle-worker. As a general, Gao was steeped in Daoist strategy and drawn to military cults. On campaign, he exploited the religious beliefs and practices of non-Han adversaries and used his power over thunder and lightning, possibly aided by gunpowder, to 2

Zizhi tongjian, 252.8178–80.

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awe thunder-worshiping minorities into submission.3 The writings of the Daoist hierarch Du Guangting 杜光庭 (850–933) depict the general as an exemplary minister, patron, and practitioner, and they report miraculous responses to his temple restorations, sponsorship of healing and exorcistic rituals, and assiduous use of Daoist scriptures and talismans. 4 Two areas stand out among Gao’s manifold interests in the Daoist arts: alchemy and geomancy. In North Vietnam, which he governed in 864–68 as protector of Annan, Gao is revered to this day as the founder-patron of the local practice of geomancy and a powerful wizard and diviner.5 Gao was aware of the public effect of his religious persona; his secretaries—we would call them communicators—used it to intimidate enemies, impress subordinates, or inspire devotion for his benefactions. The judicious recruitment of literary talent, like the well-known Daoist author Pei Xing 裴鉶 (ca. 825–ca. 880) and the scholar-poet Ch’oe Ch’iwŏn 崔致遠 (855–949), a native of the kingdom of Silla, played an important part in Gao Pian’s leadership and helped magnify his reputation.6 Gao’s religious aura was lost neither on the public nor on the court. Literati-officials like the chief Hanlin academician Wang Hui 王徽 (d. 891) portrayed Gao as a man whom the gods favored and local tutelary spirits aided in his enterprises.7 Given the high stakes of Gao Pian’s military missions, it is not surprising that his actions drew impassioned praise and condemnation. Abandoning the dynasty at a critical juncture, while establishing himself as the autonomous lord of Huainan, earned the former war hero the opprobrium of an “insubordinate minister” 叛臣.8 The essayist Luo Yin 羅隱 (833–910) depicted Gao Pian in satirical poems and the pamphlet “Bewitched in Guang­ ling” 廣陵妖亂志 as a demented, latter-day Prince of Huainan presiding over a court of Daoist charlatans while dreaming, astride a wooden crane with mechanical wings, of his imminent ascent to heaven.9 Luo Yin was a self-avowed slanderer, who moreover bore a personal grudge against the 3 See Verellen, “L’ouverture du chenal de la Puissance céleste sous la Chine des Tang.” 4 Verellen, Du Guangting, 53–55. 5 See Pham Le Huy ファム・レ・フイ, “Betonamu ni okeru Annan togo Kō Ben no yōjutsu: sono gensō to shinsō ni tsuite ベトナムにおける安南都護高駢の妖術—その幻相と真相について,” 299–330. 6 Cf. Verellen, “L’ouverture du chenal,” 237–43, on Pei’s stele inscription “Path of Heavenly Might.” 7 See Wang’s inscription on the ramparts of Chengdu in Chengdu wenlei 成都文類 (1200), 24.496–97. 8 Gao’s biography in Xin Tang shu 新唐書 (1060), 224B.6391–404, is classif ied under that rubric. 9 “Guangling yaoluan zhi,” in Luo Yin ji jiaozhu 羅隱集校注, 486–95.

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governor for declining to employ him.10 That said, Gao Pian’s Daoist poems confirm that Luo’s caricature undeniably contained a grain of truth about his otherworldly outlook late in life.

Military Men of Letters The earliest critical sampling of Gao Pian’s poetry is found in a fragment from the otherwise lost Miscellany 雜說 of Xie Panyin 謝蟠隱 (or “hermit Xie Pan”) in Extensive Records for the Taiping Reign 太平廣記.11 It is quoted there under the heading “Military Off icials with Literary Gifts” 武臣有 文. The perennial issue of wen 文 vs. wu 武, the respective domains and comparative ascendancy of literati (read civilian) vs. military culture, was of special interest to an age where widespread militarization blurred the traditional boundary between the two. Xie Panyin, a poet in his own right and younger contemporary of Gao Pian whose life extended into the early tenth century, assigned to Gao the preeminent place among literati-off icials at the end of the Tang. While literary talent was an essential criterion for the selection of civil off icials, poetry was not the hallmark of battle-hardened f ield commanders like Gao Pian, who were effectively career soldiers. The poet-off icial Ouyang Xiu 歐陽修 (1007–72) ranked Gao Pian f irst and foremost as an illustrious general, then reluctantly conceded: “Brush and ink stone were certainly not his primary calling, yet, though his hand was unskilled, his calligraphy is not undistinguished.”12 Gao Pian was born in Youzhou 幽州, the region of modern Beijing, where his ancestors had migrated in the sixth century from Bohai 渤海, the Manchurian borderland wedged between China, Russia, and the Korean peninsula. Entries under “Military Officials with Literary Gifts” include the Northern Qi poet-general Gao Ang 高昂 (491–538) of the same Bohai family.13 Surprisingly, the military official and celebrated frontier poet Gao Shi 高適 (716–65), Gao Pian’s great-great-grandfather, is absent from the

10 On Luo’s penchant for denunciation and defamation, see Jan de Meyer, “‘Using the Past to Disparage the Present: Luo Yin and his Slanderous Writings.” 11 Zashuo 雜說, in Taiping guangji 太平廣記 (978), 200.1507. This citation renders the author’s name as Xie Pan 謝蟠. See the translation below. 12 Ouyang was referring to an inscription by Gao; see Jigu lu bawei 集古錄跋尾 9, in Ouyang Xiu quanji 歐陽修全集, 142.2300–2301. 13 Taiping guangji 200.1504.

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selection.14 Gao’s own entry falls close to a story about his grandfather, Gao Chongwen 高崇文 (747–809), prince of Bohai commandery. Chongwen, too, won his early laurels as a general in the war against Tibet, then decisively defeated the rebellion of Liu Pi 劉闢 (d. 806) in Sichuan. Rewarded with the military governorship of Western Sichuan, the inveterate soldier soon found the administration of that prosperous haven irksome and requested his transfer back to the frontier. Gao Chongwen’s biographers characterize him as a simple and loyal man of few words. Ironically for one named “Reveres Letters,” Chongwen was illiterate, a factor that contributed to his distaste for paperwork.15 The story concerning him in “Military Officials with Literary Gifts” derives from the tenth-century collection of anecdotes Trifles from Beimeng 北夢 瑣言. It is set during the Sichuan interlude in Gao’s life on the frontier: at a staff party organized in his headquarters to celebrate an impressive fall of snow with poetry, Chongwen arrives unbidden. In the immemorial mode of oral composition, Gao produces a quatrain that the company admiringly compares to the work of his Bohai clansman Gao Ang.16 The poem opens with a wordplay on Chongwen’s name and vocation and ends in a simile for “snow flurry,” the theme of the party, one that reflects his predilection for the frontier: 崇文崇武不崇文 Chongwen esteems arms, not letters, 提戈出塞號將軍 he wields his pike out on the frontier, a general of renown. 那個𩩉兒射落雁 That fellow shot a wild goose in full flight, 白毛空裏落紛紛 white feathers flutter in the void.17

Chongwen uses a Bohai vernacular expression, xiaoer 𩩉兒, for “fellow.”18 In contrast with the rustic colloquialism of the hunting scene, the simile “white feathers flutter in the void” evokes a classic snow-poetry party in refined literary tradition. On a wintry day, the Eastern Jin statesman Xie 14 See Zhou Hongcai 周洪才, “Gao shi zupu zhong Gao Shi jiashi houyi kaoshu.” It should be noted that the Gao family genealogy Gaoshi zupu does not make reliable distinctions between the male ascendants of the same generation. 15 See his biography in Jiu Tang shu 舊唐書, 151.4051–53. 16 On oral composition, see Christopher Nugent, Manifest in Words, Written on Paper, 137–52. 17 Beimeng suoyan, by Sun Guangxian 孫光憲 (ca. 895–968), 7.58–59. 18 The character xiao 𩩉, also written 髇, means “whistling arrow.” Taiping guangji’s quotation of the passage normalizes the dialect expression as huer 胡兒, meaning “Sogdian” or “Northwesterner.”

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An 謝安 (320–85) invited the children of his household to a game of linked verse, challenging them to find similes for a sudden flurry of snow. His young niece Xie Daoyun 謝道韞 came up with “willow catkins borne by the wind.”19 This image for feathery snowflakes set a new standard against which future snow poetry would be judged, including “On Snow” 詠雪 by Gao Pian: 六出花飄入戶時 As the six-petalled blossoms drift into the yard, 坐看修竹變瓊枝 I sit watching the tall bamboo turn into stems of alabaster. 逡巡好上高樓望 For a moment, I feel like climbing a high tower to survey 蓋盡人間惡路岐 the world of men all blanketed, with its nefarious paths and deviations.20

Gao Pian’s Poetry The writer who would judge Gao’s six-petalled blossoms against the Xie family’s productions was Ch’oe Ch’iwŏn, admittedly not an impartial critic. A poet and prominent member of Gao’s staff of literati retainers at his Huainan military headquarters, Ch’oe vigorously beat the drum for his patron. His “Snow Poem” 雪詠, responding to Gao’s “On Snow,” was the fourth in a cycle of thirty Poems Commemorating Virtue 紀德詩三十首 that he presented to the governor as part of a dossier to obtain his post. Gao’s six-petalled blossoms evoked the hexagonal shape of ice crystals. Although this was not a strictly original simile for snowflakes, Ch’oe declared: “Now we know that quatrains are superior to linked verse / henceforth his repute overshadows the Xie.” Ch’oe passed over Gao Pian’s striking but gloomy last line in silence.21 Ch’oe Ch’iwŏn’s opinion notwithstanding, it was to a member of the Xie family that Gao owed his first critical acclaim. Xie Panyin, the author of the above-mentioned Miscellany, descended from the celebrated landscape 19 Shishuo xinyu 世說新語 2/71; Richard B. Mather, trans., A New Account of Tales of the World, 67. 20 “Yongxue,” in Taiping guangji 200.1507 (Quan Tang shi 598.6922). The twelfth-century editions in Tang shi jishi 唐詩紀事 (ca. 1165) by Ji Yougong 計有功, 63.950, and Wanshou Tangren jueju 萬首唐人絶句 (1191) by Hong Mai 洪邁, 47.13b, are respectively titled “Snow Poem” 雪詩 and “Facing the Snow” 對雪. 21 Guiyuan bigeng ji jiaozhu 桂苑筆耕集校注 (886), 17.588.

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poet Xie Lingyun 謝靈運 (385–433). In 890–91, three years after Gao’s death, Panyin wrote a preface to the collected Poems of Gao Pian 高駢詩.22 Neither the collection nor Xie’s preface survive today, but some twenty years on, when the Tang had already come to an end, Xie separately included the following appraisal in his Miscellany: From an early age, Gao Pian of the Tang enjoyed writing poetry. His style was singularly elegant, his verse expressive, surpassing the commonplace. Few writers of the period were his equals. Among the ranking officials who had literary talent during the declining years of the Tang, Pian can be said to come first. His collection met with troubled times and was largely lost. What survives today circulated abundantly at the time.23

Following this, Xie Panyin reproduces five poems from the remaining collection, including “On Snow” and a lighthearted quatrain in the short line titled “Sending a Monk a Staff of Qiong Bamboo” 寄僧筇竹杖. It accompanied the gift of a walking stick, made from Sichuan bamboo and resembling the nine-noded staff of the immortals, to a monk in Zhejiang: 堅輕筇竹杖 一枝有九節 寄與沃州僧 閑歩秋山月

Strong but lightweight Qiong bamboo, one staff with nine nodes. I send it to the Wozhou monk for strolling under the autumnal mountain moon.24

After the early losses mentioned by Xie, the Poems of Gao Pian are listed in early bibliographies as comprising either one or three scrolls.25 Under the Song, individual poems began appearing separately in anthologies of Tang poetry, such as Hong Mai’s 洪邁 (1123–1202) Ten Thousand Tang Quatrains 萬首唐人絶句. The collection Poems of Gao Pian is documented through the Five Dynasties, Song, Jin, Yuan, and Ming periods, before vanishing irretrievably sometime between the Ming and Qing periods. The eighteenthcentury editors of Complete Poetry of the Tang 全唐詩 gathered the fifty 22 See Tang caizi zhuan jiaojian 唐才子傳校箋 (1304), by Xin Wenfang 辛文房, 10.318. 23 Zashuo cited in Taiping guangji 200.1507. See also the unattributed citation in Tang shi jishi 63.950. 24 Gao Pian, “Jiseng Qiongzhu zhang,” in Taiping guangji 200.1507 (Quan Tang shi 598.6919). 25 Xin Tang shu 60.1613 and several catalogues of private collections list one scroll, Song shi 宋 史 (1346), 208.5337, has three scrolls.

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anthology pieces that continued (and still continue) to circulate separately into a single chapter dedicated to Gao Pian. All of Gao’s surviving poems are regulated verse in the Tang “new style”; the majority are quatrains (partly due to the accident that Gao’s poetry was preponderantly transmitted through Hong Mai’s collection of quatrains), the remainder are regulated verse in eight lines. Several of Gao’s poems were anthologized in popular collections and remain widely known and appreciated to this day, for example, “Pacing the Void” (buxu 步虛詞) in Tang Literature’s Finest 唐文粹 (Northern Song), “Summer Day at a Mountain Pavilion” 山亭夏日 in Poems of a Thousand Masters 千家詩 (Southern Song), or “Sending off Spring” 送春 in Illustrated Album of Tang Poems 唐 詩畫譜 (Ming). Gao’s poems can be loosely grouped under the traditional headings of occasional poems, with titles like “Airing What Stirs Me” 遣興, poems describing thoughts and emotions 寫懷, frontier poetry 邊塞, reflections on the past 懷古, poems on banquets and drinking 飲宴, farewell, gift, and exchange poems 呈詩, and poems on reclusion 隱逸 and other Daoist themes.26 Of the ten poems selected below, the first five are about recluses, the remainder convey Gao’s yearning for disengagement and transcendence in the later years of his life.

Ten Daoist Poems “Pacing the Void” lyrics are a quintessential genre of Daoist poetry.27 The original buxu 步虛 was a liturgical hymn in the early fifth century Lingbao Scripture on Pacing the Void at Mount Jade-Capital 洞玄靈寶玉京山步虛經 (DZ 1439). Adepts chanted this hymn, which emulated celestial music, to accompany ritual mind journeys among the stars of the Northern Dipper.28 This liturgical prototype inspired literary adaptations that established “Pacing the Void” as a genre of the secular Music Bureau repertoire. The eleventh century anthology Collected Music Bureau Poems 樂府詩集 fixed 26 Cf. the slightly diverging classification in Xu Haibing 徐海冰, “Wan Tang zhanluan beijing xia Gao Pian de xintai mingyun yu shige chuangzuo,” 76–78. 27 For an overview of the themes of the period’s Daoist poetry, see Stephen Owen, The Late Tang: Chinese Poetry of the Mid-ninth Century, 315–34, and Edward H. Schafer, Mirages on the Sea of Time: The Taoist Poetry of Tsʻao Tʻang, 11–15. 28 On its ritual origin, see Kristofer Schipper, “A Study of Buxu: Taoist Liturgical Hymn and Dance,” 110–20, and Wang Chengwen 王承文, “Zhonggu daojiao ‘buxu’ yi de qiyuan yu gu Lingbao jing fenlei lunkao.”

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the early canon of buxu that began with ten stanzas by Yu Xin 庾信 (513–81) and ended with Gao Pian’s lyric.29 Gao borrowed the theme of his buxu from a poem by the Eastern Jin mystic Guo Pu 郭璞 (276–324). The second of Guo’s “Wandering in Transcendency, Seven Poems” reads: 青谿千餘仞 中有一道士 雲生梁棟間 風出窗戶裏 借問此何誰 云是鬼谷子

Green Ravine, a thousand fathoms, in it a Daoist dwells. Clouds arise within his loft, winds issue from his window. When asked who this might be, they say it’s Master Guigu.30

Green Ravine was in Linju 臨沮 county in Hubei (present-day Nanzhang 南漳), where Guo Pu lived as a young man.31 Gao Pian’s buxu combines the mysterious Green Ravine dwelling of Guigu with a tradition that depicts the Warring States sage as a recluse adept of the Book of Changes:32 i. “Pacing the Void Lyric” 步虛詞 青溪道士人不識 The Daoist of Green Ravine, unrecognized by men, 上天下天鶴一隻 ascends to Heaven, descends from Heaven, one solitary crane.33 洞門深鎖碧牕寒 The grotto gate has long been barred, the jasper window chilly,34 滴露研朱點周易 dripping dew with cinnabar ground marked the Book of Changes.35

This lyric enjoyed wide popularity, enhanced by its inscription in a wellvisited location.36 It probably dates to the years 860–64 when Gao Pian was 29 See Yuefu shiji 樂府詩集, ed. Guo Maoqian 郭茂倩 (1041–99), 78.1099–106, and Edward H. Schafer, “Wu Yün’s ‘Cantos on Pacing the Void,’” 389. 30 Guo Pu, “Youxian shi qishou” 遊仙詩七首 (2), in Wenxuan 文選, 21.1019–20. Cf. Zornica Kirkova, Roaming into the Beyond, 127. 31 See Zhao Peilin 趙沛霖, “Cong Guo Pu de shenxian daojiao xinyang kan tade Youxian shi,” 212. 32 See Wang Yongkuan 王永寬 and Xie Shaohua 解少華, “Guigu zi shengping shiji xintan,” 17–19. 33 From heaven: The version in Casual Talk (see note 41) reads “descends to earth” 下地. 34 The jasper window barren: Casual Talk reads “the jade window empty” 玉窗閒. 35 See Caidiao ji 才調集, by Wei Hu 韋縠 (fl. 910), in Tang ren xuan Tang shi 唐人選唐詩, 7.598–99 (Quan Tang shi 598.6920); see also Tang wencui 唐文粹, comp. Yao Xuan 姚鉉 (968–1020), 13.7a. 36 On the “circulation” of poems inscribed in public places, see Nugent, Manifest in Words, 199–214.

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defense commissioner of Qinzhou 秦州 (present-day Tianshui 天水) in Gansu. After the fall of the Tang, the writer Wang Renyu 王仁裕 (880–956), a native of that town, migrated to the kingdom of Shu in Sichuan where he found employment as a Hanlin academician.37 In his Casual Talk from the Jade Hall 玉堂閒話, Wang relates that it was a Daoist master in Shu who first drew his attention to a remarkable poem engraved in the precincts of the palace of Wei Xiao 隗囂宮 in his own hometown. Wei Xiao (d. 33 CE) was a local warlord during the transition period from the Western to the Eastern Han. Under the Northern Wei (386–534), the resplendent remains of Wei’s residence were converted to the Chongning monastery崇寧寺, which was still one of three major Buddhist sanctuaries in Tang Qinzhou.38 Two decades after the anti-Buddhist proscription of the Huichang period (841–46), the engraving of an archetypically Daoist poem in such a place might seem provocative. But as many Dunhuang manuscripts illustrate, the religious culture of the Gansu corridor was unusually ecumenical.39 Wang Renyu had frequented this site in his youth without noticing the poem. After his return to Qinzhou in 925, he found it engraved on the threshold of one of the sanctuary’s stone gates. Wang noted approvingly: “On examination, the piece had the exalted style of the divine transcendents. Poets from far and near jostled to recite and savor it. Can anyone doubt that Daoists truly are of the carp-harnessing and crane-riding ilk? Marvelous, marvelous!”40 Seemingly unaware of the poem’s authorship, Wang copied down the verse in situ and reproduced it in his Casual Talk. 41 The historian Chen Shangjun 陳尚君 read the last two lines as a measure of Gao’s spirituality and detachment from fame and honors, remarkable, he thought, in one who already enjoyed considerable renown at the time.42 Although Gao himself would later disown a literalist interpretation of his motives (see poem x below), his Daoist poetry returns again and again to this penchant for hermits and a professed desire to seek them out. “Courting the Recluse” 招隱 was originally a poetic conceit among Western Jin (265–316) 37 On Wang and his Yutang xianhua, see Glen Dudbridge, A Portrait of Five Dynasties China, 1–38. 38 Cf. Du Fu’s 杜甫 (712–70) “Twenty Unclassified Poems from Qinzhou” 秦州雜詩二十首 (2), “The temple north of Qinzhou’s walls / the splendid remains of Wei Xiao’s palace”; trans. Stephen Owen, The Poetry of Du Fu, 2:132–33. 39 Cf. Franciscus Verellen, Imperiled Destinies: The Daoist Quest for Deliverance in Medieval China, 290–95. 40 Carp-harnessing: see Liezi 列子, “Qin Gao” 琴高. 41 Yutang xianhua, cited in Zhuzhuang shihua 竹莊詩話, comp. He Wen 何汶 (12th–13th cent.), 21.409. 42 See Chen Shangjun, “Luanshi nengchen Gao Pian de wenxue caihua yu rensheng mitu,” 49.

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officials who, burdened with responsibility, toyed with the idea of detached retirement and exchanged reveries of secluded hermitages. 43 Mount Luofu 羅浮, the site of Ge Hong’s 葛洪 (283–343) alchemical experimentations, was such a place. Luofu was situated on the northern bank of the East River 東江, a Pearl River tributary that flows through Boluo 博羅 county, eighty kilometers east of Guangzhou. In the following poem, Gao Pian calls this stream “long river.”44 The hermit there returns to his cottage “draped in moonlight,” like the recluse poet Tao Yuanming 陶淵明 (365–427), who wrote: “At dawn, I leave to weed the field; I return draped in moonlight, the hoe over my shoulder.”45 “Emerald Peach Spring” was a Daoist lyric, also known as “The Return of Master Ruan” 阮郎歸; its emerald peaches, prunus persica, were peaches of immortality from the residence of the Queen Mother of the West. ii. “On the Cottage at Luofu” 題羅浮別業 不將真性染埃塵 Not letting his true nature be sullied by the dust of the world, 爲有煙霞伴此身 he makes mist and clouds his person’s companions. 帶月長江好歸去 Draped in moonlight by the long river he enjoys returning 博羅山下碧桃春 to Emerald Peach Spring beneath Mount Boluo. 46

Keeping one’s true nature unsullied by worldly affairs was a greater than average challenge for courtiers and generals, but there was a model for achieving this. Dongfang Shuo 東方朔 (154–93 BCE) was a “court recluse” 朝隱 whose eccentricity and natural detachment remained unaffected by the tussle of officialdom. For the Western Jin poet Wang Kangju 王康琚 this was the mark of a superior hermit. In a poem titled “Against Courting Recluses” 反招隠, Wang distinguished between lesser recluses—those who withdrew to the wilderness—and great recluses who were able to

43 See Alan Berkowitz, “Courting Disengagement: ‘Beckoning the Recluse’ Poems in the Western Jin,” 81–115. 44 See Michel Soymié, “Le Lo-feou chan, étude de géographie religieuse,” 2. The expression “long river” is used here generically. Chen Shangjun’s reading as “Yangzi” in “Luanshi nengchen,” 49, is difficult to reconcile with the context. 45 “Returning to Dwell in Gardens and Fields” 歸園田居 (3/5), in Tao yuanming ji 陶淵明集, 2.42. 46 “Ti Luofu bieye,” Tang shi jishi 63.951 (Quan Tang shi 598.6921). Wanshou 47.12b–13a has the title “Ji ti Luofu bieye” 寄題羅浮別業.

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practice seclusion in palace halls and market places.47 In addition, there was a middle road for the “intermediate recluse,” as Bai Juyi 白居易 (772–846) styled himself living in semiretirement in the secondary capital Luoyang.48 Gao Pian addressed the following poem to a recluse of the lesser kind, one who had withdrawn to the Hudu 鄠杜 region comprising the counties Hu and Du northwest of the capital. Expecting a message from his friend, the poet surveys the comings and goings between Hu and Chang’an but finally resigns himself to observing that hermits journeyed in their minds and exercised their far-reaching influence by means of disciplined seclusion, as exemplified by two master calligraphers of the Eastern Han. A regulated verse in eight lines, the two middle couplets are antithetical: iii. “Sent to the Scholar Living in Seclusion, Li Suiliang of Hudu” 寄鄠 杜李遂良處士 小隱堪忘世上情 A lesser recluse is capable of forgetting worldly affairs, 可能休夢入重城 able to enter the walled palace in his dreams. 池邊寫字師前輩 By the side of a pond he honed his calligraphy, taking his elders as masters;49 座右題銘律後生 or made an inscription to the right of his seat, to guide future generations.50 吟社客歸秦渡晚 The poetry society guests return to Qindu at sunset, 醉鄉漁去渼陂晴 a befuddled f isherman sets out for Meibei in broad daylight.51 春來不得山中信 Spring arrived without a letter from the mountain, 盡日無人傍水行 all day long no one journeyed by the water.52

The following poem is about a non-encounter with an elusive hermit in the Tiantai mountains of Zhejiang. In the prototype for poems on this 47 See Wenxuan 22.1030. 48 See Yang Xiaoshan, Metamorphosis of the Private Sphere, 36–50. 49 Zhang Zhi 張芝 (d. 192 CE), a master of cursive script, practiced his art by the side of a pond until its water turned black; see Jin shu 晉書, 80.2100. 50 Referring to the Inscription Placed to the Right of my Seat by Cui Yuan 崔瑗 (78–143 CE), in Wenxuan 56.2409–10. 51 Qindu: a passage in the Feng River 灃河, on the boundary between Chang’an and Hu and county; Meibei: a lake in Hu. 52 See “Ji Hudu Li Suiliang chushi,” in Tang shi guchui 唐詩鼓吹, 6.15b–16a (Quan Tang shi 598.6917).

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theme, the seeker turns back in his tracks before reaching the hermitage, recognizing that what mattered in seeking recluses was not arriving, but setting out on a poetic impulse.53 Gao Pian may have taken his inspiration from Li Bai’s 李白 (701–62) “Calling on a Daoist Priest at Mount Daitian and Not Meeting Him” 訪戴天山道士不遇 with its similar motifs of flowing brook and peach blossom.54 In Gao’s poem, the flowering trees spread their splendor unobserved in the deserted yard, accentuating the hermit’s absence: iv. “Calling on a Recluse and Not Meeting Him” 訪隱者不遇 落花流水認天台 Fallen petals, flowing water: I am familiar with Tiantai, 半醉閒吟獨自來 half-tipsy, idly humming, I came here on my own. 惆悵仙翁何處去 Disappointed: where is the Immortal Elder off to? 滿庭紅杏碧桃開 Filling the yard, red apricot and emerald peach in full flower.55

Nothing could be further from Gao Pian’s life of forced marches to the confines of the empire, repelling invaders, putting down insurrections, and governing territories the size of European countries than the blithely aimless amble of the scene above. If to recluse-seekers the intention mattered more than the outcome, the poet was evidently concerned here with projection, not with palpable reality. The following was written to match an unknown poem offered to a Daoist recluse of Lake Dongting in Hunan.56 The island Junshan 君山 (Lord’s Mountain) in that lake housed a Daoist sanctuary and a tomb. The name Junshan commemorated the mythical Emperor Shun 舜帝 whose two consorts, models of conjugal devotion, lay buried there. The stars f illing the altar area may have been votive lamps representing stellar deities during the ritual. The poet again marvels at the hermit’s indifference to worldly repute. In poem iii, he likened Li Suiling to two consummate calligraphers; here he assimilates the recluse with four immortals of Daoist legend: 53 See Berkowitz, “Courting Disengagement,” 81–85. 54 See “Fang Daitian shan daoshi bu yu,” Li Bai ji jiaozhu 23.1355–56. 55 “Fang yinzhe buyu,” Wanshou 47.13b (Quan Tang shi 598.6922). 56 Yongle dadian 永樂大典 mistakenly also attributed a second “Poem on Lake Dongting” 洞 庭湖詩 to Gao Pian; see Quan Tang shi bubian 全唐詩補編, 574–75.

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v. “Matching ‘Offered to Master Zhao of Dongting’ by Presented Scholar Wang Zhaofu” 和王昭符進士贈洞庭趙先生 為愛君山景最靈 Because of devotion, Junshan is the holiest of sites; 角冠秋禮一壇星 Daoists perform autumn rites on an altar filled with stars. 藥將雞犬雲間試 An elixir was tested on chickens and dogs among the clouds;57 琴許魚龍月下聽 a zither let aquatic creatures listen beneath the moon.58 自要乘風隨羽客 One rode the wind by himself to follow the feathered immortals;59 誰同種玉驗仙經 another grew jades jointly to fulfill the transcen­ dent writ.60 煙霞澹泊無人到 Unconcerned in mist and clouds where no human reaches, 除有漁翁過洞庭 except the old fisherman crossing Lake Dongting.61

The tone of Gao’s remaining Daoist poems shifts noticeably. The majority of them relate, explicitly or implicitly, to the political upheavals of the early 880s. The year 879–80 had been pivotal, both for the fortunes of the Tang dynasty and for Gao Pian’s life trajectory. In 880, after having successfully engaged Huang Chao’s insurgent army and won several battles in succession, Gao Pian as commander-in-chief unexpectedly bivouacked the assembled Joint Expeditionary Armies outside Yangzhou, allowing Huang Chao to cross the Yangzi unhindered and letting the fate of the dynasty run its course. The two capitals were sacked, and the emperor fled to Western Sichuan. From Yangzhou, Gao maintained a flow of correspondence, in turn blunt and diplomatic, with the exiled court in Chengdu. On August 6, he belatedly issued a “Proclamation of War against Huang Chao” 檄黃巢書, a ringing yet non-committal ultimatum for the rebels occupying Chang’an to 57 The Eastern Han alchemist Wei Boyang 魏伯陽 tested his elixir on chickens and dogs, causing them to rise up to heaven with him. 58 When Hu Ba 瓠巴 played the zither, water creatures came to the surface to listen; see Xunzi 荀子, “Exhortation to Learning” 勸學. 59 Liezi made the wind his chariot; see Zhuangzi 莊子, “Free and Easy Wandering” 逍遙遊 1. 60 In Soushen ji 搜神記11, Yang Yongbo 楊雍伯 planted stones and harvested jades, following a visiting immortal’s instructions. 61 Gao Pian, “He Wang Zhaofu jinshi zeng Dongting Zhao xiansheng,” in Tang shi guchui, 6.16a–b (Quan Tang shi 598.6917–18).

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surrender.62 As Salt, Iron and Transport commissioner, Gao Pian controlled massive tax shipments flowing from the southeast through Yangzhou. When Gao withheld these, declined to intervene militarily, and began appointing his own ranking officials, the court could no longer avoid the conclusion that he had turned his back on the dynasty. In the first month of 882, the emperor replaced Gao as supreme commander with the chief minister Wang Duo 王鐸.63 Against the strident clamor of public controversy surrounding his posture at this point, Gao’s poetry offers a glimpse of his personal response to events, as well as a hint as to his reasons for relinquishing the Tang. When news of his demotion reached Yangzhou, Gao reacted with a poem that satirically cast Wang Duo as the flute-playing transcendent Wang Zijin 王子晉 and Gao himself in the role of the long-persevering alchemist seeking to concoct the elixir of immortality. Gao had, in fact, more than a passing interest in alchemy. He not only recruited alchemists among his retainers but was personally credited with the authorship of an alchemical tract, the now lost Hymn on Natural Acuity and Liquefied Gold 性箴金 液頌.64 In this poem, he borrows a theme from “Pacing the Void” lyrics, where the frustrated adept looks longingly up to an airborne transcendent, despairing that his crucible would ever yield the coveted potion:65 vi. “On Learning that Wang Duo of Hezhong was Promoted Commanderin-Chief” 聞河中王鐸加都統 煉汞燒鉛四十年 Refining mercury and firing lead for forty years, 至今猶在藥爐前 to this day I stand before the crucible still. 不知子晉緣何事 I cannot fathom how Zijin, 只學吹簫便得仙 just learned the flute and gained transcendence!66

Daoist lore depicted Wang Zijin, the son of king Ling of the Zhou 周靈王 (d. 545 BCE), ascending to heaven on the back of a crane while imitating the cry of the phoenix on a reed pipe.67 The poem’s scenario paints Wang 62 “Xi Huang Chao shu,” in Guiyuan bigeng ji jiaozhu, 11.311–18. 63 See Zizhi tongjian 254. 8261–62. On Wang Duo, see Niu Qingguo 牛慶國, “Wan Tang zaixiang Wang Duo xingnian jikao.” 64 See Verellen, “L’ouverture du chenal,” 246–48; Song shi 205.5192, Gao Pian xingzhen jinye song. 65 See Schafer, “Wu Yün’s ‘Cantos on Pacing the Void,’” 391–92. 66 Gao Pian, “Wen Hezhong Wang Duo jia dutong,” in Tang shi jishi 63.951 (Quan Tang shi 598.6924). 67 See Liexian zhuan 列仙傳 (ca. 2nd cent. CE), DZ 294, A.13b–14a.

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Duo, the scion of a wealthy and noble clan, and a regular patron of Daoist rituals, in mock flattery as the princely transcendent.68 In contrast with Gao Pian’s forty years of campaigning and hard-won battles, Wang’s scant military experience was limited to civilian oversight roles. He proved indeed an ineffectual commander-in-chief and was relieved of the post the following year. In early 885, just as Huang Chao was finally subdued with the help of Shatuo Turk allies and the court briefly returned to Chang’an, bandits captured and murdered Wang Duo with his family on his way to a new appointment.69 Despite the rhetoric of Daoist detachment of Gao’s poems, the general faced his worldly reverses with less than perfect equanimity. In the tempestuous “Tidal Surge” 海翻, he vents his indignation bluntly, and this time without recourse to irony: 幾經人事變 又見海濤翻 徒起如山浪 何曾洗至冤

Time and again the course of life alters, once more reversed by oceanic rollers. Surging forward like a mountainous swell, they will never cleanse the supreme injustice!70

Whatever Gao’s own share of responsibility in the empire’s debacle, his pride was plainly hurt. Time and again, a frivolous emperor and his divided inner palace had allowed favored courtiers or eunuch factions hostile to Gao to arrogate the hard-won fruits of his victories and sacrifices.71 It was not without reason that he joined the growing chorus of senior commanders who deserted the Tang cause at this time, citing the court’s callousness and ingratitude.72 In the eyes of Tang officials, Taigong 太公, the patron deity of the military, was the archetype of the devoted minister whose talents and merits went unacknowledged. Gao Pian’s rumination below on the destiny of Taigong resonates with this resentment. Taigong’s summons as counselor and strategist of King Wen, the founder of the Zhou dynasty, came only late in life. Until then, he had bided his time fishing, or feigning to fish, on the banks of 68 On Wang as a ritual patron, see Guangcheng ji 廣成集, by Du Guangting, ed. Dong Enlin 董恩林 (Beijing: Zhonghua, 2011), 7.95–99. 69 See Zizhi tongjian 256.3817. 70 Gao Pian, “Haifan,” Wanshou, 19.3b (Quan Tang shi 598.6919). 71 See Huang Lou 黃樓, Shence jun yu zhong wan Tang huanguan zhengzhi 神策軍與中晚唐宦 官政治 on the nefarious effects of late Tang eunuch politics on the military, and on Gao Pian, in particular. 72 See Somers, “The end of the T’ang,” 741.

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the Panxi 磻溪, a branch of the river Wei 渭 near Baoji 寶雞 in Shaanxi.73 Tradition attributes to Taigong several Warring States military classics.74 Worshiped earlier as an accessory divinity in the shrine of Kings Wen and Wu, the Tang made Taigong a martial sage 武聖 on a par with the civilian sage Confucius.75 Emperor Taizong (r. 626–49) erected the original Taigong temple in Panxi, halfway between the capital and Qinzhou. In 861, when Gao Pian was headquartered in Qinzhou, he paid his respects to the temple of Taigong, as commanders often did to announce their victories, especially those in the Hexi corridor. On that occasion, Gao presented the sanctuary with a “Panxi Temple Inscription” 磻溪廟 記 in his own calligraphy.76 The poem below, which was probably written around the same time as “Tidal Surge,” similarly takes the inconstancy of fortune as its point of departure, before lamenting Taigong’s trials as an unrecognized statesman: vii. “The Temple of Taigong” 太公廟 青山長在境長新 The green hills stay forever, conditions ever change; 寂寞持竿一水濵 solitary, he held a fishing pole upon the river’s bank. 及得王師身已老 By the time he became the king’s counselor he was already old, 不知辛苦爲何人 I do not know on whose behalf he endured this hardship!77

The eighth poem in Ch’oe Ch’iwŏn Commemorating Virtue responds to this. Ch’oe hearteningly points out that his patron, unlike Taigong, was made the king’s counselor at a young age, a reference to Emperor Yizong’s official commendation of Gao in 860, that is, around the time of the visit to Taigong’s temple, for his victories against the Tanguts during the preceding decade. Ch’oe predicts that the merits of Gao, who was made a general on that occasion and later rose to the ranks of chief minister and field marshal,

73 >See Zhonglun jiaozhu 中論校注, by Xu Gan 徐幹 (171–218), B.239–41. 74 See Ralph D. Sawyer, “Military Writings,” 105–6. 75 See Wang Fengxiang 王鳳翔, “Tang dai Wumiao yu Taigong chongbai”; on the wen-wu controversy surrounding this initiative, see David McMullen, “The Cult of Ch’i T’ai-kung and Tang Attitudes to the Military.” 76 See Xin Tang shu, 216B.6108. A rubbing of this inscription prompted Ouyang Xiu’s comment on Gao’s calligraphy above. 77 Gao Pian, “Taigong miao,” in Wanshou 47.14a (Quan Tang shi 598.6922–23).

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would bear fruit for “ten thousand springs to come.”78 Even after Gao’s fall from grace, the court still found it prudent to mollify the general by elevating his noble rank from duke of Yan 燕 and Bohai to prince of Bohai commandery. In 881–82, the year of his demotion from commander-in-chief, Gao Pian erected a Tower for Welcoming Immortals 迎仙樓 near his residence in Yangzhou. Two ornate edifices completed the architectural complex: the eighty-foot-tall Gallery of Lasting Peace 延和閣 and an Emerald Bamboo Pavilion 碧筠亭 next to Gao’s reception hall.79 “Bewitched in Guangling” 廣 陵妖亂志 censures these fanciful constructions that, according to Luo Yin, were undertaken at the urging of the magician Lü Yongzhi 呂用之 (d. 887), at a cost of 150,000 strings of cash. Luo claims that Gao never set foot in the new buildings because Lü and his accomplices, fearing exposure of their misdeeds, held the general sequestered on the pretext that he needed to avoid all human commerce to prove his worthiness as an aspiring transcendent: They said to Gao: “Exalted True Beings and superior sages are about to descend and carry out an inspection. Students of immortality will be the ones held accountable. If their conduct falls in the slightest short of Daoist attainment, they will stop receiving divine favor.” When Gao heard this, he believed them, isolated himself from worldly affairs, forsook consorts and maidservants, as well as visitors and officials, and stopped receiving anyone.80

The following poem by Gao Pian tells quite a different story: viii. “Receiving Guests on a Spring Day” 春日招賓 花枝如火酒如餳 Fiery flowers, wine like nectar, 正好狂歌醉復醒 just right, a mad song for sobering up! 對酒看花何處好 For viewing the flowers while facing wine, what better place than 延和閣下碧筠亭 Emerald Bamboo Pavilion, beneath the Gallery of Lasting Peace?81

78 Ch’oe Ch’iwŏn, “Panxi” 磻溪, in Guiyuan bigeng ji jiaozhu 17.591. For Yizong’s commendation, see Cefu yuangui 册府元龜 (1013), 359.4266a. 79 Zizhi tongjian 254.8267. 80 Luo Yin, “Guangling yaoluan zhi” in Luo Yin ji jiaozhu, 486. 81 Gao Pian, “Chunri zhaobin,” in Wanshou 47.12a–b (Quan Tang shi 598.6921). Cf. Li Bai’s “Waking from Drunkenness on a Spring Day” 春日醉起言志.

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While waiting for the immortals to descend, Gao was clearly enjoying the company of guests in the new buildings, a welcome distraction from his seething resentment of the previous winter. Having practiced various Daoist techniques all his life, at sixty Gao was increasingly drawn to the arts and lore of immortality. In one episode of “Bewitched in Guangling,” Lü Yongzhi is said to have engraved a granite tablet with swirling graphs that resembled the words “Bestowed by the Jade Emperor on Master White Cloud Gao Pian” 玉皇授白雲先生高駢. Lü planted his handiwork on the altar of Gao’s oratory. When the tablet was duly discovered, Gao was overjoyed. Lü offered this explanation: “The Jade Emperor enjoins your lordship to engage in devotions and meritorious deeds. I reckon that his phoenix crane will descend before long.”82 Whatever the truth about Gao’s sequestration and the origin of his epithet, the following poem confirms that Gao did practice some form of spiritual discipline at the time and expected “Master White Cloud” to be his title in the beyond: ix. “Airing What Stirs Me” 遣興 (1/2) 浮世忙忙蟻子群 Floating world of harried bustle, a colony of ants; 莫嗔頭上雪紛紛 none complain while snow settles on their crowns. 沈憂萬種與千種 Of nagging worries, thousands upon thousands, 行樂十分無一分 of pleasures to be had, not one in ten. 越外險巇防俗事 To escape from perils and fend off cares, 就中拘檢信人文 seek the center, practice restraint, and trust in the Pattern of Man.83 醉鄉日月終須覓 Enraptured, at the end of my days, I shall look 去作先生號白雲 to depart as the Master styled White Cloud!84

When Gao Pian the poet envisioned pursuing an elusive recluse, half-tipsy and idly humming (poem iv), he expressed a layman’s dream of disengagement, or perhaps the aspiration of a Daoist soldier-statesman to square the circle by becoming a “greater recluse,” one capable of finding detachment in the midst of court intrigue or on the battlefield. In our last example, Gao Pian offers an explanation for the manifest incongruity of his Daoist poetry. Shuye 叔夜 was the courtesy name of the poet and recluse Xi Kang 嵇康 (ca. 82 “Guangling yaoluan zhi,” Luo Yin ji jiaozhu, 488. 83 The Pattern of Man was the ritual order of the realm of human beings, in contrast with the Pattern of Heaven 天文. 84 “Qianxing” (1/2) in Tang shi guchui 6.18a (Quan Tang shi 598.6918).

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223–ca. 262), one of the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove. Seeking to escape the political strife of the age and attain transcendence, Xi Kang, with his legendary fondness for wine, was the embodiment of Daoist eccentricity and spontaneity. In Xi’s poetry casting a fishing pole was, unlike the disconsolate angling of Taigong, the gesture of a man who had unequivocally disengaged himself from the world: 微嘯清風 鼓檝容裔 放櫂投竿 優游卒歲

I whistle softly in the pure breeze And drum my oar, wavering and havering. I set aside the paddle and cast my fishing pole To spend all my days in carefree leisure!85

Few men were more exposed to the brutal violence of the waning years of the Tang than Gao Pian. In the second of two poems titled “Airing What Stirs Me,” Gao poignantly confesses that the image his Daoist poems projected of himself reflected the reverie of a man yearning to emulate the serene detachment of Xi Kang: x. “Airing What Stirs Me” 遣興 (2/2) 把盞非憐酒 If I raise my cup, it is not that I am fond of wine, 持竿不爲魚 nor do I grasp a pole because of fish. 唯應嵇叔夜 It is only to be like Xi Shuye, 似我性慵踈 that I give myself this carefree indolent air.86

Gao Pian’s Daoist frame of mind, in his younger years a wellspring of strategic insight and pragmatic leadership, in the end blinded him to the dangers of intrigue and rivalry among younger subordinates jockeying to take his place. He continued to rule over Huainan until his assassination, together with his entire clan, by a mutinous officer in 887. Although the spreading civil war did not spare Huainan, Gao Pian’s sound economic and administrative governance had prepared the region for autonomy.87 Fifteen years after Gao Pian’s death, and a few years before the f inal breakup of the Tang empire, Yang Xingmi 楊行密 (852–905), formerly Gao’s lieutenant and prefect of Luzhou 廬州 (present-day Hefei, Anhui), emerged victorious 85 Xi Kang, “Tetrasyllabic Verse, Eleven Poems” 四言詩十一首 (1), trans. Stephen Owen and Wendy Swartz, 340–41. 86 “Qianxing” (2/2) in Wanshou 19.4a (Quan Tang shi 598.6919). 87 See Sudō Yoshiyuki 周藤吉之, “Tō-matsu Wainan Kō Ben no hanchin taisei to Kō Sō totō to no kankei ni tsuite,” 191–99.

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from a protracted struggle for the succession and founded the kingdom of Wu 吳 (902–37) in the territory of Gao’s former dominion.88

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88 On the state of Wu (902–37), the precursor of the Southern Tang dynasty, see Kurz, China’s Southern Tang Dynasty, 1–22.

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Tang shi jishi 唐詩紀事 (ca. 1165). Ji Yougong 計有功. Bejing: Zhonghua, 1965. Tang wencui 唐文粹, comp. Yao Xuan 姚鉉 (968–1020). Wenyuan ge Siku quanshu 文淵閣四庫全書 ed. Tao yuanming ji 陶淵明集. Tao Yuanming 陶淵明 (365–427), edited by Lu Qinli 逯欽立. Beijing: Zhonghua, 1979. Wanshou Tangren jueju 萬首唐人絶句 (1191), comp. Hong Mai 洪邁. Beijing: Wenxue guji kanshe, 1955. Wenxuan 文選 (ca. 526), comp. Xiao Tong 蕭統. Shanghai: Guji, 1986. Xin Tang shu 新唐書 (1060). Ouyang Xiu 歐陽修 et al. Beijing: Zhonghua, 1975. Yuefu shiji 樂府詩集, edited by Guo Maoqian 郭茂倩 (fl. 1264–69). Beijing: Zhonghua, 1979. Zhonglun jiaozhu 中論校注. Xu Gan 徐幹 (171–218), edited by Xu Xianglin 徐湘 霖. Chengdu: Ba Shu shushe, 2000. Zhuzhuang shihua 竹莊詩話, comp. He Wen 何汶 (12th–13th cent.), edited by Chang Zhen’guo 常振國 et al. Beijing: Zhonghua, 1984. Zizhi tongjian 資治通鑑 (1084). Sima Guang 司馬光, Beijing: Zhonghua, 1956.

Secondary Berkowitz, Alan. “Courting Disengagement: ‘Beckoning the Recluse’ Poems in the Western Jin.” In Studies in Early Medieval Chinese Literature and Cultural History: In Honor of Richard B. Mather and Donald Holzman, edited by Paul W. Kroll and David R. Knechtges, 81–115. Provo, UT: T’ang Studies Society, 2003. Chen Shangjun 陳尚君. “Luanshi nengchen Gao Pian de wenxue caihua yu rensheng mitu” 亂世能臣高駢的文學才華與人生迷途. Wenshi zhishi 文史知識 2019.6: 44–52. De Meyer, Jan. “‘Using the Past to Disparage the Present’: Luo Yin and his Slanderous Writings.” Chinese Culture 37, no. 1 (1996): 69–86. Dudbridge, Glen. A Portrait of Five Dynasties China: From the Memoirs of Wang Renyu (880–956). Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013. Huang Lou 黃樓, Shence jun yu zhong wan Tang huanguan zhengzhi 神策軍與中 晚唐宦官政治. Beijing: Zhonghua, 2019. Kirkova, Zornica. Roaming into the Beyond: Representations of Xian Immortality in Early Medieval Chinese Verse. Leiden: Brill, 2016. Kurz, Johannes L. China’s Southern Tang Dynasty, 937–976. London: Routledge, 2011. Mather, Richard B., trans. A New Account of Tales of the World by Liu I-ch’ing with Commentary by Liu Chün. 2nd ed. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 2002. McMullen, David. “The Cult of Ch’i T’ai-kung and Tang Attitudes to the Military,” Tang Studies 7 (1989): 59–104.

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Niu Qingguo 牛慶國, “Wan Tang zaixiang Wang Duo xingnian jikao” 晚唐宰相王 鐸行年稽考. Xin guo xue 新國學 14, no. 1 (2017): 186–204. Nugent, Christopher M. B. Manifest in Words, Written on Paper: Producing and Circulating Poetry in Tang Dynasty China. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2010. Owen, Stephen. The Late Tang: Chinese Poetry of the Mid-Ninth Century (827–860). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2006. Owen, Stephen, trans. The Poetry of Du Fu. 6 vols. Berlin: De Gruyter, 2016. Owen, Stephen, and Wendy Swartz, in Xiaofei Tian and Ding Xiang Warner, eds, The Poetry of Ruan Ji and Xi Kang. Berlin: De Gruyter, 2017. Pham Le Huy ファム・レ・フイ. “Betonamu ni okeru Annan togo Kō Ben no yōjutsu: sono gensō to shinsō ni tsuite ベトナムにおける安南都護高駢の妖術—その幻 相と真相について.” In Kodai Higashi Ajia no “inori”: shūkyō, shūzoku, senjutsu 古代東アジアの ‘祈り’—宗教・習俗・占術, edited by Mizuguchi Motoki 水口 幹記, 299–330. Tokyo: Shinwasha, 2014. Sawyer, Ralph D. “Military Writings.” In A Military History of China, edited by David A. Graff and Robin Higham, 97–114. Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 2012. Schafer, Edward H. “Wu Yün’s ‘Cantos on Pacing the Void.’” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 41 (1981): 377–415. Schafer, Edward H. Mirages on the Sea of Time: The Taoist Poetry of Ts’ao T’ang. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985. Schipper, Kristofer. “A Study of Buxu: Taoist Liturgical Hymn and Dance.” In Studies of Taoist Rituals and Music of Today, edited by Pen-yeh Tsao et al., 110–20. Hong Kong: Chinese University, 1989. Somers, Robert M. “The End of the T’ang.” In The Cambridge History of China, vol. 3.1, edited by Denis Twitchett, 682–789 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979). Soymié, Michel. “Le Lo-feou chan, étude de géographie religieuse.” Bulletin de l’Ecole française d’Extrême-Orient 48, no. 1 (1956): 1–139. Sudō Yoshiyuki 周藤吉之 (1907–90). “Tō-matsu Wainan Kō Ben no hanchin taisei to Kō Sō totō to no kankei ni tsuite: Shiragi-matsu no Sai Chien no cho Keien hikkō-shū o chūshin to shite” 唐末淮南高駢の藩鎮体制と黄巣徒党との関係 について—新羅末の崔致遠の著『桂苑筆耕集』を中心として. Tōyō gakuhō 東洋学報 68 (1987): 183–218. Twitchett, Denis, et al., eds, The Cambridge History of China. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1978–. Verellen, Franciscus. Du Guangting (850–933): taoïste de cour à la fin de la Chine médiévale. Paris: Collège de France, 1989.

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Verellen, Franciscus. Imperiled Destinies: The Daoist Quest for Deliverance in Medieval China. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2019. Verellen, Franciscus. “L’ouverture du chenal de la Puissance céleste sous la Chine des Tang: artifice magique ou poudre noire?” Bulletin de l’École française d’ExtrêmeOrient 105 (2019): 229–53. Wang Chengwen 王承文. “Zhonggu daojiao ‘buxu’ yi de qiyuan yu gu lingbao jing fenlei lunkao: yi Dongxuan lingbao yujing shan buxu jing wei zhongxin de kaocha” 中古道教 ‘步虛’儀的起源與古靈寶經分類論考—以《洞玄靈寶 玉京山步虛經》為中心的考察. Zongshan daxue xuebao 中山大學學報 54, no. 4 (2014): 68–90. Wang Fengxiang 王鳳翔, “Tang dai Wumiao yu Taigong chongbai” 唐朝武廟與 太公崇拜, Guanzi xuekan 管子學刊 2014.4: 62–67. Wang Yongkuan 王永寬 and Xie Shaohua 解少華. “Guigu zi shengping shiji xintan” 鬼谷子生平事跡新探. Huanghe keji daxue xuebao 黃河科技大學學報 11, no. 5 (2009): 15–19. Xu Haibing 徐海冰. “Wan Tang zhanluan beijing xia Gao Pian de xintai mingyun yu shige chuangzuo” 晚唐戰亂背景下高駢的心態命運與詩歌創作. Guangdong haiyang daxue xuebao 廣東海洋大學學報 43, no. 2 (2014): 74–79. Yang Xiaoshan. Metamorphosis of the Private Sphere: Gardens and Objects in TangSong Poetry. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2003. Zhao Peilin 趙沛霖. “Cong Guo Pu de shenxian daojiao xinyang kan tade Youxian shi” 從郭璞的神仙道教信仰看他的《游仙詩》. Zhongzhou xuekan 中州學刊 2011.5, 209–13. Zhou Hongcai 周洪才. “Gao shi zupu zhong Gao Shi jiashi houyi kaoshu”《高氏 族譜》中高適家世后裔考述. Jining xueyuan xuebao 濟寧學院學報 41, no. 1 (2020): 96–101.

About the Author Franciscus Verellen, Professor Emeritus and former Director, École française d’Extrême-Orient, is a Visiting Fellow at Clare Hall, University of Cambridge. Recent publications include Imperiled Destinies: The Daoist Quest for Deliverance in Medieval China (2019). His current work explores military, religious, and political aspects of the breakup of the Tang empire.

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Traces of the Way: The Poetry of “Divine Transcendence” in the Northern Song Anthology Literature’s Finest (Wen cui 文粹) Anna M. Shields Abstract In her chapter, Shields questions the categories of religion and poetry as she explores the classification of poems in an important yet still understudied Song anthology, the Wen cui (Literature’s Finest). By tracing the shifting conceptualizations of Daoism, Buddhism, and “religion” in the poems of “divine transcendence” (shenxian) in the early tenth-century anthology, she reveals that we may be hampered in understanding Tang Daoist poetry not only by our own modern categorizations, but also by dynamic changes in cultural and literary contexts that shaped the reception of Tang literature during the Song. Keywords: Tang poetry, Song anthologies, Daoist poetry, Du Fu

As several essays in this volume demonstrate, the intertwined relationship of medieval literary writing and religious practice can be perceived throughout the textual archive of the early medieval and Tang eras. But thanks largely to post-medieval habits of preservation, codification, and transmission that tended to separate writing deemed as “religious” from “literary” corpora, our view of that relationship has long been obscured. Scholars of medieval religion and literature have significantly expanded our understanding of Buddhism’s influence on elite belletristic writing (wenzhang 文章) in recent decades, spurred by evidence in the Dunhuang manuscript corpus as well as by new questions of transmitted texts, but much remains to be understood about the role of Daoist topics and themes in medieval literature

Raz, Gil and Anna M. Shields (eds): Religion and Poetry in Medieval China. The Way and the Words. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2023 DOI: 10.5117/9789463721172_CH04

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that survived in individual literary collections (wenji 文集) and anthologies. Scholars such as Edward Schafer, Stephen Bokenkamp, Paul Kroll, and Franciscus Verellen have challenged traditional literary critical views and historical narratives that tend to ignore Daoism’s impact on Tang poetry and prose.1 Much of this scholarship has been recuperative, intended to reveal the footprint of Daoist concepts and practices in the corpora of specific writers such as Li Bai 李白, Cao Tang 曹唐, and Wu Yun 吳筠. Beyond rediscovering Daoism in individual collections, however, we must also investigate the structural forces that necessitate this recuperative work: how did post-Tang literary collection and transmission practices occlude or marginalize writing concerned with Daoism? What kinds of formal or topical categories did Song and later readers use to define, contain, or otherwise explicate Tang writers’ interest in Daoism? Considering anthologies, for example, allows us to step away from the thorny—and often undecidable— question of Tang authors’ religious convictions and move towards more precise questions of representation and hermeneutics. The choices of tenth- and eleventh-century compilers give us evidence of evolving views of Tang literary and religious interests, shedding light both on new Song literary tastes and emerging boundaries among religious and literary spheres. Answering these questions demands us to read more widely outside the conventional Tang canon, but it also pushes us to scrutinize the commitments of readers who shaped that canon by compiling and printing new editions, anthologies, and literary commentary. The outsized role of Neo-Confucian disregard for the Daoist and Buddhist religious traditions is perhaps the most obvious factor in the gradual elision of texts with religious content from mainstream, canon-shaping compilations, but there, too, explaining how that bias played 1 In terms of work that has been useful for this essay, I would highlight Yan Jinxiong 顏進雄, Tangdai youxian shi yanjiu 唐代遊仙詩研究; Edward Schafer’s Mirages on the Sea of Time: The Taoist Poetry of Ts’ao T’ang; “Wu Yün’s Stanzas on ‘Saunters in Sylphdom’”; and his “Wu Yün’s ‘Cantos on Pacing the Void.’” See also Kirkland, “Taoists of the High T’ang: An Inquiry into the Perceived Significance of Eminent Taoists in Medieval Chinese Society”; de Meyer, Wu Yun’s Way: Life and Works of an Eighth-century Daoist Master. For Paul Kroll, see in particular “Li Po’s Transcendent Diction”; “Lexical Landscapes and Textual Mountains in the High Tang”; and “Taoist Verse and the Quest of the Divine.” Here I owe a specif ic methodological debt to his article “Heyue yingling ji and the Attributes of High Tang Poetry,” in Reading Medieval Chinese Poetry: Text, Context, and Culture. Yao Xuan was quite familiar with Yin Fan’s anthology—he mentions it in the Wen cui preface as one of the anthologies he implicitly hopes to surpass, and selects seven of the HYYLJ poems for inclusion in Wen cui. A recent dissertation closely examines the role of Daoism in the early Northern Song court, including in the work of some of the most prominent writers: Chang Weiling 張維玲, “Classical Hermeneutics and the Competition for Political Power: The Construction and Deconstruction of the Era of ‘Great Peace’ in the Early Song Dynasty (960–1063)” 經典詮釋與全力競逐：北宋前期‘太平’的形塑與結構.

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out in specific eras and works will allow us to create a finer-grained picture of changing tastes in Tang literature in its post-Tang transmission. Here I address these questions by examining the poetry of “divine transcendence” (shenxian 神仙) selected for inclusion in a very early contribution to the Tang canon, the privately compiled 1020 anthology Literature’s Finest (Wen cui 文粹).2 Although this anthology became justly known for its rhetoric and selections defending Confucian “antiquity,” it also contains many poems and prose works treating Buddhist and Daoist topics with seriousness and precision, including works by authors who today are rarely seen as writers interested in religious topics. Literature’s Finest reveals a surprisingly capacious view of Tang literary writing that included the practices, language, and divinities of the Daoist quest for transcendence, a view shaped more by the eclectic cultural world of the early Northern Song than by the narrower perspectives on Tang literary excellence that began to take shape in the late eleventh century and solidified in the canon constructions of the Southern Song and Ming. The Tang literature we have today was initially and crucially shaped by the immediate inheritors of the Tang, the Five Dynasties and Northern Song dynasty scholars who copied, compiled, edited, and printed the works of Tang writers.3 Their judgments of taste and ideological concerns profoundly affected the types of Tang texts they chose to preserve and thus survived the fall of the Northern Song. The curatorial and preservationist tendencies of Song scholars—their anxieties about the loss of the Tang legacy—were intensif ied by the mid-eleventh-century guwen 古文 movement. This Northern Song intellectual discourse valorized certain mid-Tang writers, most importantly Han Yu 韓愈 (768–824), Liu Zongyuan 柳宗元 (772–819), and others in their circle, for their literary innovations and their commitment to “antiquity,” gu. Northern Song literati affiliated with the guwen movement such as Mu Xiu 穆修 (979–1032), Shi Jie 石介 (1005–45), and Ouyang Xiu 歐 陽修 (1007–72) in turn began to craft a literary historical narrative about the Tang that was avowedly “Confucian” in orientation, and it included an anti-Buddhist and anti-Daoist slant. 4 The tendency to occlude religious 2 See Shields, “Defining the ‘Finest’: A Northern Song View of Tang Literary Culture in the Wen cui.” 3 See Owen, “A Tang Version of Du Fu”; and also his study of the survival of Tang manuscripts and their selection in the Wenyuan yinghua in “The Manuscript Legacy of the Tang: The Case of Literature.” 4 The scholarship on the guwen movement and its impact on Northern Song literature is voluminous; for an important recent study, see Zhu Gang 朱剛, Tang Song “guwen yundong” yu shidafu wenxue; see also “Defining the ‘Finest,’” from which I draw some of this discussion.

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interests in Tang poetry and prose, in short, originated in the mid-eleventh century Confucian revival, and it was reinforced by the most prominent literati voices—and their collecting and publishing efforts—that followed. The scholars behind that narrative were not merely reshaping the Tang canon according to contemporary Song interests, though that was surely the case; they were also responding to what they saw as pernicious influences in their own culture. From a literary perspective, as much as they sought to champion certain mid-Tang writers as Confucian models, the mid-eleventh century guwen partisans also criticized early Northern Song cultural and literary models, particularly the ornate parallel prose styles and imitative poetics of the late tenth and early eleventh century represented in the works of literati such as Yang Yi 楊億. This critique of early Northern Song culture was also aimed at the religious commitments of the early Northern Song emperors, especially Song Taizong 太宗 (r. 976–97) and Zhenzong 真宗 (r. 998–1022). Contemporary scholars of religion have explored the intellectual and religious eclecticism of the early Northern Song court that fostered the patronage of both Buddhist and Daoist practices and people.5 Daoism had a towering profile in the early Song, both in the founding of the dynasty under emperors Taizu 太祖(r. 960–76) and Taizong and during the reign of Zhenzong. Among many other Daoist scholarly efforts, this was the era of the compilation of the Yunji qiqian 雲笈七籤 (Seven Lots from the Bookbag of the Clouds) and the Da Song Tiangong baozang 大宋天宮寶藏 (Precious Canon of the Celestial Palace of the Great Song).6 Zhenzong’s reign in particular was characterized by the influence of Daoist officials such as Wang Qinruo 王欽若 (962–1025) and the appearance of “Heavenly Documents” 天書 and other omens over the course of a decade, events that certain contemporary officials and later historians attacked as manipulative religious schemes intended to prop up state power.7 But our understanding of these events 5 On this issue, see Welter, Monks, Rulers, and Literati: The Political Ascendancy of Chan Buddhism; Halperin, Out of the Cloister: Literati Perspectives on Buddhism in Sung China; and most recently, Poceski, The Records of Mazu and the Making of Classical Chan Literature, in particular ch. 6, “Protracted Makings of Texts and Patriarchs.” The interest in Chan Buddhism among Song literati, however, gave the arc of later eleventh-century elite views of Buddhism a different trajectory than that of their views of religious Daoism. For early Northern Song literati from the captured Southern Tang whose Daoist interests influenced Taizong and Zhenzong, see Chang, “Song chu nanbei wenshi de hudong yu nanfang wenshi de quqi.” 6 See Boltz’s entry on Yunji qiqian, in The Routledge Encyclopedia of Daoism. 7 For a summary of the standard view, see The Cambridge History of China, Vol. 5, Part One: The Sung Dynasty and Its Precursors, 907–1279, 270–73. Historians have questioned the received narrative more intently in recent decades. See, for example, Azuma, Sōdai shisō no kenkyū; and Xiang Zhongmin 向仲敏, Liang Song daojiao yu zhengzhi guanxi yanjiu 兩宋道教與政治關係

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in early Northern Song history is also hindered by the perspective of later Song historiography, which was extremely critical of Daoism’s influence at court, a view only heightened by emperor Huizong’s 徽宗 (r. 1101–25) fervent support of Daoism and the fall of the Northern Song to the Jurchens. Just as eleventh-century guwen narratives of Tang literature sought to marginalize writers and styles they found inadequate for moral transformation, which included writing on Daoist themes, later Song historians also vehemently condemned the influence of Daoism on both Tang and Song political culture.8 If our goal is to deepen our understanding of the role of Daoism in Tang literature, then, we struggle with multiple biases in the Song record: the impact of anti-religious scholarly tastes on the collection and preservation of Tang materials; an emerging literary historical narrative of the Tang that privileged the Han Yu circle (and later, Du Fu) for reasons explicitly defined as Confucian; and the political historical narrative of the eleventh century that attacked Daoist influence on the state. (Song critiques of Tang and early Northern Song Buddhism, while not universal, could be equally vehement.)9 But late Five Dynasties and early Northern Song perspectives on Tang literature survive of course in the “Four Great Books of the Northern Song,” the Taiping guangji 太平廣記 (Comprehensive Records of the Taiping Era), the Cefu yuangui 冊府元龜 (The Grand Tortoise in the Imperial Treasury of Books), the Wenyuan yinghua 文苑英華 (Glorious Blossoms from the Literary Garden), and the Taiping yulan 太平御覽 (Imperial Reader of the Taiping Era), and their selections reveal the large imprint of Daoism in both Tang and Five Dynasties culture.10 These works stand not merely as repositories of texts but also as interpretations of the Tang. If such texts give us a picture of Tang literature that is far more Daoist (and Buddhist) in orientation than those created by scholars and compilations of the Song, Ming, and Qing, what exactly does that picture look like, and why? The goal here is not to produce a truer account of the relationship of Daoism and literary composition in the Tang but to recuperate Tang literary commitments valued by Song readers that have been both denigrated and obscured in later representations.

研究. For a brief earlier study, see also Cahill, “Taoism at the Sung Court: The Heavenly Text Affair of 1008.” 8 For this larger historiographical arc traced from Northern through Southern Song, see Hartman, The Making of Song Dynasty History. 9 On this point, see de Meyer, Wu Yun’s Way, 33. 10 On the culture and participants in these compilations, see Kurz, “The Politics of Collecting Knowledge: Song Taizong’s Compilations Project”; Kirkland, “A World in Balance: Holistic Synthesis in the T’ai-p’ing kuang-chi.”

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Innovations of Literature’s Finest Literature’s Finest, the first post-Tang anthology of Tang literature to include both poetry and prose, was compiled by the scholar-official Yao Xuan 姚鉉 (968–1020), who over the course of his career had access to the vast resources of the Song imperial library,11 and it contains just over 2,000 pieces of poetry and prose. Though one-tenth the size of the 20,000-piece Wenyuan yinghua, which was not printed until the Southern Song, the Wen cui was the largest anthology of Tang literature to circulate in printed editions in the Song (first printed in 1039) and later dynasties, being reissued and revised in multiple editions up until today.12 In contrast to the comprehensive and wide-ranging approach to collecting of the “Four Great Books,” the Wen cui offers us a narrow and carefully curated selection of the “finest” of Tang texts. Even more usefully for our purposes, Yao Xuan in his preface and selections explicitly defended “ancient”-style writing in Confucian terms that anticipated mid-eleventh-century rhetoric. The Wen cui stands as the first Song work to use the term guwen to characterize a selection of prose, and it also championed the same Tang writers later valorized as culture heroes, Han Yu, Liu Zongyuan, and other mid-Tang writers, including Bai Juyi and Yuan Zhen.13 11 Zha Pingqiu查屏求has offered the most recent argument about the relationship between Yao’s history as an off icial and his choice of texts. See Zha, “Zhichao wenben xiang yinshua wenben zhuanbian guochengzhong de zhuanshu yu chuban tedian: Wen cui bianzuan yu liuchuan guocheng kaoshu.” 12 According to its postface written by one Shi Changyan 施昌言 (d. 1064) (and reprinted in the Southern Song edition of 1139), the 1039 edition was sponsored by a jinshi degree-holder named Meng Qi 孟琪 (fl. early 11th cent.). We have bibliographic evidence of at least two and perhaps three different editions from the Yuan, another nine from the Ming (two of which were reprints of Song and Yuan editions), and then it was included in the Siku quanshu and also published at least twice separately in the late nineteenth century. Three unannotated modern editions (not photo reprints) have been published in the PRC and in Taiwan in the past twenty years. A few studies of the printing history of the Wen cui have appeared in the past decade: Guo Mianyu 郭勉愈, “Cong Song Shaoxing ben kan Tang wen cui de wenben xitong” 從宋紹興本看《唐文 粹》 的文本系統; Zhang Daya張達雅. “Tang wen cui zhijian banbenkao”《唐文粹》知見版本 考; and Yu Yang于洋. “Cong Ming Deng Han keben kao Tang wen cui banben yuanliu” 從明鄧 漢刻本考《唐文粹》 版本源. 13 Shields, “Defining the ‘Finest.’” Yao states the following: “Director of Personnel Han [Yu]’s greatness soared above the crowd—only he followed deepest antiquity, taking the Two Emperors and Three Kings as his foundation, and the Six Classics and Four Teachings as his ancestral teacher. From this height, he surpassed all others, and was the f irst to chant the “literature of antiquity”; he prevailed over the restless flow of confusion and opened up the Correct Way through his calm honesty.” 惟韓吏部超卓群流，獨高遂古，以二帝三王為根本，以六經四教 為宗師，憑陵轥轢, 首唱古文，遏橫流於昏墊，辟正道於夷坦.

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However, in the contents and organization of the anthology, the vigorous Confucian “antiquity”-centered rhetoric of the anthology’s preface is belied by its catholic material, which includes many pieces of poetry and prose composed on Daoist and Buddhist topics, and for Daoist and Buddhist figures, texts that do not survive in works such as Wenyuan yinghua. The Wen cui not only preserves Wu Yun’s “Pacing the Void” lyrics (Buxu ci 步虛 詞) and “Wandering in Transcendence” verses (You xian shi 遊仙詩)—in fact it showcases them and links them to other poems chosen to underscore their meaning. In the Daoist poetry of the Wen cui, the traces of Tang Daoism are remarkably clear, coherent, and organized in ways that depict it as both an enduring component of Tang culture (found in poems from across the dynasty) and also as an innovative influence in Tang poetry, one that provoked experiments with topic, meter, and rhyme.14 (Buddhism’s imprint in the anthology is significantly larger, but that exploration must await another essay.) Assessing the presence of religious themes in the selections of the anthology is complicated, of course, by the syncretic tendencies of Tang literary composition, which make simplistic “Daoist” and “Buddhist” labels difficult to apply. But because Yao Xuan organized the Wen cui by phenomenal categories, lei 類, he sometimes grouped the traditions separately. Since there is no extant Northern Song edition, we do not know how old the lei subtitles within chapters are; at least since the Southern Song, editions have featured titles indicating the topics of subsections, such as “Divine Transcendence,” or the “Śākya [Buddhist]” 釋 and “Daoist” 道 subtitles in the stele 碑 section of the prose. The Wen cui thus preserves the view of an early eleventh-century reader with a respect for the role of Daoist themes and language in Tang poetry: his selections are arranged in a logical, persuasive sequence, one that reveals Yao Xuan’s understanding of the concepts, practices, and figures depicted in the texts. This set of poems also challenges later tastes in Tang poetry: when we examine the Wen cui mosaic of “divine transcendence,” even familiar poets and occasions appear in a new guise—though we may recognize this version of Li Bai, other poets, including Du Fu, are positioned in unfamiliar ways. 14 From a minimalist perspective (that does not include poems with Daoist themes placed in categories not marked as such), Daoism is more explicitly prominent than Buddhism in the poetry section (41 poems of 981 total, or 4%, featuring 15 poets) than in the prose. Buddhist topics are not accorded a separate lei anywhere in the poetry chapters, though certainly some poems, such as those on reclusion, feature Buddhist references and themes. Three poets are identified as Buddhist (釋): Jiaoran 皎然, Guanxiu 貫休, and Zilan 子蘭, with a total of eight, three, and one poem respectively, but their works are scattered through the subcategories of the poetry section.

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In the preface to the anthology, Yao Xuan invokes the Wen xuan model of a comprehensive anthology organized by genre and topic and defines the Wen cui as its Tang successor. Yet one of the truly novel features of his collection is the way it exploits the potential of typology as an organizing strategy well beyond what we find in the Wen xuan.15 The Wen cui is organized at two levels: first by form, with a total of eighteen different poetic and prose genres, and second by topical categories, lei. However, Yao Xuan violates norms of the topical anthology in two unexpected and consequential ways: within lei, he does not follow chronology in ordering texts; nor does he group all the pieces by a single author together in a lei, but repeats works by the same author as he sees fit across a category. In other words, in its poetry chapters, the Wen cui rejects the task of representing the finest poets by selecting the best poems sorted by form and then further subdivided by topical category. But the topical categories of the Wen cui are also distinctive: rather than consistently using conventional topics in the order that we find in leishu (which we also find in the Wenyuan yinghua), the topics of the Wen cui are narrowly chosen, often overlapping, and seem to reflect Yao Xuan’s individual interests.16 This idiosyncratic approach to using topical categories is particularly noticeable in the poetry section. Yao Xuan erases distinctions among different poets by subordinating their poems to the topic at hand, while still allowing certain voices to speak louder than others. Of the 172 writers whose works appear in the poetry section, the top five best-represented writers (counting numbers of poems) are: Li Bai (63), Bai Juyi 白居易 (35), Wu Yun (31),17 Meng Jiao 孟郊 (30), and Yuan Zhen 元稹 (22), followed by Zhang Ji 張籍 (20), Lu Guimeng 陸龜蒙and Pi Rixiu 皮日 休 (18 each), Liu Yuxi 劉禹錫 (17), and Wang Wei 王維 (16). The mid-Tang writers whom Yao Xuan praises in the preface clearly dominate this list, but the eighth century is also well represented with Li Bai and Wu Yun. 15 Extant collections and bibliographical evidence tell us that the genre/topic anthology model was far less common in the Tang than the author/chronology format. Of the sixteen collections collected in full or partially reconstructed in the 2014 Tang ren xuan Tang shi xin bian 唐人選 唐詩新編, none is organized by topic. The reconstructed Yuanhe san sheren ji appears to have been organized by yuefu tune title; see Chen Shangjun’s 陳尚君discussion in Fu Xuanzong 傅 璇琮et al., Tangren xuan Tang shi (zengding ben) 唐人選唐詩（增訂本）, 625–29. The important exception was Gu Tao’s Tang shi lei xuan, but it did not survive past the Southern Song. 16 However, this is not the case in the prose chapters of the Wen cui, which are organized by broader generic and topical categories. 17 Wu Yun has one fu in the fu section, but the remainder of his shorter poems appear in three sets: in the “Pacing the Void” lyrics (10), the “Wandering Transcendents” poems (16), and the “Perusing Antiquity” 覽古 poems (14). Li Bai’s poems, on the other hand, are found throughout every subgenre of the poetry selections.

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In terms of his selection criteria, Yao Xuan was famous (or infamous) for omitting regulated verse and parallel prose in the Wen cui, an idiosyncratic and, as far as we can tell, unprecedented decision that greatly affected the tone of the anthology. In the case of prose, this has often been seen as a positive strategy: the championing of non-parallel guwen prose crystallized a model for later Song writers. With respect to his poetry selections, however, the decision was seen as bizarre if not downright unintelligible: how could one ignore the enormous body of Tang regulated verse in an anthology that claimed to represent the “finest”? But in terms of broadening our sense of the expressive potential of Tang poetry in general, and poetry on Daoist themes in particular, his decision highlighted poems with unusual structures, meters, and rhyme schemes that were often overlooked by Song and late imperial fans of regulated verse. Yao Xuan sorts the 981 poems into subgenres as follows: Table 1  Subgenres of Poetry in the Wen cui Form

# of j.

Total # of pieces

古賦 Old-style (unregulated) fu 古今樂章 Musical pieces old and new 樂府辭 Lyrics to yuefu [tune] titles 古調歌篇 Songs to ancient tunes

9 2 2 9

45 214 152 615

Though Yao Xuan does not discuss it in the preface, we note the prominence of music here as a selection principle for the poems other than fu, and this is reflected in the titles of many of the texts, which often include terms such as “song,” “lyric,” and “ditty,” (歌，詞，曲).18 The poetry subcategory of “divine transcendence” appears twice in the Wen cui: in the yuefu and also in the “songs to ancient tunes.” In the first juan of the yuefu section ( j. 13), the category contains twelve poems: ten of Wu Yun’s “Pacing the Void” lyrics (which have been studied and translated by Edward Schafer and 18 There is unfortunately no modern collated or annotated edition of the Wen cui, though there were several twentieth-century reprints of late Qing editions that revised the Siku quanshu. For the printing history of the collection, see Yu Yang and Zhang Daya. I have relied upon the 1989 Taiwan Shijie shuju reprint of the 1890 edition, the front matter of which includes the Siku quanshu zongmu tiyao entry for the Wen cui, Yao Xuan’s Song shi biography, a preface by the late Qing editor who “newly collated” the text (新校本文粹序), another preface by a second Qing editor discussing various aspects of the text’s history, and Yao Xuan’s original preface. Here and below, I give page numbers from this edition. I have also consulted many editions from the Ming and Qing found in the Princeton University East Asia Library rare book holdings and those found in the rare books collection at the National Central Library in Taipei, Taiwan. Tang wen cui, Yao Xuan preface, 1.

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more recently Jan de Meyer), along with another “Pacing the Void” lyric by late Tang official Gao Pian (discussed in Franciscus Verellen’s essay in this volume), and the mid-Tang poet Yuan Zhen’s “Dreaming of Mounting to Heaven” (Meng shang tian 夢上天), a poem that depicts a celestial journey and an erotic encounter. In the second set of twenty-nine poems selected for “divine transcendence” in juan 17 of the “songs to ancient tunes,” the eighth-century poet Wu Yun leads the group with sixteen poems.19 A principle of the Wen cui throughout the anthology is that the opening position in any given category always signals the importance of a particular writer20 —this principle is underscored here by the fact that no other poet in the category is represented by more than one poem. Table 2 The “Divine Transcendence” 神仙Category of the “Songs to Ancient Tunes” 古調歌篇 Title

# of poems

Author

Meter/Rhyme

遊仙詩 “Wandering in Transcendence Poems” 上元夫人詩 “Poem on the Lady of the Supreme Primordial”21 王子喬 “Wang Ziqiao”

16

吳筠 Wu Yun 李白 Li Bai

5-ch. line 1 rhyme 5-ch. line 1 rhyme

玉真仙人詞 “Lyric of the Jade Perfected Transcendent”22

1

宋之問 Song Zhiwen 李白 Li Bai

3/3, 7/7/7, 3/3, 7, 5/5 3 rhymes 5 ch. line (irregular syntax) 1 rhyme

1

1

19 Tang wen cui, 17.314–18. 20 The most famous (and likely influential) example of this principle is found in the innovative guwen prose category, which opens with five of Han Yu’s texts. 21 The Lady of the Supreme Origin is described in the Han Wudi neizhuan 漢武帝內傳, and Li Bai faithfully repeats the details of her appearance from that account, including a three-knot chignon 三角髻 and hair that flows to her waist. See the notes to this poem in Li Bai quanji jiaozhu huishi jiping 李白全集校注彙釋集評, 20.3153–55. 22 Commentators to this poem have filiated it to the Jade Perfected Princess (玉真公主), one of Ruizong’s daughters and a sister of Xuanzong who was ordained as a Daoist in 711 and returned to the imperial palace in 744. Li Bai quanji jiaozhu huishi jiping, 7.1219–21. The poem describes a celestial flight of a deity who visits two sacred mountains and ends by meeting the Queen Mother of the West but does not directly link the Jade Perfected to the human realm. For the ordination of this princess and her sister, see Benn, The Cavern-Mystery Transmission: A Daoist Ordination Rite of A.D. 711.

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Title

# of poems

Author

Meter/Rhyme

夢太白西峰 “Dreaming of the West Peak of Taibai” 苦篁調笑引 “A Diaoxiao Ballad for Bitter Bamboo [flutes]”23 少室山韋鍊師昇仙歌 “Song of the Ascent to Transcendence of Refined Daoist Master Wei of Shaoshi Mt.” 宿青牛谷梁鍊師仙居 “Spending the Night at the Transcendent Residence of Refined Daoist Master Liang of Black-ox Valley”24 玄都壇歌寄元遺人 “Song of the Mysterious Capital Altar, Sent to Recluse Yuan”25 寄全椒山中道士 “Sent to a Daoist in Quanjiao Mt.”26 洗心 “Cleansing the Mind”27 齋心 “Fasting the Mind”

1

常建 Chang Jian 李賀 Li He

5-ch. line 1 rhyme 7-ch. line 2 rhymes

皇甫冉 Huangfu Ran 楊衡 Yang Heng

7-ch. line 1 rhyme (quatrain) 7-ch. line 1 rhyme (quatrain)

1

杜甫 Du Fu

7-ch. line 4 rhymes

1

韋應物 Wei Yingwu 司馬退之 Sima Tuizhi 王昌齡 Wang Changling 張籍 Zhang Ji

5-ch. line 1 rhyme 5-ch. line 1 rhyme 5-ch. line 1 rhyme

寄菖蒲 “Sending Sweetflag”28

1

1

1

1 1

1

5/5/7, 7/7, 7/7 2 rhymes

23 The “bitter bamboo” was used for making flutes—the song itself tells the story of Ling Lun, the minister to Xuanyuan, the Yellow Emperor, who made the original pitch pipes from bamboo. 24 Yang Heng was a mid-Tang literatus ( j.s. 786) known as a “recluse” who retired to Mount Lu; most of his extant fifty-six poems touch on Daoist themes or topics. He has four poems in Wen cui. For this poem, see Quan Tang Shi 465.5289 (under a shortened title that omits the name of the Daoist master). 25 This is an early poem in Du Fu’s career and is little discussed in Du Fu scholarship. See Du Fu quanji jiaozhu 杜甫全集校注, v. 1, 271; Owen, trans., The Poetry of Du Fu, v. 1, 97–99. 26 This poem appears in both Wenyuan yinghua and Wen cui, and also features in Wei Yingwu’s profile in Tang shi jishi 唐詩紀事 (26.707). As a consequence, it was frequently commented on in later shihua and biji and often anthologized. See the collected comments in Wei Yingwu ji jiaozhu (zengding ben) 韋應物集校注（增訂本), 173–76. Owen has also translated it in The Great Age of Chinese Poetry: The High Tang, 382. Wei’s poem is the only one of the twenty-nine in this shenxian set to also appear in WYYH. 27 In his discussion of “cleansing the mind” as a Daoist practice, Jan de Meyer has translated and analyzed this poem, which is the only text surviving attributed to the otherwise unknown Sima Tuizhi; see Wu Yun’s Way, 211–12. 28 This poem is, interestingly, categorized as a yuefu in Zhang Ji’s collection; the “sweetflag” (acorus tatorinowii) refers to a grass, the rhizomes ( jie 節) of which are consumed by Daoists as part of alchemical practice (as Zhang’s poem makes clear). See Zhang Ji ji xinian jiaozhu 張籍 集繫年校注, v. 3, 834–35.

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# of poems

Author

Meter/Rhyme

金璫玉佩歌 “Song of Golden Chimes and Jade Pendants”29 TOTAL

1

顧況 Gu Kuang

9/7, 7/7, 7/7, 7/7 2 rhymes

29

14

6 different meters, multiple rhyme schemes

Among the many striking features of this set is the narrative created by Yao’s selection and ordering of poems: from start to finish, he observes categorical logic to construct an account of the pursuit of “divine transcendence.” The expectation of sequential reading is clearly implied. This shenxian set traces a path from the celestial to the terrestrial, from deities, to humans, to practices, to objects (the Chinese equivalents would be 天，人，行，物). And even within that trajectory, we discover priorities and processes: Wu Yun’s opening sequence of sixteen poems (out of twenty-four extant today), which dominate the set, detail the speaker’s quest for transcendence in a detailed and serious fashion. As Edward Schafer noted of these poems, Wu Yun’s approach to the “wandering in transcendence” theme is quite unlike its medieval antecedents, both in the tone and specific imagery of every poem in the series.30 The poems open with a speaker who, upon “suddenly realizing the subtleties of transcendence” 悟彼眾仙妙, begins a voyage through the heavens, traversing vast expanses of space and time, encountering various deities along the way. The sixteenth poem culminates with the speaker’s ascent to the peak of the Mysterious Capital (Xuandu 玄都), and in the closing couplet, we hear the voice of someone who has attained a state outside the cosmos: 蕭然宇宙外 Remote and solemn, beyond space and time, 自得乾坤心 Having obtained for myself a mind embracing Heaven and Earth (qian and kun).31 29 Gu Kuang’s poem invokes the Daoist scripture Taishang yupei jindang taiji jinshu shangjing 太上玉佩金璫太極金書上經, DZ 56. As noted by Gil Raz in The Emergence of Daoism (147), “P. 2409 preserves a fragment, published in Ofuchi, Tonkō dōkyō zurokuhen, vol. 1, 366–70. An early version of the text was probably in circulation prior to the Shangqing revelations.” The poem is dense with references to practices and objects (such as the Pace of Yu and the “secret register of the Perfected Lord of the Five Marchmounts” 五岳真君之秘籙, referring to the Wuyue zhenxing tu 五岳真形圖) used to attain transcendence. 30 Schafer, “Wu Yün’s ‘Saunters in Sylphdom,’” 345. 31 Schafer renders this f inal line initially as “Self-possessed—in the heart of Potency and Latency,” and provides the paraphrase, “I possess total control of my being.” “Wu Yün’s ‘Saunters in Sylphdom,’” 313–14.

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By opening with Wu Yun’s solemn quest for transcendence, Yao Xuan establishes a tone for the set elaborated in successive poems: where Wu Yun’s poems portray a successful and wide-ranging voyage amid transcendent phenomena, the next five feature specific deities or mythological beings—the Lady of the Supreme Primordial (companion to the Queen Mother of the West); the transcendent Wang Ziqiao; the Jade Perfected Transcendent (who may in the poem be a figure for the Jade Perfected Princess, Tang Ruizong’s ordained daughter); and the Primal Sovereigness (or perhaps here the Queen Mother of the West). Chang Jian’s poem opens with the couplet “In sleep I dreamed I mounted the Nine Precipices; / in the dark, mysterious mists I met the Yuanjun” 夢寐昇九崖，杳靄逢元君. In later lines, she proceeds to lead him to the peak.32 Li He’s poem invokes Xuanyuan, the Yellow Emperor, in depicting Ling Lun’s making of the bamboo pipes in order to regulate musical pitches. These five poems attest to the possibility of encountering a range of deities in the subcelestial sphere, even if their stay is short and their departure swift. The logic of the topical category shenxian deepens with each stage: after the poems invoking deities, the next four poems shift to the human realm in order to describe the poets’ non-encounters with Daoist masters given various labels—two lianshi 鍊師, one yiren 遺人, and a Daoshi 道士, though these titles may have been altered in transmission. Huangfu Ran’s poem depicts a Daoist Master Wei’s encounter with the Blue Lad and his ascent to the heavens; the next three poems are renderings of the familiar poetic occasion of seeking a Daoist figure and not finding him (see Verellen’s essay in this volume for other examples). Yang Heng’s simple quatrain suggests the transcendence of the Daoist who invited him to visit: 宿青牛谷梁鍊師仙居 “Spending the Night at the Transcendent Residence of Refined Daoist Master Liang of Black-ox Valley” 隨雲步入青牛谷 Following the clouds, I walk down into Black-ox Valley, 青牛道士留我宿 the Black-ox Daoist master has detained me to stay the night. 可憐夜久月明中 A pity that as the night goes on in the glow of moonlight 唯有壇邊一枝竹 there’s only a single bamboo [staff] left beside the altar. 32 Whether the role of Laozi’s teacher or Queen Mother of the West is meant in Chang Jian’s use of Yuanjun, the deity is marked as female.

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Wei Yingwu’s poem, also anthologized in Wenyuan yinghua and quoted in later shihua comments and other anthologies, exemplified for later readers a Tang poet’s graceful treatment of a standard poetic topos. 寄全椒山中道士 “Sent to a Daoist in Quanjiao Mount” This morning in the chill of my study, 今朝郡齋冷 忽念山中客 suddenly I think of the sojourner in the mountains. 澗低束荆薪 In the creek bed, he bundles firewood; 歸來煮白石 returning home, he boils white stones [for consumption].33 欲持一瓢酒 I’d like to take a dipper of wine with him, 遠慰風雨夕 from afar to comfort him this windy, rainy night. 落葉滿空山 Fallen leaves fill the empty mountains— 何處尋行跡 where can we follow the traces of his path?

In the context of this set of poems, however, Wei Yingwu’s piece is not merely an example of literary elegance but serves as evidence: the poems substantiate the truth of transcendence. Including Wei Yingwu’s poem in the series, moreover, refreshes the conventionality of “visiting the recluse” as a poetic topos. The four poems that close out the twenty-nine describe specific practices—“cleansing the mind,” xixin 洗心, and “fasting the mind,” zhaixin 齋心—and objects used in different ways to attain transcendence, from the rhizomes of the sweet flag that one would consume, to the wearing of the jade pendants and golden chimes (though Gu Kuang includes other numinous objects and cultivation practices in his dense poem). In short, rather than simply collecting poems depicting encounters with unnamed jade maidens—a common Tang poetic approach to Daoist themes34—Yao Xuan has arranged his selections in a narrative, one that begins with a wide-ranging, serious journey of “wandering in transcendence,” includes encounters with specific deities, provides proof that people who practiced Daoist rites (including the consumption of magical foods)35 would attain 33 Boiling white stones for consumption was a Daoist immortality practice described in Shen xian zhuan, Zhen gao, and the Yunji qiqian, among other texts; see Campany, To Live as Long as Heaven and Earth: A Translation and Study of Ge Hong’s Traditions of Transcendents, 293n4. 34 On this theme in Cao Tang’s poetry, see Owen, ch. 9, “Daoism: The Case of Cao Tang,” in The Late Tang: Chinese Poetry of the Mid-Ninth Century (827–860), 315–34. 35 In Du Fu’s poem, the absent Master Yuan possessed both numinous fungi 芝and langgan 瑯玕. For langgan and zhi, see Fabrizio Pregadio’s entries in Encylopedia of Daoism, 1:605, and

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transcendence, and finally gives us techniques and objects that will get us there. This is a precisely chosen and organized set of poems intended to illustrate “divine transcendence” as a phenomenal category from multiple experiential perspectives. The stylistic and formal features of the set also give it coherence: though Wu Yun’s grave tone predominates and is echoed in Sima Tuizhi’s poem on “Cleansing the Mind,” Li Bai’s poem is gently playful, ending with the lovely goddess “suddenly floating away with the wind” 忽然隨風飄, and the poems by Yang Heng, Wei Yingwu, and Du Fu depict scenes of serenity after the Daoist master has vanished. Even more important to the modal coherence of the set is what we do not find: no quasi-erotic encounters, no Liu Chen and Ruan Zhao (the mortal men who encountered goddesses and were led astray), and no anonymous “jade maidens.” Though Cao Tang’s “Wandering in Transcendence” poems would have been excluded from the Wen cui due to their regulation (both the “Smaller” and “Larger” poems in Cao’s Youxian series appear in Wenyuan yinghua; Cao has no poems in Wen cui), their particular approach to retelling encounters with goddesses would also seem out of place in this context. The solemnity of the poems is also signaled by their lack of strong feeling—we hear no sorrow, or longing, or pleasure (only one faint smile from Lady Shangyuan: 眉語兩自笑), but see many chilly, austere vistas. Music is, however, an important element of the set: the formal range of the poems here conveys “song” in ways that other poems in the gudiao gepian section often do not: in addition to titles referring to song forms (詞，引，and 歌), the pieces by Song Zhiwen, Zhang Ji, and Gu Kuang feature changing meters and multiple rhymes.36 Music appears often within the poems: though Wu Yun’s poems include only a few sonic or musical elements, four of the other poems include flutes or drums, and Li He’s poem specifically describes the making of the pitch pipes by Ling Lun for the Yellow Emperor. However, we should also recognize how Yao Xuan’s selections and arrangement in fact conceal great differences among these thirteen poets: perhaps the most audacious choice here is the poem from Zhang Ji, who was known for his criticism of Daoism, most viciously in his poem “Studying Transcendence” that mocked the pursuit of immortality.37 No matter what Zhang’s other poems expressed, however, by framing his 2:1271–74. Du Fu’s poem, as I note below, is unusual in his corpus for its specif ically Daoist imagery and objects. 36 This feature of the anthology’s poems is particularly important in the yuefu section, which collects many pieces with varying meters and complex rhyme schemes. 37 See, for example, the translation of his “Studying Transcendence” 《學仙》, in de Meyer, Wu Yun’s Way, 285–86.

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poem “Sending Sweet Flag” (which contains the most superficial “Daoist” references of any poem of the twenty-nine) in this particular set, Yao Xuan forces us to read the poem seriously.38 Finally, we should note some examples of Yao Xuan’s intratextual references suggested in the set of poems, a feature of the Wen cui that was essential to its original conception, its stylistic coherence, and to its later popularity. Yao uses intratextual references to unite the anthology: he includes multiple texts that relate to and comment on one another, spread across the entire text, in order to emphasize the importance of specific writers and literary values in the collection. For his favorite writers, such as Li Bai and Han Yu, Yao Xuan not only includes many pieces by them but also includes prefaces to their collections, stele inscriptions for them, and other texts that explicitly praise them. This intratextual strategy strengthens the impact of Daoist themes in the anthology also: in addition to Wu Yun’s thirty-one poems, Yao Xuan also includes in the “prefaces” section the preface to Wu Yun’s collection, composed by the mid-Tang official Quan Deyu, whose prose is very prominent in the Wen cui.39 And I suspect an intratextual homage to Li Bai in this series as well: by placing Chang Jian’s poem on dreaming of the western peak of Taibai immediately after Li Bai’s poem on the Jade Perfected, Yao Xuan perhaps alludes to Li Bai’s “Mounting Taibai Peak” 《登太白峰》, a poem not found in the Wen cui. The case of Du Fu, however, is even more provocative, and it also provides us a way to return to the question of forces that shaped the transmission of Tang literature and the formation of a Tang canon. Reading Du Fu across the anthology rather than simply within phenomenal categories or genres creates an unusual version of the High Tang poet whom Northern Song readers revered. The Du Fu that appears in the Wen cui looks very little like the “canonical” Du Fu that emerged by the end of the Northern Song: as the chart of his nine yuefu and shi poems selected for inclusion shows, only a few of these went on to become frequently anthologized and discussed as part of the core Du Fu canon (marked with **): 38 The full text of the poem is: “石上生菖蒲，一寸十二節。仙人勸我食，令我頭青面如雪。 逢人寄君一絳囊，書中不得傳此方。君能來作棲霞侶，與君同入丹玄鄉.” 39 See de Meyer’s discussion of the sources for Wu Yun’s life, in which Quan’s preface features prominently. Wu Yun’s Way, 3–102. The “prefaces” section of the WC is especially revealing of the catholicity of the anthology: in terms of literary collections oriented towards Daoism and/ or reclusion, Yao Xuan includes the prefaces to Gu Kuang’s collection, Wu Yun’s collection, and two to Wang Ji’s collection; as well as Liu Yuxi’s preface to Buddhist poet-monk Ling Che’s collection and Yuan Jie’s preface to the Qie zhong ji.

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Table 3  Du Fu poems in the Wen cui poetry categories of yuefu and gudiao gepian Title

Juan

Subgenre

Topic 類

《驄馬行》 “Ballad of the Dappled Gray” **《遣興》（3首） “Dispelling Stirrings”

13

樂府 Yuefu

鳥獸花卉 Fauna and flora

14B

雜興 Miscellaneous stirrings 傷感 Being moved by grief 失意 Disappointment 俠少 Brave youth

**《玉華宮》 “Jade Flowery Palace”

14B

古調歌篇 Songs to ancient tunes “”

《莫相疑行》 “Ballad: Do Not Suspect Me” 《戲作花卿歌》 “Playfully Written Song for Lord Hua” **《石壕吏》 “Recruitment Officer of Shihao Village” **《古柏行》 “Ballad of the Old Cypress” 《王兵馬使二角鷹》 “Commander Wang’s Two Tufted Hawks” 《玄都壇歌寄元逸人》 “Song of the Mysterious Capital Altar, Sent to Recluse Yuan”

15B

“”

16A

“”

16B

“”

傷嘆 Sighing in grief

17A

“”

17A

“”

草木 Grasses and trees 禽獸昆蟲 Fauna & insects

17B

“”

神仙 Divine transcendence

However, this chart is not a complete representation of Du Fu’s presence in the Wen cui: far more important than these poems in terms of his total footprint in the anthology are four of his fu—the three “Great Rituals” fu, accompanied by his presentation memorial, which take up an entire juan, j. 3, and his fu on the eagle. And, to return to the intratextual tendencies of the Wen cui, where texts often gesture to other texts included in the anthology, we should note that one of these poems, the “Ballad: Do Not Suspect Me,” in fact includes a line that references his presentation of those three great ritual fu to Tang Xuanzong. 40 The three great ritual fu were composed for ceremonies held at the beginning of 751—these were the sacrifices in the 40 The couplet reads (using Owen’s translation): “I recall presenting three fu in Penglai Palace, / and I myself think it strange that in one day my fame shone gloriously” 憶獻三賦蓬萊宮，自 怪一日聲輝赫.

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Tang dynastic ancestral temple, the suburban sacrifice at the Altars of Heaven and Earth and, most interesting for our purposes, the Sacrifice at Shangqing Temple, the Temple of Highest Clarity, where Tang Xuanzong made offerings to his “ancestor,” Lord Lao. All three of these fu are laden with allusions and references to specific Daoist texts, practices, and deities, including, in the Shangqing Temple fu, a visit from Lord Lao and his retinue. In his presentation memorial, Du Fu himself places the Shangqing Temple piece first in the three. Without entering the debate over the depth or authenticity of Du Fu’s Daoist interests (scholars as a rule have argued that his interest in Daoism was superficial and, in the case of these fu, feigned for career purposes), 41 we should certainly note that Du Fu’s profile in the Wen cui was more Daoist than anything else, if we count by sheer quantity of verse. The three fu and the attached memorial total 3,500 words—ten times the length of all the rest of Du Fu’s nine Wen cui poems put together. This view of Du Fu is thus entirely an artifact of Yao Xuan’s selections and framing. This image of Du Fu as Daoist courtier did not, of course, survive the eleventh century—and later editions of the Wen cui sometimes dropped the poetry sections entirely—but we should recognize it as internally consistent, and consonant with the broader interests of Yao Xuan’s anthology. 42 Despite its later reputation as a Tang guwen primer, the Wen cui should also be understood as a product of the eclectic early Northern Song religious and cultural milieu that patronized Daoism fervently.

Conclusions The example of Du Fu’s Daoist pieces in the Wen cui serves as a powerful reminder of the historical specificity and contingency of anthology conceptions of writers and literary tastes, and how those contingent representations could be challenged, rejected, and rewritten over time. Though we cannot look to them to solve problems of literary history conclusively, we can use them to broaden existing literary historical narratives. When read as a series, 41 For two representative opposing views, see Zhong Laiyin 鍾來茵, “Zai lun Du Fu yu daojiao” 再論杜甫與道教; and Xu Xiping 徐希平, “Du Fu yu daojia ji daojiao guanxi zai tantao—jianyu Zhong Laiyin xiansheng shangque” 杜甫與道家及道教關係再探討—兼於鍾來茵先生商榷. 42 Despite the new views of Du Fu that emerged after the mid-eleventh century, we might note that these fu and the memorial were still read—Song Qi, in his revised version of Du Fu’s biography in the “Literary Arts” biographies of Xin Tang shu, adds a direct quotation from the memorial, the only text of Du Fu’s he quotes.

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these twenty-nine poems of “divine transcendence” allow us to complicate views of Daoism’s impact on Tang literature in at least two ways. This selection of poems presents a well-ordered vision of Daoist deities, practices, and objects used to attain transcendence, a somber and stark contrast to the more popular erotic “Daoist” poetry that we often find elsewhere. The set also appears in an anthology that was decidedly non-sectarian in orientation. Moreover, as a set of poems, they showcase an unusual range of Tang poetic registers, styles, and forms, even without including regulated verse. Using topical categories allowed Yao Xuan to foreground his particular interests—as he declares in his preface, he intended to select the “finest,” not the “most representative,” and his book was not aimed at people who favored “antiquity” or Buddhism or Daoism, but who simply loved Tang literature. A “representative” strategy of selection would have created a very different literary work, presumably something more along the lines of the Wenyuan yinghua. 43 One possible next step in this research, in fact, would be to contrast the portrait of Daoism we find in the Wen cui with the 301 poems grouped in the five chapters devoted to the Daomen 道門in the Wenyuan yinghua ( j. 225–29).44 What are the chief concerns of those “Daoist” poems, and how do they overlap or undermine what we find in the Wen cui? Do we see the same attempt to create narratives or hierarchies within subsections, and if not, what other views of Tang Daoism are constructed in that anthology? If we, like Wei Yingwu, are asking 何處尋行跡—“Where can we find the traces of the path?”—of Daoism in Tang literature, there are still many exciting byways to explore.

Bibliography Primary Du Fu quanji jiaozhu 杜甫全集校注, edited by Xiao Difei 蕭滌非 et al. 12 vols. Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 2014. Li Bai quanji jiaozhu huishi jiping 李白全集校注彙釋集評, edited by Zhan Ying 詹鉠. 8 vols. Tianjin: Baihua wenyi chubanshe, 1996. Quan Tang shi 全唐詩. Beijing: Zhonghua, 1979. 43 On the “representativeness” of WYYH, see Owen, “Manuscript Legacy of the Tang.” 44 The number of shi poems in WYYH selected for these five Daoist chapters is only 2.7% of the total number of WYYH poems (approximately 10,800), less than the percentage of explicitly Daoist poems as a portion of the WC (4%).

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Tang Wen cui 文粹, comp. Yao Xuan 姚玹. SKQS. Tangren xuan Tang shi (zengding ben) 唐人選唐詩（增訂本), edited by Fu Xuanzong 傅璇琮et al. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2015. Wei Yingwu ji jiaozhu (zengding ben) 韋應物集校注（增訂本), edited by Tao Min 陶敏 and Wang Yousheng 王友勝. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2012. Zhang Ji ji xinian jiaozhu 張籍集繫年校注, edited by Xu Lijie 徐禮節 and Yu Shucheng 余恕誠. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2011.

Secondary Azuma Jūji. Sōdai shisō no kenkyū: Jukyō, Bukkyō, Dokkyō o meguru kōsatsu 宋 代思想の研 究：儒教，道教、仏教おめぐる考察. Suita-shi: Kansai Daigaku shuppanbu, 2009. Benn, Charles D. The Cavern-mystery Transmission: A Daoist Ordination Rite of A.D. 711. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i, 1991. Cahill, Suzanne E. “Taoism at the Sung Court: the Heavenly Text Affair of 1008.” Bulletin of Sung-Yuan Studies 16 (1980): 23–44. Campany, Robert Ford . To Live as Long as Heaven and Earth: A Translation and Study of Ge Hong’s Traditions of Transcendents. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002. Chang, Weiling 張維玲, “Classical Hermeneutics and the Competition for Political Power: The Construction and Deconstruction of the Era of “Great Peace” in the Early Song Dynasty (960–1063)” 經典詮釋與全力競逐：北宋前期 ‘太平’ 的形 塑與結構. PhD diss., National Taiwan University, 2015. Chang, Weiling. “Song chu nanbei wenshi de hudong yu nanfang wenshi de quqi: jujiao yu Xu Xuan ji qi houxue de kaocha” 宋初南北文士的互動與南方文士 的崛起：聚焦於徐鉉及其後學的考察. Taida wenshizhe xuebao 太大文史哲 學報 (2016): 175–217. De Meyer, Jan. Wu Yun’s Way: Life and Works of an Eighth-century Daoist Master. Leiden: Brill, 2006. Guo Mianyu 郭勉愈, “Cong Song Shaoxing ben kan Tang wen cui de wenben xitong” 從宋紹興本看《唐文粹》 的文本系統. Qinghua daxue xuebao (zhexue shehui kexueban) 清華大學學報 (哲學社會科學版) 1 (2003): 51–58. Halperin, Mark. Out of the Cloister: Literati Perspectives on Buddhism in Sung China. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center Publications, 2006. Hartman, Charles. The Making of Song Dynasty History. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2021. Kirkland, J. Russell. “Taoists of the High T’ang: An Inquiry into the Perceived Significance of Eminent Taoists in Medieval Chinese Society.” PhD diss., Indiana University, 1986.

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Kirkland, J. Russell. “A World in Balance: Holistic Synthesis in the T’ai-p’ing kuangchi.” Journal of Sung-Yuan Studies 23 (1993): 43–70. Kroll, Paul W. “Li Po’s Transcendent Diction.” JAOS 106 (1986): 99–117. Kroll, Paul W. “Lexical Landscapes and Textual Mountains in the High Tang.” T’oung Pao 84 (1998): 62–101. Kroll, Paul W. “Taoist Verse and the Quest of the Divine.” In Early Chinese Religion, pt. 2: The Period of Division (220–589), edited by John Lagerwey and Marc Kalinowski, 963–995. Leiden: Brill, 2009. Kroll, Paul W. “Heyue yingling ji and the Attributes of High Tang Poetry.” In Reading Medieval Chinese Poetry: Text, Context, and Culture, edited by Kroll, 169–201. Leiden: Brill, 2015. Kurz, Johannes L. “The Politics of Collecting Knowledge: Song Taizong’s Compilations Project.” T’oung Pao 87, nos. 4/5 (2001): 289–316. Owen, Stephen. The Great Age of Chinese Poetry: The High Tang. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1981. Owen, Stephen. The Late Tang: Chinese Poetry of the Mid-Ninth Century (827–860) (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2006. Owen, Stephen. “A Tang Version of Du Fu.” T’ang Studies 25 (2007): 84–85. Owen, Stephen. “The Manuscript Legacy of the Tang: The Case of Literature.” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 67 (2007): 295–326. Owen, Stephen, ed. and trans. The Poetry of Du Fu. 6 vols. Berlin: De Gruyter, 2016. Poceski, Mario. The Records of Mazu and the Making of Classical Chan Literature. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015. Pregadio, Fabrizio, ed. The Routledge Encyclopedia of Daoism. 2 vols. London: Routledge, 2008. Raz, Gil. The Emergence of Daoism: Creation of Tradition. New York: Routledge, 2012. Schafer, Edward. “Wu Yün’s ‘Cantos on Pacing the Void.” HJAS 41, no. 2 (1981): 377–415. Schafer, Edward. “Wu Yün’s Stanzas on ‘Saunters in Sylphdom.’” Monumenta Serica 35 (1981–83): 309–45. Schafer, Edward. Mirages on the Sea of Time: The Taoist Poetry of Ts’ao T’ang. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985. Shields, Anna M. “Defining the ‘Finest’: A Northern Song View of Tang Literary Culture in the Wen cui.” Journal of Chinese Literature and Culture 4, no. 2 (2017): 306–35. Twitchett, Denis, and Paul Jakov Smith. The Cambridge History of China, Vol. 5, Part One: The Sung Dynasty and Its Precursors, 907–1279. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009. Welter, Albert. Monks, Rulers, and Literati: The Political Ascendancy of Chan Buddhism. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006. Xiang Zhongmin 向仲敏. Liang Song daojiao yu zhengzhi guanxi yanjiu 兩宋道 教與政治關係 研究. Beijing: Renmin chubanshe, 2011.

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Xu Xiping 徐希平. “Du Fu yu daojia ji daojiao guanxi zai tantao—jianyu Zhong Laiyin xiansheng shangque” 杜甫與道家及道教關係再探討—兼於鍾來茵先 生商榷. Du Fu yanjiu xuekan 60 (1999): 1–12. Yan Jinxiong 顏進雄. Tangdai youxian shi yanjiu 唐代遊仙詩研究. Taipei: Wen jin chubanshe, 1996. Yu Yang于洋. “Cong Ming Deng Han keben kao Tang wen cui banben yuanliu” 從 明鄧漢刻本 考《唐文粹》 版本源. Chifeng xueyuan xuebao (Hanwen zhexue shehuike xueban) 赤峰學院學報 (漢文哲學社會科學版) 34 (2013): 35–36. Zha Pingqiu查屏求. “Zhichao wenben xiang yinshua wenben zhuanbian guochengzhong de zhuanshu yu chuban tedian: Wen cui bianzuan yu liuchuan guocheng kaoshu” 紙抄文本向印刷文本轉變過程中的撰述與出版特點： 《文粹》編纂 與流傳過程考述. Gannan shifan xueyuan xuebao 2 (2015): 49–61. Zhang Daya張達雅. “Tang wen cui zhijian banbenkao”《唐文粹》知見版本考. Donghai daxue tushuguan xuebao guanxun 東海大學圖書館館訊 85 (2008): 21–39. Zhong Laiyin 鍾來茵. “Zai lun Du Fu yu daojiao” 再論杜甫與道教. Shoudu shifan daxue xuebao 104 (1995): 46–54. Zhu Gang 朱剛. Tang Song “guwen yundong” yu shidafu wenxue 唐宋《古文運動》 與士大夫 文學. Shanghai: Fudan daxue chubanshe, 2013.

About the Author Anna M. Shields, Gordon Wu ’58 Professor of Chinese Studies, Princeton University, specializes in the literary history of the Tang through Northern Song. Her most recent book is One Who Knows Me: Friendship and Literary Culture in Mid-Tang China (2015); her current research examines the reception of Tang literature, from the tenth through the eleventh centuries. Raz, Gil and Anna M. Shields (eds): Religion and Poetry in Medieval China. The Way and the Words. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2023 DOI: 10.5117/9789463721172_CH05

5

A Re-examination of the Second Juan of the Array of the Five Talismans of the Numinous Treasure 太上靈寶五符序 Wang Zongyu 王宗昱 (translated by Gil Raz)

Abstract Wang Zongyu’s chapter is a philological analysis of different recensions of medical recipes in the seminal Daoist text Array of the Five Talismans, found in Daoist and medical collectanea. Beyond reminding us of the common discourse and practice among Daoists and physicians, Wang’s essay alerts us to the materiality of manuscripts that is occluded not only by modern print editions but by traditional woodblock prints as well. Keywords: medieval medicine, medical recipe collections, manuscript history, Array of the Five Talismans

The second juan of the Array of the Five Talismans (Taishang lingbao wufuxu 太上靈寶五符序 DZ 388; hereafter Array),1 consisting of dozens of medicinal recipes, presents us with numerous textual problems. This chapter will only be able to touch upon a few issues. In her 2011 study of the second juan of the Array,2 Ikehira Noriko 池平紀子 primarily used Dunhuang manuscript S.2438, the Yunji qiqian 雲笈七籤 DZ 1032 (hereafter YJQQ), and Methods for Abstaining from Grains from the Scripture of Great Purity (Taiqingjing duangu fa 太清經斷穀法 DZ 846) to compare textual variants of recipes. While she examines multiple sources and variants, Ikehira’s stimulating discussion centers on Buddho-Daoist interaction. This essay builds upon her work. The discussion of textual variants is not merely a philological exercise to determine the correct, or best, reading of a text. The very existence of different textual recensions forces us to recognize the materiality of texts in 1 Translator’s note: for convenience, all citations from the Array (DZ 388, j. 2), are listed by page and register in the Xinwenfeng facsimile edition of the Hanfenlou edition of Zhengtong Daozang. 2 Ikehira Noriko 池平紀子, “Stein 2438”; I also consulted the discussion of the relationship between Abstaining from Grains and the Array in Raz, “Creation of Tradition.” Raz, Gil and Anna M. Shields (eds): Religion and Poetry in Medieval China. The Way and the Words. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2023 DOI: 10.5117/9789463721172_CH05

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medieval China as hand copied manuscripts circulated among initiates and within lineages of practitioners, and only sometimes available to more public view. Single recipes, or collections of recipes, circulated independently of the texts in which we find them today, and were often copied and reformulated within different compilations.

A. The Basic Textual Sources I begin my examination with textual criticism in order to obtain a definitive version of the Array. The first step in this process is to ascertain the correct words of the text. These two tasks are very difficult. While the Zhonghua daozang edition has only one instance of emended textual criticism of the Array, I believe there are several tens of instances where textual criticism is needed, but I am currently unable to fully emend the entire text. While I still have doubts about certain passages, I have no evidentiary basis for emending them. For example, “Lord Lao Observes Heaven” 老君觀天 (2a8) appears to be a title of a text. Another example, the title 真人住年月別一 物藕散 (16b6) is clearly not comprehensible.3 Textual criticism requires a base text for evidence. In this chapter I use three types of texts for attaining such a base text: (1) citations of the Array in the Daoist Canon, (2) similar passages found in both Yunji qiqian and the Array, (3) materials found outside the Daoist Canon, especially in medical texts. 4 However, how reliable are these materials for textual criticism? 1. The Value of Citations of Array for Textual Criticism First, I examine citations of the Array. For example, a passage in chapter 669 of Taiping yulan (hereafter TPYL) cites the Array as: Huma (sesame), its source is Dayuan (Ferghana), it is also called Jusheng. If you ingest it without cease you will exist as long as the world. It is superior to the five grains. If you ingest you can know the myriad things and communicate with spirit luminescences. 胡麻本生大宛, 又名巨勝. 服之不息, 與世長存. 五穀之長也, 服之可以 知萬物, 通神明.

3 This title is quoted with a slight difference as 真人駐年藕花方 in YJQQ DZ 1032.77.14b9. 4 I use Ōfuchi Ninji, Dōkyō tenseki mokuroku sakuin 道教典籍目錄索引 and the index in ZHDZ, vol. 49, as well as currently available electronic resources, especially the digital edition of Siku chuanshu 四庫全書. Recently, with the help of Zhang Wanrong and other students, I have begun using the Japanese Sinological database. I wish to thank these students.

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This passage is found in the Array but is divided between two entries. The first passage is in an entry entitled “Lingbao method for Ingesting the Essences of the Five Efficacious Herbs” 靈寶服食五芝之精 (1a6–10):5 Lord Lao says: Goushi nourishes the body, preserves color and returns your years. It is also called Huma (sesame). Its source is Dayuan (Ferghana). Generated myriad years ago, it came east across the passes and remained in the central realm, cutting itself off from the barbarians. It conserves the essence of water, repels wind and repulses chill. It calls itself Jusheng. It repels the odious goblins. If you ingest it without cease you will exist as long as the world. 老君曰: 苟蝨養體, 住色還年. 一字胡麻, 本生大宛. 生來萬歲, 來東度 關. 留在中土, 斷絕胡蠻. 含水之精, 卻風除寒. 自名巨勝, 擯逐邪姧. 服 之不息, 與世長存.

The second passage is an entry entitled “Method for Expelling the Extraneous, Filling the Body, and Ingestion” 出外益體服食方 (6b7–10): Place five sheng of hemp seeds in a temperate solution. Bring it to boil and open the lid to remove the husks. Take two jin of mutton fat and mix with the sesame and carefully fry [the mixture] over fire. Eat until you are satiated. Drink water if thirsty. If you wish to have a leisurely meal, prepare it again as before. Hemp is superior to the five grains. By it you may know the myriad things and communicate with the spirit luminescences. On the seventh day of the seventh month pick one sheng of hemp, along with half-jin of superior quality ginseng. Pound them together and steam. Let the vapor spread. Ingesting just one speck of the compound is effective. 取麻子五升, 溫湯漬浸之, 令開口去皮. 羊脂二斤, 合麻子中仁, 微火煎 熟, 食飽為度.渴飲水, 欲飯自在, 更合如前. 麻者, 五穀之長, 可以知萬 物, 通神明. 七月七日取麻勃一升, 真上黨人參半斤, 合擣并蒸, 使氣出 遍, 服一刀圭, 無不驗矣.

We can see that the lines cited in TPYL are found in different passages in the Array. While the first passage follows a rhyming scheme, the second is in prose. My initial hypothesis is that the TPYL citation was rearranged as a single passage after the excerpts were culled from the Array. There are 5 This title appears in different forms in various indexes: Chongwen zongmu 崇文總目 has “Lingbao fushi wuzhi pinjing” 靈寶服食五芝品經. See Long Bide 龍彼得, Songdai shoucang daoshu kao.

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several other examples of such excerpting and citing of the Array. As these are textual rearrangements of excerpts, there are also possibilities of additions, such as, for example, the words “sesame” 胡麻 and “ingest it” 服之 in the TPYL passage. I provide this example to show that citations of the Array in other sources may have undergone some modifications.6 Citations showing such traces of modification cannot be used as evidence for textual criticism. 2. Ikehira has already discussed the significance of the YJQQ citations, which has motivated me to examine the value of using YJQQ for textual criticism of the Array. The difficulty now is how to trace the original sources of the YJQQ. Therefore, my discussion below is for general reference. 3. Transmitted medical works are beyond my specialization. While there are several passages and medical recipes that actually cite the Array, many medical texts include similar recipes as the Array. Ikehira’s study of Dunhuang manuscript S.2438 is in fact an examination of transmitted medical texts, and her textual comparisons reveal several major differences between the texts.7 While the content of the Array is the primary text in our textual criticism, I found a few puzzling instances which due to problems of dating, geography, and technology, are difficult to adjudicate. Nevertheless, I also found a few places that mistakes in the Array can be corrected by using medical texts. For example, “ox intestine” 牛腸 (16a10) must be corrected to “ox gallbladder” 牛膽 as all the medical texts I have seen have sophora fruit 槐子 placed inside ox gallbladder and none mention ox intestines. Ikehira’s use of medical texts to study the Array has provided us with an excellent path to follow. There are, however, many problems in the second juan of the Array that would require expertise in medical texts to help resolve. In this chapter I only pragmatically use a few medical texts, such as Taiping shenghuifang 太平聖惠方 compiled by the Song dynasty Daoist Wang Huaiyin 王懷隱 and the Ming era Puji fang 普濟方 collated by Zhu Xiao 朱櫹. Nevertheless, I have not fully assessed the usefulness of these sources. At present, I have used two editions of Taiping shenghuifang,8 both of which, I feel, are not fully reliable. While the punctuated edition from Renmin weisheng Press is quite good, some people have pointed out it has omissions.9 For example, I have found a recipe from the Array in Puji fang. While the Puji fang notes this recipe is from Shenghuifang, neither of the 6 Another example is a citation of a passage on huangjing 黃精 (poligonatum giganteum) in Laughing at the Dao (Xiaodaolun 笑道論), T 52.2103.148b. 7 For example, 黃金 ‘入水不耗’ is found in the Array as 入火不耗; Ikehira, “Stein,” 163. 8 One is Taiping shenghuifang太平聖惠方 punctuated edition, the other is Taiping shenghuifang jiaozhu 太平聖惠方校注. 9 See Wang Lin, “Jianguo yilai.”

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modern editions of Shenghuifang includes this recipe.10 As this is my first effort at relying on medical texts to correct readings for textual criticism in Daoist texts, I have no experience in this process. Perhaps we should first resolve problematic readings, and only then turn to textual criticism. As my focus is still on problematic readings, I prefer the textual variants of prescriptions transmitted in medical texts, assuming that some of the text in the Array had been manipulated.

B. Methods for Abstaining from Grains from the Scripture of Great Purity and the Problem of Different Versions of the Array We should remember that different versions of Daoist texts were often formed during the long process of textual transmission. Did the Array have more than one version? Ikehira’s work has already helped us in understanding the relationship between Abstaining from Grains and the Array.11 Five passages in Abstaining from Grains are quotes from the Array, with one passage not found in the current text: Take five jin of Poria cocos, seven jin of Pine resin, five jin of white wax, three jin of honey, two sheng of Sichuan perilla. Mix and fry these ingredients with one dan of rice. When hot, make into pills the size of seeds of the Parasol tree. Ingest ten pills, increasing or decreasing the amount, taking your lack of hunger as a standard. After the tenth day, take one pill and do not eat anymore. You may drink a little alcohol. This method was promulgated and used by the Great Master Cifa (Compassionate Dharma), and many ingested it in Chengdu. Numerous students of the Dao and of the general public received his guidance and multitudes followed his practice and heard his lectures, thus reaching longevity. From the Scripture of Five Talismans. 茯苓末五升, 油松脂七斤, 白蠟五斤, 白蜜三斤, 蜀蘇二升, 合蒸如炊一 石米. 熟, 取出丸, 丸如梧桐子大. 服十丸, 稍增, 以不飢為度. 十日後 10 Some scholars critique the Taiping shenghuifang for not sufficiently noting the sources for the medical discussion and recipes collated therein; Zhonguo guyi jishumu tiyao, 596. Nevertheless, what is the source for this Array recipe found in Puji fang quote from Shenghuifang? 11 The date of Taiqing jing duangu fa DZ 846 requires further research. TC suggests a compilation date prior to 573. Other scholars suggest earlier date, some as early as Eastern Jin. See Hu Fuchen, Zhonghua daojiao dacidian, 358.

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服一丸, 勿餘食, 可飲少酒. 此是慈法大師依方施用. 於成都將服. 道 俗蒙濟者多, 行道聽講者眾, 便可度世也. 出五符經 (DZ 846.1b10–2a5)

This recipe is very different from those preserved in the current Array. The recipe refers to Great Master Cifa 慈法大師,12 white wax 白蠟, and Sichuan perilla 蜀蘇, none of which appear in the Array.13 Considering the ingredients of the recipe, it is difficult to tell whether these elements are evidence for different versions of the Array without further research. The problem is that these ingredients do not appear in the current Array. If this recipe does not come from the same version, it is best to label it as a “lost fragment” (逸文). If it is a lost fragment, then the coherence of the current Array comes into doubt. The other four passages can be used to show that there were different versions of the Array. While their compounds and working methods are the same, there are major differences and variations in measures and technical terminology. These differences are due to regional and temporal differences. This can be shows with the following, relatively simple example: Take non-glutinous rice, millet, wheat, soybeans, and hemp seeds; five ge each. Mix the ingredients into one jin of white honey, and fry it bubbles, then place the compound in cold water. Make pills as large as plums. Ingest all at once. For the rest of your life you will not feel hunger. One method is without millet. From the Five Talismans. 粳米, 黍米, 小麥, 大麻子, 熬大豆, 各五合. 入白蜜一斤, 煎一沸. 冷水中丸, 丸 如李子. 一頓吞之, 則終身不飢. 一方無黍米. 出在’五符’中 (DZ 846.9a9–9b2)

The parallel passage in the Array is: Take non-glutinous rice, millet, wheat, soybeans, and hemp seeds; five ge each. Steam, and then shred the soybeans. Mix all the ingredients with 12 This name may not have originated in the Array. It may have been by the compiler of the text after the five recipes were already included in the text. 13 Sichuan perilla 蜀蘇 (provisional translation) and Sichuan perilla paste 蜀蘇膏 appear three times in DZ 846, but do not appear in any other transmitted medical text. I therefore do not know its proper medical designation. Puji fang lists a recipe for “Pine-wax pills for abstaining from grains” 辟穀松臘丸, quoted from Shengji zonglu 聖濟總錄, its ingredients are: pine resin 松脂, white wax, cream 酥, honey蜜, shavings of white poria cocos 白茯苓末. These ingredients are similar to those in DZ 846 and may perhaps be worth examining further. Nevertheless, there is no evidence to determine whether the reference here to “cream” 酥 and “honey” 蜜 is the same as Sichuan perilla 蜀蘇.

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one jin of white honey, and fry until a hundred bubbles appear, then place the compound in cold water. Make pills as large as plums. Ingest all at once; that is a dose. For the rest of your life you will not feel hunger, and all anomalies will be controlled. Steam only the soybeans. 以粳米, 黍米, 小麥, 大豆, 麻子各五合, 豆熬而末之. 共和白蜜一斤, 煎 一百沸, 投冷水中. 丸如李子. 一頓吞盡. 此一劑, 可終身不飢. 諸物皆各 治之, 唯熬豆耳 (DZ 388.2.36a)

The two passages are basically the same, except for the underlined lines. The phrase “one method” 一方 means that there is another similar recipe. As this phrase is quite common in the Array, I suggest that these phrases show that there were different versions of the Array. If the current Array has these words but Abstaining from Grains does not, I suggest that the quote in the latter is incomplete. However, if a quote in Abstaining from Grains includes material not found in the Array, then we should at the very least consider that there were different versions of the Array.

C. The Variants Goumian 鉤勉 and Gouwen 鉤吻 (Gelsemium elegans) This example is relatively complex and can help reveal the problems involved in the transmission of different editions. The Array includes a passage discussing Yellow Essence (Huangjing 黃精; rhizome of Polygonatum): This herb contrasts with Goumian 鉤勉. Yellow Essence is the essence of Great Yang, entering the mouth it will cause one to live long. Goumian is the essence of Great Yin, entering the mouth it will cause one to die. Not knowing this contrast, people believe in the killing quality of Goumian but do not believe in the life-bestowing quality of Yellow Essence. They are [therefore] unable to ingest it. Comment: Goumian is wild kudzu. What is known as Wild Kudzu at Rinan and Yishan is Goumian. Ingesting it causes death. Its poison agitates qi that constricts the intestines (鉤人腸), and it must be avoided (勉絕), hence, its name. 此草與鉤勉相對. 黃精, 太陽之精, 入口使人長生. 鉤勉者, 太陰之精, 入口使人即死.不知其相對也, 人但信鉤勉之殺人, 而不信黃精之生 人, 不能服之也. (Comment: 鉤勉者野葛也. 日南諸夷山藪中名野葛 為鉤勉,食之入口便殺人. 其毒煩冤氣鉤人腸,必勉絕之, 故名之曰鉤 勉也. (DZ 388.2.19a6–19b1)

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It is difficult to comprehend the word mian 勉 in this passage. The term goumian 鉤勉 must be gouwen 鉤吻, that is kudzu (yege 野葛). How can we explicate goumian 鉤勉? The Tujing yanyi bencao 圖經衍義本草 includes a gloss by Tao Hongjing 陶弘景 (456–536):14 “Tao the recluse says: The Five Talismans also says gouwen is kudzu. It says when it enters the mouth it constricts one’s throat and mouth. Some say wen 吻 should be wan 挽, as it drags on one’s intestines and constricts them.” 陶隱居云: 五符中亦云鉤吻是野葛, 言其入口則鉤人喉吻. 或言吻作 挽字, 牽挽人腸而絕之.

This passage provides evidence that the graph mian 勉 is a an error for wan 挽. Gouwen is an alternative name for kudzu, while goumian does not appear in any other source. Tujing yanyi bencao is a Song dynasty compilation whose author clearly read Tao Hongjing’s writings. I therefore suggest that the early Array must have had the term gouwen. Why, then, does the current Array have goumian? I distinguish three particular elements in the text. First, this passage is continuous with early understanding and common sayings. A passage in Bowuzhi 博物志 by Zhang Hua 張華 (232–300), states: The Yellow Thearch asked the Celestial Elder: “Of the things produced by heaven and earth, is there anything edible that would lead humans to not dying?” The Celestial Elder replied: “The herb of Great Yang, named Yellow Essence, when made into food and eaten can lead you to longevity. The herb of Great Yin, named Gouwen, cannot be eaten. As it enters the mouth, one will die. People believe Gouwen is fatal, but they do not believe Yellow Essence increases longevity. Isn’t that baffling?” 黃帝問天老曰: ‘天地所生, 豈有食之令人不死者乎？’ 天老曰: ‘ 太陽之 草, 名曰黃精, 餌而食之可以長生. 太陰之草, 名曰鉤吻, 不可食, 入口立 死. 人信鉤吻之殺人, 不信黃精之益壽, 不亦惑乎?’15

14 Tao Hongjing, Bencao jing jizhu, 335. Ikehira has also discussed this passage. Although I use this passage in my analysis, I cannot ascertain this passage is by Tao Hongjing. 15 Bowuzhi jiaozheng, 63. Ikehira also notes this source and compares it with the Array; Ikehira, “Stein,” 173.

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Later authors cited this passage as a classic statement about gouwen. As there is basically no difference between it and the passage in the Array, and considering Zhang Hua’s dates, it is clear that the Array is following earlier works. Next, the phrase “constricts one’s throat and mouth” 鉤人喉 吻 is currently only found in Tao Hongjing’s gloss cited above. Third, the explanation in the phrase “constricts one’s intestines” 鉤人腸 differs from the explanation “constricts one’s throat and mouth.” This explanation is found in the Array passage and in Tao’s gloss, who adds “Some say wen 吻 should be wan 挽.” This note is very significant. Based on other records, this phrase may have been included in the Three Kingdom era Nanzhou yiwuzhi 南州異物志 by Wan Zhen 萬震 of Wu. Cui Guitu’s 崔龜圖 (late Tang) comment in Beihu lu 北戶錄 cites Nanzhou yiwuzhi as: “The vulgar and vagabonds use gouwan for kudzu” 俚賊呼冶葛為鉤挽.16 In this passage, kudzu (yege 野葛) is written as 冶葛 and gouwen 鉤吻 is written as gouwan 鉤挽. As the original text of Nanzhou yiwuzhi was lost quite early, later authors only saw fragmentary transmitted citations. Nevertheless, we should remember that it is possible that references to gouwan 鉤挽 appeared earlier than Tao Hongjing’s work. Currently, I can only find two examples of gouwan, both in citations in the Nanzhou yiwuzhi.17 The passage from Tujing yanyi bencao cited above states: “Some say wen 吻 should be wan 挽, as it drags on one’s intestines and constricts them.” Whether or not this passage is by Tao Hongjing, it demonstrates that some people both accepted the term gouwan 鉤挽 and provided a new explication for it. The term used in the current Array is not derived from the explication of the toxicity of gouwen 鉤吻 and is not based on the line “constricts one’s throat and mouth” 鉤人喉吻. Rather, “constricts one’s intestines” means that gouwen harms the internal organs. There are very few references to this explanation in the medical literature. Liu Zhiji 劉知幾 (661–721) in his “Contemplating Caution Rhapsody” 思慎賦 wrote: “Sweetness and bloated fat, snickering at the rotting intestines of gouwen” 口甘腴豢, 嗤鉤吻之腐 腸. He uses the graph wen 吻, while informed by the toxicity implied by the graph wan 挽.18 Above, we explored the process by which gouwen and goumian were interchanged. The discussion in the current Array about harm to the intestines must be based on gouwan. Hence, mian 勉 must be an error for 16 Beihu lu 北戶錄, 32. 17 The other example is a citation found in TPYL, j. 785. 18 In addition, the Qing era Guizhou tongzhi 貴州通志 cites Tao Hongjing’s words: 鉤吻言鉤 人喉吻, 入腸爛腸.

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wan 挽. This error is probably due to the fact that they were homonyms. The Northern Song Guangyun 廣韵 places both graphs in the same rhyme group.19 I suggest the graph mian 勉 should be emended to wan 挽, and goumian 鉤勉 should be emended to gouwan 鉤挽. As the current Array does not include the word gouwen 鉤吻, can we use Tao Hongjing’s gloss on goumian as evidence for different versions of the Array? Of course, Tao Hongjing’s materials are secondary and cannot be alone used as evidence. As we saw similar passages in the Bowuzhi, which cannot be attributed to the authors of the Array, we should see that textual variants, such as using gouwan 鉤挽 instead of gouwen 鉤吻, are common. The line “must be avoided” 必勉絕之in the commentary in the Array proves that the original text did not have gouwen. A similar passage appears in Dongshen badi miaojing jing 洞神八帝妙精經,20 and while not exactly the same as Bowuzhi, it uses the term gouwen. Thus, the medicinal names used by Daoists were the same as those in common use. The use of goumian (wan) in the current Array is a very rare example in both Daoist and non-Daoist materials.

D. The Value of Yunji qiqian for Textual Criticism In this section I again follow Ikehira who made a preliminary examination of the value of using the YJQQ for collation of the Array. While the YJQQ provides the most materials for examining the second juan of the Array, quoting seven recipes and one narrative, it does not explicitly state that these recipes are quotes from the Array. The textual differences between these citations and the Array prove that these recipes were transmitted within different textual f iliations. The most valuable passages in the YJQQ remind us that there are mistakes in the text of the Array. Under the title “Recipe received by Yu of Xia from the True Man” the Array has two recipes (2.9b2–10b9). 21 The f irst discusses chijian 赤箭 (Gastrodia), the second discusses the zhanglu root 章陸根 (Phytolacca acinosa). Superf icially, it seems that the passage on zhanglu is part of “Recipes received by Yu of Xia from the True Man.” However, a more detailed look shows that this passage and the preceding section on chijian are 19 The phonological glosses are: “mian” 勉 is 亡辨切 and “wan” 挽 is 無遠切; Guxun huizuan 古訓匯纂. 20 DZ 640.13a1–4. 21 Cited in YJQQ DZ 1032:82.7

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unrelated. Rather, it is related to the following two recipes, which provide instructions on using zhanglu in medicines used for expelling the three worms from the body. We can use the YJQQ to critique the Array and reveal serious mistakes in the text. YJQQ juan 82 records these zhanglu recipes with the title “Methods of the spirit transcendents for expelling the three worms and defeating the corpses” 神仙去三蟲伏尸方with a comment that states “two methods in total” 凡二方. The parallel passage in Array lacks this title, and it is unclear how it is distinct from the preceding “Recipe received by Yu of Xia from the True Man.” The second and third recipes in the Array have their own titles. Considering the format in YJQQ, these two titles may well have been cut out from the main text. That is the reason that first title is so complicated, listing the many maladies the recipe cures. If we take the YJQQ version as correct, we realize that the section on zhanglu in the Array is missing its title. The passage in YJQQ is also divided into three sections. The first discusses the names of the herb and its medicinal value. The following two sections are recipes, providing instructions for preparation of the medicines, methods of ingestion, and their effects. Not only is the first section in the Array lacking a title, the titles of the following two recipes, when compared with the YJQQ passage, are clearly mistakes. In fact, these titles were culled from the discussion of effects in the main text of the recipes. As the first title is very long, I suspect it is culled from the main text. The comparison with YJQQ shows that there are mistakes in the text of the Array. How can we explain these mistakes in the Array? As the text in YJQQ is clearly superior to that in the Array we should take it as authoritative. As later authors must have changed the passages in the Array, we cannot know the textual form prior to these changes. Based on the current text of the Array, we can surmise that the later editor made the first section into a general survey, and the second and third sections were recast as distinct recipes. While this text is essentially not different from the structure of the passage in YJQQ, I cannot speculate on the motives of the later editor. Nevertheless, having seen these errors we cannot but doubt the textual authority of the Array. At the very least, the second juan is not in the form it was in the eastern Jin. Another passage in YJQQ allows us to further critique the Array. The Array includes a recipe entitled “Expelling the crouching corpses and three worms” 去伏尸三蟲方: On the third day of the third month pick peach leaves. Pulverize them and collect seven sheng of juice. Mix with bitter alcohol and fry until you

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get five or six ge. First eat a meal, and then ingest the compound. Do not eat in the evening. 用三月三日, 取桃葉, 擣取汁七升, 以苦酒合煎, 令得五六合. 先食頓服 之, 宿無食 (26a8–10)

A passage in YJQQ entitled “Method for suppressing the corpses and worms” 厭尸蟲法: On the third day of the third month pick peach leaves (one says peach root), Pulverize them and collect seven sheng of juice. Fry together with one sheng of vinegar until you get five or six portions. First eat a meal, and then ingest the compound. Do not eat in alternate evenings, and it will lead to the expulsion of the corpses and worms. 三月三日, 取桃葉, 一云桃根, 擣取汁七升, 以大醋一升同煎, 令得五六 分. 先食頓服之. 隔宿無食, 即尸蟲俱下 (DZ 1032.82.4a)

While these two passages are the same, their titles show that they had different transmission histories. The text in YJQQ is relatively complete.22 I do not think that the omission of a few words at the end of the Array is necessarily an error, but the passage in YJQQ proves that this recipe may have also discussed the effect of ingesting the medicine.

E. Arrangement of the Recipes and their Composition Considering the structure of the passage in YJQQ, as the three passages in the Array discussed above have a general heading, the titles of the two recipes are unnecessary. In general, the structure of each section in the current Array first introduces the medicinal ingredients followed by the instructions for preparation and use. This structure is found in other passages in the second juan of the Array. For example, the four recipes featuring sophora 槐子 are preceded by a general discussion of sophora, without heading or title (388.2.15a8–16b5). As these four recipes have different functions, the general discussion heads them all. As such, the absence of a title may be significant. The long passage about poligonatum (huangjing 黃精) is also without a title (18b5–20b4). I therefore examine the structure of the recipes in the Array.

22 The phrase 五六分 in YJQQ is not as precise as the phrase 五六合in the Array.

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The entire second juan of the Array consists of medicinal recipes. How are these recipes arranged together? The first part of the juan (1a–7a2) features sesame (huma 胡麻), with ten recipes. The coherence of this section is based on the medicinal ingredients. The first part of the section on zhanglu, discussed above, includes two recipes for expelling the corpses and worms (10b4–11b9). The coherence here is based on the illness or curative effect. In the final section of the second chapter we find some twenty recipes with medicinal alcohol. The coherence here is based on the form of the preparation. Therefore, the arrangement of the recipes is not based on one single factor. Rather, I suggest, there are three basic criteria for the arrangement of recipes: ingredients, illness (or effect), and form of preparation. However, the passages in the second juan are not clearly differentiated by these criteria but are arranged without clear order. A few recipes are grouped together, such as the sophora recipes and the alcohol recipes, but others are scattered elsewhere. The first section has ten sesame recipes together, but there are other sesame recipes in later parts of the chapter. Recipes for expelling the three worms are scattered through the text. Among the group of alcohol recipes, we also find two recipes not based on alcohol: “Method of Fried Asparagus” 天門冬煎方 (2.30a9–31b7) and “Spiritual Method of Ingestion” 服食神方 (30b8–31a5). These examples of scattered recipes, lead me to surmise that the compiler did not have clear criteria. Rather, the arrangement is somewhat haphazard. For example, the two non-alcohol recipes and the two recipes, before and after them, all feature asparagus. I suggest that the compiler placed them together on that basis, although that they are not alcohol-based recipes. The three criteria are based on my analysis of the arrangement of the recipes in the chapter. If they are not in an appropriate order, we should ask whether they are misplaced. Above, I argued that the two asparagus recipes are mistakenly placed among the alcohol-based recipes because of the two recipes placed before and after them combine alcohol and asparagus. We can assume that the compiler also had similar considerations, resulting in so many alcohol-based recipes grouped together. Nevertheless, the compilers’ criteria are not so clear. There does not seem to be any reason for the scattered sesame recipes and methods for expulsion of the Three Worms.23 These are compilers’ errors. I cannot determine whether these mistakes were introduced at one time or over multiple editorial efforts. 23 A method for expelling the worms placed among the sophora methods (16a5–8) is not a mistake, as it uses sophora seeds.

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F. Duplicate Recipes Alongside the erroneously placed recipes, there are also some duplicate recipes. The group of alcohol recipes incudes a “Zhanglu liquor method” 章 陸酒方, which does not differ greatly from the other alcohol-based recipes. All feature medicinal alcohol, and their ingredients and effects are similar, with slight differences in content. The compiler surely did not intend to include duplicate recipes, and yet we find such duplicates among the recipes. I examine this example in order to assess the contents of the Array. Use three dou of sorghum, ten jin of wheat yeast and one dou of ripe asparagus. Pound ten jin of zhanglu until it is white. After drying, mix the ingredients and ferment for sixty days. When the alcohol is ready, stir it to remove the sediment. Imbibe as much as you wish. Ingesting this for long while cutting off grains will cause your stomach to develop fat. After a long time, it will increase qi, expel the three worms, and kill the crouching corpses. This [medicine] cures the five ailments and seven afflictions of men and women, problems in gestation and lactation and menstrual problems. It will cause your ears and eyes to become acute and clear and increase your spirit and knowledge. It will eradicate the blackface disease and scars. Another method states to use only one jin of zhanglu. 用秫米三斗, 小麥麴十斤, 天門冬成末一斗. 治章陸令白, 十斤乾末之, 合釀六十日.酒成, 絞去滓. 飲酒多少隨意, 久服斷穀, 令人腹中肥, 久久 則益氣. 去三蟲殺伏尸,治男女五勞七傷, 婦人產乳餘病, 帶下去赤白. 使人耳目聰明, 益神智, 除面䵟,瘢痕皆滅. 一方用章陸一斤 (28b3–10)

This “Zhanglu liquor recipe” is also found in Puji fang which cites a “Shanglu liquor recipe” from the Shenghui fang: Shanglu tips, five jin; asparagus, five jin; pound these ten jin into fine grains. Wash and clean one dan of sorghum. First, fry the sorghum until it is hot, and the let it rest until it is at body temperature. Separately, boil one dan of water, and let it cool again. Mix all the ingredients and let settle evenly. Place the preparation in a non-leaking vessel and seal it. Let it ferment for sixty days until it is ready, then remove sediment. Drink as you wish. For five days decrease your food, after twenty days your stomach will be full, you will stop eating grains, and no longer need food. This will eradicate the corpses, worms and all scars. This recipe is from the Five Talismans. Dog meat is forbidden.

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商陸末五斤, 天門冬五斤, 細曲十斤搗碎, 秫米 一石淘淨. 右先炊米熟, 放如人體溫.別煎熟水一石放冷. 都拌和令勻. 入不津甕中密封, 酿六 十日成, 去滓. 隨性飲之, 五日食減, 二十日腹滿絕穀, 不復用食. 尸蟲 並瘢痕皆滅. 此方出五符中; 忌犬肉.24

The date of composition of Puji fang is relatively late and it cites numerous transmitted medical texts. It thus preserves much valuable information. The ingredients and effects of this recipe and that preserved in the Array are the same, but the descriptive content is very different. Considering the difference in time between the two versions, we should not rule out changes in the processing and curing of the preparation. The historical Array evidently included a Shanglu liquor recipe, but these two versions allow us to question whether the original Array had both of these duplicate recipes. Furthermore, as discussed above, how authoritative are the recipes that had gone through editing? A second duplicate recipe involves the ingestion of lotus seeds and “chicken head” rice. One of these recipes is entitled “Special Lotus Root Powder of the Perfected for Halting Years and Months” 真人住年月別一 物藕散 (16b6–17b2)25 and the other is “Method for Halting Years” 住年方 17b3–8). Compared with the former, the latter recipe is very short, only replacing the days of picking lotus roots and “chicken head” seeds with the “establishment and expulsion” 建除 hemerological system. Comparing the two recipes, it seems that the former is relatively complete while the latter has some lacunae. The latter seems to be a different version of the former. Although the words are not the same, both recipes mention using a young chick to test the preparation. If the current Array preserves the content of the Six Dynasties text why does it duplicate this experiment with the young chicken? These two recipes are grouped together because they both have lotus root as their basic ingredient. As there is no difference between the two recipes, except for the different hemerological processes, I cannot find a reason for including the second recipe. This is an important example as it allows us to further reconsider the sources of the current Array. The latter recipe was probably not part of the original text of the Array, but was added later. This interpolation is clearly a mistake and is obviously 24 Puji fang (Siku quanshu edition). This recipe does not appear in the Renmin weisheng edition of Taiping shenghui fang. 25 A recipe in YJQQ DZ 1032.77.14b9–15b4 entitled “Lotus seed recipe for halting years of the Perfected” 真人駐年藕華方 is almost the same, but without reference to testing the drug on a young chicken and with no reference to hemerology.

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superfluous. The inclusion of this superfluous recipe shows that the current Array is not exactly the original text, but that is includes both edited content and interpolations. A third example of a duplicate recipe is among the alcohol-based recipes. Among these are the aforementioned four recipes featuring asparagus.26 Two of these are not actually alcohol-based recipes. The first and the fourth of these are respectively entitled “Recipe for Asparagus Liquor” 天門冬 酒方 (2.29a10–30a8) and “Recipe of the Perfected for Brewing Asparagus Liquor” 真人釀天門冬酒方(2.31a6–31b5). Their difference lies in the latter’s emphasis on curing “abscess worms” 癩蟲. Some may find my claim that these two recipes are duplicates too subjective, as these two recipes are quite different. The former has detailed instructions for preparation. The latter claims that beyond curing leprosy, one can continue to attain transcendence. I provide this example to show the need for further examination. The first part of both recipes is very similar, using the same phrases “In autumn pick the root” 以秋取根, the measure “as you wish” 多少在 意or “up to you” 多少自在. In discussing the brewing of the alcohol, the recipes say “as the regular brewing method” 如常釀法 and “the usual brewing method” 如凡釀法.27 Both recipes refer to the ingestion dosage as “square inch spoon” 方寸匕 and “three or four times daily” 日三四. We cannot, of course, dismiss the possibility that these two recipes were written by the same author. But the descriptions of other procedures in the two recipes clearly show that they were composed by different authors. The former says: “If in addition you pick the roots, dry them, and ingest them with the wine” 若別取根乾末, 以此酒服之. The latter says: “Also, after picking the root you can dry it by exposure, pulverize and sift it. Ingest this with wine.” 又採根曝之擣下簁, 以此酒服. The titles of the two recipes are not fundamentally different, and the latter recipe does not add any technical content. If a single author composed these passages, why were they divided into two recipes? The former recipe mentions Xia Ji 夏姬, a famous beauty mentioned in several historical sources. She is mentioned in another recipe in the Array. When did she become an exemplar for seekers of transcendence? As there are many references to Xia Ji in recipes in the transmitted medical literature, can we use these references to evaluate the religious background and date particular recipes? This question awaits further investigation. 26 Another asparagus based recipe entitled “recipe for spiritual liquor” 神酒方 is found in 2.34.5–8. 27 Array 2.30a2 mistakenly has 丸 for 凡.

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As the first recipe does not mention a particular disease it cures, we should consider it a method of transcendence. The latter recipe is a regular prescription (驗方). As the Array is focused on transcendence should it not include regular prescriptions? I cannot accept this hypothesis. However, what is the main purpose of the recipes in the Array is certainly a question worthy of further consideration. Two recipes based on Lycium berry (gouji 枸杞) included among the alcohol-based recipes can be subjected to similar analysis. One is “Recipe for Lycium berry Liquor” 枸杞酒方 (33a8–33b2) and the other is “Lingbao recipe for Imbibing Foxglove and Lycium berry Liquor” 靈寶服食地黃枸杞酒方 32a9–32b10). The ingredients in both recipes are Lycium berry, rehmania (地 黃), panicled millet 赤黍米, and yeast 酒麴. While the quantities mentioned in the recipes differ slightly, the preparation is basically the same. There are relatively big differences in contents in the latter half of the recipes. The former introduces alternative names of Lycium, while the latter mentions diseases the recipe counters and related taboos. These two recipes are not placed together, revealing that they were simply considered alcohol-based recipes.

G. Merged recipes The last recipe in the second juan is a cultivation method entitled “Yue Zichang’s Method of Ingesting Date Stones” 樂子長含棗核方 (36a5–36b3). This method seems to have two parts: first, ingesting dates stones, and second, abstaining from grains. Based on the current text, the section on abstaining from grains refers to the possibility of eating preserved dates. While I doubt that this recipe preserves the early textual form, I do not have sufficient material to ascertain its date of composition. My doubt is based on a passage included in Zeng Zao’s 曾慥 (d. 1155 or 1164) Daoshu 道 樞 (Pivot of the Dao) which states: Yue Zichang has a “method for rinsing the floriate pool” that says: regularly hold date stones in your mouth, as a baby suckles a nipple. Hold it for long until [your mouth is] full. Swallow three measures, leaving two [in your mouth]. Swallow together with air. This is called “returning the essence.” When you complete [a set] you should start again. 樂子長有漱華池之方曰: 常含棗核如兒吮乳, 久之乃滿, 咽其三分, 而 留 二分, 與氣俱咽焉. 其名曰還精, 可以周而復始者也.28 28 Daoshu 道樞 DZ 1017.9.11a4–7, ZHDZ, 23:410.

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The passage in the Array is as follows: A method of longevity: regularly hold a date stone in your mouth, like a baby [suckling] breast milk. Hold it for a long time until the juice fills your mouth. Of three measures, swallow two parts and keep one [in your mouth]. Ingest each mouthful together with air. This is called returning the essence. When you complete [a set] you should start again, as in a cycle. 長生之道, 常含一棗核, 如兒乳汁, 久久及液滿口, 三分嚥二餘一, 口與 氣俱入. 名曰還精. 周而復始, 如循環.

The passage in the Daoshu is very important as it not only includes Yue Zichang in its title but its phrasing is very similar to the Array. At the very least we can use it for textual criticism of the Array. Zeng Zao was a Song dynasty scholar, so he must have gotten this recipe from earlier sources. The recipe is labeled “Method for rinsing the floriate pool,” and emphasizes abstaining from grains. My first doubt about the recipe in the Array is about its source. Next, is the practice of “rinsing the floriate pool” related to abstaining from grains? Currently, the earliest source for this practice is the tale of Wang Zhen 王 真 and Xi Mengjie 郤孟節 in Traditions of Divine Transcendents (Shenxian zhuan 神仙傳) that states, “Wang Zhen practiced rinsing the font below the tongue and swallowed [the liquid]” 習漱舌下泉而嚥之, while Xi Mengjie is described as “holding a date stone in his mouth in order not to eat” 含棗核 以不食.29 Wang Zhen’s cultivation method is named “Embryonic feeding” (taishi 胎食), and there is no reference to it having any role in abstention from grains. Xi Mengjie’s method of “holding a date stone in the mouth” provides no details about the practice of “rinsing with saliva.” Shenxian zhuan also includes a tale about Yue Zichang, stating he “valued qi and replenished essence” 崇氣益精. All these passages are related to Yue Zichang’s cultivation method described in the Array. The practices of “sucking on date stones” and “rinsing with saliva” are related in Tao Hongjing’s Yangxing yanming lu 養性延命錄 DZ 838, which states: “Constantly hold a date stone in your mouth and suck on it; this will cause you to cherish qi and generate ‘ford-liquor’ (saliva)” 恆含棗核咽之, 令人愛氣生津液. Tao Hongjing notes this passage is a citation from “Inner Explanations” (Neijie 內解) which instructs people not to spit their saliva as that will lead to loss. The purpose of the practice of holding date stones in

29 Ge Hong, Shenxian zhuan 神仙傳.

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the mouth is probably for sweetening the breath.30 This cultivation practice of swallowing saliva was further developed in the late Tang Zhiyan zong 至 言總 DZ 1033 by Fan Xiaoran 范翛然: Constantly hold date stones in your mouth, collect saliva and swallow it according to measure so that the spittle will not be exhausted. The so-called mucus and spittle are the upper essence. When upper essence is not lost, and the lower essence does not leak, you will naturally attain long life. 常含棗核, 取津液數數吞之, 其唾亦不棄之. 所謂涕唾為上精, 上精不 脫, 下精不泄, 自得長生.31

The term “upper essence,” referring to saliva, links this passage with the Array. Swallowing saliva is referred to as “returning essence.” Tao Hongjing, however, does not mention “returning essence.” I have not yet located any source earlier than Pivot of the Dao with this connotation for “returning essence.” It is possible to find sources that link the practices of “rinsing the floriate pool” and “abstaining from grains.” A passage labeled “Xi Jian of Central Peak’s Method for Ingesting qi” 中嶽郗秋食氣法 in YJQQ states: Floriate pool is the saliva in the mouth. Swallow it while inhaling and exhaling according to the method, and you will not be hungry. When you first abstain from grains, for three or seven days, you may be ill with dizziness. Beware of any anomalies. After a full twenty-one days, the practice is complete. Your strength will daily increase, and if you can eat if wish to. But you must avoid sex, as you cannot recklessly lose essence and qi. 華池者, 口中之唾也. 呼吸如法, 咽之即不饑矣. 初絕榖三日七日小極 頭眩, 慎勿怪也, 滿二十一日, 成, 矣氣力日, 增欲食可, 食即息 禁陰陽, 不可妄失精氣也.32

This passage is similar to the following lines in Yue Zichang’s recipe in the Array: When you cut off grains, after five days you will become fatigued. If your head becomes befuddled immediately stop. After fourteen days, if again 30 Yangxing yanming lu DZ 838.5a4–5; Qifa yaomiao zhijue 氣法要妙至訣 DZ 831.2a4, ZHDZ 23.254, states that holding date stones in the mouth is for avoiding dry mouth. 31 Zhiyan zong 至言總 DZ 1033.4.7b1–3, ZHDZ 23.286. This passage may be a citation from Fuqijue 服氣訣 by Liao Xiang 廖庠 (n.d.). 32 YJQQ DZ 1032.61.16b8–17a1.

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your head will become befuddled, you should again stop. After twenty-one days your qi will be fixed. If you wish to eat, you may eat. If you do not wish to eat, your [craving] will naturally cease. Once you cut off grains you must refrain from sexual intercourse. You may eat some preserved jujubes and drink wine, no more than a sheng. This method is the same for both men and women. (36a9–b3) 絕穀之時, 五日小極頭眩, 須臾復止, 十四日復頭眩, 須臾復止, 二十 一日之後氣定. 欲食便食, 不欲食自息. 絕穀之時, 禁交接, 可食少棗脯, 飲酒無過一 升, 男女同法.

The Xi Jian mentioned in YJQQ is the same as Xi Mengjie. This method for ingesting qi is also found elsewhere, albeit without reference to Xi Jian.33 I cannot ascertain the date of this method. Nevertheless, the title “Xi Jian’s Method for Ingesting qi” certainly borrows Xi Mengjie’s fame. The passage in Pivot of the Dao does not refer to Yue Zichang as related to this cultivation method. According to my current understanding, the recipe for sucking date stones in the Array may be divided into three parts: (1) a discussion of the function of date stones as preserving energy ( jingqi 精氣), not for abstaining from grains; (2) abstaining from grains, (3) added text, saying that some dates may be eaten. Note that eating dates and the earlier section about holding date stones in the mouth are not the same. Eating dates aids in abstaining from grains, as is “rinsing the floriate pool.” I have divided this passage into two sections because I argue that the recipe in Array is based on different sources. The purpose of the practice in the first part is clearly different from that of the next two. The evidence from Pivot of the Dao shows that this first part of the recipe may have been transmitted independently.34 The common theme of these three parts is simply “date.” But the specific purpose of “rinsing the floriate pool” is to preserve essence and qi. Thus, as it appears that there are two distinct purposes for this recipe in the Array, I argue that it combines different sources into a single recipe. Even if we accept that its specific feature is the ingestion of dates, we should note that at first it discusses date stones and later switches to preserved dates. While there 33 In a section labeled “Method for cutting off grains and ingesting qi” 絕穀食氣法 in Xiandao jing 顯道經 DZ 862.14a. Also in Puji fang, juan 266, lists the title “Method of the transcendents for cutting off grains and ingesting for 12 hours” 神仙絕穀十二時食氣法, cited from Shengji zonglu 聖濟總錄. 34 Of course, the Pivot of the Dao may have culled from different sources, and we cannot at this point ascertain the source for the contents of this collection.

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are other discrepancies, my suspicion was initially aroused as early sources do not refer to Yue Zichang as having a special affinity with this practice of ingesting dates.

Conclusion While a full philological study of the Array is beyond the purview of this chapter, the few examples explored here clearly show that the current text of the Array in the Daoist Canon includes several mistakes, repetitions, interpolations, as well as other textual problems. While we cannot in every case ascertain the correct text, such philological work helps to clarify problematic passages. More importantly, this study reminds us that medieval texts circulated in manuscript form, and often in different recensions, and not necessarily as complete texts as we tend to think of in modernity. Citations in later collections may indeed preserve material from variants that are in fact earlier than the canonic version of the text. There may have been more than one version of the Array in circulation in medieval China. More precisely, however, there were probably multiple versions of the recipes collected in the Array in circulation. While determining which version of a text is authentic or authoritative is important, we must also remember the materiality of manuscript culture. Texts were laboriously written by hand, sometimes copied from earlier versions, sometimes from dictation, recitation, or oral explanation, and sometimes as original creation by an author. Thus, multiple versions of a text, or fragments of texts, may have circulated at the same time, only to be later collated and arranged within larger compilations.

Bibliography Primary Beihu lu 北戶錄. Congshu jicheng 總書記成. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1985. Bencao jing jizhu 本草經集注. Tao Hongjing 陶弘景, coll. Shang Zhiyun 尚志均 and Shang Yunsheng 尚元胜. Beijing: Renmin weisheng, 1994. Bowuzhi jiaozheng 博物志校證. Zhang Hua 張華; annot. Fan Ning范寧. 2nd ed. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2014. Daoshu 道樞 DZ 1017. Dongshen badi miaojing jing 洞神八帝妙精經 DZ 640.

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Guizhou tongzhi 貴州通志. E Ertai 鄂爾泰 (comp. 1741), Siku quanshu digital ed. 四庫全書電子版. Guxun huizuan 古訓匯纂. Shangwu Press, 2003. Puji fang 普濟方 , edited by Zhu Xiao 朱櫹 (comp. 1390) Siku quanshu digital ed. 四庫全書電子版. Qifa yaomiao zhijue 氣法要妙至訣 DZ 831. Shenxian zhuan 神仙傳. Ge Hong 葛洪, annot. Hu Shouwei 胡守為. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2010. Taiqing jing duangu fa太清經斷穀法 DZ 846. Taiping yulan 太平御覽, edited by Li Fang 李昉 (comp. 983), Siku quanshu digital ed. 四庫全書電子版. Taishang lingbao wufuxu 太上靈寶五符序 DZ 388. Taiping shenghuifang 太平聖惠方. Beijing: Renmin weisheng Press, 1959. Taiping shenghuifang jiaozhu 太平聖惠方校注. Zhengzhou: Henan Technology Press, 2015. Xiandao jing 顯道經 DZ 862. Xiaodao lun 笑道論. In Guang hongming ji 廣弘明集 T 52.2103. Yangxing yanming lu 養性延命錄DZ 838. Yunji qiqian 雲笈七籤 DZ 1032. Zhiyan zong 至言總 DZ 1033.

Secondary Hu Fuchen 胡孚琛. Zhonghua daojiao dacidian中华道教大辞典. Beijinng: Huaxia, 1995. Ikehira Noriko 池平紀子. “Stein 2438 ni mieraru bukkyō no fuku esa hekikokuhō juyō nitsuite ‘Taijō reiho gofujo’ tono kankei o chūshin” “‘スタイン2438に見ら れる仏教の服餌辟穀法受容について－ ‘太上霊宝五符序’との関係を中心 に－.” In Sankyō kōshō ronsō, Zoku hen三教交渉論叢続編, edited by Mugitani Kunio 麥谷邦夫, 157–192. Kyoto: Kyoto University Insitute of Humanities, 2011. Ōfuchi Ninji 忍爾大淵. Dōkyō tenseki mokuroku sakuin 道教典籍目錄索引. Kokusho Kankōkai; Tōkyō, 1988. Raz, Gil. “Creation of Tradition: The Five Numinous Treasure Talismans and the Formation of Early Daoism.” PhD diss., Indiana University, 2004. Long Bide 龍彼得 (van der Loon, Piet). Songdai shoucang daoshu kao 宋代收藏 道書考 Translation of Taoist Books in the Libraries of the Sung Period: A Critical Study and Index. London: Ithaca Press, 1984. Wang Lin 王琳. “Jianguo yilai ‘Taiping shenghuifang’ yanjiu gaikuang” 建國以來 太平聖惠方 研究概況, Zhongguo zhongyiyao xinxi zazhi 中國中醫藥信息雜 誌 2008.1. Zhonguo guyi jishumu tiyao 中国古医籍书目提要. Beijing: Zhongyi guji Press, 2008.

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About the Author Zongyu Wang, Professor Emeritus of Philosophy and Religion, Peking University, specializes in the study of Daoism. His numerous publications include New Collation of Quanzhen Inscriptions from the Jin-Yuan Dynasties 金元全真教石刻新编(2005) and Collected Edition of Yinfujing 阴符经集 成(2019).

6

“True Forms” and “True Faces”: Daoist and Buddhist Discourse on Images Gil Raz

Abstract During the late fifth century local communities composed of Buddhist and Daoist adherents installed dozens of stelae that combined Buddhist and Daoist iconographies, aspirations, and motivations. Engraved with the earliest anthropomorphic image of Lord Lao, the physical manifestation of the ineffable Dao, and inscribed with theological apologetic statements, these stelae indicate a shift in Daoism from a profound aniconic theology to an iconographic practice. Intriguingly, at the same time Buddhists began to inscribe statues with similar apologetic statements. Focusing on the terms “true forms” (zhenxing 真形) and “true faces” (zhenrong 真容), Raz examines the confluence of Buddhist and Daoist rhetoric, discourse, and practice in medieval China. Keywords: Daoism, Buddhism, inscriptions, statues, stele.

A major revolution in Daoist ritual practice and discourse occurred near the ancient capital region of Chang’an between the late fifth (480’s) and late sixth century (580’s). It was during this time that local communities installed dozens of stelae that combined Buddhist and Daoist iconographies, aspirations, and motivations. Combining Buddhist and Daoist figural images, with votive inscriptions that reveal complex merging of Daoist and Buddhist cosmologies, hopes, aspirations, and by the donors who are identified as Buddhists or Daoists, these stelae reveal communities that were simultaneously devoted to Buddhism and Daoism.1 1 The vast majority of Daoist stelae are in the Guanzhong 關中 region, with a few outliers in Luoyang and Ruicheng. The main sources for the texts, images, and discussions of the stelae

Raz, Gil and Anna M. Shields (eds): Religion and Poetry in Medieval China. The Way and the Words. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2023 DOI: 10.5117/9789463721172_CH06

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These stelae display the earliest anthropomorphic representations of the ineffable Dao, personified and represented as the highest Daoist deities, Lord Lao (Laojun 老君) or the Celestial Worthy (天尊),2 thus marking a fundamental change in Daoist ritual practice. Prior to the sixth century Daoist canonic texts rarely advocate the production of statues, and there is little room for figural imagery in the ritual formulations produced by the Celestial Master community or in the Shangqing textual corpus. While here are hints for the use of statues in the Lingbao corpus, these are restricted to a section of textual transmission rites and not to the main ritual programs. Indeed, most Daoist references to statues prior to the sixth century are negative and stress the aniconic aspect of Daoist practice. It is only in the early seventh century that figural, anthropomorphic imagery was first included as central in Daoist ritual practice. The Daoist figural representations were clearly influenced by Buddhist models. The creators of these stelae and statues, however, were aware of the problematic theological, or Daological, status of their devotional efforts, and they inscribed these images with apologetic statements that explain the relationship between figural imagery and the ineffable Dao. For example, the inscription on the slightly damaged statue of the Celestial Worthy (dated 586), and now kept at the Yaowangshan museum, states: The ultimate Dao is [pure?] tranquil, without entrusting it [to body / name?], [there would be no way to] penetrate its wondrous principle; its transformations pervade throughout the world, without form there would be nothing by which to manifest its essence. Now, the Daoist citizen Yuan Shenyin, was able to expend his wealth for the benefit of … and Hongyao … for his household and relatives, made this statue of the Celestial Worthy.3 至道□静, 非託□□/ 通妙裏, 化被邊周, 非/ 形无以顯其質。今有/ 道民袁神蔭, 故能减/ 割資財, 為二□□□ / □息洪藥及世□□,/ □ 在家門, 並内外□/ 屬, 造天尊像一驅. include: Zhang Yan, Shaanxi Yaowangshan; Li Song, Daojiao meishu; Zhang Xunliao and Bai Bin, “Beicho daojiao zaoxiang” in Zhongguo daojiao kaogu; Zhang Zexun, Beiwei guanzhong; Kamitsuka Yoshiko, Rikuchō Dōkyō: 464–545. 2 The majority of Daoist images on the stelae are of Lord Lao. The earliest extant image of the Celestial Worthy is on the Zhang Xiang 張相 stele of 513. Originally from Jingyang, the current location of the stele is unclear. A rubbing by Luo Zhenyu 羅振玉 (1868–1940) is preserved in National Library in Beijing. Li Song, Daojiao meishu, 222, no. 2A14. 3 Li Song, Daojiao meishu, 364–65, no. 2D17; Zhang Yan, Shaanxi, 4:272–74, no. 23. Squares in the transcription indicate lacuna in the text.

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Despite the lacuna in the inscription, the first lines are sufficiently clear. While the ultimate Dao is ineffable, it takes on form in order to instruct the world, for without form it would be completely beyond the grasp of humans. Evidently, Yuan Shenyin, the donor of this statue felt the need to explain the production of the material object (xing 形) as a representation of the ultimately invisible and ineffable Dao. As discussed below, Daoist practice had been rooted in discourse traceable to the Daode jing, that asserted “The great image has no form, the dao hides in the nameless” 大象無形, 道隱無 名 (stanza 41). The theological speculation on making the invisible manifest was needed to legitimate the new iconographic practice adopted by Daoists. Even more intriguing is that at the same time that Daoists were creating statues while justifying this practice in terms derived from the Daode jing, Buddhists were doing precisely the same. As Hou Xudong notes in his study of “popular Buddhism,” in the late fifth century Buddhists began inscribing statues and stelae with apologetic statements that stress the paradoxical aspect of creating physical figures of the ineffable ultimate.4 Of the 1,400 Buddhist inscriptions collated by Hou, inscriptions with apologetic statements, which he labels B-style (B 型), account for about 200.5 The rhetorical formulations of these Buddhist inscriptions are intriguingly similar to the inscription on the statue of the Celestial Worthy. For example, the Wang Huilüe 王惠略 stele (Luoyang, 547) includes the lines: The great Dao is void and subtle, if one seeks it, it is difficult to track; numinous knowledge is deep and secret, if one searches for it, it is impossible to trace.6 夫大道虛微, 尋之者難蹤; 靈智幽密, 追之者叵跡

Another example, the Cao Xusheng 曹續生 stele (Fuping 富平, 539) states:

4 Hou Xudong, Wuliu, 227–48. 5 A-style inscriptions are simple dedicatory statements, naming the donor and the recipients of the merit generated by the creation of the image. 6 Quoted in Hou, Wuliu, 228; Hanwei nanbeichao muzhi hui 漢魏南北朝墓誌彙 8:56; Beijing tushuguan zang zhongguo lidai shike taben huibian 北京図書館蔵中国歴代石刻拓本匯編 6142; 京 都大学人文科学研究所所蔵石刻拓本資料 http://kanji.zinbun.kyoto-u.ac.jp/db-machine/imgsrv/ takuhon/ NAN0459X (entitled 佛弟子合邑五十人等營造靈塔銘); Li Yuanhe, Hanmo shiying, 1:44.

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The ultimate Dao is empty and dark, without words there would be nothing by which to express its principle; the true face transcends marks, without form and image how can it express its substance.7 至道空玄, 非言無以申其宗; 真容絕相, 非刑(形)象何以表其質

The strong similarities in rhetoric, diction, and sentence structure between these Buddhist inscriptions and the Daoist inscription are obvious. While we may surmise that such statements may have become formulaic by the mid-sixth century,8 it is striking that in the late fifth century Buddhists began to feel the need to incorporate such statements on statues and stelae, whereas no such need was felt earlier. It is difficult to determine the referent for the abstruse terminology in these inscriptions. Hou simply states that the terms “dark principle” 玄宗, “ultimate Dao” 至道, and “Great Dao” 大道 refer to the “basic principle of the Buddhist teaching,” without explaining what this principle is.9 He does not consider the far more complex interaction between Buddhism and Daoism that a fuller examination of this terminology may reveal. A crucial example of such complex interaction is the term zhenrong真 容 that appears on the Cao Xusheng stele. This term appears on numerous Buddhist stelae and in Buddhist miracle tales.10 While generally associated with Buddhist discourse, this term is not a translation of any Indic term, and is extremely rare in Buddhist texts prior to the Tang.11 Even more intriguing is the fact that several of the Buddho-Daoist stelae use the term zhenrong,12 while none use the term zhenxing. What is the significance of this usage pattern? 7 Hou, Wuliu, 228; Wang Chang 王昶, Jinshi cuipian 金石萃編 juan 32, p. 562; Xian beilin quanji西安碑林全集 197.1252. 8 Hou, Wuliu, 231. 9 Hou provides a longer list of terms found on Buddhist stelae that he argues are synonymous denotations for the ineffable Buddhist teaching: “玄宗, 幽宗, 冲宗, 靈覺, 至理, 妙理, 靈原, 至 道, 大道, 妙性, 至空, 玄旨, 道宗,” 等等均是對佛教宣揚的根本道理的不同說法 (Hou, Wuliu, 229). 10 There are numerous examples in epigraphic materials and dozens of references in the Taishō canon (search on SAT database: https://21dzk.l.u-tokyo.ac.jp/SAT2018/key真容). 11 Jan Nattier, private communication, March 30, 2017. 12 (1) Yao Bobuo 姚伯多 stele (date: 496), Li Song, Daojiao meishu, 210–12, no. 2A04; Zhang Yan, Shaamxi, 1:3–41; (2) Wang Shoulling 王守令 stele (a.k.a. Community Elder Tian Qing邑老田青, date: 513), Li Song, Daojiao meishu, 228–30, no. 2A20; Zhang Yan, Shaanxi, 7:30–45; (3) Li Clan Seventy member stele 李氏邑子七十人造像碑 (date: 516–28), Li Song, Daojiao meishu, 258–60, no. 2A42; Zhang Yan, Shaanxi, 1:170–81, no. 14; (4) Qi Shuanghu 錡雙胡 stele (date: 520), Li Song, Daojiao meishu, 232–24, no. 2A22; Zhang Yan, Shaanxi, 1:69–88, no. 6; (5) Jiao Wenxian 焦文 賢 stele (date: 554), Li Song, Daojiao meishu, 302–3, no. 2B06; Zhang and Bai, Daojiao kaogu,

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I argue that zhenrong is a medieval neologism derived from the Daoist term “true form” zhenxing 真形, which denoted the inherently invisible, ineffable, formless, and unnamable reality of the Dao.13 Isabelle Robinet suggests the “true form” of an object represents “not a reality hidden behind the veil of appearance, as we are often accustomed to think in the West, but a reality inherent to existence itself, and underlying it.”14 While based on the term zhenxing, I suggest that both Buddhists and Daoists used the term zhenrong to refer to the physical manifestation of the ultimate (non) reality or truth, distinguishing it from zhenxing, the “formless form” of the ultimate Dao. The four-sided Li Tanxin 李曇信 stele (562, from Yaowangshan) is inscribed with images of Buddha on the front, right, and left faces of the stele, and an image of Lord Lao in the niche on the reverse face.15 The vow, inscribed on the left face, includes an apologetic statement, with similar rhetoric to the inscriptions discussed above, but referring to images of Buddha and Bodhisattvas as well as Lord Lao. The conclusion of the vow integrates Buddhist and Daoist motivations and aspirations. The true face hides its halo, rectifying transformation halts its sounds, void space is vast and wide; were it not for images, there would be nothing by which to express its substance. Hence, the Buddhist Li Tanxin and his brothers have depleted their family fortune to reverently produce a stone statue of Sakyamuni, Most High Lord Lao, and the various worthy bodhisattvas. … Their longevity will be extended and all will receive blessings … those who study will attain profound awakening. They will have limitless noble positions and officials. And extending to all creatures in the six realms and four types of rebirth, those who equally value [?], will all receive the benefit of this vow. They will all achieve the Supreme Dao and everything they wish for.16

712–13, no. 38; (6) Jiang Zuan 姜纂 (565), Li Song, Daojiao meishu, 317, no. 2C10; Zhang and Bai, Daojiao kaogu, 638, no. 47. 13 Huang, Picturing the True Form; Verellen, “The Dynamic Design”; Hsieh Shu-wei, “Zhenxing, shentu yu lingfu”; Hsieh Shu-wei, Hongmeng Miaoguan: 53–92; Sun-ah Choi, “Quest for the True Visage.” 14 Quoted in Pregadio, “The Notion of ‘Form,’” 106. 15 Li Song, Daojiao meishu, 310–12, no. 2C04; Zhang Yan, Shaanxi, 3:275–87, no. 26. 16 “Supreme Way” 無上道 refers to both the Buddhist teaching as well as ultimate enlightenment; Gene Reeves, http://www.buddhism-dict.net/cgi-bin/xpr-ddb.pl?q=%E7%84%A1%E4% B8%8A%E9%81%93.

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夫真容隱暈, 正化亭響, 太空遼闊, 非像無以表其質. 是佛弟子李曇信 兄弟等, 减割家珍, 敬造釋迦太上老君, 諸尊菩薩石像一區 … 壽命修 延, 咸保福緣.☐☐☐/☐學者玄悟, 爵位無窮, ☐侯☐相; 及六趣四生, 同 善☐者, 普蒙斯願. 成无上道, 所願從心.

The first line describes the ultimate as ineffable, soundless, and remote, and emphasizes the process of zhenrong receding from sight and sound. As used here, zhenrong is not synonymous with zhenxing, but is the manifested form of the ultimately formless. As noted above, while the term zhenrong appears on several Daoist stelae, the term zhenxing does not appear on any of them. This absence is very significant, suggesting that the Daoists who installed the stelae clearly differentiated between these two terms. While arguing from absence is problematic, the contrast between the two terms is clear in the early Tang treatise Codes and Regulations for Revering the Dao of the Three Caverns 三洞奉道科戒.17 This is the earliest Daoist canonic text advocating the production of statues as an orthodox Daoist practice. The second chapter of the treatise begins with a section on Creating Images (zaoxiang 造像), that opens with the following lines, affirming that the Great Image, or True Form of Dao, cannot be directly apprehended by the senses: The great image has no form; 18 ultimate truth has no shape.19 It is profoundly tranquil, void, and alone. Sight and hearing cannot reach it. But, in response [to circumstance] it transforms and manifests a body; momentarily seen, it returns to hiding. Therefore, those who visualize the True attach their thoughts to sagely faces. Thus, they use cinnabar and azure, gold and precious stones to draw pictures of their forms and marks. They make images (像) of the true faces and adorn them with white lead powder. All those who wish to focus their minds, should first make statues.20 夫大像無形, 至真無色, 湛然空寂, 視聽莫偕, 而應變見身, 暫顯還隱. 所以存真者, 係想聖容. 故以丹青金碧, 摹圖形相, 像彼真容, 飾茲鉛粉. 凡厥繫心, 皆先造像. 17 Fengdao kejie DZ 1125. Florian Reiter and Ursula-Angelika Cedzich in TC, 1:451–53; Kohn, “Date and Compilation”; Kohn, Daoist Monastic Manual; Reiter, Aspirations and Standards. 18 Kohn, Daoist Monastic Manual, 97 and Reiter, Aspirations, 85, both translate 大像 as “Great Images.” They seem to understand xiang 像 as plural objects rather than as a pun based on Daode jing 41. 19 I suggest that se 色 is a reference to rūpa “material or physical appearance” rather than color. 20 Fengdao kejie DZ 1125: 2.1a.

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The text continues with a long passage listing the various Daoist deities, specifying the iconographic details and materials to be used in their representations, and ends with the following: Each should follow his heart and ability, using [statues] to make offerings, worship, and burn incense. If you visualize and contemplate them day and night, as though facing the true form, you will attain limitless good fortune, extending to the past and the future, and you will certainly achieve the true Way. 各隨心力, 以用供養, 禮拜燒香, 晝夜存念, 如對真形, 過去未來, 獲福 無量, 克成真道.

Evidently, by the composition of the Codes and Regulations for Revering the Dao in the early seventh century, the use of images in Daoist rituals may have become common, yet the author felt the need to justify this practice. He does so by appealing directly to the Daode jing, quoting stanza 41 and alluding to stanza 14.21 We should note that the final lines of the section emphasize that although these figures (像) may be “sagely” or “true” faces (聖/真容) they are only devices for contemplating the ultimate true form. While terminology and notions of Daode jing are clearly crucial for understanding this passage, I suggest that the author of Codes and Regulations relied on the rhetoric developed on the stelae of the Northern Dynasties to justify the creation of statues, which itself is traceable to the Daode jing. While stressing the ultimate ineffable quality of the Dao, which the opening passage also denoted simply as “True,” the author argues that the Dao manifests in physical form through transformations, described as “responsive” 應. While this term may seem an allusion to the Buddhist notion of upaya, this notion is already found in second-century Daoist texts that include descriptions of the Dao appearing in physical form as Laozi.

21 Daode jing, stanza 14 (Liu, Laozi gujin 老子古今, 1:182): “Look at it, it is invisible; name it evanescent. Listen to it, it is inaudible; name it rarefied. Reach for it, it cannot be touched; name it subtle. These three cannot be fully distinguished; hence you should merge them into one. … [Dao] is the form of the formless, the image of the immaterial…” 視之不見, 名曰夷; 聽之不聞, 名曰希; 搏之不得, 名曰微. 此三者不可致詰, 故混而為一 … 是無狀之狀, 無物之象.

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The (In)visible Form of Laozi in Early Daoist Texts By the second century CE, Laozi had become identified with the Dao itself. The process of this deification, or daofication, of Laozi has been studied extensively, so here I only discuss a few passages that presage the rhetoric of the Northern Dynasties stelae and of the Codes and Regulations. Late secondcentury texts, associated with the first Daoist religious communities, describe the Dao as periodically coalescing into physical human form before dissipating back into the primordial qi. It is through these scintillating manifestations in the form of Laozi that the Dao intervenes in the human realm. The Scripture of Transformations of Laozi 老子變化經, composed in a small community rivaling that of the Celestial Master,22 describes Laozi as the manifestation of the Dao in human form, albeit not fully material: [the Dao] is prior to heaven and earth, momentarily hidden and returning to existence. When absent it is the ancestor, when formed he becomes human. Indistinctly, the celestial and turbid changed and transformed their spirits. Borrowing form in Mother Li, within her womb he changed to a body. (Line 7) 在天地之前, 乍匿還歸存, 亡則為先, 成則為人, 恍惚天濁, 化變其神. 託形李母, 胎中易身.

The phrase, “borrowing form” 託形, should remind us that the Dao is ineffable and formless, and that the physical realm of Laozi is merely provisional. Further in the text we also find the idea that the Dao creates in response to stimuli, as in the much later Codes and Regulations. [Dao is] the root of heaven and earth, the sprout of life … it fashions and transforms in response to stimuli.23 為天地本根, 為生梯端 … 造化應因. (Lines 14–16)

The text continues to emphasize that Laozi, like the Dao, can be of any shape and form, and indeed has no fixed form:

22 Preserved as a fragmentary Dunhuang MS S.2295; ZHDZ 8:181; Seidel, La Divinization de Lao-tse; Kohn, God of the Dao, 40; Raz, Emergence of Daoism, 26–31. 23 I translate 造化 as full verbs, but this is also an allusion the well-known phrase 造化者 in Zhuangzi, often translated as “Creator” or “Fashioner.”

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Laozi can be bright and can be dark, can be absent and can be present, can be large and can be small, can be curled up or stretched out, may be above or below, may be vertical or horizontal … He lives forever and does not die, merely dissolving his bodily form … His form transforms of itself. (Lines 20–27)

We find similar statements in the Xiang’er Commentary to the Laozi, a text associated with the Celestial Master Community.24 In commenting on stanza 10 of the received Daodejing, the commentary states: The one is the Dao … The One is not in the human body. Those who claim that the Dao is attached to the body are those who constantly practice false arts in the world, theirs is not the True Dao. The One is beyond heaven and earth … it is not located in a single place. The One disperses its form to become qi, and gathers its form to become Most High Lord Lao, whose regular abode is Kunlun.25

In commenting on stanza 14 of the received Daodejing, the Xiang’er Commentary resumes its critique of false practitioners, especially those who claim that the Dao has form and shape. The Dao is the ultimate worthy, subtle yet hidden, without physical shape and form. Though one can follow its precepts, it cannot be known by the senses. Now, there are in the world false practitioners who point to forms and call them Dao, giving them colored clothing, names, appearances, and heights. This is false; all false fabrications … The Dao’s brightness cannot be known by the senses, as it is without form or image.26 道至尊, 微而隱, 但可從其誡, 不可見知也. 今世間偽伎指形名道, 令 有服色, 名字, 狀貌, 長短, 非也. 悉耶偽也 … 道明不可見知, 無形象也.

These second-century texts, while emphasizing the identity of Dao and Laozi, insist that there can be no direct sensory apprehension of the Dao, or of Laozi, as ultimately the Dao is without form or shape. Aware of groups that practiced visualization techniques that assigned form or shape to the Dao, and perhaps also of statues or actual material images used in practice, the authors of these texts emphasized the ineffability of the Dao. While 24 Preserved as a fragmentary Dunhuang MS S.6825; Bokenkamp, Early, 29–148. 25 Bokenkamp, Early, 89. 26 Bokenkamp, Early, 96–97.

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Laozi was discussed as alternating between visibility and invisibility, he was not perceived as having a gross physical form, but rather as a momentary coagulation of qi.

The True Form 真形 The critique in the Xiang’er Commentary was aimed at visualization practices that instructed the practitioner in the esoteric names, colored clothing, size, and locations in the body of the Dao, or the One. Precisely such a practice is described in a passage in chapter 18 of Ge Hong’s 葛洪 (283–343) Baopuzi 抱朴子.27 Other passages in Baopuzi, however, preserve practices and ideas nearer the notions found in the Celestial Master texts. While insisting on the ineffability of the ultimate Dao, these practices introduce the term zhenxing as a signifier of the ultimately true, but invisible, form of things. Importantly, the notion of zhenxing and associated practices developed in the Jiangnan region,28 and we can trace its development from early references in Ge Hong’s Baopuzi to the Shanqging and Lingbao scriptures of the fourth and fifth centuries and within contemporary Buddhist texts composed in the same region. The most significant “true form” mentioned by Ge Hong are the apotropaic “Charts of the True Forms of the Five Peaks” 五嶽真形圖, which he considered among the most efficacious devices of all. According to Ge Hong, simply possessing these charts protected the home from demonic incursions. Wearing these talismans on their bodies, Daoist masters were protected from all dangers, natural and demonic, when they entered mountains to seek herbs, minerals, and esoteric knowledge.29 This device was eventually incorporated into the Daoist canon and preserved within the medieval corpus associated with the Lingbao scriptures. The Preface and Discourse on the True Forms of the Five Peaks describes these charts: The True Forms of the Five Peaks are the images of mountains and waters. They are configuration of the tortuous and labyrinthine peaks … If you possess the true form of the Eastern Peak, you will command men and 27 Baopuzi jiaoshi, j.18, 323, repeated on 325 as “The True has a name and surname, size, clothes and color”; Raz, Emergence, 35. 28 Hsieh, “Zhenxing, shentu yu lingfu”; Hsieh, Hongmeng Miaoguan, 53–92; Steavu, “Paratextuality”; Steavu, Writ of the Three Sovereigns, 28, 49–56. 29 Baopuzi jiaoshi ch. 19, 336–37.

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spirits, your life will be at peace, and you will attain longevity … If you possess the True Forms of the Five Peaks in their entirety, you will ascend to heaven and traverse the earth, and you will circulate throughout the four directions.30

The efficacy of the charts is here extended far beyond the mundane realm. The charts are defined as the intrinsic and essential aspects of the sacred mountains and grant access to the internal realms of the holy mountains by meditation. Daoist scriptures and epigraphic materials include two basic variants of the “true forms.” The first type are labyrinthine maps of the inner realm of each mountain, indicating watercourses and caverns,31 while the second type are abstract emblems that represent the mountains in purely symbolic forms.32 Even greater efficacy was claimed for the Chart of Dark Vision of Manbird Mountain 人鳥山玄覽圖, a late fifth-century text.33 Inspired by the True Forms of the Five Peaks, this text and the meditation it advocated were to supersede all other practices, for this chart was not an esoteric representation of aspect of mundane topography, but literally a depiction of the primordial manifestation of the Dao: The form and substance of Man-bird Mountain is the birth root of heaven, earth, and humanity; that upon which depends the primordial qi, and that which the marvelous transformations employ. (DZ 434.1 b) 人鳥山之形質是天地人之生根, 元氣之所因, 妙化之所用.

30 Wuyue zhenxing xulun 五嶽真形序論 DZ 1281.21b–22a; cited in Yunji qiqian DZ 1032.79.1 and Dongxuan lingbao wuyue guben zhenxingtu 洞玄靈寶五嶽古本真形圖 DZ 441.1a 31 Wuyue guben DZ 441, 8b–25b; Lingbao wuliang duren shangqing dafa 靈寶無量度人上經 大法 DZ 219, 21.16a–22b. 32 Sanhuang neiwen yibi 三皇內文遺秘 DZ 856, 11b–13b. For a study of archeological and epigraphic sources, see Zhang and Bai, “Jiangsu mingmu” in Daojiao kaogu, 6:1751–833. 33 Two versions of the text are preserved in the Daozang: DZ 434 and YJQQ 80.19b–20a, where 玄 is replaced by 元 in the title. The two texts include different variants of the chart of Mount Man-bird. The compilation date of this text is unclear, but as it is cited in WSBY it must have been in circulation during the late Six Dynasties. A text with a similar title was circulating at least as early as the fifth century, evinced by Tao Hongjing’s criticism of Lu Xiujing for disseminating the Red Writ in Perfect Script 真文赤書 and the Five Talismans Man-bird 人鳥五符 (Zhen’gao DZ 1016: 20.2b). The precise referent of the latter title and whether it refers to one or two distinct texts remains unclear. Lagerwey, Taoist Ritual, 161–66.

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Although the text does not use the term zhenxing,34 the text reminds us that the mountain is formed entirely by visualization. The marvelous qi congeals into graphs … Its outward shape is strange, and its traces are distinct; all were completed through the transformation of the marvelous qi. With dark-penetrating contemplation, shut your eyes and your will see it … After long refinement you will attain a marvelous form, your flesh will be removed and you will be filled with marvelous [qi], and you will be able to soar as a bird and roam in the mountains beyond the three realms with the divine True persons who enter to sup at the Three Purities. (DZ 434.1a) 妙氣結字 … 其表異相, 其跡殊安, 皆是妙氣化而成焉, 玄達之思, 閉 目見之 … 久鍊得妙, 肉去妙充, 其翔似鳥, 山遊三界之外, 其神真人, 入宴三清之中.

The passage reminds us that Man-bird Mountain is formed through the coagulation of marvelous qi that it inscribed in the void. One may ingest this marvelous qi, or rather, cause its descent into the body through a meditative practice, known as “dark penetration” 玄達 leading to an attainment of “dark vision” (xuanlan 玄覽),35 and eventually to transformation and ascent of the adept. The notion of “true forms” also underlies the efficacy of talismans. For example, the Scripture of the Jade Pendant and Gold Ring, a Shangqing text, presents a practice in which talismans, here denoted as “charts,” are contemplated. The efficacy of the talisman is in expressing the true names of the deities, in both script and sound. These “secret tones and esoteric names” (miyin neihui 秘音內諱) remain incomprehensible and inaudible to humans. After contemplation and visualization of the talismans for three years, “the true forms will descend and you will spontaneously rise in flight” 真形克降, 自然飛騰也.36 As with Man-Bird Mountain, the manifestation of the true forms of the deities is perceived as coagulated forms of qi, expressing the simultaneity of 34 Franciscus Verellen discusses this chart as a “striking example” of “True Form zhenxing representations … suggesting mystical visions of esoteric topographies.” Verellen, “The Dynamic Design,” 169. 35 Wang, Shaping the Lotus, 292–310. 36 Taishang yupei jindang taiji jinshu shangjing 太上玉佩金璫太極金書上經 DZ 56; Dunhuang MS P.2409 preserves a fragment, published in Ōfuchi, Tonkō Dōkyō Zurokuhen, 366–70. A version of the text was probably in circulation prior to the Shangqing revelations, Robinet, La Révélation, 1:213–18. Raz, Emergence, 147–48.

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sounds and shapes within the primordial formless qi prior to the emanation of the most basic categories of existence. Returning to Ge Hong, we find “true form” describing the supreme attainment of adepts who could obliterate their appearance. Zuo Yuangfang 左元 放, for example, possessed esoteric methods by which he could transform himself so that “his true from could not be grasped” 其真形不可得執也.37 Most pertinent, however, is Ge Hong’s description of a practice for visualizing the true form of Lord Lao: He is surnamed Li, named Dan, and styled Boyang. His body is nine feet tall, with yellow (golden) skin. He has a bird’s beak, prominent nose, and five-inch-long eyebrow hairs. His ears are seven inches long, and on his forehead is a pattern of three intersecting lines and on his feet are the eight trigrams. He sits on a divine turtle in jade hall in a golden tower. He is dressed in penta-chromatic clouds, a multi-layered cap, bearing a sharp sword. His entourage includes 120 golden lads, to his left are twelve green dragons, to his right are twenty-six white tigers, before him are twenty-four vermilion birds, and behind are seventy-two dark warriors. Before him march twelve Qiongqi monsters and behind him follow thirty-six protector beasts. Above him thunder and lightning burst and flash … If one sees lord Lao, one’s life will be extended, and one’s mind will be omniscient.38

While visualization of the true forms of sacred peaks and invoking the true forms of celestial deities required emblematic charts and talismanic scripts, the visualization of Lord Lao’s true form did not require any physical or visual aids. The true form was created within the adept’s mind and had no representation in the mundane realm. The “true form” is the inherent, essential aspect of the things of the world and cannot be represented by mundane forms and words. It is important to emphasize that the notion of “true forms” and related practices developed in the Jiang’nan region before being adopted into the emerging Daoist synthesis of the Shangqing and Lingbao scriptural and ritual formulations.

37 Baopuzi 15.247. 38 Baopuzi 15.249–50.

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Buddhist Attitudes to Statues In order to consider the changes in Daoist and Buddhist attitudes to material representation that occurred in fifth-century northern China we turn to a particularly intriguing stele installed by the Daoist priest Jiang Zuan 姜纂 to commemorate his deceased son Yuanlüe 元略 (Yanshi, Henan, 565).39 The front face of the stele is dominated by a figure bearing a Daoist cap and robe, seated behind a meditation table. On the reverse face a long inscription identifies this figure as Lord Lao. Exemplifying the Buddho-Daoist admixtures of these stelae, this inscription refers to Daoist aspirations in the lines “pace the void, and roam carefree in the heavens” and Buddhist hopes in the lines “arrival of the Dragon-tree” (that is the arrival of Maitreya). Significantly, the inscription includes a passage that explains the origins of statues: so I reverently made this statue of Lord Lao with two attendants for his benefit. The sagely true face was mysteriously removed from the world of endurance (saha world), but [King Udayana] carved sandalwood into a statue. King Prasenajit carved gold and engraved stone, King Udayana made a poor imitation, yet the divine radiance [of the statues] blazed forth, pervading Jambudvipa. Their fragrance filled the entire world. May the karma attained by this ascend and fly, matching the karma of the [precious stupa] leaping into the sky. 40 By virtue of such activity, may the merit of image-making transfer to [my late son] Lue. May he ascend to the pure realm, alone pace the void and roam carefree in the heavens. 41 May he transcend the six dusty realms, roam in the realm [of the Dao], and rise above the eight misfortunes. … At the arrival of the Dragon-tree, we vow to ascend at the first call. The royal house will flourish, its grace bathing to the peripheral lands. The three [evil] paths will stop their toxicity, and all will depart the bitter sea. The six paths and the four classes of beings will all receive blessings, and all material beings will attain full awakening. 39 Li Song, Daojiao meishu, 317, no. 2C10; Kamitsuka, Rikuchō Dōkyō, 511–17. 40 The phrase “leaping into the sky” 踴出 may refer to the seven treasured pagoda described in chapter 11 of the Lotus Sutra; Kuramoto, Hokuchō Bukkyō, 68–69. We should also recall that Buddha’s shadow was formed as Buddha leapt 踴 onto the rock face. 41 The phrases “Pace the Void” and “roam carefree” refer to attainments envisioned in the Lingbao scriptures, as in the Scripture on Pacing the Void (Dongxuan lingbao yujingshan buxu jing 洞玄靈寶玉京山步虛經 DZ 1439).

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特為亡略敬造老君像壹/軀, 左右二侍. 聖相眞容, 妙絶娑婆, 調檀刻削, 波斯恧／奇, 鎸金鏤石, 優填慚巧, 神光照爛, 遍滿閻浮, 香氣氛氳, 充 塞世界, 業盛飛行, 事苻(符)踴出, 以此勝因, 追資亡略, 直登淨境, 獨 步虛空, 逍遙天服, 永出六塵, 遨遊慧/體, 長超八難, 彈指則遍侍十方, 合掌則歷奉眾聖. 過/去尊卑, 見存眷屬, 亡生淨鄉, 現獲妙果, 當來龍 華, 願昇初唱, 皇家慶隆, 澤治邊地, 三途禁毒, 俱辭苦海, /六道四生, 咸蒙勝福, 一切有形, 同成正覺.

The etiology of statues presented in this passage is based on two Buddhist narratives describing the origins of Buddha statues. In one tale, King Prasenajit of Kosala, missing the Buddha during his sojourn in the heavens, commissions a statue to venerate the Buddha. In the second narrative, it is King Udayana of Kausambi who grieves for the Buddha during his absence and orders the carving of a wooden image. That such etiological myths were created among Buddhists to legitimate and authenticate the creation of images of the Buddha should remind us that this was a new and ambiguous practice in Indian Buddhism as well. 42 While scholars still debate when the first images of Buddha appeared in India, there is consensus that such practices emerged prior to the first century CE. Although the material evidence reveals a rich tradition of iconographic practice, the textual records from various Buddhist traditions show that figural representation of the Buddha remained contentious. The exploration of this complex issue is beyond the scope of this paper. Suffice it to say that by the time Buddhists arrived in China, Buddhist practice included statues and images, and the narratives of Udayana and Prasenajit were important in the transmission of these practices. Among the earliest Buddhist texts translated into Chinese, and among the earliest extant references to the King Udayana image is the Sūtra Spoken by the Buddha on Making Buddha Statues. 43 Among the important tales describing the arrival of Buddhism in China is the story of Han Emperor Ming’s (58–75) dream of a flying golden statue. One version tells that among the earliest artifacts brought to China by the emperor’s envoy was a painting of Udayana’s statue. 44 Kings Udayana and Prasenajit

42 There are numerous studies of this topic, among the most recent are: DeCaroli, Image Problems; Rhie, Early Buddhist Art; Rhie, “Images, Relics, and Jewels”; Wenzel, “The Image of the Buddha”; Seckel and Leisinger, “Before and beyond the Image.” 43 Foshuo zuofo xingxiang jing 佛說作佛形像經T.692,16: 788b3–c18, translated into Chinese by the end of the Eastern Han; Sharf, “The Scripture on the Production of Buddha Images.” 44 This narrative was probably composed in the f ifth century, with the earliest reference perhaps in Mingxianji 冥祥記 by Wang Yan 王炎 (compiled ca. 490); Campany, Signs from the

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are mentioned together in the Ekottara Āgama, translated into Chinese at the end of the fourth century. 45 A particularly pertinent passage states: At that time King Prasenajit heard that king Udayana had made a fivefoot-tall statue of the Tathāgata and made offerings to it. King Prasenajit then summoned the most famous artisans of the state and commanded them: “I wish to make a statue of the Tathāgata, you must now design it.” Then, King Prasenajit produced this thought: “What valued commodity should I use to produce this statue?” Immediately, he had another thought: “The body of the Tathāgata is golden like celestial gold. I should use gold to make the statue of the Tathāgata.” That was the moment that for the first time there were two statues of the Tathāgata in Jambuvidpa. 是時, 波斯匿王聞優填王作如來形像高五尺而供養. 是時, 波斯匿王復 召國中巧匠, 而告之曰: “我今欲造如來形像, 汝等當時辦之.” 時, 波斯 匿王而生此念: “當用何寶, 作如來形像耶?” 斯須復作是念: “如來形體, 黃如天金, 今當以金作如來形像.” 是時, 波斯匿王純以紫磨金作如來 像高五尺. 爾時, 閻浮里內始有此二如來形像

That a Daoist resorted to Buddhist narratives should remind us that there were no similar stories in Daoist texts, and that the production of images was a new practice in Daoism. We should note that none of the Buddhist texts that discuss the statues made by Udayana and Prasenajit use the terms zhenxing and zhenrong.

Buddhist Uses of Zhenxing By the fifth century some Buddhist authors came to use zhenxing to describe the ultimate form of the Buddha. Among the earliest and most interesting uses of the term is in descriptions of Buddha’s projection 佛影 in the Dragon King’s Cave south of the city of Nagarahāra 那竭呵. 46 Inspired by reports of this miraculous image, Huiyuan 慧遠 (334–416) fabricated a Buddha shadow cave in his retreat on Mount Lu. The most pertinent descriptions of Unseen Realm. On Emperor Ming’s dream, see Zürcher, Buddhist Conquest, 20–23; Soper, “Literary Evidence,” 1–4; Rhie, Early, 13–15. 45 Zēngyi ahánjīng 增壹阿含經, T.125.706a18–26; translated by Dharmanandi in 384 CE, and edited by Gautama Sanghadeva 瞿曇僧伽提婆 in 398 CE. 46 Rhie, Early, 2:113–37; my translation of ying 影 as “projection” follows Rhie’s suggestion on 113n227. For studies, see Soper, “Literary Evidence,” 265–68; Wang, “The Shadow Image in the Cave”; Wang Bangwei, “Faxian”; Liu Yuan-ju, “Stories Written and Rewritten.”

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these two “projection-images” are found in a closely related group of texts, produced in the Jiang’nan region in the early fifth century. The most detailed account of the Buddha’s Projection is in the Sūtra for the Oceanic Samādhi of Buddha Visualization (Guanfo sanmei haijing 觀佛 三昧海經), 47 translated by Buddhabhadra 佛陀跋陀羅 in 412 or 413 while he was staying with Huiyuan on Mount Lu. 48 The passage describing the projection of the Buddha’s bodily form onto the cave’s wall states: Śākyamuni Buddha leaped, [his] body entered the rock, appearing as seeing one’s image in a bright mirror. All the dragons saw Buddha inside the rock, yet radiating brightly to the outside. … When people looked at it, gazing from afar it was visible, but from close up it was not visible. Deities, in hundreds and thousands, made offerings to the Buddha’s projection, and the projection also spoke the dharma. At that time the Brahma heaven kings clasped their hands in reverence, and praised [the projection] with a verse: The Tathāgata dwells at the stone cave; having leapt, his body entered the stone. Like the sun without obstruction, the golden rays and marks (laksana) are all complete. We now prostrate in reverence, to [Śākya] Muni, the honored world savior. 49 釋迦文佛踊身入石, 猶如明鏡見人面像, 諸龍皆見佛在石內映現於外 … 眾生見時, 遠望則見, 近則不現. 天百千供養佛影, 影亦說法. 時梵 天王合掌恭敬, 以偈頌曰: 如來處石窟 踊身入石裏 如日無障礙 金光相具足 我今頭面禮 牟尼救世尊

This description of the Buddha’s bodily projection is an essential part of the instructions for the visualization of the Buddha that follows. In order to know Buddha’s actions and teachings after his parinirvāna, meditators are to visualize an image of the Buddha (觀佛像) sitting cross-legged in 47 Guanfo sanmei haijing T.643. Accessed on CBETA. There is no extant Indic source, and there are different reconstructions of the original title: *Buddhānusmrtisamādhi, *Buddhānusmrtisamādhisāpara-sūtra (Rhie, 2:118n243), or as *Buddha-dhyāna-samādhi-sāgara-sūtra (Wang, “Shadow,” 412). 48 Other references in Buddhist canonic texts to the Buddha’s shadow cave are listed in Rhie, Early, 116. 49 T.643, 681a18–681b7; Soper, “Early,” 266; Rhie, 125–26; Wang, “Shadow,” 413–14.

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front of them. They are then to imagine the cave (想作一石窟). When this visualization is complete, they would see the Buddha’s image floating in mid-air in the cave (想成已見坐佛像住虛空中). Finally, they are to visualize the Buddha leaping into the rock face, which would be as clear as a bright mirror. The rite proceeds with further complex visualizations of a hundred thousand Buddhas transforming and entering the cave wall. The text states: This moment of “meditative materialization” is like the Buddha’s mind speaking; this visualization is called “correct visualization” 此想現時如 佛心說, 如是觀者名為正觀.

The passage concludes with the author (perhaps Buddhabhadra himself) reiterating that this is the only method for correctly envisioning the Buddha’s sitting in meditation: Since the extinction and crossing over of the Buddha, only my instruction of the visualization of the Buddha’s projection is called the “true visualization of the Tathāgata sitting.”50 佛滅度後, 如我所說觀佛影 者, 是名真觀如來坐

The detailed description of the Buddha projecting his bodily form onto the cave wall is therefore not just about the marvelous powers of the Buddha, but an inspiration for a visualization that simultaneously recollects the Buddha’s presence while emphasizing the ephemeral nature of this presence. After parinirvāna, the Buddha is accessible in the mind of the meditator, and this accessibility is aided by the visualization of the Buddha’s projection (or shadow), which is visible from afar but that dissipates as one gets near. This narrative and visualization practice may be seen as an argument against the use of statues, but this argument is beyond the scope of this paper. Importantly, we should note that the term zhenxing does not appear in the narrative describing the Buddha’s projection in the dragon-cave or in the instructions for visualization in the Sūtra for the Oceanic Samādhi of Buddha Visualization. The term zhenxing does appear in the personal account of the Dragon Cave by a Chinese author by Faxian 法顯, who visited the site in 402. This account, however, was composed in 414 or 416, when Faxian was invited by Huiyuan to write a memoir of his journey to India:51

50 T.643, 681b11–681b29; Rhie, 126; Wang, “Shadow,” 414. 51 Barrett, “Faxian”; Wang Bangwei.

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more than half a yojana south of Najie, in the extensive mountain range facing southwest there is a stone chamber wherein Buddha left behind his projection. [If one] goes away from it some ten paces, then [one] can observe it, like the Buddha’s true form. It is golden, its marks are whole, and it blazes radiantly. As one nears, it becomes obscure, as if present in a haze.52 那竭城南半由延有石室博山, 西南向佛留影. 此中去十餘歩觀之如佛 眞形. 金色相好光明炳著, 轉近轉微髣髴如有.

The implication of this passage is that the Buddha’s projection in its full glory, shining forth with golden rays, is only an approximation of the true form (ru zhenxing 如真形). The ultimate true form is beyond depiction. It is striking how similar Huiyuan’s formulation of the Buddha’s projection is to the formulations we found in the fourth-century Daoist texts as well as to the later Buddho-Daoist stelae. Inspired by tales of the Buddha’s shadow and his conversations with Faxian and Buddhabhadra,53 Huiyuan created a replica of the Buddha Projection cave on Mount Lu with the Buddha’s projection reproduced by a subtle painting on a thin screen. This scintillating image was the focus of visualization practice, probably based on the Sūtra of the Oceanic Samādhi. In celebration of the creation of this cave, Huiyuan composed a “Eulogy to the Buddha’s Shadow” Foyingming 佛影銘.54 A few lines may suffice to show that the Daoist discourse developed in the Jiang’nan region was adapted by Huiyuan to describe Buddha’s projection and its use in visualization. The opening lines resonate with the Daode jing and with the Tang Daoist treatise Codes and Regulations: Still and vast is the great image, the principle is dark and nameless; Embodying spirit, it enters [the world] through transformation; casting its projection, it separates from its form … While occluded, it is not dimmed; as its location darkens, it grows brighter. Gracefully pacing, he transformed as a cicada; holding audience with the hundred numina. Responding in different ways, he cut off his traces and remains obscure. 廓矣大像, 理玄無名; 體神入化, 落影離形 … 52 Gaoseng faxian zhuan 高僧法顯傳 T.2085, 859a03; cited from SAT Daizōkyō text database. Translated by Rhie, 127, Wang Bangwei, 291.ȂC 53 Wang Bangwei, 290. 54 Foyingming 佛影銘 in Guanghongming ji 廣弘明集 T.2103, 197c8–198b14; Gaoseng zhuan 高僧傳 T. 2059, 358b–59; translations in Zürcher, Buddhist Conquest, 242–43; Wang, “Shadow,” 415–19; Wang Bangwei translates the preface, 285–87.

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在陰不昧, 處暗逾明; 婉步蟬蛻, 朝宗百靈, 應不同方, 跡絕而冥

The eulogy continues to describe the image: its movement subtly appears on the light silk, the applied colors coagulate in the void, as though illuminating the clouds, these traces serve to “image” the True …55 vaguely revealing the divine face,56 by which we can faintly encounter the True.57 運微輕素, 託綵虚凝, 殆映霄霧, 迹以像眞 … 彷彿神容, 依稀若真遇

These lines demonstrate the impact of Daoist notions of “true form” on Buddhist ideas of images and their use in visualization. The opening lines discuss the Buddha is terms of the “great image” and the “nameless.” In the section describing the image, we find that the painting with its subtle design is an image of the “true” and may be used to encounter the “true.” While “true” is here used nominally, I suggest it has the same referent as “true form.” Most notably, Huiyuan’s verse includes the formulation “encounter the true.” Other Buddhist texts use the term zhenxing in a variety of ways that clearly indicate Daoist impact. For example, Fasheng 法盛, a monk from Longxi (Gansu), asserted that the source for the efficacy of the colossal Maitreya statue northeast of Youchang 憂長 (probably referring to Udyāna) was due to “Arhat Harinanda’s journey to Tusita heaven, for the salvation of humanity, where he inscribed the true form of Maitreya, which he sealed upon the statue.”58 The implication here seems to be that the eighty-foot statue was imprinted or sealed with a talismanic device in which Harinanda managed to inscribe

55 Opting for Gaosengzhuan, along with Zürcher. Wang prefers the version in GHMJ that has 迹以像告, which he translates: “Images register the [divine] trace.” 56 Opting for Gaosengzhuan, along with Zürcher. Wang prefers the version in GHMJ that has 彷彿鏡神儀, which he translates: “[The images] appears to mirror the divine visage.” 57 Opting for GHMJ. My translation differs from Wang’s “Vaguely discernible as if face to face.” The GSZ version has 依稀欽遇, translatable as: “By which we vaguely reverently encounter.” 58 有羅漢名可利難陀, 為濟人故, 舛兜率天, 寫佛真形, 印此像也 in Meisōden-shō 名僧傳抄 (Fragment of Mingsengzhuan compiled by Bao Chang in 519, preserved in a Japanese edition of 1235), Manji Shinsan Dainihon Zokuzōkyō, X77n1523.358c15 (accessed on http://tripitaka.cbeta. org/X77n1523_001); quoted in Soper, “Literary Evidence,” 268.

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the true form of Maitreya which he had sketched while in Tusita. It was this imprint that caused the statue to “constantly emit light.” A particularly intriguing use of zhenxing in a Buddhist context is in the biography of Baozhi 保誌 (418–514), the abbot of Daolin 道林 temple in the southern capital Jiankang. The Gaoseng zhuan states that for the benefit of his lay disciple “he once manifested himself in his true from. His bodily marks glowed like a bodhisattva image” 誌嘗為其現真形, 光 相如菩薩像焉.59 It is not clear by what practice Baozhi generated this manifestation, but we should note that this occurred in the southern coastal region, where the Daoist discourse of zhenxing was especially important. The term zhenxing appears rarely in the Buddhist canon, and almost solely in contexts associated with the Jiang’nan area. I suggest that the use of zhenxing in Buddhist context was borrowed from local Daoist discourse and practice. Changing Attitudes to Figural Forms in Daoism Visualization practices, like those mentioned by Ge Hong, found their way into the Daoist canonic repertoire in texts such as the Scripture of the Yellow Court (Huangting jing 黃庭經), the Central Scripture of Laozi (Laozi zhongjing 老子中經), and most importantly, the Shangqing scriptures. Yet, while we have evidence for visualization practices in numerous Daoist texts from various textual and ritual traditions, few Daoist canonic texts advocate making statues or iconographic images before the sixth century. The few records we have of Daoist attitudes to figural images are negative and emphasize the aniconic qualities of Daoist practice. Writing in the early fifth century, the great liturgist Lu Xiujing 陸修靜 (406–77) asserts that the “silent chamber” ( jingshi 靜室), the center of ritual life for the Celestial Master community, should contain only an incense burner, a low table, and the four implements of the study (ink, brush, paper, and knife). He follows this prescription with complaints about those who follow vulgar customs who place “beds and seats, statues, hanging scrolls, and various decorations.”60 In the early sixth century, the famous alchemist and scholar Tao Hongjing 陶弘景 (456–536) is said to have established two shrines in his sanctuary on Mount Mao, one 59 Gaoseng zhuan T.2059; Gaoseng zhuan, annotated by Tang Yongtong 湯用彤 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1992), 397. 60 Lu xiansheng daomen kelue 陸先生道門科略 DZ 1127; translated by Nickerson, “Master Lu’s Abridged Codes.”

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Buddhist and one Daoist where he would offer reverence on alternate days. While the Buddhist shrine had statues, the Daoist shrine did not.61 Lu’s proscription should alert us to the fact that some Daoists were indeed placing statues and other ritual paraphernalia into their ritual chambers. There are more hints that some Daoists at the turn of the fifth century were using statues. The Lingbao scripture, Shangqing taiji yinzhu yujing baojue 上清太極隱注玉經寶訣 DZ 425, consists of instructions for the ritual transmission of an early version of a Daoist canon. The transmission of the Lingbao corpus, entitled Cavern of Mystery (Dongxuan 洞玄), includes a complex set of visualizations. However, following the conclusion of this transmission rite, the text offers an alternative rite for revering the ten directions, which includes a reference to statues: There is a method for a single reverence of all ten directions. Beginning at north, and returning at east to complete the cycle, one is to contemplate and visualize the true forms of the Most High [spirits] of the ten directions, like the statues used currently. 又方一拜十方, 想見太上十方真形, 如今像矣 (DZ 425.3a9)

We should first note that the complete instructions in the preceding section make no reference to statues. Moreover, even this passage does not call for the use of statues, but rather acknowledges that figures carved into statues may resemble the images during visualization. Importantly, however, in compiling the Transmission Rites of Lingbao, Lu Xiujing drew this alternate method into the main transmission rite, stating, “Meditate and visualize the true forms of the most high, like the image of the celestial worthy” 想見太上真形, 如天尊象矣.62 This ritual scheme was adopted into the ritual system of Wushang biyao 無上祕要 DZ 1138, compiled during the Northern Zhou in the 570’s, which explicitly states that a table laden with nine golden dragons and faith offerings is to be placed before the statue of the Worthy.63 We should note, however, that although Daoist statues had become quite common in the north by the Northern Zhou, this is the only reference to statues in the extant chapters of Wushang biyao. 61 Tao yinju neizhuan 陶隱居內傳 cited in Bianzhenglun 辯正論 by Falin 法琳 (572–640) T. 2110, 535a26: 在茅山中立佛道二堂, 隔日朝禮, 佛堂有像, 道堂無像. On Tao Hongjing’s practice of Buddhism, see Bokenkamp, “Buddhism in the Writings of Tao Hongjing.” 62 Taishang dongxuan lingbao shoudu yi 太上洞玄靈寶授度儀 DZ 528.38b6. Lü, “The Early Lingbao Transmission Ritual”; idem. “Zaoqi lingbao shouduyi.” 63 Wushang biyao 無上祕要 DZ 1138.39.2b3–5; Lagerwey, Wu-Shang Pi-Yao, 132.

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Among the first Daoist stelae is the famous Yao Boduo stele of 496,64 which includes one of the longest inscriptions of all the stelae. One passage in the inscription on the front of the stele describes the creation of the image of August Lord Lao (Huanglaojun 皇老君): Its construction and decoration exhausted the marvelous carving of artisans who brought out in relief a form and image, so that it is as if the true face were revealed in the present age. In its carving they fully exploited their utmost skill to bring the pure visage into view, so that it is as if one were face to face with the True. Had not the Dao aided [them] in its role as hidden ancestor and had we not comprehended his superior words, how would this have been possible?65 營構莊飾, 極工匠之奇雕, 隱起形圖, 宛若真容現於今世, 綺錯盡窮 巧之制, 修來清顏, 有若真對. 非夫道協幽宗, 理會上言, 焉能若此者?

We should note the similarity of this passage to the rhetoric in Huiyuan’s “Eulogy to the Buddha’s Shadow.” The figural image is described “as though” manifesting the “true face” of Lord Lao. The skillful creation of the physical form that can be viewed and perceived in the mundane world is said to be “as though facing the true.” The inscription on the Yao Boduo stele opens with phrasing similar to the later Buddhist inscriptions of the sixth century: The Great Dao is hidden and dark, it marvelously entrusts itself [to form?] to become ancestor; the numinous teaching is subtle, it takes empty silence as its purpose.66 夫大道幽玄, 以妙寄為宗; 靈教□微, 以虛寂為旨.

A few lines further the inscription, inspired by the Lingbao scriptures, elaborates upon the appearance of both the scriptures and Laozi from the primordial qi, already showing the syntactic structure that was to become formulaic on the later Daoist and Buddhist inscriptions. Thus the Perfect Script extends endlessly with the Brahmā (pneuma 梵 氣), were it not lofty how could it be the source? Li Er harmonized [qi] 64 Li Song, Daojiao meishu, 210–12, no. 2A04; Zhang Yan, Shaanxi, 1:3–41, no. 1. Bokenkamp, “Yao Boduo Stele,” 56–59; idem. “The Salvation of Laozi”; idem. “The Prehistory of Laozi”; Abe, “Northern Wei”; Hsieh, “Image and Devotion.” 65 Translation aided by Abe, “Northern Wei,” 73; Hsieh, “Image and Devotion,” 12. 66 Hsieh Shuwei, “Image and Devotion,” 6.

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to birth himself, were it not for his dark teaching, how could one merge with the void?67 故真文弥梵, 非高何以可宗. 李耳和生, 非玄教無以合空.

Stephen Bokenkamp has shown the reliance of this passage, and indeed much of the inscription, upon the Lingbao scriptures. Importantly, here we also have an amalgam of Lingbao cosmology with the earlier mythology of Laozi, developed in second-century texts. Conclusion It was in the 480’s that, on the one hand, Daoist f igural imagery f irst appeared on stelae, while, on the other, Buddhists started incorporating apologetic statements on statues and stelae. What we see here is an intriguing confluence of discourse and practice, as Daoists adopt Buddhist modes of iconography while maintaining their suspicion of physical representation of the Dao, while Buddhists adopt Daoist discourse to legitimate practices that had not been previously questioned in China. Daoists in north China who began creating figural imagery of Lord Lao were aware of the theological implications of their practice. The votive inscriptions on the stelae include apologetic and explanatory statements that reconsideration the early Daoist notions of “form” xing and “image” xiang. Importantly, we should note that the makers of the stelae as well as the author of Codes and Regulations continue to maintain the ultimate ineffability of the Dao and never claim that these icons or images are True Forms. Rather, Daoists use the term True Face to label the figural images on the stelae, a usage also prevalent in Buddhist epigraphy. I suggest that this term was inspired by Daoist discourse. Indeed, the frequent formulaic use of the apologetic justification for the creation of Buddha images indicates a far greater impact of Daoist notions of Chinese Buddhist practice than previously noticed. Further research into the B-model Buddhist inscriptions should help clarify these complex interactions. We should recall that the developments of the Daoist stelae occurred beyond the purview of the institutional and canonic scriptures were eventually accepted and adopted by the Daoist orthodoxy of the early Tang. It seems that they also had a great impact on Buddhist practice. These stelae reveal the creative genius of lived religion of local communities of practice.

67 Bokenkamp, “Yao Boduo,” 61.

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Bibliography Primary Baopuzi jiaoshi 抱朴子校釋 ed. by Wang Ming 王明. Beijing: Xinhua shudian, 1996. Bianzhenglun 辯正論 T.2110. Dongxuan lingbao sandong fengdao kejie yingshi 洞玄靈寶三洞奉道科戒營始 DZ 1125. Dongxuan lingbao wuyue guben zhenxingtu 洞玄靈寶五嶽古本真形圖 DZ 441. Dongxuan lingbao yujingshan buxu jing 洞玄靈寶玉京山步虛經 DZ 1439. Foshuo zuofo xingxiang jing 佛說作佛形像經 T.692. Gaoseng faxian zhuan 高僧法顯傳 T.2085. Gaoseng zhuan 高僧傳T.2059. Guanghongming ji 廣弘明集 T.2103. Guanfo sanmei haijing 觀佛三昧海經 T.643. Laozi Bianhua jing 老子變化經S.2295. Laozi xiang’er zhu 老子想爾注S.6825. Lingbao wuliang duren shangqing dafa 靈寶無量度人上經大法 DZ 219. Lu xiansheng daomen kelue 陸先生道門科略 DZ 1127. Sanhuang neiwen yibi 三皇內文遺秘 DZ 856. Taishang dongxuan lingbao shoudu yi 太上洞玄靈寶授度儀 DZ 528. Taishang yupei jindang taiji jinshu shangjing 太上玉佩金璫太極金書上經 DZ 56. Wushang biyao 無上祕要 DZ 1138. Wuyue zhenxing xulun 五嶽真形序論 DZ 1281. Yunji qiqian 雲笈七籤 DZ 1032. Zēngyi ahánjīng 增壹阿含經 T.125.

Secondary Abe, Stanley K. “Northern Wei Daoist Sculpture from Shaanxi Province.” Cahiers d’Extrême-Asie 9, no. 1 (1996): 69–83. Barrett, T. H. “Faxian and the Meaning of Bianwen 變文: The Value of His Biography to the Study of China.” Hualin International Journal of Buddhist Studies 2, no. 1 (2019): 1–15. Bokenkamp, Stephen R. Early Daoist Scriptures. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1997. Bokenkamp, Stephen R. “The Yao Boduo Stele as Evidence for “Dao-Buddhism.” Cahiers d’Extreme-Asie 9 (1997), 56–59. Bokenkamp, Stephen R . “The Salvation of Laozi: Image of the Sage in the Lingbao Scriptures, the Ge Xuan Preface, and the ‘Yao Boduo Stele’ of 469 C.E.” In Daoyuan

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binfen lu 道苑繽紛錄 A Daoist Florilegium, edited by Lee Cheuk Yin and Chan Man Sing, 287–314. Hong Kong: Shangwu, 2002. Bokenkamp, Stephen R . “The Prehistory of Laozi: His Prior Career as a Woman in the Lingbao Scriptures.” Cahiers d’Extrême-Asie 14 (2004 ): 403–21. Bokenkamp, Stephen R . “Buddhism in the Writings of Tao Hongjing.” Daoism: Religion, History and Society 6 (2014): 247–68. Campany, Robert Ford. Signs from the Unseen Realm: Buddhist Miracle Tales from Early Medieval China. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i, 2012. Choi, Sun-ah. “Quest for the True Visage: Sacred Images in Medieval Chinese Buddhist Art and the Concept of Zhen.” PhD diss., University of Chicago, 2012. DeCaroli, Robert. Image Problems: The Origin and Development of the Buddha’s Image in Early Buddhism. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2015. Hou Xudong 侯旭东. Wuliu shiji beifang minzhong fojiao xinyang 五六世纪北方 民众佛教信仰. Beijing: Zhongguo shehui chubanshe, 1998. Hsieh, Shu-wei 謝世維. “Image and Devotion: A Study of the Yao Boduo Stele.” MA thesis, Indiana University, 2002. Hsieh, Shu-wei 謝世維. “Zhenxing, shentu yu lingfu—daojiao sanhuangwen shijue wenhua chutan” 真形, 神圖與靈符–-道教三皇文視覺文化初探. Xingda renda xuebao 興大人文 學報 56 (2016): 23–58. Hsieh, Shu-wei 謝世維. Hongmeng Miaoguan: Daojiao Wenhua Yanjiu Zhiduoyuan Mianxiang 鴻濛妙觀: 道教文化研究之多元面向. Taipei: Xinwenfeng, 2018. Huang, Shih-san Susan. Picturing the True Form, Daoist Visual Culture in Traditional China. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2012. Kamitsuka Yoshiko 神塚淑子. Rikuchō dōkyō shisō no kenkyū 六朝道教思想的研 究. Tokyo: Sōbunshu, 1999. Kohn, Livia. “Date and Compilation of the First Handbook of Monastic Daoism.” East Asian History 13/14 (1997): 91–118; Kohn, Livia. God of the Dao: Lord Lao in History and Myth. Ann Arbor: Center For Chinese Studies, University of Michigan, 1998. Kohn, Livia. The Daoist Monastic Manual. New York: Oxford University Press, 2004. Kuramoto Shōtoku 倉本尚德. Hokuchō Bukkyō zōzōmei kenkyū 北朝仏教造像銘 研究. Kyoto: Hōzōkan, 2016. Lagerwey, John. Taoist Ritual in History and Society. Macmillan: New York, 1987. Lagerwey, John. Wu-Shang Pi-Yao: Somme Taoïste du VIe Siècle. Paris: École française d’Extrême-Orient, 1981. Li Song 李淞. Zhongguo daojiao meishu shi 中國道教美術史. Changsha: Hunan meishu, 2012. Li Yuanhe 李源河, ed. Hanmo shiying—Henansheng wenshi yanjiuguan guanzang tapian jingxuan 翰墨石影――河南省文史研究館館蔵搨片精選, Yangzhou :Guangling shushe, 2003.

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Liu Xiaogan 劉笑敢, ed. Laozi gujin 老子古今. Beijing: zhongguo shehui kexue chubanshe, 2006. Liu Yuan-ju. “Stories Written and Rewritten: The Story of Faxian’s Search For The Dharma in Its Historical, Anecdotal, and Biographical Contexts.” Early Medieval China 22 (2016): 1–25. Lü Pengzhi 吕鹏志. “The Early Lingbao Transmission Ritual: A Critical Study of Lu Xiujing’s (406–477) ‘Taishang Dongxuan Lingbao Shoudu Yi.’” Studies in Chinese Religions 4, no. 1 (2018): 1–49. Lü Pengzhi 吕鹏志. “Zaoqi lingbao shouduyi—A Study of Lu Xiujing’s ‘Taishang dongxuan lingbao shouduyi’” 早期靈寶傳授儀–- 陸修静 (406–477) ‘太上洞玄 靈寶授度儀’考論. Wenshi 文史 127, no. 2 (2019): 121–50. Nickerson, Peter. “Master Lu’s Abridged Codes.” In Chinese Religions in Practice, edited by Donald S. Lopez, 347–59. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1996. Ōfuchi Ninji 大淵忍爾. Tonkō Dōkyō Zurokuhen 敦煌道經圖錄編 .Tokyo: Fukubu Shoten, 1979. Pregadio, Fabrizio. “The Notion of ‘Form’ and the Ways of Liberation in Daoism.” Cahiers d’Extrême-Asie 14 (2004): 95–130. Raz, Gil. Emergence of Daoism: Creation of Tradition. London: Routledege, 2012. Reiter, Florian. The Aspirations and Standards of Taoist Priests in the Early T’ang Period. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1998. Rhi, Juhyung. “Images, Relics, and Jewels: The Assimilation of Images in the Buddhist Relic Cult of Gandhāra: Or Vice Versa.” Artibus Asiae 65, no. 2 (2005): 169–211. Rhie, Marylin Martin. Early Buddhist Art of China and Central Asia. 3 vols. Leiden and Boston: Brill, 1999. Robinet, Isabelle. La Révélation Du Shangqing dans l’histoire du Taoism. Paris: École française d’Extrême-Orient, 1984. Seidel, Anna La Divinization de Lao-tse. Paris: EFEO,1969. Seckel, Dietrich, and Andreas Leisinger, “Before and beyond the Image: Aniconic Symbolism in Buddhist Art.” Artibus Asiae, Supplementum 45 (2004): 3–107. Sharf, Robert. “The Scripture on the Production of Buddha Images.” In Religions of China in Practice, edited by Donald S. Lopez, 261–67. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1996. Soper, Alexander Coburn. “Literary Evidence for Early Buddhist Art in China.” Artibus Asiae: Ascona, 1959. Steavu, Dominic. “Paratextuality, Materiality, and Corporeality in Medieval Chinese Religions.” Journal of Medieval Worlds, no. 4 (2019): 11–40. Steavu, Dominic. The Writ of the Three Sovereigns: From Local Lore to Institutional Daoism. Hong Kong: The Chinese University Press; Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2019.

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Tang Yongtong 湯用彤, annotated, Gaoseng zhuan 高僧傳. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1992. Verellen, Franciscus. “The Dynamic Design: Ritual and Contemplative Graphics in Daoist Scriptures.” In Daoism in History: Essays in Honour of Liu Ts’un-Yan, edited by Benjamin Penny, 159–88. London and New York: Routledge, 2006. Wang, Eugene Y. Shaping the Lotus Sutra: Buddhist Visual Culture in Medieval China. Seattle and London: University of Washington Press, 2005. Wang, Eugene Y. “The Shadow Image in the Cave.” In Early Medieval China: A Sourcebook, edited by Wendy Swartz, Robert Ford Campany, Yang Lu, and Jessey J. C. Choo, 405–27. New York: Columbia University Press, 2014. Wang Bangwei. “Faxian and the Construction of the Buddha’s Shadow Platform at Mount Lu.” Hualin International Journal of Buddhist Studies 2, no. 1 (2019): 280–301. Wang Chang 王昶, Jinshi cuipian 金石萃編 (160 juan). In Vol. 1 of Shike shiliao xinbian 石刻史料新编. 100 vols. Taipei: Xinwenfeng chubanshe, 1997–2006. Wenzel, Claudia. “The Image of the Buddha: Buddha Icons and Aniconic Traditions in India and China.” Transcultural Studies 1 (2011): 263–305. Zhang Xunliao 張勛燎 and Bai Bin 白彬. Zhongguo daojiao kaogu 中國道教考古. Beijing: Xianzhuang shuju, 2006. Zhang Xunliao and Bai Bin. “Beichao daojiao zaoxiang de kaogu yanjiu” 北朝道 教造像的考古 研究. In Zhang Xunliao and Bai Bin, Zhongguo daojiao kaogu, 2:609–3:753. Beijing: Xianzhuang shuju, 2006. Zhang Xunliao and Bai Bin, “Jiangsu mingmu chutu he chuanshi gu qiwu suojiande daojiao wuyue zhenxingfu yu wuyue zhenxingtu” 江苏明墓出土和传世古器物 所见的道教五岳真形符与五岳真形图. In Zhang Xunliao and Bai Bin, Zhongguo daojiao kaogu, 6: 1751–833. Beijing: Xianzhuang shuju, 2006. Zhang Yan 張燕. Shaanxi Yaowangshan beike yishu zongji 陝西藥王山碑刻藝術 總集. 8 vols. Shanghai: Shanghai cishu chubanshe, 2013. Zhang Zexun 張澤珣. Beiwei guanzhong daojiao zaoxiangji yanjiu 北魏關中道教 造像記研究. Macau: Universidad de Macau, 2009. Zürcher, Erik. The Buddhist Conquest of China: The Spread and Adaptation of Buddhism in Early Medieval China. Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1959.

About the Author Gil Raz is Associate Professor of Religion at Dartmouth College, specializing in the study of medieval Chinese religion. His book The Emergence of Daoism: Creation of Tradition (2012) and many publications examine Daoist notions of space and time, sexual practices, and religious interactions in medieval China.

7

After the Apocalypse: The Evolving Ethos of the Celestial Master Daoists Terry Kleeman

Abstract Celestial Master Daoism appeared in the mid-second century as a revealed religion with a pronounced millenarian worldview. Early members believed they faced cosmic disasters that would purge the world of evil and welcome in a utopian age of Great Peace. This early enthusiasm was softened by the fourth century as a more relaxed eschatology developed, which focused on living a meritorious life and adhering to the Daoist ethical precepts as the way to ensure happiness. Focusing on the “Code of Teachings and Precepts of the Celestial Master,” Kleeman reconstructs the lived religion of the Celestial Master community as it transitioned to a more routinized and established structure, less millennial fervor and more Buddhist impact. Keywords: Celestial Master Daoism, eschatology, millenarianism, precepts

Celestial Master Daoism was founded in the second century CE in what is now Sichuan province.1 It began as a revolutionary faith, rejecting the traditional religious practices of the people around them, preaching that disasters were imminent that would usher in a utopian age of Great Peace for the worthy, but death and destruction for their profane neighbors. They formed a self-conscious religious entity, marked off by distinctive clothing, a family tithe of grain, and especially, ritual practice. The followers collected together briefly in a millennial kingdom centered in the Hanzhong region of southeast Shanxi province (ca. 191–215), then spread across the North China plain in an evangelical wave during the third century, and extended their faith to South China in the fourth. 1

Most of the following is based on Kleeman, Celestial Masters.

Raz, Gil and Anna M. Shields (eds): Religion and Poetry in Medieval China. The Way and the Words. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2023 DOI: 10.5117/9789463721172_CH07

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The first few generations of believers were caught up in the eschatological dream on the world of Great Peace to come, but eventually it became clear that the return of the Supreme Lord Lao and the inauguration of Great Peace was not imminent. After that, a certain routinization set in, and the faith shifted to one centering on the welfare of their believers in this world rather than the next. What did it mean then to be a member of the Celestial Master church? How could Daoist citizens (daomin 道民) hope to fulfill their vows and earn a blessed life? Could they count on the help of their fellow Daoists in their spiritual cultivation and worldly endeavors? How did members of the Daoist community see the profane worshipers of popular cults all around them? How did they explain that some of the profane had more possessions, enjoyed more worldly success, than the faithful? These are the questions I will attempt to address in this paper. One early source that gives us some idea of how the average Daoist might have answered these questions is the subject of this article. It was probably known at the time of composition, which I believe to be the latter half of the fourth century, as the “Code of the Celestial Master’s Teachings and Precepts” 天師教戒科. Sources for the early Celestial Master church are limited and often difficult to date. Scholars of early Daoism have extracted much useful information on third-century Daoism from texts attached to a scripture called the Scripture of the Celestial Master’s Code of Teachings and Precepts (DZ 787 Zhengyi fawen tianshi jiaojie kejing 正一法文天師教戒科 經). It includes two works I have characterized as encyclicals, public announcements from the central headquarters of the church on the occasion of major festivals: “Yangping Parish” 陽平治 and the “Commands and Precepts for the Great Daoist Family” 大道家令戒.2 Little attention has been paid to the first essay in the collection, to which these key texts are appended (pages 1a–12a3). It is clearly later in date, with Buddhist terminology and a lack of millennial fervor that reflects the mature Celestial Master church of the late fourth and fifth centuries. This paper will explore the significance of this document for our understanding of values and practices expected of average believers in the Celestial Master church. The work we are discussing would seem to be the “Code of Teachings and Precepts” 教戒科 referred to in the title to the overall work. The text makes repeated references to the Teachings and Precepts ( jiaojie 教戒), a body of revealed literature from the departed Celestial Master(s) that guided the early church. The Daozang scripture includes one example of such a teaching, an extended seven-character rhymed verse expressing the Celestial Master’s 2

See Bokenkamp, Early Daoist Scriptures, 149–85; Kleeman, Celestial Masters, 113–46.

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exhortation to the faithful, titled “Teaching of the Celestial Master” (Tianshi jiao 天師教) which was, I believe, originally presented to the church on the Assembly dedicated to the Office of Heaven, seventh day of the first month, 255.3 The extended sermon that precedes this teaching, the “Commands and Precepts for the Daoist Family,” is also a revealed text, pronounced by the departed and now apotheosized Celestial Master Zhang Ling, but is a prose text in quite an earthy, colloquial Chinese that Franciscus Verellen has characterized as a “harangue” for the severity of its condemnation of the citizens and officers of the church assembled. “Yangping Parish” looks like a similar revealed sermon, but without the accompanying teaching. The extended poem in chapter 5 of the Demon Statutes of Lady Blue may be a teaching divorced from its sermon. 4 Much of the revealed literature of this early period must be lost. What, then, is the “Code of Teachings and Precepts”? Although it does not have the same evangelical fervor, nor does it have an explicit first-person narrator, I believe it is also a sermon, delivered on the occasion of the one of the assemblies. The language is simple and direct, but avoids obvious colloquialisms. There is clearly a voice speaking, but no emphasis on who that is. Instead, the focus is on how Daoists should behave, what attitudes they should hold, and, most importantly, how they should conduct themselves so as to receive the blessings of Heaven. There is a set of five precepts, which we shall examine in a moment, but the text goes further, enunciating an ethos of the church in contrast to the profane around them. This world is still rather one-dimensional, with profane belief contrasted with following the Dao as a personal god. There is no indication of fragmentation of the Daoist community into various scriptural lineages like Lingbao or Dongyuan, nor any specific mention of the Buddhist path, as in the Scripture of the Inner Explanations of the Three Heavens (DZ 1205 Santian neijie jing, ca. 420 CE), though Buddhist terms are present. Given that all the other texts in the collection are Northern texts, with no sign of contact with Southern occult traditions and only limited contact with Buddhism, we might posit that this text also derives from a fourth-century North China milieu. The Kou Qianzhi revelations, dating to the second or third decade of the fifth century in North China, which reflected clear influence from Lingbao texts, would then provide a terminus ante quem. Comparing this text, the “Code of Teachings and Precepts,” with other texts in the collection, reveals a changed soteriology. Earlier texts had 3 4

Zhengyi fawen tianshi jiaojie kejing DZ 787.19b–20a. Nüqing guilü DZ 788.5/1a–4a.

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stressed obeying the precepts and participating in the Merging the Pneumas sexual rite as ways to be chosen as a “seed citizen” who would survive coming disasters in order to repopulate the earth. Here we see instead a detailed ethic of how to live in a world not in danger of immediate calamity. An important theme is the need for Central Harmony (zhonghe 中和), which is deemed essential for an orderly state or family, as we see in the opening passage of the scripture: The Dao takes Central Harmony as its virtue because a lack of harmony leads to mutual defeat. For this reason, if Heaven and Earth are united in harmony, living beings in their myriad forms will sprout, and flowers and fruit will ripen. If the state is united in harmony, the realm will experience Great Peace, and living beings in their myriad forms will be peaceful and secure. If the family household is united in harmony, fathers will be compassionate and sons filial, and Heaven will bestow blessings and fortune. If the wise will deeply contemplate this matter, how could disharmony be acceptable? If Heaven and Earth are not harmonious, yin and yang will lose their proper positions, it will thunder in the winter and rain frost in the summer, wet and dry periods will not be regulated, the living beings in their myriad forms will depart from their natures, and flowers and blossoms will wither. If the state is not harmonious, the ruler and officials will deceive each other, the strong will oppress the weak, the barbarians will invade our borders, blades will cross, the spirits will be in chaotic disorder, and the citizenry will not be secure in their homes. If the household is not harmonious, the father will not be compassionate and loving, the son will not be filial, old and young will fight for precedence, and all will look at each other with resentment, the resentment accumulating until it turns poisonous, with the spirits in chaotic disorder, and the family will be brought to its destruction. These three curses arise from disharmony.5 道以中和爲德，以不和相剋。是以天地合和，萬物萌芽，華果熟成。國 家合和，天下太平，萬物安寧。室家合和，父慈子孝，天垂福慶。賢者深 思念之，豈可不和。天地不和，隂陽失度，冬雷夏霜，水旱不調，萬物 乖性，華英焦枯。國家不和，君臣相詐，强弱相凌，夷狄侵境，兵刄交 錯，天下擾攘，民不安居。室家不和，父不慈愛，子无孝心，大小忿爭， 更相怨望，積怨含毒，鬼神錯亂，家致敗傷。此三者之殃由不和。

5 Zhengyi fawen Tianshi jiaojie DZ 787.1a–b. Hereafter, references to this text will be appended in parentheses to the translation. Cf. DZ 1120 Taishang dongxuan lingbao zhonghe jing 1a.

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In fact, this teaching on Central Harmony, though limited to this initial passage, was important enough that when the Lingbao movement adopted this scripture, almost verbatim, it was titled the Scripture of Central Harmony.6 This is an ancient theme within the Celestial Master church, first mentioned in the Xiang’er Commentary to the Laozi, where we read, “The Dao values Central Harmony. You should act on the basis of central harmony. Your intentions must not exceed the bounds in opposition to the precepts of the Dao” 道貴中和，當中和行之，志意不可盈溢違道誡. As our passage above indicates, a lack of harmony will bring calamity to the world, the state, and the family. Scholars have noted that the Dao in the Xiang’er Commentary is identified as a personif ied deity.7 Here we see what this means in more concrete terms. The Dao is a deity of great power and majesty, but also limitless mercy. The following passage describes the Dao’s lofty position and far-reaching powers. The Great Dao is the most revered, lofty without limit, all-encompassing with neither interior nor exterior, enveloping Heaven and Earth, controlling and directing the many gods, birthing and nurturing the myriad types of being. All those that fly or crawl, all beings that possess pneumas are created and birthed by the Dao.8 大道至尊，髙而無上，周圓無表裏，囊括天地，制御衆神，生育萬物。 蜎飛、蠕動、含氣之類，皆道所成所生。

Nonetheless, we should not forget that the Dao operates at the head of a vast bureaucracy that stretches through all realms and can influence any event. The movement was characterized from the beginning as the Correct and Unitary Covenant with the Powers (zhengyi mengwei 正一盟威), a covenant between mortal humans and celestial spirits, called the Powers (wei 威). In this passage we read of the spirits who do the Dao’s bidding, and are available for employment through the Daoist petition process: There is no place where the Powers and gods of the Dao do not assemble, no place where they do not dispel [evil], no place they do not subjugate. Grasping the nexus point, they dispatch and employ the hundred demons. 6 See the scripture cited in the previous notes and the entries on the two scriptures by Kristofer Schipper in TC, 1:120–22, 275. 7 Bokenkamp, Early Daoist Scriptures, 39. 8 Zhengyi fawen DZ 787.7b.

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Born before the Heavens, they serve in their posts without limit. The humans who live among them have fleeting fates, like the blink of an eye.9 道之威神，何所不集。何所不消。何所不伏。把持樞機，驅使百鬼，先 天而生，長守無窮。人處其間，年命奄忽，如眼目視瞬間耳。

The “hundred demons” that these officers control and dispatch on missions encompass both the profane gods of the earth, worshiped by the common people, and the clerks and lictors overseeing the realm(s) of the dead. Central to this entire system is a code of ethical rules or commandments called the precepts ( jie 戒). The Xiang’er Commentary already spoke frequently about the importance of keeping the precepts, and even argued that the ancient practice of Guarding the One (shouyi 守一) really amounted to nothing more than just keeping the precepts. We do not really know the contents of these early precepts. Their association in this document with the Teachings, revelations from early Celestial Masters, suggests that the precepts may also have been the product of spirit revelation. This would seem to be case with one surviving set of precepts, the twenty-two articles preserved in chapter 3 of the Demon Statutes of Lady Blue (Nüqing guilü 女 青鬼律).10 These precepts regulated conduct within the Daoist community, and a significant focus was on ritual conduct or conduct among Daoists. In the Code of Teachings and Precepts there is a clear role for the community in fostering proper behavior among its members, who are referred to as having the same duty (tongyi 同義), same intention (tongzhi 同志), or the same rites (tongfa 同法).11 Traditional Chinese communities since the Qin empire had been organized into groups of five and ten families who surveilled each other and shared legal culpability for the actions of any member of the families. It is perhaps not surprising, then, that we find something similar among the Daoists: If you see people who have disobedient, improper conduct, you should encourage them to follow the precepts, save them so that they will reform their conduct and repent, then when the merit of this action is realized, you will receive limitless blessings.12 若見人有違失之行，轉相勸戒，相教改悔。其功報效，應受福無量。 9 10 11 12

Zhengyi fawen DZ 787.7b. Nüqing guilü DZ 788.3/1a–3b. Zhengyi fawen DZ 787.8a–b. Zhengyi fawen DZ 787.8a.

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Of course, you are expected to aid fellow church members, should they encounter hardship, but there is also a warning against those who use their position to lord it over the sufferers who come to them for aid: If there is a fellow follower (tongyi 同義) who encounters difficulties, you should rescue them from illness and nurture them in emergencies. You must not use your wisdom to deceive the ignorant, or use your position to make false claims, falsely citing the words of the spirits to terrify those in danger.13 若有同義遇難、疾病相救、緩急相䘏。不得以智欺愚、乗威詐稱、假 託鬼神、恐嚇厄人。

The text goes on to counsel those who might hope to receive the grace and blessings of the Dao in their interactions with fellow church members. Although not clearly stated, the focus would seem to be on the treatment of Daoist citizens by masters. The master is warned to not exaggerate their own position and consequently slight or disparage the “ignorant” nor speak about them behind their backs. The master is similarly enjoined not to favor noble clients over mean or rich over poor, arrogantly loving one and despising the other. This echoes a regulation preserved in the Statutes of the Mysterious Capital (Xuandu lüwen 玄都律文): If there are people who come to you for refuge, announcing they have a serious illness or are threatened by misfortune, you should do everything possible to rescue them. You must not burden them with your private matters, recklessly speaking of disasters and curses to make demands upon the good graces of others. If you accept these [favors], this is a sin that will decrease your accumulated store [of merit].14 百姓有疾病厄急歸告之者，當匍匐救之。不得以私事託設，妄說禍 祟，求人意氣。受取皆計减為罪。

Both these sources focus on possible abuses of the pastoral relationship. Ultimately, the master had to answer for the actions he or she took on behalf of their parishioners. A petition had to be justified through an admission of fault and acts of penance as well as the promise of meritorious conduct in the future. Our text includes a direct warning as to the possible consequences of favoritism on the part of the libationer: 13 Zhengyi fawen DZ 787.8a–b. 14 Xuandu lüwen DZ 187.14a–b.

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If you request blessings according to your own feelings, you may consider this a magnanimous act, but the Dao in the end will not approve [your request] and the demons will not act on your behalf. All you will do is to destroy the Correct Rites and bring blame upon yourself.15 欲隨情請福、以爲惠施、道終不從、鬼不爲使。毀敗正法耳。反受咎。

Although there is a concern for how to conduct oneself in interactions with fellow Daoists, the primary concern of the text is with the individual and how their personal conduct might earn them and their descendants the blessings of Heaven. In the following passage, this proper conduct is linked with the Laozi’s ideal of non-action (wuwei 無為), and avaricious, greedy behavior in contravention of the Dao is characterized as its opposite, having action (youwei 有為): If you wise men would like to eliminate harm and forestall evil, you should diligently observe the Teachings and Precepts. The Precepts must not be broken. The Dao considers non-action to be superior. When a person’s transgressions accumulate, they are simply accused of having-action (youwei), seeking benefit through a hundred methods. The Dao’s way is non-action, therefore it can long survive. Heaven and Earth emulate the Dao in non-action, and mix together with the Dao. The Perfected emulates Heaven in non-action, and therefore can summon the gods and transcendents. Since there is nothing that is not done by the Dao, if a person can cultivate conduct, observing and maintaining the Teachings and Precepts, if they are adept at accumulating good deeds, their meritorious virtue will support them and they will communicate with Heaven, the blessings flowing down to their posterity.16 諸賢者欲除害止惡，當勤奉教戒。戒不可違。道以無爲爲上。人過積 但坐有爲，貪利百端。道然無爲，故能長存。天地法道無爲，與道相 混。真人法天無爲，故致神仙。道之無所不爲，人能修行執守教戒， 善積行者，功德自輔身，與天通，福流子孫。

Given the emphasis in this and other early Celestial Master scriptures on the precepts, the actual identity of the precepts to be observed is a topic of considerable interest. We have mentioned above a set of twenty-two precepts preserved in the Demon Statutes of Lady Blue 女青鬼律. The present text

15 Zhengyi fawen DZ 787.8b. 16 Zhengyi fawen DZ 787.3a–b.

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includes a list of five precepts, which seem to be directed specifically to members of the Celestial Master community: One: You must not indulge in sex without cease, setting one’s sights on deviant notions. You will exhaust your body gods and use up your essence, your hun-souls and po-souls will be left unguarded, then will harm you painfully. 一。不得淫泆不止、志意邪念、勞神損精、魂魄不守、則痛害人。 Two: You must not harbor explosive anger, so that the rage in your heart spills out of your mouth, raising your voice to scold and disparage, taking oaths and pronouncing curses, calling out to Heaven and causing the earth to rumble, startling gods and frightening demons. If you commit this repeatedly and do not reform yourself, you will accumulate resentment within that will harm and diminish the Five Viscera. Once the Five Viscera are harmed, the disease cannot be cured. Moreover, those of you who worship the Dao have Heavenly bureaucrats, clerks, and soldiers in their bodies. If you repeatedly break the rules against anger, these gods will not guard their positions. The clerks and soldiers will ascend to the Heavenly bureaucrats, reporting on your sins and transgressions. When the transgressions have accumulated and the sins are complete, you will be removed from the living on the Contract of the Left and inscribed among the dead on the Contract of the Right. If the disaster is minor, the sin will entangle just you. If the sins are many, the curse will reach to your sons and grandsons. 二。不得情性暴怒、心忿口泄、揚聲罵詈、誓盟呪詛、呼天震地、驚神 駭鬼。數犯不攺、積怨在内、傷損五藏。五藏以傷、病不可治。又、奉道 者、身中有天曹吏兵。數犯瞋恚、其神不守。吏兵上詣天曹、白人罪過。 過積罪成、左契除生、右契著死。禍小者、罪身。罪多者、殃及子孫。 Three: You must not seek to harm others with the poison of sycophancy, jealous of your reliance on others, harboring nothing but an evil heart. The god of the heart is the ruler of the Five Viscera, and if you dwell exclusively on evil matters, this one god will be unsettled, leading all the gods to be angry. If they are angry, then they reduce your longevity. They are the worst to offend. If you do not cease, the disaster will lead to your destruction. 三。不得佞毒含害、𡜍賴於人、專懷惡心。心神、五藏之主、而專念惡 事、此一神不安。諸神皆怒。怒則刻壽。最不可犯之。不止、其災害巳。 Four: You must not defile your person with the wild and turbid, drink wine leading to confused disorder, or change or alter your constant character, your crazed rebelliousness knowing no limits. You must not fail to be

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aware that the official prohibitions are tabooed, nor fail to note that your lord and father are to be respected. With scolds and disparagements flowing from your mouth, you curse yourself and seek death. Revealing the secrets of others, you become more confused and disobedient, lusting after your blood relatives, you scold Heaven and disparage Earth, knowing no bottom and no companion, you grasp a blade to defend yourself. For this reason, Heaven will complete your curse, and you will bear the suffering. 四。不得穢身荒濁、飲酒迷亂、變易常性、狂悖無防。不知官禁爲忌、不 知君父爲尊、罵詈溢口、自詛索死、發露隂私、反迷不順、淫于骨肉、 罵天詈地。無底無對、舉刄自守。故天遂其殃、自受其患。 Five: You must not lust after benefit and riches. Riches are manure and muck, give them away whenever you can. In Lower Antiquity the age is barren, they take wealth as a treasure, think of nothing but the pursuit of profit, buying cheap and selling dear, seeking an opportunity to take advantage, cheating and deceiving the common people. Those who get what they desire delight in their hearts. As for those who do not get what they desire, resentment and regret poison their hearts. Some angrily dispute the amount, attacking each other with blades and weapons. They offend against the prohibitions of Heaven, do not follow the Teachings and Precepts, lusting after their desires and cherishing riches. Riches are a mortal enemy. When your body is dead and your name has disappeared, what good are riches?17 五。不得貪利財貨。財貨糞壤、隨時而與。下古世薄、以財爲寳、專念 求利、買賤賣貴、伺候便宜、欺誣百姓。得所欲者、心懷喜悅。不得所欲 者、怨恨毒心。或忿爭多少、刀兵相賊。違犯天禁、不從教戒、貪欲愛 財。財者、害身之讎。身没名滅、何用財爲。

The first precept focuses on sexual misconduct, but if it refers to the Merging the Pneumas 合炁 rite, it is obliquely, and clearly the subject is not a primary focus, as it is in the Demon Statutes of Lady Blue precept list.18 Instead, we find a theme already familiar from the Xiang’er Commentary: that restraint in sexual conduct is both good and healthy, promoting the development of the gods within one’s body. The second precept warns about the special danger anger poses to the Daoist, because it can harm both the 17 Zhengyi fawen DZ 787.3b–4b. 18 Cf. Nüqing guilü DZ 788.3/1a–3b. Precepts eighteen and nineteen in this list bear some resemblance to this passage but speak of more serious offenses. Eighteen warns against performing the Merging the Pneumas for too long because of “lusting after sex with a lascivious heart” and nineteen speaks of “bringing down primordial pneumas, lusting after the licentious and enamored of beauty, so that hands and feet never separate throughout the day and night.”

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internal organs on which one’s health depends, but also the spirit soldiers and other supernatural inhabitants of the body, who, disturbed by actions motivated by anger, will report these transgressions and shorten one’s life span. The third precept is a similar warning about the dangers of envy and its influence on the heart’s spirit ruler. The fourth precept is a bit of a jumble, inveighing against drunken behavior but primarily focusing on improper speech acts, including slander, cursing, and even inappropriate conduct toward relatives. The final precept warns against the pursuit of material wealth, a theme picked up elsewhere in the text, where we are assured repeatedly that wealth does not guarantee blessings, nor does poverty exclude one from the merciful concern of the Dao. Although observing the precepts is largely an individual affair, we have also seen that the effects of one’s personal conduct influence the fates of the entire family group, especially including one’s lineal descendants. Similarly, although the reader is warned again and again about the dangers of pursuing wealth and fortune, there is a way for members of the Daoist family to get the things they want and need, just as profane families seek what they desire through blood sacrifice and other deviant rituals. For the Daoist, it depends on familial harmony and shared family virtue, with the entire family united in presenting a petition to the Heavens, as we see in the following passage: If you want those things you desire and beg for, cultivate your person and think about the Dao. The entire household, young and old, should join in a shared intention, then sweep and burn incense so all is pure and immaculate. Then, setting forth all in an announcement, explain what you desire. When the Dao demands submission, what obstacle will not disappear? If you want to obtain that which you desire, you really do not need bribes of gold and silk; you do not need individuals to plead on your behalf; you do not need to use meat and wine to sacrifice and pray. If you just direct your heart to the Dao, you will get it through non-action. If you get whatever it was you wanted, then offer a pledge offering, and a gift object for the spirits who had gained merit (in the ritual). It need not be a lot. But as for those who want to imitate the profane, turning their backs on the Dao to make entreaties and requests, every affair will turn against them.19 若欲所求乞、修身念道。室家大小和同心意、掃除燒香、清淨嚴潔。 然具白開啓、說其所欲。道之降伏，何所不消。若願欲者、實不用金 19 Zhengyi fawen DZ 787.6a–b.

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帛貨賂、不用人事求請、不用酒肉祭禱。直心於道、無爲而自得。得 之隨意、則信、爲鬼立功𧵥物而巳。亦不用多。而欲習効俗人、背道 求請、事事反矣。

Here we see that the counseled non-action includes performing proper Daoist ritual. Requests made through the Dao, as opposed to unruly profane spirits dependent on bloody victuals, result in justified blessings from Heaven. At the root of this ability to demand what you need of the Dao is the harmony and shared piety of the family. This harmony and piety is directed toward the Dao, and they are exhorted to nian 念 the Dao, a word with a range of meanings from “think about” to “dwell upon” to “be concerned for” to “venerate.” This might well have called up in their minds the passage from the earlier pronouncement of 255 CE, “If you have concern for the Dao, the Dao will have concern for you.”20

Conclusion The Code of Teachings and Precepts provides a window unto life in Celestial Master communities of North China during the late fourth or early fifth centuries. When compared with the other texts in the Daozang scripture HY 787, like the “Commands and Precepts of the Great Family of the Dao” or “Yangping Parish,” there is clearly a changed tone. Without the pressure of a looming apocalypse, no longer faced with unknown barriers to becoming a Seed Citizen, we see Daoism taking a more normal, settled form. The text addresses the Daoist community, but without the hellfire and damnation of the earlier texts. The eschatology of the text is not wholly clear, but some sort of accommodation has been reached whereby the faithful can attain to a Daoist existence after death that is not the utopian realm of Great Peace. Indeed, the term Great Peace occurs only once in the text, as the expected result of harmony in the state, a radical departure from earlier Celestial Master texts. What we do find in this text is a mature vision of the Celestial Master path. The author, perhaps a sitting Celestial Master of another age, perhaps still the disembodied, deceased, and apotheosized Celestial Master of the other revelations in the collection, does not condemn the faithful for their failings, but rather encourages them to stick to the Daoist path. The community addressed is relatively poor, perhaps specifically with regard to 20 子念道, 道念子. From the “Commands and Precepts of the Great Daoist Family” 大道家令 戒, later (15a) in the same text. Cf. Bokenkamp, Early Daoist Scriptures, 173.

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more secular Chinese of the period, who could approach profane deities with requests for this-worldly benefits like wealth and success, but the reader is repeatedly assured that the humble offerings of a Daoist petition ritual are just as efficient in attaining what the family needs. The stress, however, is on the internal familial harmony necessary to attain these goals. Only a family united in purpose can hope to be successful in its requests. In this mature Celestial Master Daoism, there is more familiarity with Buddhist terminology, and certain Buddhist terms like jingjin 精進 (striving, from Sanskrit vīrya) occur frequently. Nonetheless, there is no evidence of a Buddhist-inspired transcendence of this dusty realm through the salvific powers of a bodhisattva, nor of a Numinous Jewel type of salvation through refinement of the soul (liandu 鍊度). Moreover, although there are repeated cautions again profane practices like blood sacrifice, there seems to be less tension about interactions with non-believers. Instead, we find a return to the ideas of the Xiang’er Commentary to the Laozi, one of the oldest of Celestial Master documents. The Code of Teachings and Precepts promotes an ethos, based largely on the Xiang’er’s admonitions, of a lifestyle characterized by non-action, here understood to mean a life focused not on the acquisition of material wealth, but rather on harmony between the individual and the family, state, and cosmos. The primary practice of this group is ethical conduct, defined as acting in accord with revealed precepts. This, then, is a true Daoist form on non-action in practice as a guide to everyday life. It is a profoundly Daoist path.

Bibliography Primary Nüqing guilü 女青鬼律DZ 788. Santian neijie jing 三天內解經DZ 1205. Taishang dongxuan lingbao zhonghe jing 太上洞玄靈寶中和經DZ 1120. Xuandu lüwen 玄都律文DZ 187. Zhengyi fawen tianshi jiaojie kejing正一法文天師教戒科經DZ 787.

Secondary Bokenkamp, Stephen R. Early Daoist Scriptures. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1997. Kleeman, Terry. Celestial Masters: History and Ritual in Early Daoist Communities. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2016.

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About the Author Terry Kleeman, Professor Emeritus of Religious Studies at the University of Colorado, Boulder, specializes in medieval Daoism and popular religion. His numerous publications include A God’s Own Tale (1994), Great Perfection: Religion and Ethnicity in a Chinese Millennial Kingdom (1998), and Celestial Masters: History and Ritual in Early Daoist Communities (2016).

8

Shangqing Scriptures as Performative Texts Robert Ford Campany

Abstract Using the Upper Scripture of Purple Texts Inscribed by the Spirits (Huangtian shangqing jingque dijun lingshu ziwen 皇天上清金闕帝君靈書紫文上經) as an example, Campany presents a rhetorical analysis of Shangqing Daoist scriptures. This analysis suggests a new way to see these texts as vehicles or scripts for the performance of an alternative identity as a divinely rejuvenated being or cosmic recluse in the here and now, rather than as promises for future salvation. The chapter fleshes out what that means and what difference it might make in our reading and understanding of these scriptures. Keywords: Shangqing, Daoist religion, performance, religious role-playing, actualization

Introduction Between 364 and 370 CE, deities known as Perfected Ones 真 人 were said to have appeared in visions to the medium Yang Xi 楊羲 and others in what is now southeastern China to give instruction on a wide range of topics.1 Deigning to descend from a hitherto unknown zone of the heavens called Supreme Purity or Shangqing 上清, they dictated to the recipient, who wrote down their words, or else they arrived bearing written scrolls, some of which they allowed to be copied. The resulting texts were shared with 1 Works in the Ming Daoist canon are cited by title and folio page as they appear in the 1926 reprint of Zhengtong daozang 正統道藏 as photo-reduced in the 60-volume edition by Xinwenfeng (Taibei, 1977) and by the number (preceded by DZ) assigned them in TC. When quoting Western-language sources, I have silently converted romanizations into Pinyin.

Raz, Gil and Anna M. Shields (eds): Religion and Poetry in Medieval China. The Way and the Words. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2023 DOI: 10.5117/9789463721172_CH08

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patrons, notably members of the southeastern clan Xu 許. Within a few generations the texts circulated more widely, sometimes imitated and forged by aristocrats seeking the religious and social cachet that simply owning the scriptures could convey. This scriptural profusion prompted the Daoist master Tao Hongjing 陶弘景 around 499 (and another figure named Gu Huan 顧歡 a bit earlier2) to cull what he considered the apocryphal from the thirty-odd authentic scriptures that had survived and to compile other documents, including diary-like records of the Perfected Ones’ appearances in visions and dreams. The larger of these compilations that survives was titled Zhen’gao 真誥 or Declarations of the Perfected. All this is of course well known to scholars of Daoist religion, but few of these writings have been carefully studied or translated in non-Asian-language publications. Yet they constitute one of the most fascinating textual dossiers of world religious history. Here I want to pose the following question: What were Shangqing scriptures for? These texts prescribe a great many practices. The prescriptions certainly do not skimp on detail. Some scholars, notably Isabelle Robinet, have taken these passages at face value, summarizing or translating them and leaving it at that. But can we assume that readers put these instructions into practice, and did so expecting to attain literally the promised results? In short, what was the relationship between the texts’ many detailed prescriptions and actual practice? Were these passages intended as literal instruction, or did they serve some less obvious rhetorical function? Did readers actually follow the instructions? If they did, what can such practices have been like—assuming, as I do, that practitioners did not end up physically flying into outer space? These are difficult questions. And although, thanks to Tao Hongjing, we have diary-like records on all sorts of topics, we do not, to my knowledge, have non-scriptural texts that would provide easy answers. Michel Strickmann offered a way around these interpretive challenges by suggesting that simply possessing scriptures was the decisive thing: Though the motives of a reverent and inspired poet may be clear, as may those of an able and ambitious man of letters, what of their clientèle? The Xu family’s destiny was of course intimately bound up with the Heaven of Shangqing. … Yet in the case of the prospective adept whose 2 On Gu Huan and his Zhenji 真迹 or Traces of the Perfected, a now-lost partial model for Tao’s work, see Strickmann, Le taoïsme du Mao Chan, 12, 64; Strickmann, “On the Alchemy of T’ao Hung-ching,” 140–41; Strickmann, “Mao Shan Revelations,” 31–32, 54–55; and Robinet, La révélation du Shangqing, 1:111–12, 211, and 2:314–15, 320.

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fortunes were not so explicitly writ large in the book of Life, what was so compelling in these scriptures as to make him disburse the considerable sums demanded for their transmission? The … great marketability of such texts might in itself suggest that it was not their contents alone that were essential to the adept’s salvation. Though all these works profess to expound procedures of acknowledged utility in the achievement of this goal, it should already have become clear that the very fact of acquisition and the further blessing of possession were in themselves factors at least as decisive in the destiny of the recipient as was objective mastery of the technical practices which the scriptures contained. All these texts … assured their fortunate reader that certain qualities were prerequisite if he was even so much as to behold them—qualities which were in large part determined by ancestral stocks of merit and which must, by deduction, have already been present in himself. … Ownership of such a scripture guaranteed … the acquisition of an honorable posthumous position … even should the possessor never practice the operations set forth in the text.3

Now scholars had long assumed that doctrines are always the main point in religion and that scriptures are mere doctrine-delivery vehicles. In correctively highlighting the many other uses of canonical texts besides doctrine delivery, Strickmann here anticipated more recent scholarship. 4 But Strickmann’s bracketing of most of what the texts talk about may itself be challenged on two points. First, why prescribe so many practices in such ornate detail, supplying biographies of the gods who revealed them, if the texts’ sole purpose was to assure their possessors of salvation? Wouldn’t simpler works, or even talismans, have sufficed for that purpose? And second, if actually practicing the methods had been seen as irrelevant, then what, in their many songs, were Perfected consorts repeatedly calling their human recipients to do? And why did they so often express frustration at their slowness to do it?5 3 Strickmann, “The Mao Shan Revelations,” 27–28, emphasis added. 4 See, for example, Copp, The Body Incantatory; Jan Yün-hua, “The Power of Recitation”; Campany, “Notes on the Devotional Uses”; and Lowe, Ritualized Writing. In the Shangqing case, such uses include treating scripture copies, once acquired, in ritually specified ways; venerating them; chanting their words; undertaking rituals of purification when preparing to open and read a copy; and receiving copies of the esoteric texts in rituals designed for that purpose. Such rites of transmission, and the restrictions hedging them about, were particularly important in an esoteric tradition such as that of Shangqing, as discussed in Campany, Making Transcendents, 88–129. 5 A signif icant portion of the Shangqing revelations, in both prose and verse, consists of poetic scoldings administered by the Perfected to their intended audience for not being diligent

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I want to suggest a different answer to the question of what these scriptures were for. My answer neither takes at face value the texts’ prescriptions and promised results, on the one hand, nor brackets them as irrelevant, on the other. For this purpose I will discuss one representative Shangqing scripture as an example: the Upper Scripture of Purple Texts Inscribed by the Spirits (Lingshu ziwen),6 which has been translated by Stephen Bokenkamp.7 I will deal only with its first portion, preserved in the Daoist canon as a discrete text (DZ 639), and only partially. Even this small sampling offers sufficient evidence for the general claims I wish to make.

II. Synopsis of Upper Scripture of Purple Texts Inscribed by the Spirits 1. Opening [1a–4a]: The text begins, as do many Daoist (and Buddhist) scriptures, by narrating its own celestial origins: the divine Grand Lord Azure Lad of the Eastern Seas 東海青童大君8 conducts a purification retreat, then calls upon a god of even higher rank, the Sage Lord of the Latter Age 後聖君, one of four Thearch-Lords 帝君 (a rank superior to that of Perfected Person 真人), to request this very scripture. We here learn that the scripture is the same one that the Sage of the Latter Heavens, Lord Li 後聖李君, received and practiced as a young man; that its methods were initially orally transmitted by two Celestial Thearchs 天帝 from the heavens of Jade Purity 玉清;9 that its practices derive from an earlier cosmic era; and that its contents were carefully redacted by gods into a single text incised on jade slats. This fair copy does not leave the Sage Lord’s library. Rather, or urgent enough in their practice. See Bokenkamp, “Declarations of the Perfected,” and Kroll, “Seduction Songs of One of the Perfected.” 6 For background on this text and its circumstances, see Strickmann, “The Mao Shan Revelations”; Strickmann, Le taoïsme du Mao chan, 60–61; Robinet, La révélation du Shangqing, esp. 2:101–10 (providing detailed analysis and comparisons with other texts); Bokenkamp, Early Daoist Scriptures, 275–306; Robinet, Taoism, 114–48; Robinet, Méditation taoïste; Miller, Way of Highest Clarity; Zhang Chaoran, “Liuchao daojiao Shangqing pai cunsifa yanjiu”; Zhang Chaoran, “Xipu, daofa ji qi zhenghe”; Xiao Dengfu, Liuchao daojiao Shangqing pai yanjiu; and Zhong Guofa, Maoshan daojiao Shangqing zong. 7 Bokenkamp, Early Daoist Scriptures, 307–31. Below I rely heavily on, and often quote, Bokenkamp’s excellent translation, but at points I have silently made small emendations, most of which are not flagged in footnotes. 8 On him, see Kroll, “In the Halls of the Azure Lad.” 9 A level of the heavens above that of Supreme Purity or Shangqing. I depart from Bokenkamp in rendering 清 (at least in this sort of context) as “purity” rather than “clarity” and in translating 上清 as Supreme Purity rather than Higher Clarity.

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it is transcribed multiple times by the Tortoise Mother (better known as the Queen Mother of the West 西王母) and the copies handed off to other deities, who store them in other celestial bookcases. It is these copies that are the source of the version transmitted orally from the Sage Lord to the Azure Lad and thence to humanity via Yang Xi. The scripture’s opening also instructs readers how to treat it. It is guarded by jade maidens and lads, who scrutinize persons who come into possession of it and report their transgressions to the powers above, triggering penalties. One must treat the text reverently or it will disappear. Before opening it, one must rise, bow, wash one’s hands, and burn incense. One must not divulge its contents to “those to whom the text is not to be transmitted” 非傳授者. 2. Method for collecting and ingesting the flying root and swallowing solar qi 採飲飛根吞日氣之法 [4a–6b]: A. Face the rising sun and knock your teeth together nine times. Softly pronounce the secret names of the solar cloudsouls 日魂 and five thearchs 五帝, close your eyes, and seal your fists. “Actualize10 the flowing auroras in five colors” 存見五色流霞 from within the sun approaching to receive your body down to your feet. Then actualize these five qi rising to the top of your head. With this, the five-colored flowing auroras of sunlight enter into your mouth. Moreover, within the sunlight auroras there will also be a purple qi, as large as the pupil of your eye, but wrapped in several tens of layers and flashing brilliantly within the five-colored rays of sun. This is called the flying root of solar efflorescence, the jade placenta, mother of water 名之曰 飛根水母.11 Together with the five qi it enters your mouth.” Facing the sun, swallow these auroras, gulping qi forty-nine times. Then swallow saliva nine times, clack your teeth nine times, and softly pronounce12 an invocation: 赤廬丹氣 Cinnabar qi of the vermilion furnace, 圓天育精 Nurturing germs of the orbed heavens: 剛以受柔 … The brittle accepts the pliant. … 日辰元景 The primal phosphors of the solar chronogram 號曰大明 Are called the Grandly Luminous. 10 Throughout, Bokenkamp renders this key verb, cun 存 (and sometimes, as here, the compound cunjian 存見), as “visualize.” I choose to emphasize the multisensoriness of this imaginative scene-creation, on which more will be said below. 11 On this “jade placenta”—which does not appear in Lingshu ziwen as evidenced in DZ 639 but which does appear in citations of this passage and in parallel passages elsewhere—see Bokenkamp, Early Daoist Scriptures, 305n23. 12 Throughout, these sotto voce incantations are termed yinzhou 陰呪 or weizhou 微呪.

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九陽齊化 二煙俱生 凝魂和魄 五氣之精 中生五帝 乘光御形 採飛以虛 輟根得盈 … 賜書玉簡 金閣刻名 飲食朝華 與真合靈 飛仙太微 上昇紫庭

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Their ninefold yang coordinates transformation, As the two smoky vapors issue forth To congeal my cloudsouls and harmonize my whitesouls. From within the germs of the five qi The Five Thearchs emerge, Riding on beams, controlling my bodily form. I grasp the flying [root] by means of emptiness, Pluck the root to achieve fullness. … I am presented a writ on jade slats. The Golden Porte inscribes my name. Consuming the flowers of dawn, I join in spirit with the Perfected, Fly in transcendence to Grand Tenuity, Rise above to the Purple Court.

Face the sun and bow repeatedly. B. Characterizations of this method: It is secret and rare. Only very few perfected ones or transcendents know the secret names of the solar cloudsouls; this method is unheard of by the masses. As for its effects, grainrenouncing, forest-dwelling Daoists living in purity apart from concerns for human affairs 若道士休粮山林長齋五嶽絕塵人間遠思清真者 on beginning to do this practice daily “will immediately notice their bodies exuding jade fluids and their faces emitting glowing light” 立覺體生玉澤 面有流光也. Those “still involved in external human affairs” 其外累人事 will realize comparable results only after eighteen years. C. Another component of the method, involving writing a talisman 符 in red on blue paper at midnight, saying an incantation announcing the arrival of the solar cloudsouls, then swallowing the talisman. 3. Method for collecting and swallowing the yin flower and swallowing lunar essence 採飲陰華吞月精之法 [6b–8b]: This section closely parallels the previous one. I here provide only part of the incantation the practitioner is to say as he completes the actualizations: 黃清玄暉 Mystic gleam, yellow and clear, 元陰上氣 Highest qi of primal yin, 散蔚寒歛 Scatter in profusion your chill whirlwinds, 條靈歛胃 ... Ordering spirits to gather in my stomach. … 赤子飛入 The fetus flies in. 嬰兒續至 The newborn babe gradually emerges.

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廻陰三合 光玄萬方 和魂制魄 … 賜書玉札 刻名雲房 飲食月華 與真合同 飛仙紫微 上朝太皇

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The circling yin joins thrice, Its beams mystically darkening in all directions. I pacify my cloudsouls, control my whitesouls. … I am presented with writings and jade slips. My name is inscribed in the cloudy chambers. I now feed on the lunar efflorescences, Thereby joining with the Perfected. I fly as a transcendent to Purple Tenuity, Paying court there to the Grand Luminaries.

In the ensuing remarks we again find two tiers of practitioners: “Those who daily practice this method will immediately notice their bodies exuding gleaming beams of light and their eyesight filled with flying essences” 立覺 體生光照目有飛精也, while those who choose to remain in office and do this practice occasionally will see their cloudsouls and whitesouls refined only after eighteen years. 4. Method for securing the three cloudsouls 拘三魂之法 [8b–9b]: On the third, thirteenth, and twenty-third nights of each month one’s cloudsouls tend to roam, spelling trouble for the practitioner. To secure them, lie facing upward. Close your eyes and block your breath for the space of three normal breaths, clacking your teeth three times. “Actualize vermilion qi the size of a chicken’s egg coming from your heart and rising to emerge from between your eyes. After it emerges … this vermilion qi will flow all over the body to the top of your head. It becomes fire. Once the body is fully encircled, cause the fire to penetrate your body as if it were igniting charcoal. You should feel slightly hot internally. Again clack your teeth three times and, actualizing them, call the three cloudsouls by name, telling them to stay put.” Softly incant: 太微玄官 Mysterious officers of Grand Tenuity 中黃始青 Central Yellow and Inaugural Green 內鍊三魂 [Now] refine within my three cloudsouls 胎光安寧 So that Embryo Light is at rest, 神寶玉室 A spirit treasure in the jade chamber. 與我俱生 They all dwell within me 不得妄動 And are not permitted to move around blindly. 鑒者太靈 Overseeing them, the Grand Spirit. 若欲飛行 Should they wish to fly about 唯得詣太極上清 They are allowed only to visit Grand Bourne or Supreme Purity.

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若欲饑渴 Should they become hungry or thirsty 徊水玉精 They are allowed only Jade Essence of Swirling Solution.

5. Method for controlling the seven whitesouls 制七魄之法 [9b–11a]: This section closely parallels the previous one. I here quote only the incantation: 素氣九囘 With elemental qi nine times wound 制魄邪凶 I control the perverse ferocity of the whitesouls. 天獸守門 Celestial beasts guard the gates, 嬌女執關 Enchanting maidens hold the passes. 鍊魄和柔 They refine the whitesouls to passive compliance, 與我相安 Granting me peace and calm. 不得妄動 You [whitesouls] are not to engage in reckless movement! 看察形源 They keep watch over the source of your shapes. 若汝饑渴 If you hunger or thirst, 聽飲月黃日丹 You are permitted to ingest [only] Lunar Yellow and Solar Cinnabar.

6. Bodily locations and secret names of the Three Primes 三元 and their palaces, as well as of the Peach Child; method for actualizing them [11a– 12b]: These are here introduced because the Three Primes are to be invoked first when securing the cloudsouls and whitesouls by the methods above. The names of the upper, central, and lower primes are provided, along with the locations of their respective inner palaces (in the forehead or Muddy Pellet 泥丸, the heart or Scarlet Chamber 絳房, and a site three inches below the navel, the Lower Prime Cinnabar Field 下元丹田). Furthermore, the text specifies that the Gate of Destiny 命門 is the navel and the Mystic Pass 玄關 is the passageway which joined the placenta to the adept’s viscera when he was first born. Within this passageway is the Palace of Life 生宮, and residing in it is “the Grand Sovereign named Peach Child” 大君名 桃康, of whom a description is given. The three cloudsouls stand at his side in attendance. He holds a talisman bearing an image of the Taiwei Celestial Thearch 太微天帝君 “with which he mixes and pours primal qi to replenish the fetus and restore the placenta” 以合注元氣 補胎反胞. The method: when lying down at night, stop breathing for a space of twenty-four breaths while silently incanting the names of the Grand Sovereign. Swallow saliva fifty times, clack the teeth thrice, and softly incant:

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胎靈大神 皇綱天君 手執胞符 首冠紫冠 黃迴赤轉 上精命門 化神反生 六合相因 形骸光澤 玉女棲身

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The great spirit of fetal numinousness, Celestial Lord of the Resplendent Mainstay, Holds in his hands the placental talisman, His head capped in purple. He cycles the yellow and the red As he elevates essence through the Gate of Destiny, Transforming my spirits and giving me life.13 The Bureau of the Six Courses relies on him. My skeletal frame gleams and glistens, And Jade Maidens lodge in my body.

If you do this for eighteen years, you will ascend to heaven in broad daylight by virtue of the actions of the Peach Child within you. A talisman-based method is then given: one writes the talisman (its design provided) in vermilion on green paper, swallowing it at midnight on the nights of the new and full moon. The talisman, bearing the image of the Taiwei Celestial Thearch, is thereby presented to the Peach Child, prompting him to “mix the primal qi from on high, arrange the placenta, and transport essence” 合 元上氣理胞運精.” The swallowing is preceded by an incantation: 天帝玄書 皇象靈符 以合元氣 運精反胞 萬年嬰孩 飛仙天樞 生宮大君 披丹建朱 首戴紫蓉 與我同謀

This mystic writing of the Celestial Thearch, Numinous talisman bearing his image, [Directs you] to mix the primal qi, Transport essence, and restore the placenta. The ten-thousand-year newborn Flies as a transcendent to the Heavenly Pivot. You, Great Lord of the Palace of Life, Robed in cinnabar and draped in vermilion, Wearing on your head the purple lotus [cap], Are to work together with me to this end.

7. A closing section specifies dietary restrictions (no eating of full-blooded creatures, no cooking of domestic animals or fur-bearing animals, no eating 13 As Bokenkamp notes (Early Daoist Scriptures, 328n), “The cycling of the yellow and red refers to the practice of ‘merging qi’ to perfect the essences, the sexual rite of the Celestial Masters. Here the whole procedure is accomplished immaculately within the body.” In other words, a result accomplished in what counted as “normal,” mainstream Daoism at the time via controversial, sexassociated ritual is here achieved within the adept’s divinized body. On the controversial “merging of qi” (heqi 合氣) ritual, see Raz, “The Way of the Yellow and the Red”; Kleeman, “The Performance and Significance of the Merging the Pneumas (Heqi) Rite”; and Kleeman, Celestial Masters, 158–74.

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of onions or other strong-smelling herbs), the rationale for which is that these prohibited practices and ingredients “attack and disturb the fetal qi and injure the newborn spirits with their stench.”14 It also criticizes the ritualized sexual methods of both the Celestial Masters and practitioners of bedchamber arts: adepts with access to the methods outlined here have no need of those dangerous practices with a female partner.

III. Text, Practices, Reader-Practitioner, and World: A Rhetorical Sketch To lay the groundwork for my main argument (next section), I here provide a rudimentary rhetorical analysis of how the text works. We can understand its rhetorical self-positioning by considering the interrelationships among four elements: text prescribed readerpractices practitioner surrounding socio-religious environment and divine cosmos Text and practices. Any religious text issuing prescriptions needs ways of investing them with authority in readers’ eyes. Here, the instructions are textually framed in several ways, each of which lends them weight. The text’s opening story of its own origin endows it, and its contents, with an impressive divine pedigree. The deities mentioned would have been recognizable to early readers. Additionally, the text promises striking results to those who come into possession of it and practice its methods. In short, the prescribed practices are claimed potent because of their promised results for the reader-practitioner and because of their divine pedigree. The text has a sacred history, and it argues that its recommendations carry the weight of that history. It is not a neutral container of instructions, much less of doctrines. 14 These dietary and anti-sacrificial strictures, common to other Daoisms at the time, served in part to differentiate practitioners from those of the popular religion surrounding them. See Campany, Making Transcendents, 39–87.

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Text and reader-practitioner. That the reader had licitly accessed the text promises—performs—his future divine status, as Strickmann saw. The text pulls the reader into a mutually beneficial relationship: beneficial to the scripture in that it helped ensure its transmission in a world where manuscripts were easily lost or corrupted, and to the reader as a vehicle for becoming divine. The scripture instructs on how to ritually treat it—actions that perform its “special” status vis-à-vis other texts.15 The esoteric paradigm—that is, the text’s injunction to keep its contents secret and transmit it only to a small number of authorized individuals—again binds text to reader, fencing them off together against the outside socio-textual environment.16 The texts’ authorizations of itself and of its reader are two sides of the same coin. The more the text invests its reader-possessor with authority, the more it also undergirds its own. The more power it is perceived to have, the more power accrues to those who possess it. The scripture thus effects a mutually authorizing compact with its reader-possessorpractitioners. Neither the practices, nor the text, nor the practitioners stand alone: each is constituted as what it is by its relation to the others. The text and its surrounding environments. The text’s provision of its divine pedigree, and its repeated injunctions to secrecy, argue that it should be deemed superior to non-Shangqing texts and practices. Its self-proclaimed secrecy creates distance between itself and non-esoteric texts, just as its methods create distance between the reader-possessor and other people. On the other hand, the scripture’s divine lineage connects it to a whole hierarchy of divine beings and other texts. The reader-possessor is linked through the scripture to that hierarchy as well. And although the text portrays itself as a pristine emanation from the higher heavens, its disparagements of its closest religious others—including run-of-the-mill sexual practices aimed at longevity, the quest for transcendence, and the Celestial Master “merging qi”—betray its makers’ keen awareness of contemporary repertoires of practice.

IV. Performing an Alternative Identity in Real Time I come now to my main argument. We notice an intriguing tension in this and similar texts when it comes to what the reader-practitioner may expect. 15 On “specialness” as a marker of religious/sacred status, see Taves, Religious Experience Reconsidered. These ritual actions, rather than acknowledging the text’s already-instinct sacrality, help create it. 16 On this esoteric paradigm, see Campany, Making Transcendents, 88–129.

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On the one hand, promises of the eventual attainment of Perfected status are sprinkled throughout. On the other hand, the most characteristic modes of practice seem, upon scrutiny, to involve realizing the projected goal in the present. Scholars have focused on these texts’ promises of eventual Perfected status. Such promises appear often, as we have seen. The time spans are often long—in the Purple Texts, eighteen years for those lingering in officialdom. And the arduousness of self-cultivation did not stop at death but extended into the afterlife portrayed in other Shangqing texts.17 But what if we were to reimagine Shangqing as, in part, a repertoire of “sudden” practices, akin less to the many-lifetimes-long bodhisattva path or the gradual Celestial Master ascent through gradations of rank than to the famous line delivered by Huineng 惠能 in the Platform Sutra (Fatan jing 法壇經), ji foxing shi fo 即佛行是佛, “Buddha-practice is itself Buddha”?18 What if the practices’ biggest payoff was not the promised eventual goal but the experience of doing them in the present, with concomitant modifications of the practitioner’s sense of his place in society and the cosmos?19 I think it would be productive to think of Shangqing scriptures as scripts for the performance—in the here-and-now—of a new role, an esoteric identity. Thinking of Shangqing scriptures in this way allows us to solve the conundrum posed near the opening of this chapter: it explains why, if merely possessing scriptures sufficed to guarantee eventual salvation, the texts nevertheless prescribe the sorts of practices they do in such detail, and why the Perfected insisted so strongly that their human interlocutors get with the divine program forthwith. What then can we say about the roles prescribed in these scriptures and the scripts for performing them? In the Purple Texts, the role performed can be summarily described as that of a divinely rejuvenated being, a Perfected One among other such 17 For an example, see Campany, “The Sword Scripture,” 62–63. 18 From the Dunhuang manuscript (Stein 5475) as transcribed in Yampolsky, Platform Sutra, p. 22 of the Chinese text. My translation differs slightly from that of Yampolsky, 168. 19 Robinet suggested something similar in a passing remark made only, to my knowledge, in the afterword to the English edition (1993) of her pioneering Méditation taoïste (1979): “In the religion of Great Purity, the adept can become a cosmic being made of light. The texts constantly give him an auspicious omen of this destiny and his practice is directed toward this conclusion. Gradually in the course of time, we see that, in the Lingbao texts, the luminous and cosmic qualities of the immortal are only the prerogative of the dead or the deities. The adept is robbed of the hope for the personal attainment of immortality and transfiguration…. The religion of Shangqing is a religion of the immediate present, of presence, and of epiphany. It is not a religion of promise, of waiting, or of eschatology.” See Robinet, Taoist Meditation, 229–30.

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august personages, containing within his body various divine powers he performatively summons to dwell there. This staggering audacity is typical of Shangqing texts. Other scriptures add dimensions onto this central role, such as that of cosmocrator as prescribed in the Scripture of the Rules [Written on] Purple [Tablets], Book of Blazing Light, [Created by] Transformation from the Divine Mystery (Zidu yanguang shen[xuan] bian jing 紫度炎光神 [玄]變 經, DZ 1332),20 or that of cosmic recluse, as enabled by the Shangqing update of “escape by means of a simulated corpse” (shijie 尸解) offered in the Sword Scripture for practitioners reluctant to take up a divine administrative post.21 How was this role performed? The key activities were of three sorts, plugged modularly into various Shangqing practice sequences: cun 存, imaginative actualization; zhu 祝, the pronouncement of invocations; and the writing and deployment of talismans 符. These are all well known, but their performative character has not, I think, been appreciated. In actualization, the practitioner imagines a scene in great sensory detail, inserting himself into it or absorbing it into himself in real time.22 In invocation and in the deployment of talismans, the practitioner declares the goal as being reached in the present moment. Actualization (cun 存) was not just “visualization,” for the subject’s entire store of bodily experience and sensorimotor capabilities were brought into play. Actualization is performative in the basic sense that he is carrying out a deliberate, scripted action sequence, but also in that he is not requesting to be elevated to the role of divine being at some future point: he performs that role during the practice. He inserts himself into the scene he constructs, or inserts 20 The practice termed “summoning nothingness” (zhao wu 招无, 2b–7a) prescribed in this scripture allows the adept to see to the extremes in the five directions, discerning the mountains, flowers, flora and fauna, and barbarian peoples of each as clearly as if he were present there. The practitioner sees the officer of the sacred peak of each direction arrive, accompanied by loud processional music, bringing a sweet-tasting liquor (containing the essence of the outlying zone from which it comes) that he swallows. Later (27b–33a) there is a method for visualizing and ingesting the essences of the five directions, brought as tribute from the distant zones by five jade lads and jade maidens. This scripture may not have numbered among those revealed to Yang Xi, and Tao Hongjing expressed doubts about its authenticity: see Robinet, La révélation du Shangqing, 2:97–100, and TTC, 153–54. 21 See Campany, “The Sword Scripture.” 22 Previous studies of actualization in early medieval China include Robinet, “Visualization and Ecstatic Flight”; Robinet, Méditation taoïste; Timothy Wai Keung Chan, “Yixiang feixiang”; Tian Xiaofei, “Seeing with the Mind’s Eye”; and Lee Fong-mao, “Youguan yu neijing.” It should not be thought that visualization was unique to Shangqing practice: for a few examples see Campany, To Live as Long as Heaven and Earth, 54; Harrison, Pratyutpanna Samādhi Sutra; Inagaki, Sutra on Contemplation of Amitāyus; and Greene, “Visions and Visualizations.”

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it into himself, temporarily assuming a role in a cosmic drama.23 He acts by turns as spectator to a scene he fashions and as part of that scene—often eventually playing the key role in it, with others now becoming the witnessing audience. At the same time that he takes on the role, he also observes himself doing so; “reflexivity is the act of becoming an audience to oneself.”24 Although the practitioner assumes this cosmic role in private, he does so before an audience of divine others on a cosmic stage. They do not just observe but also interact with him, even taking up residence within him, becoming part of his being. He is aware of their presence before him and aware, too, of himself standing before and welcoming them. “Performance is always performance for someone, some audience that recognizes and validates it as performance even when, as is occasionally the case, that audience is the self.”25 As with any ritual, this one constitutes a temporary as-if space. Within it, the practitioner acts as if he were a divine being, when the whole point is that, outside the frame, he is not, and knows he is not. It is a performance in the subjunctive mode. Practicing the method in the Purple Texts did not make one a deity in any final, ontological sense. But, in self-conscious contrast to the practitioner’s everyday roles, it allowed him to act as one within the frame. As has been said of ritual generally, it “should … be understood as working precisely out of the incongruity of the subjunctive of ritual and the actual world of lived experience.”26 As for invocation and the deployment of talismans (accompanied by more invocations), these are where we see performativity in the narrower sense noted by linguistic philosopher J. L. Austin in the 1960s27 and developed by subsequent theorists from John Searle to Judith Butler: they are acts of speech and writing that produce what they name. They do not simply represent states of affairs but also bring them about, or claim to.28 Here, unlike a wedding ceremony or christening, the enactment is repeated and sustained, not a one-time affair, and there is no social ratification—no 23 Or, to adopt the language of Victor Turner, a cosmic social drama—social in several respects. See Turner, From Ritual to Theatre, 61–123. 24 James MacAloon, quoted in Sullivan, “Sound and Senses,” 13. 25 Carlson, Performance, 5. 26 Seligman, Weller, Puett, and Simon, Ritual and its Consequences, 27. 27 First, in fact, in the William James Lectures at Harvard in 1955, published in 1962 as How to Do Things with Words. 28 See Butler, Excitable Speech, and Butler, “Critically Queer.” In her gendered account of performativity, unlike the accounts given by Austin and Searle (in the latter’s Speech Acts), performance is necessarily reiterative.

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intersubjective confirmation outside the practitioner’s own experience—of what is declared to have been achieved.29 The invocations are performative in the Butlerian sense that they do not express an already-formed identity interior to the practitioner but instead repeatedly fashion a new identity in words and imagination, supported by a new social and cosmic surround (the gods who witness and participate in the action sequences) and by the many promises and acknowledgments made in the scripture. Crucially, these invocations lack modal verbs such as yuan 願 (“I wish…” or “May it be that…”) of the sort often found in prayers and vows. Incantations are of a different genre. The speaker does not request a future outcome. He declares his actions and status in the present moment: “I do this, I am that.” Similarly, talismans are not requests or prayers but commands that the practitioner performatively declares himself authorized to make.30 We might wonder what effects such practice had on the practitioner, both within and beyond the frame of practice. The answer must be suppositional, since (with an important exception discussed below) our texts offer no straightforward evidence on this question. In light of recent cognitive science studies, Shangqing actualization appears not as some exotic mystery but as an intensification of perception.31 Simple visualization exercises measurably enhance performance of tasks (or hinder it, depending on what is visualized).32 “False memories were more likely in cases when individuals were instructed to imagine events in great sensory detail,”33 suggesting why we find such a rich sensorium in Shangqing texts: the greater the detail, the more real-seeming the experience. “The more times someone imagines an event, the more likely he or she will be to say that he or she has indeed experienced the event. … Visually imagining an event from a first-person (own) perspective leads to greater imagination inflation than imagining from a third-person (observer) perspective.”34 Mentally enacting an event becomes hard to distinguish from the event’s actual occurrence, at least from the enactor’s point of view. 29 This point needs qualification, but space does not permit me to expand on it here. 30 On the rhetorical nature of talismans, see Campany, To Live as Long as Heaven and Earth, 61–69. 31 This point is argued in Noë, Action in Perception. Suggestive comments relevant to visualization may be found in Damasio, The Feeling of What Happens, 168–94. 32 “People who mentally simulated lifting a heavy object reported being able to lift more weight than did participants in the no-simulation condition,” etc. See Gibbs, Embodiment, 126–28, for this and other examples. 33 Gibbs, Embodiment, 148. 34 Gibbs, Embodiment, 148. “Imagination inflation” is the tendency to think imagined past events really happened as imagined.

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The human mirror-neuron system is one source of actualization’s power. “If I observe you tearing a sheet of paper, there will be a weak and partial activation in my motor cortex, just as if I were tearing the paper myself. … This mirroring capacity extends even to merely imagining that one is performing an action.”35 “Imagining certain motor actions activates some of the same parts of the brain that are involved in actually performing that action. Imagining a visual scene also activates areas of the brain that would be activated if we actually perceived that scene.”36 At the level brain activity, imagining oneself ascending to celestial palaces, say, seems not to differ in kind from ascending physically, if that were possible. Cognitive studies also document the emotional effects of imagined or hypothetical scenarios. (Presumably the divine beings who appeared would not have been seen as merely hypothetical to most Shangqing practitioners.37 Yet they were imaginatively constructed during the practice, rather than being experienced independently of the practitioner’s own mental activity.)38 A study of lottery players found that, despite being fully aware of the impossibly long odds, after the drawing they had symptoms like those of people who have suffered severe losses, such as destruction of a house or loss of a parent. The interpretation given … was that in the [time] between the purchase of the ticket and the drawing for the winner, these victims had fantasized, … wittingly or not, about what they would do upon winning. … The actual drawing made them lose everything they had acquired in the fantasy world. … The fantasy world seems to have had profound effects on the psychological reality of the real world, given that the patients had no delusions about the odds of winning, and said so clearly.39

This helps us appreciate the emotionally empowering effect Shangqing role-playing may have had on adepts, as well as the depression that may

35 Johnson, Meaning of the Body, 40. 36 Johnson, Meaning of the Body, 162; cf. Modell, Imagination, 183. 37 On the other hand, a binary like “belief/non-belief” surely fails to capture the complexity of individuals’ relations to the claims made in scriptures like this one and to what they experienced (or didn’t experience) in their practices. See Campany, Making Transcendents, 259–63. 38 See the discussion of “agency shift” below for subtle ways in which the wording of the text may have been engineered to enhance the sense that the imagined Perfected Ones existed and possessed agency independent of the practitioner’s. 39 Fauconnier and Turner, The Way We Think, 231.

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have descended on them as the gap between their status in the two worlds widened. But we should not conclude that practitioners were living completely in their self-created alternate realities. For human cognition is deeply modular. We are equipped with the ability to “see ‘as if’”40 or “run multiple conceptions simultaneously.”41 The performance model of practice again helps us here. One could, in theory, have simultaneously performed the roles of terrestrial bureaucrat and cosmic deity, entailing a capacity to maintain a frame around the latter activity—although the Purple Texts warns that such dual commitment greatly lengthens the time needed. 42 One was to do the practices only at designated times and in a chamber set aside for the task. And one did so in conscious incongruity with one’s everyday roles. Three particular somatic processes were used as framing devices marking the ensuing actions as special: counting a certain number of breaths, swallowing saliva or breath a certain number of times, and clacking the teeth. These normal bodily acts thus became markers of phases in action sequences. 43 The text itself helped create the “reality effect”44 in the practitioner’s experience. It did so by means of what I call agency shift, a subtle rhetorical device whereby, after the practitioner has set a scene in motion, aspects of it are textually described in ways implying their own agency. For example, one begins by imagining a cloud of qi of a certain size (“as big as a small bean”) and color (white). But next we read that “after a while” this cloud “will gradually enlarge to cover your body in nine layers,” then “will suddenly change into celestial beasts.” There is a shift of grammatical subject and of the textually depicted agent. The rhetorical effect is to soft-pedal the practitioner’s awareness of himself as the maker of the scene, enhancing the feeling that some events occur on their own. 45 In this way the Shangqing scriptures, as texts, approach a kind of performativity themselves. 40 Slingerland, What Science Offers, 182–84. 41 Fauconnier and Turner, The Way We Think, 232. 42 I suspect that it does so precisely as an unsubtle rhetorical device meant to urge the initial readers of these texts to abandon their off icial duties (and families) as soon as possible. See Campany, “The Sword Scripture,” 79–83. 43 On somatic and ritual framing, see Handelman, “Framing.” 44 A concept I borrow from Greenblatt (Learning to Curse, 19–20), who borrowed it from Roland Barthes. 45 Eric Greene (“Visions and Visualizations”) notes that while the English “visualization” stresses the active elements of such practices (for complex reasons having to do with the history of spiritualism and Theosophy and the writings of Francis Galton, a cousin of Charles Darwin), with the practitioner as the sole agent, some key early medieval Buddhist texts stress the multivalence of agency, with phenomena often appearing to—not being mentally constructed

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In all these respects, doing the practices must have invested the practitioner with an expanded, alternate identity. What he was engaged in can be seen as an elaborate play-acting before an imagined audience of divine others—the construction and presentation of self in socio-cosmic life. 46 How would such practice have affected the practitioner’s relations to other people, his performance of social roles he was expected to play? Clearly, the more the practitioner performed the roles laid out in scriptures, the less engaged he was in his roles in this world: son, father, descendant, husband, official. A wedge was gradually driven between him and his normal social environs, not least his own family. The Perfected persistently encouraged their interlocutors to leave those environs as soon as possible. This was the central tension of Shangqing practice. We have no more richly documented instance of it than that of Zhou Ziliang 周子良 as illuminated in Records of Master Zhou’s Communications with the Unseen (Zhoushi mingtong ji 周氏冥通記, DZ 302). His case does differ in that he was receiving face-to-face visits from certain of the Perfected, not just following scriptural instructions.47 But that only intensified the tensions among the young man’s conflicting identities. While he played the roles of dutiful son, nephew, and disciple, the Perfected were summoning him to a much more exalted role. Over eighteen months he increasingly withdrew from his roles in this world to prepare for, and finally one December afternoon claim in full, his promised role in the other. An elixir was his way out. This exit-by-elixir was a different mode of subitism, but it was one for which his visionary practice constructing an alternate identity had primed him.

Conclusion Seeing central components of Shangqing practice as imaginative role-playing in the here-and-now might help us grasp some of the force of this esoteric religion and one of its scriptures’ main functions. For twelve decades, writers in the tradition of Emile Durkheim, Marcel Mauss, and Henri Hubert have spoken of culture and religion as a sort of “world-making,” a “social construction of by—the practitioner. The texts seldom specify just what causal relationship exists between the actualizing done by the practitioner and the things seen in the course of practice. We can add the Shangqing scriptures to the list of early medieval texts exhibiting this feature. 46 To play upon the title and central conceit of Erving Goffman’s The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. 47 See the introduction and partial translation in Bokenkamp, “Answering a Summons.”

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reality.” In Shangqing we have a spectacular example of how this worked. If the solitary, imagined performance of divine roles does not strike us as enough to build a religion on, and if providing scripts for such performance does not seem a sufficient purpose for scriptures, perhaps the reason is that our models of how religion works have not yet approached the complexity, imaginative exuberance, and experiential power of a religion like Shangqing as it was lived by early practitioners and shaped by brilliant writers of prose and verse.

Bibliography Austin, J. L. How to Do Things with Words. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1962. Bokenkamp, Stephen R. “Answering a Summons.” In Religions of China in Practice, edited by D. S. Lopez, Jr., 188–202. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1996. Bokenkamp, Stephen R. “Declarations of the Perfected.” In Religions of China in Practice, edited by D. S. Lopez, Jr., 166–79. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1996. Bokenkamp, Stephen R. Early Daoist Scriptures. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997. Butler, Judith. “Critically Queer.” GLQ: A Journal of Lesbian and Gay Studies 1 (1993): 17–32. Butler, Judith. Excitable Speech: A Politics of the Performative. London: Routledge, 1997. Campany, Robert Ford. “Notes on the Devotional Uses and Symbolic Functions of Sutra Texts as Depicted in Early Chinese Buddhist Miracle Tales and Hagiographies.” Journal of the International Association of Buddhist Studies 14 (1991): 28–72. Campany, Robert Ford. To Live as Long as Heaven and Earth: A Translation and Study of Ge Hong’s Traditions of Divine Transcendents. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002. Campany, Robert Ford. Making Transcendents: Ascetics and Social Memory in Early Medieval China. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2009. Campany, Robert Ford. “The Sword Scripture: Recovering and Interpreting a Lost 4th-Century Daoist Method for Cheating Death.” Daoism: Religion, History and Society 6 (2014): 33–84. Carlson, Marvin. Performance: A Critical Introduction. 2nd ed. New York: Routledge, 2004. Chan, Timothy Wai Keung 陳偉強. “Yixiang feixiang: Shangqing dadongjing suo shu zhi cunsi xiulian” 意象飛翔： 《上清大洞真經》所述之存思修煉. Zhongguo wenhua yanjiu xuebao 中國文化研究所學報 53 (2011): 217–48.

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Copp, Paul. The Body Incantatory: Spells and the Ritual Imagination in Medieval Chinese Buddhism. New York: Columbia University Press, 2014. Damasio, Antonio. The Feeling of What Happens: Body and Emotion in the Making of Consciousness. New York: Harcourt Brace, 1999. Fauconnier, Gilles, and Mark Turner. The Way We Think: Conceptual Blending and the Mind’s Hidden Complexities. New York: Basic Books, 2002. Gibbs, Raymond W., Jr. Embodiment and Cognitive Science. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. Goffman, Erving. The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. New York: Anchor, 1959. Greenblatt, Stephen. Learning to Curse: Essays in Early Modern Culture. 2nd ed. New York: Routledge, 2007. Greene, Eric M. “Visions and Visualizations: In Fifth-Century Chinese Buddhism and Nineteenth-Century Experimental Psychology.” History of Religions 55 (2016): 289–328. Handelman, Don. “Framing.” In Theorizing Rituals: Issues, Topics, Approaches, Concepts, edited by J. Kreinath, J. Snock, and M. Stausberg, 571–82. Leiden: E. J. Brill, 2006. Harrison, Paul, trans. The Pratyutpanna Samādhi Sutra. Berkeley, CA: Numata Center for Buddhist Translation and Research, 1998. Inagaki Hisao, trans. The Sutra on Contemplation of Amitāyus. Berkeley: Numata Center for Buddhist Translation and Research, 1995. Jan Yün-hua. “The Power of Recitation: An Unstudied Aspect of Chinese Buddhism.” Studi storico religiosi 1 (1977): 289–99. Johnson, Mark. The Meaning of the Body: Aesthetics of Human Understanding. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007. Kleeman, Terry F. “The Performance and Significance of the Merging the Pneumas (Heqi) Rite in Early Daoism.” Daoism: Religion, History & Society 6 (2014): 85–112 Kleeman, Terry F. Celestial Masters: History and Ritual in Early Daoist Communities. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2016. Kroll, Paul W. “In the Halls of the Azure Lad.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 105 (1985): 75–94. Kroll, Paul W. “Seduction Songs of One of the Perfected.” In Religions of China in Practice, edited by D. S. Lopez, Jr., 180–87. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1996. Lee Fong-mao 李豐楙. “Youguan yu neijing” 遊觀與內景. In Inner Landscape Visualized: Techniques of the Body in Medieval Chinese Literature and Religion 遊觀－－作為身體技藝的中古文學與宗教, edited by Liu Yuan-ju 劉苑如, 222–56. Taipei: Zhongyanyuan wenzhesuo, 2009. Lowe, Bryan D. Ritualized Writing: Buddhist Practice and Scriptural Cultures in Ancient Japan. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2017.

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Miller, James. The Way of Highest Clarity: Nature, Vision and Revelation in Medieval China. Magdalena, NM: Three Pines Press, 2008. Modell, Arnold H. Imagination and the Meaningful Brain. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2003. Noë, Alva. Action in Perception. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2004. Raz, Gil. “The Way of the Yellow and the Red: Re-examining the Sexual Initiation Rite of Celestial Master Daoism.” Nannü 10 (2008): 86–120; Robinet, Isabelle. Méditation taoïste. Paris: Dervy Livres, 1979. Robinet, Isabelle. La révélation du Shangqing dans l’histoire du taoïsme. 2 vols. Paris: Ecole Française d’Extrême-Orient, 1984. Robinet, Isabelle. “Visualization and Ecstatic Flight in Shangqing Taoism.” In Taoist Meditation and Longevity Techniques, edited by Livia Kohn, 159–92. Ann Arbor: Center for Chinese Studies, University of Michigan, 1989. Robinet, Isabelle. Taoist Meditation: The Mao-shan Tradition of Great Purity, translated by Julian Pas and Norman Girardot. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1993. Robinet, Isabelle. Taoism: Growth of a Religion, translated by Phyllis Brooks. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1997. Searle, John. Speech Acts: An Essay in the Philosophy of Language. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1969. Seligman, Adam B., Robert P. Weller, Michael J. Puett, and Bennett Simon. Ritual and its Consequences: An Essay on the Limits of Sincerity. New York: Oxford University Press, 2008. Slingerland, Edward. What Science Offers the Humanities: Integrating Body and Culture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008. Strickmann, Michel. “The Mao Shan Revelations: Taoism and the Aristocracy.” T’oung Pao 63 (1977): 1–64. Strickmann, Michel. “On the Alchemy of T’ao Hung-ching.” In Facets of Taoism: Essays in Chinese Religion, edited by Holmes Welch and Anna Seidel, 123–92. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1979. Strickmann, Michel. Le taoïsme du Mao chan: Chronique d’une revelation. Paris: Collège de France, Institut des Hautes Études Chinoises, 1981. Sullivan, Lawrence E. “Sound and Senses: Toward a Hermeneutics of Performance.” History of Religions 26 (1986): 1–33. Taves, Ann. Religious Experience Reconsidered: A Building-Block Approach to the Study of Religion and Other Special Things. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2009. Tian Xiaofei 田曉菲. “Seeing with the Mind’s Eye: The Eastern Jin Discourse of Visualization and Imagination.” Asia Major 3rd ser. 18 (2005): 67–102. Turner, Victor. From Ritual to Theatre: The Human Seriousness of Play. New York: PAJ Publications, 1982.

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Xiao Dengfu 蕭登福. Liuchao daojiao Shangqingpai yanjiu 六朝道教上清派研究. Taipei: Wenjin chubanshe, 2005. Yamposky, Philip B. The Platform Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch. New York: Columbia University Press, 1967. Zhang Chaoran 張超然. “Liuchao daojiao Shangqingpai cunsifa yanjiu” 六朝道 教上清派存思法研究. MA thesis, Zhengzhi University, 1999. Zhang Chaoran 張超然. “Xipu, jiaofa ji qi zhenghe: Dong Jin nanchao daojiao Shangqing jingpaide jichu yanjiu” 系譜，教法及其整合：東晉南朝道教上清 經派的基礎研究. PhD diss., Zhengzhi University, 2008. Zhong Guofa 鍾國發. Maoshan daojiao Shangqing zong 茅山道教上清宗. Taipei: Dongda tushu gongsi, 2003.

About the Author Robert Ford Campany, Gertrude Conaway Vanderbilt Chair of Humanities and Professor of Asian Studies at Vanderbilt University, is a historian of religion and culture in medieval China. His books and articles explore many aspects of Daoist, Buddhist, and popular religious texts and practice. His recent work focuses on dreams.

9

My Back Pages: The Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters Revisited1 James Robson

“I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now…” —Bob Dylan

Abstract The Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters (Sishi’er zhang jing 四十二章經) has been celebrated as the f irst Indian Buddhist sūtra brought to China, where it was, supposedly, translated into Chinese in 67 CE. This sūtra has become a favorite for Western translators and is often used as an introduction to the transmission of Buddhism to China and to Chinese Buddhism in general. Robson traces the textual history of this text in a range of Chinese sources, focusing on the earliest exemplar of this sūtra in a Daoist text. This chapter also discusses how and why this short text came to play such a signif icant role in Western accounts of Chinese Buddhist history. Keywords: Buddhism, Western studies of religion, Translation, Daoism

The Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters (Sishi’er zhang jing 四十二章經) has long been celebrated as the first Indian Buddhist sūtra brought to China where it was—according to tradition—translated into Chinese by two Yuezhi 月支國 (Tokharian) monks, Kāśyapa Mātaņga Jia Yemoteng 迦葉摩騰 or 1 I began thinking about this essay while I was concurrently attending seminars in Kyoto by Professor Yanagida Seizan柳田聖at Hanazono University on Tang Chan/Zen texts and Professor Mugitani Kunio麦谷邦夫at the Jinbun kagaku kenkyūjo 人文科学研究所 on the Zhengao 真 誥. I resumed thinking about it when Professor Stephen Bokenkamp was a visiting professor at Stanford University while I was a PhD student and we read some of the Zhengao together.

Raz, Gil and Anna M. Shields (eds): Religion and Poetry in Medieval China. The Way and the Words. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2023 DOI: 10.5117/9789463721172_CH09

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Shemoteng 攝摩騰) and Dharmaratna (Zhu Falan竺法蘭) in 67 CE, making it the first Buddhist text to appear in Chinese.2 Given the long-standing claim that the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters was the first Buddhist text translated into Chinese, since the late nineteenth century it has been a favorite for Western translators, is often referred to in general introductions to Chinese Buddhism—perhaps due to its rather simple doctrinal statements—and discussed in the context of the early transmission of Buddhism from India to China.3 Over the years, however, scholars began to adopt more critical perspectives in their analysis of the text, raising questions about the precise date and nature of the text. 4 That scholarship is by now generally familiar, so in this essay I aim to bring together two story lines that have evolved somewhat separately in Buddhist and Daoist studies, in order to explore the curious—and rather complicated—lives the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters has lived within those two traditions.5 Most relevant for this volume is the fact that this textual history leads us directly into the Daoist Zhengao 真 誥, which Stephen R. Bokenkamp spent much of his career working on and which has now become the subject of his most recent publication.6 The Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters provides us with a rich opportunity to see how a religious text was manipulated by Buddhists and Daoists over time. The textual history of this sūtra invites us to track a related story concerning how and why this short text came to play such a significant role in Western accounts of Chinese Buddhist history, since it was also the first Buddhist sūtra translated into a European language.7

2 The edition that is usually referred to is the one in the Taishō canon T. 784: 17.722a–24a. I will have more to say about different editions below. 3 Some early studies that either mention, translate (all or part), or summarize the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters include (in chronological order): Beal, A Catena of Buddhist, 188–203; Johnson, Oriental Religions, 745–46; Feer, Le Sūtra en Quarante-deux articles; Matsuyama, The Sutra of Forty-Two Sections; Harlez, Les quarante-deux leçons de Bouddha; Shaku Sōen, Zen for Americans; D.T. Suzuki, Sermons of a Buddhist Abbot, 3–21; Maspero, “Le songe et l’ambassade de l’empereur Ming,” 95–130; Parker, Studies in Chinese Religion, 231–32; Hackmann, “Die Tekstgestalt des Sūtra der 42 Abschnitte,” 197–237; Pelliot, “Meou-tseu ou les doutes levés,” 39n302; Weiger, History of the Religious Beliefs, 343–50. More recent studies will be referenced below. 4 See, for example, Liang Qichao, “Sishi’er zhangjing,” 10–13; Hu Shih, “Sishi’er zhang jing”; T’ang Yung-T’ung, “The Editions,” 147–55; and Tang Yongtong, Han Wei liang-Jin, 31–46; Matsumoto Bunzaburō, “Shijunishōkyō seritsu nendai,” 1–38; Ch’en, Buddhism in China, 34–36; Zürcher, The Buddhist Conquest, 29–30; and Okabe Kazuo, “‘Shijunishōkyō’ no seritsu to tenkai,” 103–18. 5 The general contours of that history were laid out long ago in T’ang Yung-T’ung’s, “The Editions.” 6 Bokenkamp, A Fourth-Century Daoist Family. See also Bokenkamp, “Research Note,” 247–68. 7 App, The Birth of Orientalism, 8.

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The Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters Accounts of how the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters was the first Buddhist text to be translated into Chinese are often based on the sixth-century Biographies of Eminent Monks (Gaoseng zhuan 高僧傳) by Huijiao 慧皎 (497–554).8 That text includes the story of how Kāśyapa Mātaņga came to China during the reign of the Han emperor Xiaoming 孝明帝 (Liu Zhuang 劉莊; r. 57–75 CE) and translated the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters in one juan (騰譯四十二章經一卷).9 The Biographies of Eminent Monks entry on Dharmaratna lists five sūtras. Five texts, [the] Shidi duanjie 十地斷結, Fo bensheng 佛本生, Fahai zang 法海藏, Fo benxing 佛本行, Shishi’erzhang 四十二章 were brought to China, but due to chaos in the capital four of them have been lost and only the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters, in about 2,000 characters, survives in the lower Yangzi region. Of the various sūtras extant in China, it is the only one of those originally [transmitted that has survived]. 十地斷結，佛本生，法海藏，佛本行，四十二章等五部。移都寇亂四 部失本不傳。江左唯四十二章經今見在，可二千餘言。漢地見存諸 經，唯此為始也.10

The spread and arrival of Buddhism in China is often recounted by telling the well-known story of the Han emperor Xiaoming’s auspicious dream, which includes a passage the situates the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters as part of the arrival of Buddhism from India and lands to the west. The following version of the story is found in the Preface to the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters as it is presented in the received version of the text. In former times, the Han emperor Xiaoming had a dream in which he saw a divine being whose body was golden and the nape of his neck emitted sun-like rays flying in front of the palace. With great pleasure, joy, and anticipation, on the next day he asked his gathered ministers: “What deity was that?” [Among the ministers] was a perspicacious one named Fuyi who replied: “I (lit. your servant) have heard that in India there was one who has attained the way (dedao 得道). He is called the Buddha (Fo 佛) and his body is so light he can fly. It must have been [a dream] about 8 T.2059:50.322. 9 T.2059:50.323. 10 T.2059:50.323.

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that deity.” Thereupon, [his majesty] understood (and when he awoke) straightaway dispatched emissaries: Zhang Qian, Qin Jing, Wang Zun and others, twelve in all. When they arrived in the land of the great Yuezhi, they copied out forty-two sections/chapters of Buddhist sūtras, contained in the fourteenth stone container. [When they returned to China] they erected a stūpa-temple and thereupon the [Buddha] dharma (daofa 道 法) spread widely and Buddhist temples were established everywhere. The number of persons from afar who submitted to conversion and who begged to become disciples were incalculable. The whole country became peaceful, and all sentient beings have received blessings down to the present day.” 昔漢孝明皇帝, 夜夢見神人. 身體有金色, 項有日光, 飛在殿前. 意中欣 然, 甚悅之. 明日問群臣: “此為何神也?” 有通人傅毅曰: “臣聞天竺有得 道者, 號曰佛. 輕舉能飛, 殆將其神也.” 於是上悟, 即遣使者張騫羽林 中郎將秦景博士弟子王遵等十二人. 至大月支國寫取佛經四十二章. 在第十四石函中, 登起立塔寺, 於是道法流布, 處處修立佛寺. 遠人伏 化願為臣妾者, 不可稱數. 國內清寧, 含識之類, 蒙恩受賴, 于今不絕 也. (T.784:17.722a)

This account is similar in structure and content—albeit with some variations—to other recensions of the story found in Buddhist and secular historical sources, such as Yuan Hong’s 袁宏 (328–97) Houhan ji 後漢紀, the Chu sanzang jiji 出三藏記集, Mouzi lihuo lun 牟子理惑論 (contained in the Hongming ji 弘明集 by Sengyou 僧佑 [435–518]), Hanfaben neizhuan 漢法本内傳, Lidai fabao ji 歷代法寶記, Shishuo xinyu 世說新語, and in a short form in Wei Shou’s 魏收 (506–72) Weishu 魏書 (554).11 Perhaps the most significant difference between the various editions of the Preface that should be noted here is whether or not the version being consulted mentions Buddha images or stūpas and temples. We shall see below, when we take up the content of the Zhengao, that this issue is relevant to the version of the Preface that is preserved in that source, which emphasizes the setting up of images over stūpas or temples. The content of the main body of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters is made up of forty-two sections that include short aphoristic passages that discuss basic Buddhist principles and doctrines. The text begins with just such a passage, which sets the tone for the style of the rest of the text. 11 Some of these different editions have been compared in Bumbacher, “A Buddhist Sutra’s Transformation,” 804–8. For more on the Preface see Maspero, “Le songe et l’ambassade de l’empereur Ming,” 97–99.

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The Buddha said, “Those who leave their families and go forth from their homes to practice the way are called ascetics (śramaņas). Those who constantly follow the 250 precepts in order to [realize] the four noble truths and progressively purify their intentions will become saints (arhats). Arhats are able to fly and assume different forms; they live long lives and move heaven and earth. Next is the non-returner (anāgāmin): at the end of his life the spirit of a non-returner ascends to the nineteenth heaven and there attains sainthood. Next is the once-returner (sakṛdāgāmin): the once-returner ascends [to heaven] once and returns once and then becomes an arhat. Next is the stream-winner (śrotāpanna): the streamwinner dies and is reborn seven times and then attains sainthood. The cutting off of passion and desire is like cutting off the four limbs, they will never be used again.”12 佛言:辭親出家為道, 名曰沙門. 常行二百五十戒，為四真道行，進志清 淨，成阿羅漢。阿羅漢者,能飛行變化, 住壽命動天地。次為阿那含。阿 那含者，壽終魂靈上十九天, 於彼得阿羅漢。次為斯陀含。斯陀含者, 一 上一還即得阿羅漢。次為須陀洹。須陀洹者,七死七生便得阿羅漢。愛 欲斷者，譬如四支斷，不復用之. (T.784:17.722a)

This passage, like many others in the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters, explains basic Buddhist terminology and discusses ethical behavior. The moralistic parables in the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters resemble passages in other pre-Mahāyāna Buddhist texts and most were likely extracted from longer sūtras. Some scholars have compared the content, style and structure of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters to texts like the Dhammapada (Faju jing 法句 經 T. 210), which summarizes the Buddha’s ethical teachings and was—and continues to be—used as a primer of Buddhist doctrine.13 It is important to note at the outset that the way the text has been treated as a sūtra is problematic. As we now know from a generation of scholars extending from Henri Maspero though T’ang Yung-t’ung to Erik Zürcher, the often repeated “history” of the text is (not surprisingly) the stuff of legend. There are intractable problems concerning the date, title, and nature of the content of the text. Based on current scholarship, it appears that the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters did not initially exist as a single text with a Preface, but rather was made up of two separate parts including an introductory Preface and the main body of the text. The Preface was probably composed 12 Translation based on Sharf, “The Scripture in Forty-Two Sections,” 364–65 with some minor modifications. 13 See Sharf, “The Scripture in Forty-Two Sections,” 362.

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as late as about 250 CE.14 Some sections from the body of the text must have existed about a century earlier, however, since they are quoted in the famous memorial presented by Xiang Kai 襄楷 to the throne in 166 CE.15 The Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters is not actually a sūtra—it lacks, for example, the standard opening lines of a sūtra: “Thus have I heard…” (evaṃ mayā śrutam; Ch. 聞如是/我聞如是 for early texts and from the fifth century on 如是我聞)—nor is it a translation of a Sanskrit original.16 Information contained in early Buddhist catalogues reveals that the text was referred to (as it also is at one point in the text’s own Preface) as the “Forty-two Sections/ Chapters from Buddhist sūtras” ( fojing sishi’er zhang 佛經四十二章).17 The Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters was, therefore, likely nothing more than a compilation of passages that were brought together in China or Central Asia at some point before around the fifth century CE. The nature of the content of the text need not detain us, since that is not my primary focus here. Given the style and introductory content of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters it should not be surprising that it became an important work consulted by Europeans interested in Buddhism.18 It is important to relate a little of that history here since the reception and understanding of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters in Europe in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries did much to condition the understanding and depiction of Buddhism in the West and allows us to see how the text was manipulated in the process. The Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters was the first Buddhist scripture to be translated into a Western language.19 Following the East Asian sources that represented the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters as the pure original teachings of the Buddha and the first Buddhist text brought to China and translated into Chinese, in 1756 the French scholar Joseph de Guignes (1721–1800)

14 Zürcher, The Buddhist Conquest of China, 22. 15 Hou Hanshu 30B:1082. Sharf, “The Scripture in Forty-Two Sections,” 360–64. 16 Maspero, Taoism and Chinese Religion, 400–404; T’ang Yung-t’ung, “The Editions,” and Zürcher, The Buddhist Conquest of China. On the standard opening phrase to Buddhist sutras, see Brough, “Thus Have I Heard…,” 416–26 and more recently Nattier, “Now You Hear It, Now You Don’t,” 39–64. 17 T.2102:52.4c. 18 Thanks to the publication of App’s The Birth of Orientalism, we now know much more about the significance of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters in the early eighteenth century in Europe. See also, more recently, Hou Xiaoming, “Where is God?” 76–117. 19 The following is based largely on the material presented in App, The Birth of Orientalism and his earlier “Arthur Schopenhauer and China,” iv–164, where most of the material on the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters is already published.

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translated a copy of the text housed in the Royal Library in Paris.20 Joseph de Guignes is, of course, the same person Joseph Needham discussed as being connected with the much maligned theory that a Chinese Buddhist monk had discovered North America in the fifth century and who maintained that the Chinese nation had originated in Egyptian colonization.21 I do not have the space to discuss the intriguing work of de Guignes further, but what is significant for us is the story that App relates about how the nineteenth-century orientalist Julius Klaproth (1783–1835) plagiarized de Guignes’s work from the 1750s in an article entitled the “Fo Religion of China” that was published in the first issue of his Asiatisches Magazin.22 App further points out that “De Guignes argued that the religion of Fo or Buddhism is a pan-Asian religion with two main branches: an exoteric one with a belief in the transmigration of souls and idolatric cults, and an esoteric one that teaches a kind of mystical monotheism … The doctrine of this esoteric branch of Buddhism, de Guignes argued, is found in one of the oldest (if not the oldest) text of Buddhism, the Forty-Two Sections Sutra.”23 App has demonstrated the great lengths to which de Guignes went as he sought to represent Buddhism as a monotheistic religious tradition that was nothing more than a Christian heresy. De Guignes supported such views with his (mis)translation of the Preface to the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters to argue that the text actually is derived from the Christian gospels. That is to say, he represented the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters as an “apocryphal Christian gospel of gnostic tendency from the early first century C.E.”24 Klaproth, who carried forward de Guignes’s focus on the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters, departed from him on this point and presented an opposite view to argue that Christian evangelists wrote the gospels by referring to the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters.25 The key here is that de Guignes, and later Klaproth, represented Buddhism to Europe as a form of “mystical monotheism,” an idea that was based on de Guignes (mis)reading and interpretation of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters, and as a form of annihilationism.26 The more extreme of de Guignes’ theories are perhaps easy to dismiss and are no longer taken seriously, but the theories about Buddhism he derived 20 According to App this text is now in the Bibliothèque Nationale and is labeled as “Chinois 6149.” See App, The Birth of Orientalism, 227 and note 19. 21 Needham, Science and Civilisation in China Vol 4:3, 540. 22 See App, “Arthur Schopenhauer and China,” 6–7. 23 App, “Arthur Schopenhauer and China,” 7. 24 App, The Birth of Orientalism, 235. 25 App, “Arthur Schopenhauer and China,” 8. 26 App, The Birth of Orientalism, 229.

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from the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters—that were taken up by Klaproth in the nineteenth century—attained a particularly broad dissemination throughout European intellectual communities due to the fact that Arthur Schopenhauer learned his Buddhism precisely from the edition of Asiatisches Magazin that contained the translation of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters.27 Schopenhauer’s views on Buddhism were particularly influential since, as App has shown, “almost all early European Buddhists and even some of the pioneer Japanese researchers of Buddhism (Shioya 1972) were avid readers of Schopenhauer,” including Carl Friedrich Koeppen (1818–63)—a close friend of Karl Marx—and Richard Wagner (1813–83).28 The history of the place of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters among European scholars of Buddhism helps us to better appreciate why they selected it and some of the influential ways it played a role in the early depictions of Buddhism that developed outside of Asia. What remains rather curious, however, is why the influential Japanese Rinzai Zen Buddhist priest Shaku Sōen (1860–1919) selected the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters as the text with which to introduce Zen Buddhism to the United States.29 Shaku Sōen was the first in an influential wave of Zen monks to come to the US in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. His impact was particularly profound since he participated in the World Parliament of Religions in Chicago in 1893 and then returned in 1905–6—with D. T. Suzuki serving as his translator—to deliver lectures on Buddhism to Mrs. Alexander Russell and her friends on the west coast. So, why might he have chosen the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters—a basic primer of early Buddhist teachings—as the Buddhist text to introduce Westerners to Zen? How could early sūtra passages like those in Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters—based on a standard text like the Dhammapada and other early Pali texts—contain radical Zen teachings? An answer to that question is not straightforward but trying to understand it helps to reveal an important stage in the history of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters and its transformation over time in different editions. For the following section, we will have to shift our focus back to the complicated history of the different Chinese versions of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters. In the mid-1920s, Liang Qichao 梁啟超 (1873–1929) initiated a contentious debate about the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters that played out through the 1930s. Liang Qichao famously contended that the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters 27 App, “Arthur Schopenhauer and China,” 6. 28 App, “Arthur Schopenhauer and China,” 64. 29 Shaku Sōen, Zen for Americans.

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had to be a later forgery since it contained Mahāyāna Buddhist ideas and influence from Lao-Zhuang thought. There is little doubt that the version of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters that Liang Qichao had at hand had Mahāyāna content and he was not the first to note a connection between that work and Daoism. Already in the twelfth century Zhu Xi 朱熹 (1130–1200) noted that the Zhengao had stolen (qie 窃) passages from the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters.30 Later, Hu Shih 胡适 (1891–1962), in an afterward to his “Tao Hongjing de Zhengao kao” 陶弘景的 ‘真誥’考, expressed the excitement he had upon receiving news from Chen Yinke 陳寅恪 (Chen Yinque, 1890–1969) about that passage from Zhu Xi, and it inspired him to study the twenty sections of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters found in the Zhengao. In 1936, T’ang Yung-t’ung 湯用彤 (1893–1964) chimed in with an influential essay on the different editions of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters, which was the first major article on the topic in English, though T’ang’s ideas were already available earlier in Chinese.31 In that article, T’ang forcefully rebutted Liang Qiqiao’s claim that the text was a forgery due to the presence of Mahāyāna doctrines and Daoist intrusions. T’ang argued that although the text had suffered due to later manipulations, the earliest edition of the text—the Korean canon edition—should still be considered China’s oldest sūtra. We can reaffirm T’ang’s rebuke of Liang Qichao without, however, assenting to his conclusion that the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters was China’s earliest Buddhist sūtra or that it represents the translation of an Indic original. At the time of T’ang’s writing he was aware of different editions of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters, which he divided into three categories: (1) The Korean, Song, Yuan and Palace editions; (2) The Song dynasty Zhenzong edition 宋真宗皇帝製 (with commentary), which became the base text for the Ming Nanzang canon printing (T. 1794); and (3) The Song dynasty Shousui edition 宋鄖郊鳳山蘭若嗣祖沙門守遂註 (X0669). The Korean Buddhist canon edition of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters (which appears in the Taishō canon of 1924–32 [T. 784: 17.722a–24a]) is based on the edition from the Korean Tripiṭaka (K 778: 19.865–67), dated 1251, which is itself based on the Shu Tripiṭaka (Shuban da zangjing 蜀版大藏 經) also known as the Kaibao Canon (Kaibao zang 開寶藏).32 That canon is the oldest block print canon, but only a few dozen fascicles survive today. 30 Hu Shih, “Tao Hongjing de Zhengao kao,” 140. 31 T’ang Yung-T’ung, “The Editions.” 32 For a useful summary of the different Buddhist canons, see Wu and Chia, eds., Spreading Buddha’s Word in East Asia, especially Appendix 1, which summarizes the work of Li Fuhua 李 富華 and He Mei 何梅, Hanwen Fojiao Dazangjing yanjiu 漢文佛教大藏 經研究.

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The Shu/Kaibao Canon was initiated in Sichuan in 971 and completed in Kaifeng in 983, with over 130,000 blocks that include 1,076 texts, in 480 cases and a total of 5,048 juan (or rolls). In that edition of the canon texts are printed with twenty-three lines per page and fourteen characters per line. Copies from this canon quickly made their way to Korea, where it formed the basis for the Korean canon, which was subsequently emended and expanded. In 990, a copy of the Shu/Kaibao Canon was presented to King Songjong (r. 981–97) of the Koryǒ Dynasty (918–1392). It is this copy that became the basis for the Koryǒ edition of the Tripiṭaka, which is also called the Tripiṭaka Koreana (•Koryǒ taejanggyǒng 高麗大藏經 [Koryǒ canon]). In later years, two more editions were published in Koryǒ based on the Shu/Kaibao and Khitan (Liao) editions of the canon. The first Koryǒ edition, completed under King Hyeonjong (r. 1009–31) contained some 5,048 fascicles (listed in the Kaiyuan shijiao lu 開元釋教錄) and followed the format of the Shu edition. The second Koryǒ canon was completed in the reign of King Munjong (r. 1046–82) and it included translations not incorporated into the Kaiyuan shijiao lu, and a number of sūtras culled from the Shu and Khitan canons. It was the second Koryǒ canon that was reprinted at Haein Temple in southern Korea and it is that version that today is commonly called the Koryǒ canon. That canon is made up of over 80,000 woodblocks and still survives at Haeinsa. The version of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters in the Taishō/Korean canon has come to be known as the standard version. Prior to the modern printing of the Taishō/Korean canon, however, the most popular version of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters from the Song dynasty onward was the Shousui 守遂 edition (no. 3 on T’ang’s list), which became the base text for a number of Ming dynasty commentators. During T’ang’s day, the Shousui edition was the one most widely read and commented on in China, not the Tripiṭaka version. The problem with this is that—according to T’ang—the Shousui edition is the one that had been most manipulated and infused with Mahāyāna, and specifically Chan/ Zen, content. He concluded that the Zhenzong edition—which also evinces some changes similar to the Shousui version—was not as trustworthy as the Korean canon edition. Therefore, by the mid-1930s, T’ang already suspected that Chan/Zen monks may have had a hand in transforming the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters. He mentioned, for instance, the possibility that the ninth-century Baolin zhuan 寶林傳 (801 CE) had played a role in that history, since that text had recently entered back into scholarly discussions around the same time due to the discovery of many of the missing sections of the text in 1933 in Japan and China, but it was not widely known about or published

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until about 1935.33 One might be tempted to think that as the earliest Buddhist text to include passages from the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters, the Baolin zhuan could very well preserve a version that predates the Taishō/Korean canon edition, which we have seen was based on a tenth-century edition. As we will see below, however, rather than preserve an early version of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters, the Baolin zhuan is testament to the significant alteration of the text in the ninth century. Before introducing the version of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters in the Baolin zhuan it is important to first turn our attention to a work that predates the Baolin zhuan by some three centuries and allows us to better appreciate the changes it introduced. That fifth-century work, which contains passages from the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters, is found not in a Buddhist canonical text, but rather in a text in the Daoist canon. The Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters in the Declarations of the Perfected (Zhengao 真誥) There is much to be learned about the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters when we move outside of Buddhist sources and consult the Daoist Zhengao. As I have already mentioned, in the 1930s Hu Shih and T’ang Yung-t’ung noted that sections of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters were preserved in the Zhengao, a text compiled by Yang Xi 楊羲 (330–86?) between 364 CE and 370 CE and finally collected into its final form by Tao Hongjing 陶弘景 (456- 536) in 499 CE. Hu Shih’s and T’ang Yung-t’ung’s work was followed by the studies of, among others, Yoshioka Yoshitoyo 吉岡義豊, Okabe Kazuo 岡部和雄, Ishii Masako 石井昌子, Stephan Bumbacher, and most recently Stephen R. Bokenkamp.34 Those studies have been significant due to their close study of the presence of fragments of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters in the Zhengao. We learn, for example, that the Zhengao includes the Preface of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters in juan 9—where Tao Hongjing says it is roughly identical with the 33 On the rediscovery of lost sections of the Baolinzhuan see Tokiwa Daijō, Hōrinden no kenkyū; and Yanagida Seizan, Shoki zenshū shisho no kenkyū. On the Baolinzhuan in general, see Yampolsky, The Platform Sūtra. All citations from the Baolin zhuan are to Tanaka Ryōshō ed., Hōrinden yakuchū, which includes all extant sections and a modern Japanese translation. 34 Hu Shih, “Sishi’er zhang jing,” and Hu Shih, “Tao Hongjing de Zhengao,” 126–42. T’ang YungT’ung, “The Editions.” Hu Shih identified twenty sections of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters in the Zhengao and T’ang Yung-t’ung averred that half of the main body of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters was found in the Zhengao. See also Yoshioka Yoshitoyo, “Shijūnishōkyō to dōkyō”; Okabe Kazuo, “‘Shijunishōkyō’ no seritsu to tenkaii”; Ishii Masako, “Shinkō to Shijūnishōkyō,” 7–30; Bumbacher, “A Buddhist Sutra’s Transformation”; Bumbacher, “Early Buddhism in China,” 203–46; and Bokenkamp, A Fourth-Century Daoist Family (see especially ch. 4).

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Buddhist version (ci shuo cu yu wai shu tong 此說粗與外書同) and about half of the main body of the text is found in juan 6.35 Yangxi and (especially) Tao Hongjing were familiar with the standard history of Buddhism in China, but in the Zhengao they introduced novel material concerning a rather different form of Buddhism that is not attested in Buddhist sources.36 The Zhengao reveals that Perfected living on floating islands in the Eastern Seas, namely on Lesser Fangzhu Island 小方諸, practiced a primordial form of Buddhism that predated the form of Buddhism introduced from the west. It was from this eastern locale that the Buddhism reflected in the Zhengao and the fragments of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters, collected under the title “The Teachings and Admonitions of the Assembled Numinous Powers” (Zhong lingjiao jie 眾靈教戒), originated.37 One of the significant differences between the western and eastern forms of Buddhism is the emphasis on images, which were important in the western transmission, and temples and stūpas, which existed on the islands in the east. As Bokenkamp has noted, the Zhengao prioritizes the Buddhism that originated on the islands in the east, which had a deep history that long predated the western transmission, in order to position itself as heir to a superior form of Buddhism.38 The Preface of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters in juan 9 of the Zhengao is not identical to the received standard version, but it is surprising to find that much of the Buddhist terminology remains in the text.39 The main sections from the body of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters are found in juan 6, but they have been altered to fit the Daoist context. Yet, if we look past the overt changes in terminology, such as the swapping out of the name of the Buddha for the names of different Perfected, we find that despite the manipulation of the text at the hand of Yang Xi or Tao Hongjing, the Zhengao seems to preserve the content of the oldest known version of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters. Let us turn first to section 9 of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters in the Zhengao, since that is precisely the section that allows us to see most clearly the main differences between the different Buddhist canonical versions and the version in the Baolin zhuan, which I will discuss below. The Zhengao version says: 35 Bokenkamp helpfully brings the Preface in juan 9 together with the fragments in juan 6 in his translation. See Bokenkamp, A Fourth-Century Daoist Family, 143–44. 36 Bokenkamp, A Fourth-Century Daoist Family, 18–24. 37 This translation of the title comes from Bokenkamp, A Fourth-Century Daoist Family, 123. 38 Bokenkamp, A Fourth-Century Daoist Family, 123–24. 39 Zhengao 9.19b7–20b2.

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The Perfected of the Great Void stated: “Feeding one hundred common people is not as good as feeding one good person. Feeding one thousand good people is not as good as feeding one who one who studies the Way. Those who live as recluses in the mountains and forests are should all the more be considered like this.” 太虚眞人曰. 飯凡人百，不如飯一善人。飯善人千，不如飯一學道者. 寒栖山林者益當以爲意. 40

The Zhengao version of this passage is a drastically shortened version of the received version in the Taishō/Korean canon: The Buddha said: “Feeding one hundred common men is not as good as feeding one good man. Feeding one thousand good men is not as good as feeding one who observes the five precepts. Feeding ten thousand men who observe the five precepts is not as good as feeding one streamwinner. Feeding a million stream-winners is not as good as feeding one once-returner. Feeding ten million once-returners is not as good as feeding one nonreturner. Feeding one hundred million nonreturners is not as good as feeding one saint (arhat). Feeding one billion saints is not as good as feeding one solitary buddha (pratyekabuddha). Feeding ten billion solitary buddhas is not as good as liberating one’s parents in this life by means of the teaching of the three honored ones. Teaching one hundred billion parents is not as good as feeding one Buddha, studying with desire to attain Buddhahood, and aspiring to liberate all beings. But the merit of feeding a good man is [still] very great. It is better for a common man to be filial to his parents than for him to serve the spirits of Heaven and Earth, for one’s parents are the supreme spirits.”41 佛言: 飯凡人百, 不如飯一善人. 飯善人千, 不如飯持五戒者一人. 飯持 五戒者萬人,不如飯一須陀洹. 飯須陀洹百萬, 不如飯一斯陀含. 飯斯 陀含千萬, 不如飯一阿那含. 飯阿那含一億, 不如飯一阿羅漢. 飯阿羅 漢十億, 不如飯辟支佛一人. 飯辟支佛百億, 不如以三尊之教度其一 世二親. 教千億, 不如飯一佛學願求佛欲濟衆生也. 飯善人,福最深重. 凡人事天地鬼神, 不如孝其親矣, 二親最神也. (T.784:17.722c01–722c10)

This much longer passage from the standard Taishō/Korean canon version of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters begins with a straightforward presentation 40 Zhengao 6.8a4–6 or Yoshikawa and Mugitani edition, 207. See also the translation in Bokenkamp, A Fourth-Century Daoist Family, 159. 41 Translation based on Sharf, “The Scripture in Forty-Two Sections,” 366, with minor changes.

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of basic Buddhist terminology, but then ends with a rather surprising shift that emphasizes Confucian filial piety through the liberation of one’s parents. All of the technical Buddhist terminology and the final passages on filial piety have been omitted in the Zhengao version. The other main differences naturally include replacing “The Buddha” with the Daoist Perfected named “Taixu zhenren” 太虚眞人 (whose full title is found in other passages as Perfected of the Great Void, Lord of the Southern Marchmount Red [Pine] 太虚眞人南嶽赤君); replacing the “one who observes the five precepts” 持五戒者 with “one who studies the Way” 一學道者, and all of the other Buddhist technical terms that follow later in the passage are simply removed. Let me cite one more section of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters (section 10) as it appears in the Zhengao in order to supply more evidence that will be useful for better understanding which version of the text that the Zhengao drew from. Lady Ziyuan declared: “There are five difficult things in the world. It is difficult for the poor to give alms, it is difficult for the powerful and privileged to cultivate the Way, it is difficult to control one’s fate and avoid death, it is difficult to attain a glimpse of the Cavern Scriptures, and it is difficult to be born at the time of the Latter Sage in the renchen year. 紫元夫人告曰:天下有五難,貧窮惠施難也;豪富學道難也;制命不死難 也;得見洞經難也;生值壬辰後聖世難也. 42

The Taishō/Korean canon edition reads: The Buddha said: “There are five difficult things in the world. It is difficult for the poor to give alms; it is difficult for the powerful and privileged to cultivate the Way; it is difficult to control fate and avoid death; it is difficult to attain a glimpse of the Buddha’s scriptures; and it is difficult to be born at the time of a buddha.”43 佛言: 天下有五難,貧窮布施難, 豪貴學道難, 制命不死難, 得覩佛經難, 生値佛世難 (T784:17.722c12)

Here again, the Zhengao version is quite close to that transmitted in the Taishō/Korean edition, albeit with explicit Buddhist names and references 42 Zhengao 6.8a7–9. See also the translation in Bokenkamp, A Fourth-Century Daoist Family, 160. For a discussion of the differences in this passage, see Bumbacher, “A Buddhist Sutra’s Transformation,” 826. On the messianic significance of the Latter Sage appearing in a renchen year, see Bokenkamp, Early Daoist Scriptures, 297. 43 Sharf, “The Scripture in Forty-Two Sections,” 498–99, with minor changes.

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changed to Daoist terms. “The Buddha says” 佛言 has become “Lady Ziyuan declares” 紫元夫人告曰; “it is difficult to attain a glimpse of the Buddha’s scriptures” 得覩佛經難 has been modified to read “it is difficult to attain a glimpse of the Cavern Scriptures” 得見洞經難也, and “it is difficult to be born at the time of a buddha” 生値佛世難 has become “it is difficult to be born at the time of the Latter Sage in the renchen year” 生值壬辰後聖世 難也. The key similarity between the two versions is found in the identical opening line in each text: “There are five difficult things in the world” 天下 有五難. This seemingly banal sentence will figure importantly below since it helps to substantiate the argument that the passages from the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters in the Zhengao were based on the Taishō/Korean edition. We have just related some of the similarities between the Zhengao version and the Taishō/Korean edition, but we still might want to know how the Zhengao passages compare to other early versions of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters. Most importantly, how do they relate to those found in the Baolin zhuan, since it is the version temporally most proximate to the Zhengao? A couple of brief examples will suffice in making the case for which version the Zhengao used as a base text. Section 9 of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters, which was cited in full from the standard edition and the Zhengao version above, appears in the Baolin zhuan as follows: The Buddha said: “Feeding one hundred evil people is not as good as feeding one good man. Feeding one thousand good men is not as good as feeding one who observes the five precepts. Feeding ten thousand men who observe the five precepts is not as good as feeding on stream-winner. Feeding a million stream-winners is not as good as feeding one oncereturner. Feeding ten million once-returners is not as good as feeding one nonreturner. Feeding one hundred million nonreturners is not as good as feeding one saint (arhat). Feeding one billion saints is not as good as feeding one solitary buddha. Feeding ten billion solitary buddhas is not as good as feeding a single Buddha of the three kalpas. To feed a myriad Buddha of the three kalpas is not as good as feeding a person of no-thought, no-abiding, no-cultivation, and no-realization.”44 佛言: 飯惡人百, 不如飯一善人. 飯善人千, 不如飯一持五戒者. 飯持五 戒者萬, 不如飯一須陀洹. 飯百萬須陀洹, 不如飯一斯陀含. 飯千萬斯 44 Hōrinden yakuchū, 7. My translation of the Baolin zhuan version is intentionally modeled on Sharf’s translation in order to better show the changes and additions to the text. The final sentence, with the terms 無修, 無証, is translated in an equally plausible way by App as “someone who … has nothing to attain or prove.” See App, The Birth of Orientalism, 229.

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陀含, 不如飯一阿那含. 飯一億阿那含, 不如飯一阿羅漢. 飯十億阿羅 漢, 不如飯一辟支佛. 飯百億辟支佛, 不如飯一三世諸佛. 飯千億三世 諸佛, 不如飯無念, 無住, 無修, 無証之者.

The version of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters in the Baolin zhuan begins the same as the Taishō/Korean canon edition and is similar to the Zhengao version, but it then removes all of the passages that emphasize filial piety and the care for one’s parents. At this point it would be difficult to tell which Buddhist version of the text the Zhengao was drawing from, but it is important to take note of how in place of the Confucian-inspired passages, the Baolin zhuan contains a newly minted final line that is deeply imbued with unmistakable Chan/Zen vocabulary (no-thought 無念, no-abiding 無住, no-cultivation 無修, and no-realization 無証) that would have been apparent to anyone familiar with Chan. The Baolin zhuan version of section 10, however, helps to further clarify which version of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters the Zhengao incorporates. It reads: The Buddha said: “There are twenty difficulties in the world. The difficulty of giving (dana) when poor; the difficulty of being an elite and studying the Way; the difficulty of living out one’s life [conclude one’s fate] and not dying; the difficulty of gazing upon a Buddhist sutra; the difficulty of being born in the time of a Buddha; the difficulty of repressing lust and desire; the difficulty of seeing nice things and not pursuing them; the difficulty of being humiliated and not taking offense; the difficulty of having a position of power and not looking down on others; the difficulty of being untouched by contact with the world the difficulty of expanding one’s knowledge; the difficulty of destroying one’s [sense of] self; the difficulty of not treating as unimportant that which one does not yet know; the difficulty of keeping steadiness of mind and action; the difficulty of not talking about true and false; the difficulty of meeting with a “good friend” (kalyānamitra) the difficulty of seeing one’s nature and studying the [Buddha’s] Way; the difficulty of seeing phenomena and not being moved (unperturbed by circumstances); the difficulty of explaining upāya-kauśalya well; and the difficulty of acting according to the differing needs of others in order to save them. 佛言: 天下有二十難. 貧窮布施難, 豪貴學通難, 制命不死難, 得覩佛經 難, 生値佛世難,忍色忍欲難, 見好不求難, 被辱不嗔難, 有勢不臨難, 觸 事無心難, 廣學博研難, 除人滅我難, 不輕未學難, 心行平等難, 不說是 非難, 會善知識難, 見性學道難, 覩境不動難，善解方便難, 隨化度人難.

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The Baolin zhuan version of section 10 is a greatly expanded version of the passage that is found in the Taishō/Korean canon edition and the Zhengao, which were both cited above, and it evinces many discrepancies with both of the other versions. The most important difference is found in the first line, where the “five difficulties” 五難 becomes “twenty difficulties” 二十難. The remainder of the Baolin zhuan version also includes specific Buddhist terminology that is not found in either the Taishō/Korean canon edition or the Zhengao. Comparing these three versions of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters to other Buddhist editions it becomes clear that the Baolin zhuan version is not related to the Taishō/Korean canon edition, but rather is related to the influential Shosui canon edition that must have been based on the earlier Baolin zhuan.45 Indeed, the Shosui edition closely follows the content found in the heavily modified Baolin zhuan version. What more do we know about the Baolin zhuan that might account for those changes and all the Chan/ Zen terminology it contains?

The Baolin zhuan Version of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters It is important to consider the Baolin zhuan, a text that is closely connected with the legacy of the Chan/Zen master Huineng 慧能 (638–713), when writing the full history of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters since it includes long sections from that alleged Sūtra, which in the hands of the Chan/Zen editors underwent a process of what Urs App and Okabe Kazuo 岡部和雄 have referred to as “Zen-ification” (zenshūteki kaihen 禅宗的改変) through the use of Chan/Zen terminology and the conversion of some prose sections into verse ( ji 偈; gathas). 46 As we have just seen, the Shousui edition of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters—with Chan/Zen terminology and concepts added to it—clearly descended from the sections included in the Baolin zhuan. In addition to adding in Chan 45 In Manji Shinsan Dainihon Zokuzokyo 卍新纂大日本續藏經,vol. 37, no. 669. 46 On the Zen manipulation of the text see T’ang Yung-T’ung, “The Editions,” 152–54; Yanagida Seizan (published under name Yokoi Seizan 横井聖山), “Hōrinden-bon Shijūnishōkyō no kadai”; and Okabe Kazuo, “‘Shijūnishōkyō’ no seiritsu to sono zenshūteki kaihen,” 203; App, The Birth of Orientalism, 225–31; and App, “Arthur Schopenhauer and China,” 10–11, which also includes a helpful diagram that clarif ies the complex editions of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters. On dharma-transmission verses in the Baolin zhuan, see, for instance, Mizuno Kōgen, “Denbōge no seiritsu ni tsuite”; Lai, “The Transmission Verses of the Ch’an Patriarchs”; Ishii Shūdō, “Denbōge no seiritsu,” Ishii Shūdō, “Denbōge,” 283–85 and most recently Thomas J. Mazanec, “The Medieval Chinese Gāthā.” For a section rendered in verse in the Baolin zhuan, see the equivalent to section 29 in Hōrinden yakuchū, 16.

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terminology, the Shousui version also edited out some of the Confucianized interpolations found in the Taishō/Korean canon and imperial Zhenzong versions. From the Song dynasty onward, however, the most popular versions of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters were influenced by the Baolin zhuan edition, which all carried along with them the newly added Chan/Zen flavor of the text. In addition to the insertion of unmistakably Chan/Zen terminology into section 9—as we saw above in the final line (“To feed a myriad Buddha of the three kalpas is not as good as feeding a person of no-thought, no-abiding, no-cultivation, and no-realization” 飯千億三世諸佛, 不如飯 無念, 無住, 無修, 無証之者)—the Baolin zhuan version of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters contains many other sections with explicitly Chan/Zen references that are not merely revisions of the base text, but completely new passages. In section 15, for example, we find a passage with no counterpart in the Taishō/Korean edition: “The Buddha said, ‘My method is thinking no-thought thinking, practicing no-practice practice, speaking no-word speech, cultivating no-cultivation cultivating’” 吾法念無念念, 行無行行, 言無言言, 修無修修. 47 We find similar modifications and insertions in chapter 16. The Taishō/ Korean edition of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters reads: When gazing at Heaven and Earth contemplate their impermanence. When gazing at mountains and rivers contemplate their impermanence. When gazing at the tremendous variety of shapes and forms of the myriad things in the world contemplate their impermanence. If you keep your mind thus you will attain the Way in no time. 覩天地念非常, 覩山川念非常, 覩万物形體豐熾念非常;執心如此, 得 道疾矣. 48

In the Baolin zhuan and Shousui edition that same section says: When gazing at Heaven and Earth contemplate their impermanence. When gazing at the world contemplate impermanence. When gazing at the numinous awakened mind, that is awakening (bodhi). If you consider the mind thus you will attain the Way in no time. 覩天地念非常, 覩世界念非常, 覩靈覺即菩提, 如是心識, 得道疾矣. 49 47 Hōrinden yakuchū, 11. 48 T. 784:17.723a16; Sharf, “The Scripture in Forty-Two Sections,” 367–68. 49 Hōrinden yakuchū, 11. 如是心識, 得道疾矣 might also be translated as: “When mind and cognition are thus, you will attain the Way in no time.”

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After introducing the foundational Buddhist notion of seeing everything as impermanent, the most significant addition to the Baolin zhuan and Shousui versions was a new line that emphasized awakening to one’s naturally selfilluminated mind (i.e., inherent Buddha-nature), which is a fundamentally important notion within Chan/Zen Buddhism. In short, it is clear that the Baolin zhuan version of the Sūtra in FortyTwo Chapters—replete with its Chan/Zen terms and concepts and the conversion of prose sections into verse —was the basis for the Shousui edition that became the most commonly read version of the text from the Song dynasty onward. It was precisely that version of the text that Joseph de Guignes translated from the copy housed in the Royal Library in Paris in 1756 and was also the version that Shaku Sōen translated into English in his own work that was meant to introduce Westerners to Buddhism. The Chan/Zen elements added to the Baolin zhuan version of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters were not incidental but transformed one of the most popular Buddhist texts in East Asia into a Chan/Zen inflected tract—a version that was more widely read than the standard version—and also came to color the Western perception of Buddhism in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.50

Conclusion The Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters is a significant East Asian Buddhist text that for an earlier generation of scholars laid claim to being the first Buddhist sūtra translated into Chinese and also the first Buddhist sūtra translated into a European language. We have seen, however, that the Sūtra in FortyTwo Chapters was not the first Buddhist text translated into Chinese, nor was it a traditional sūtra. The so-called Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters is a compilation of forty-two sūtra sections gathered together to serve as a primer. While we may not be able to reconstruct what the oldest version of the text looked like, we have witnessed how the text underwent at least two major transformations as it passed through the hands of Daoists and Chan/Zen Buddhists. During the early ninth century, the Baolin zhuan appropriated the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters and introduced a prodigious amount of Chan/Zen ideas and vocabulary into the text. It was from that time forward the “Zen-ified” Baolin zhuan version of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters that influenced later 50 App has discussed this at length in his The Birth of Orientalism, 229–31.

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versions of the text that became the most popular in China and Japan. One finds, for example, section 10 (on the five or twenty difficulties) quoted in Hakuin Ekaku’s 白隠慧鶴 (1686–1769) Orategama 遠羅天釜 (The Embossed Tea Kettle), which mentions twenty difficulties and therefore must have come from the Shousui version.51 That passage left the translator, Philip Yampolsky, at a loss for where such wording came from since he merely consulted the Taishō/Korean version of the text. Finally, it was that version of the text that was first translated into a European language. Thus, we can see how the misunderstanding and misreading of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters as the original teachings of the Buddha misled the first generation of Europeans who then used that source to misrepresent early Buddhism. Yet, this is not all just a story about Buddhism and Buddhist textual variants. The Daoist Zhengao preserved a substantial number of sections of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters, which in some cases preserves the Buddhist flavor of the original and in most places modifies it to sound patently Daoist. It might be tempting to view the case of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters as being like the hybrid texts or purloined scriptures studied by Christine Mollier and Erik Zürcher, but it seems to be a somewhat more complicated case, since some sections preserved the Buddhist content and introduced a new, more pristine version of Buddhism, while at the same time changing key technical Buddhist terms.52 One of the conclusions that can be drawn from a close consideration of the different editions of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters is how effective it can be for scholars of Buddhist studies to range beyond the Buddhist canon into Daoist sources. The survival of numerous passages from the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters in the Zhengao provides an important fifth-century witness of a version of the text that allows us to conclude that of the extant versions of the Buddhist text, the earliest one is the version in the Taishō/ Korean canon. We have also been able to better appreciate how the Baolin zhuan, while the earliest Buddhist text containing passages from the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters, is in fact a signif icantly manipulated version of the text that became the base text for the popular Shousui edition. The interesting—perhaps even surprising—conclusion here is that while many modern translations have depended on the Shousui edition of the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters, the Taishō/Korean edition—with its parallels in the

51 Yampolsky, The Zen Master Hakuin, 69. 52 Mollier, Buddhism and Taoism Face to Face and Zürcher, “Buddhist Influence on Early Taoism.”

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Daoist Zhengao—is a version of the text as it existed prior to its modification by Chan/Zen monks at the dawn of the ninth century.

Bibliography Primary Sources Baolin zhuan 寶林傳. In Manji Shinsan Dainihon Zokuzokyo 卍新纂大日本續藏 經 , vol. 37, no. 699. Tokyo 東京: Kokusho Kankokai 國書刊行會, 1975–1989. Gaosengzhuan 高僧傳T.2059. Hou Hanshu 後漢書, compiled by Fan Ye 笵曄 (398–445). Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1963. Sishi’er zhang jing 四十二章經 T.784. Hong mingji 弘明集T.2102. Zhengao 真誥 DZ 1016.

Secondary Sources App, Urs. “Arthur Schopenhauer and China: A Sino-Platonic Love Affair.” In SinoPlatonic Papers 200 (2010): iv–164. App, Urs. The Birth of Orientalism. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2010. Beal, Samuel. A Catena of Buddhist Scriptures From the Chinese. London 1871. Bokenkamp, Stephen R. Early Daoist Scriptures. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997. Bokenkamp, Stephen R . “Research Note: Buddhism in the Writings of Tao Hongjing.” Daoism: Religion, History and Society 6 (2014): 247–68. Bokenkamp, Stephen R . A Fourth-Century Daoist Family: The Zhen’gao, or Declarations of the Perfected, Volume 1. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2021. Brough, John. “Thus Have I Heard…” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London, 13, no. 2 (1950): 416–26. Bumbacher, Stephen Peter. “A Buddhist Sutra’s Transformation into a Daoist Text.” Asiatische Studien: Zeitschrift der Schweizerischen Asiengesellschaft=Études Asiatiques: Revue de la Société Suisse-Asie 60 (2006): 799–831. Bumbacher, Stephen Peter. “Early Buddhism in China: Daoist Reactions.” In The Spread of Buddhism, edited by Ann Heirman and Bumbacher, 203–46. Leiden: Brill, 2012. Ch’en, Kenneth. Buddhism in China: A Historical Survey. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1964.

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Feer, Henri Léon. Le Sūtra en Quarante-deux articles; Textes Chinois, Tibétain et Mongol, autographiés par F. d’après l’exemplaire polyglotte rapporté par l’abbé Huc. Paris: Maisonneuve, 1878. Hackmann, H. “Die Tekstgestalt des Sūtra der 42 Abschnitte.” Acta Orientalia 5 (1927): 197–237.1 Harlez, Charles de. Les quarante-deux leçons de Bouddha, ou le King des XLII sections. Brussels, 1899. Hou Xiaoming. “Where is God? Evolution of the Representation of Buddhism in the French Translations of The Sutra of Forty-Two Chapters.” Hualin International Journal of Buddhist Studies 1.1 (2018): 76–117. Hu Shih 胡适. “Sishi’er zhang jing kao 四十二章经考.” In Hu Shi lunxue jinzhu: diyiji 胡适论 学近著: 第一集 , 177-186. Shanghai: Shanghai shudian 1989; rprt. of 1933. Hu Shih. “Tao Hongjing de Zhengao kao” 陶弘景的 ‘真誥’ 考. In Hu Shi wenji 胡适 文集, edited by Ouyang Zhesheng 歐陽哲生, 5: 126–42. Beijing: Beijing daxue chubanshe, 1998. Ishii Masako 石井昌子. “Shinkō to Shijunishōkyō” 真誥と四十二章経.” Soka daigaku jinbun ronshū 創価大学人文論集 2 (1990): 7–30. Ishii Shūdō 石井修道. “Denbōge no seiritsu no haikei ni kansuru ichi kōsatsu” 伝法偈の成立の 背景に関する一考察. Shūgaku kenkyū 22 (1980): 199–205. Ishii Shūdō 石井修道. “Denbōge” 伝法偈. In Tonkō butten to Zen 敦煌仏典と禅, edited by Shinohara Hisao 篠原寿雄 and Tanaka Ryōshō 田中良昭, 283–85. Tokyo: Daitō shuppansha, 1980. Johnson, Samuel. Oriental Religions and Their Relation to Universal Religion. Boston: James R. Osgood and Company, 1877. Lai, Whalen. “The Transmission Verses of the Ch’an Patriarchs,” Han Hsüeh Yen-chiu 漢學研究 1, no. 2 (1983): 593–624. Li Fuhua 李富華and He Mei 何梅. Hanwen Fojiao Dazangjing yanjiu 漢文佛教大 藏 經研究. Beijing: Zongjiao wenhua chubanshe, 2003. Liang Qichao 梁啟超. “Sishi’er zhangjing bianwei” ‘四十二章經’辨偽. In Liang Rengong jinzhu diyiji 梁任公近著第1輯, 10–13. Shanghai, 1925. Maspero, Henri. “Le songe et l’ambassade de l’empereur Ming: Étude critique des sources,” Bulletin de l’École française d’Extrême-Orient 10, no. 1 (1910): 95–130. Maspero, Henri. Taoism and Chinese Religion, trans. Frank A. Kierman, Jr. Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1981. Matsumoto Bunzaburō 松本文三郎.“Shijunishōkyō seritsu nendai kō 四十二章 經成立年代考.” Tōhō gakuhō 東方学報14 (1943): 1–38. Matsutaro Matsuyama. The Sutra of Forty-Two Sections and Other Two Short Sutras Translated from the Chinese Originals. Kyoto: Buddhist Propagation Society, 1892. Mazanec, Thomas J. “The Medieval Chinese Gāthā and Its Relationship to Poetry.” T’oung-Pao 103 (2017): 94–154.

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Mizuno Kōgen 水野弘元. “Denbōge no seiritsu ni tsuite” 傳法偈の成立について. Shūgaku kenkyū 宗學研究 2 (1960): 22–41. Mollier, Christine. Buddhism and Taoism Face to Face: Scripture, Ritual, and Iconographic Exchange in Medieval China. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2008. Nattier, Jan. “Now You Hear It, Now You Don’t: The Phrase ‘Thus Have I Heard’ in Early Chinese Buddhist Translations.” In Buddhism Across Asia: Networks of Material, Intellectual and Cultural Exchange Vol. 1, edited by Tansen Sen, 39–64. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2014. Needham, Joseph. Science and Civilisation in China Vol 4:3 Physics and Physical Technology: Civil Engineering and Nautics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971. Okabe Kazuo 岡部和雄. “‘Shijunishōkyō’ no seritsu to tenkai—kenkyūteki oboegaki” ‘四十二章経’の成立と展開—研究史的おぼえがき. Komazawa daigaku bukkyōgaku bu kenkyū kiyō 駒澤大學佛敎學部硏究紀要25 (1967): 103–18. Okabe Kazuo 岡部 和雄. “‘Shijūnishōkyō’ no seiritsu to sono zenshūteki kaihen” ‘ 四十二 章経’ の成立とその禅宗的改変. Suzuki gakujutsu zaidan kenkyū nempo 鈴木学術財団 研究年報 109 (1967): 203. Parker, E. H. Studies in Chinese Religion. London: Chapman and Hall, 1910. Pelliot, Paul. “Meou-tseu ou les doutes levés.” T’oung Pao 19, no. 5 (1918–19), 255–433. Sharf, Robert H. “The Scripture in Forty-Two Sections.” In Religions of China in Practice, edited by Donald S. Lopez, 360–71. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1996. Shaku Sōen. Zen for Americans. Dorset Press, 1906. Suzuki, D. T. Sermons of a Buddhist Abbot. New York: Samuel Weiser. Tanaka Ryōshō 田中良昭, ed. Hōrinden yakuchū 宝林伝訳注. Tokyo: Uchiyama shoten, 2003. T’ang Yung-T’ung. “The Editions of the Ssu-shih-erh-chang-ching,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 1, no. 1 (1936): 147–55. Tang Yongtong 湯用彤. Han Wei liang: Jin nanbeichao fojiao shi 漢魏兩晉南北朝 佛教史. Shanghai, 1938. Tokiwa Daijō 常盤大定. Hōrinden no kenkyū 寶林傳の研究. Tokyo: Kokusho kankōkai, 1973 [1934]. Weiger, Leon. A History of the Religious Beliefs and Philosophical Opinions in China from the Beginning to the Present Time, translated by Edward Chalmers Werner. Hsien-hsien: Hsien-hsien Press, 1927. Wu, Jiang, and Lucille Chia, eds. Spreading Buddha’s Word in East Asia: The Formation and Transformation of the Chinese Buddhist Canon. New York: Columbia University Press, 2016. Yampolsky, Philip B. The Platform Sūtra of the Sixth Patriarch. New York: Columbia University Press, 1967.

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Yampolsky, Philip B. The Zen Master Hakuin: Selected Writings. New York: Columbia University Press, 1971. Yanagida Seizan 柳田聖山 (published under the name Yokoi Seizan 横井聖山). “Hōrinden-bon Shijūnishōkyō no kadai” 寶林傳本四十二章經の課題.Indogaku bukkyō gaku kenkyū 6, no. 3/2 (1955): 627–30. Yanagida Seizan 柳田聖山. Shoki zenshū shisho no kenkyū 初期禅宗史書の研究. Kyoto: Hōzōkan, 1967. Yoshikawa Tadao 吉川忠夫and Mugitani Kuniō 麥古邦夫, eds. Shinkō kenkyū: yakuchū hen 真 誥研究: 譯注篇. Kyoto: Kyōto daigaku jinbun kagaku kenkyūjo, 2000. Yoshioka Yoshitoyo 吉岡義豊. “Shijūnishōkyō to dōkyō 四十二章經と道教.” In Yoshioka Yoshitoyo 吉岡義豊 Dōkyō to Bukkyō 道教と佛教第三, 51–55. Tōkyō: Kokusho Kankōkai, Shōwa [1976–80]. Zürcher, Erik. The Buddhist Conquest of China: The Spread and Adaptation of Buddhism in Early Medieval China. Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1959. Zürcher, Erik. “Buddhist Influence on Early Taoism: A Survey of Scriptural Evidence.” T’oung-pao 66 (1980): 84–147.

About the Author James Robson is James C. Kralik and Yunli Lou Professor of East Asian Languages and Civilizations at Harvard University. His research spans the history of Buddhism and Daoism in Japan and China; his publications explore sacred geography, local religious history, talismans, and religious statuary in China and East Asia.

10 Taking Stock John Lagerwey Abstract Lagerwey’s essay reflects on the author’s journey as a scholar of Chinese religion, and especially his realization of the centrality of Daoism to Chinese religious life. Having completed his Ph.D. at Harvard (1975), Lagerwey encountered the study of living Daoism and realized that the dominant Euro-centric definition of religion and Confucian-centric vision of Chinese history, which were, and remain, the dominant paradigm of Chinese studies, occlude the historical social reality of Chinese religion, in which Daoism played a crucial role. This realization entailed moving away from the mainstream literary and historical canons, delving into the Daoist textual and, especially, the ritual tradition. Keywords: Daoism, Confucianism, Religion, Chinese studies, ritual

Over forty years have passed since I first encountered Daoism. That encounter radically changed me, as it has changed us all. Indeed, what the encounter with Daoism has changed most radically is the field of Sinology and, thereby, the nature and conditions of a China–West dialogue. A volume like this one is a perfect opportunity for reflecting together on these changes. It is therefore my hope that, in addition to any discussion about my own remarks, there will be further statements—parallel or contradictory—to my own, that we can publish as a single piece: our letter to the world that never wrote to us. Let me begin with several of what were for me the most radical transformations in my view of China and, therefore, of my own cultural heritage. The first changes had to do with the text I read with Kristofer Schipper in my first year (1976) in Paris, the Laozi zhong jing 老子中經. Every Wednesday night I would cross Paris from the 18th to the 14th arrondissement and translate orally this extraordinary text into French. I can fairly say that this

Raz, Gil and Anna M. Shields (eds): Religion and Poetry in Medieval China. The Way and the Words. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2023 DOI: 10.5117/9789463721172_CH10

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text “blew my mind,” because it made me realize that: (1) the distinction I had assumed between inner and outer—subjective and objective—was so rigid as to be fundamentally wrong; (2) the process of interiorization lay at the heart of historical change; (3) the spiritual depth of Chinese culture encountered in this text made of the religionless China I had studied at Harvard a sick joke, that is, a modernizing “secularist” joke that had little or nothing to do with Chinese reality. Nothing I have learned since has overturned these basic changes. After presenting this text to Schipper’s class in May 1976, I went on to read texts like the Huangting jing 黃庭經, Lingbao bifa 靈寶秘法,Wuzhen pian 悟真篇, and Cantong ji 參同契—all of which confirmed and deepened my conviction that I had, at last, encountered the real China, one which, rather than confirming modern secularism as Voltaire thought, on the contrary revealed that “the great Other” on the far side of the Eurasian continent was no exception to the rule that human beings are fundamentally “religious” animals. 1. Our modern distinctions between the subjective and the objective boil down to what the philosophers used to call, following Aristotle, secondary versus primary qualities: science gives us access to the objective reality of things, while our own senses give us delusional, if poetic ideas about these things—about their smell, taste, feel, shape, and sound. There is hard scientific fact on the one hand, fuzzy feelings and intuitions on the other: in the end, mathematics versus religion. And now, while people like Albert Einstein could still say that “God does not play with dice,” contemporary scientists like Steven Hawking say they have no need for God in their scientific hypotheses. What the Laozi zhong jing taught me is that this view is an absurd, typically Western and Aristotelian either/or based on the logic of the excluded middle. The reality is that the human subject, as subject—however much science relies on reduction to chemical reactions or genetic mutations—is a world-unto-herself, that is, an objective reality with her fears, anxieties, paranoia, and illnesses, her loves, élans, and longings, for truth, beauty, and justice. The proof? Read the Laozi zhong jing and discover that the gods of ancient China did not just die under the onslaught of the thinkers of the Warring States: they were internalized, as Han Chinese suffering from Socratic doubt about the reality of the gods worshiped hitherto rediscovered them as aspects of themselves, thereby illustrating the profundity of the Laozian observation that “the sage is for the belly, not the eyes,” and his consequent exhortation to “block the gates, close the windows.” For, in

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Mencius’s immortal statement, “the ten thousand things are all complete in me.” As I have published a full-length article on my reading of the Laozi zhong jing,1 I will stop here, with this conclusion: this book made me realize that human subjectivity is a fundamental reality about which religious and artistic traditions have much more to tell us than science. Or, to put it the way I would now: science is constantly enriching our understanding of ourselves and the universe, but it has nothing to say about the values by which we live, or the power of the imagination and its intuitions. No one—no society—survives long without values and commitment; no scientist or mathematician discovers anything without eureka moments. 2. This is really a corollary of the primary discovery about the objective reality of the subjective. Attached to certain values, accustomed to them by centuries of ritual practice and imaginings, not all elite individuals are ready to “throw the baby out with the bathwater” when the society that gave rise to those values, practices, and imaginings disappears. As I have tried to show in my introductions to the eight volumes published by Brill on the history of the four great paradigm shifts in Chinese cultural and religious history, the result is that, over the bridge of the shift, on the far side looking back, one discovers profound links between before and after. These links are in part the product of interiorization, which thus proves to be a permanent feature of the human subject in revolutionary times and not at all a characteristic unique to “modernity,” as I believe Weber thought. The other part is simply the massive “popular” part of culture and religion that elite considerations have little impact on. In China, this refers to “shamanism,” which remains China’s primary religion in spite of over two millennia of elite onslaught and repression. 3. I have spent the subsequent forty years exploring the depth—and breadth—of China’s religious and spiritual heritage. It began with these “interior alchemy” texts (the Laozi zhong jing and the Huangting jing are obvious forerunners of the neidan texts of the Song), from which I learned that the Western symbolic imagination was far inferior to the Chinese when it came to the use of the written language. In the nineteenth century Western painting broke with the representational tradition and music became atonal, but Rimbaud’s assault on language fell well short of what is accomplished in texts like the Laozi zhong jing nearly two millennia earlier. 1

Lagerwey, “Deux écrits taoïstes anciens.”

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Why? This led me to reflection on the alphabet versus Chinese characters, and ultimately to the article published in 1985 on “The Oral and the Written in Chinese and Western Religion,” where I express for the first time the idea that Derrida’s analysis of Western metaphysical bias—the living spirit versus the dead letter, with its implications for the way the body/soul disjunction is imagined—does not apply to China. In China, there is no dead letter and there is no literalism, because there are no letters. But rather than that meaning China is “materialistic,” it means that the “spiritual”—sense, meaning, and values as expressed in writing—utterly takes over—incorporates—the material: the “material” becomes “spiritual,” pneumatic. In other words, Daoism reveals to us something fundamental about the nature of Chinese writing: at the very least, it is not a copy of speech; stated more radically, it has nothing to do with speech. All of this can be discovered by examining, as I do in Taoist Ritual in Chinese Society and History, such texts as the Xuanlan renniao shan jingtu 玄覽人鳥山經圖, from which we learn that characters are, like the human body itself, “configurations of qi.”2 Like the Greek pneuma or the Hebrew ruah, qi refers at once to “breath” and “spirit.” It is because of the “energetic” nature of Chinese characters, as seen above all in Daoist “symbols” (fu) and “maps” (tu), that the body/soul distinction is not a disjunction in China but a challenge to spiritualize the “fleshly body” so that it can fly away, immortal, as a “feathered human.” All of this is to be discovered in Daoist texts and ritual practices, as rooted in the chenwei of the Han. In the spring of 1977, Schipper’s Daoist “brother,” Chen Rongsheng, came to Paris and the École Pratique des Hautes Etudes and gave two courses, one on the Audience ritual, the other on funeral ritual. They thrust me into a second basic discovery about my own cultural history, namely, that the anti-ritual discourse on which I had been nourished in my Dutch Calvinist childhood was the expression of a particular moment in modern Western history, and to make sense of the truly massive presence of ritual in the Daoist canon, I had to look at the Catholic liturgical tradition against which the Calvinist discourse/practice had been constructed. This led to some fifteen years during which I immersed myself in the history of Daoist ritual and its continuing presence in the field, first in Taiwan, then throughout Southeast China (I also read up on the history of Catholic ritual). When from 1992, this fieldwork became the study of all forms of ritual practice in Chinese villages, I soon discovered that village Confucianism was also a lijiao 禮教, “ritual teaching”; it just supplied different rituals, for the worship of ancestors. And, of course, Buddhists and Buddhicized Lingbao Daoists did gongde 功德, the 2 Lagerwey, Taoist Ritual, 161–66.

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rites of merit by which the dead were shriven and converted into ancestors (or chased away if they could not be thus converted). In short, if we want to understand the relationship between religion and social groups in China, we have to study the rituals of Buddhists, Daoists, Confucians, and spirit mediums (as well as the symbolic practices of geomancy and chronomancy). But of course religion is not just about social groups, it is also about individuals—the kind in China who sought transcendence, first in the mountains ( fangshi 方士) and then in the mind (Shangqing 上清). I was introduced to this Daoism in 1985, on my first visit to Mainland China, when Thomas Hahn took me to Maoshan and Wudangshan. On the first, at the time, there was very little to see, but on the latter there were so many extraordinary buildings that the UNESCO soon recognized their universal patrimonial significance. For me, they opened a new phase of my interest in Daoism and political legitimacy—a subject to which I returned in an article entitled “The Ming Dynasty Double Orthodoxy: Daoxue and Daojiao.”3

Early Daoist History I would like now to address several views about early Daoist history that the “discoveries” sketched above led me to. The first concerns how we get from the Laozi to the Daoist “religion” of the f irst four centuries of the common era. Put simply, and contrary to what is probably the majority opinion on the matter, I think there is a fairly straight line between the two, as reading Alan Chan’s Two Visions of the Way (1991) and Harold Roth’s Original Tao (1999) should make clear. But I would like to put matters in a slightly less metaphysical way, without too much reference to texts. In the first part of the Brill series, focused on early Chinese religion, Shang through Han, the centerpiece with respect to the Warring States paradigm shift is the attack on shamanism, as detailed by Fu-shih Lin: we there see every period thinker “piling on” to ridicule the religion of the wu 巫. 4 Chapters by Mark Csikszentmihàlyi and Romain Graziani show that two kinds of interiorization emerged among the elite in response to what was undoubtedly a “crisis of credibility” for the religion of the spirit mediums.5 3 Published in Daoist Lives: Lineage and Community. 4 Lin, “The Image and Status of Shamans in Ancient China.” As stated in the “Introduction” to Early Chinese Religions (13n4), the translation of wu as “shaman” is “a matter of pure convention and convenience.” 5 Csikszentmihàlyi, “Ethics and Self-Cultivation,” and Graziani, “The Subject and the Sovereign.”

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While many scholars, including Csikszentmihàlyi, prefer to avoid the retroactive use of terms like “Confucian” and “Daoist,” seeing this as a vision of philosophical schools that dates to the second century BC, these two terms, together with “Legalism,” remain, in my view, perfect shorthand for distinguishing three primary types of thought in the Warring States.6 Put simply, in the present context, two “schools” are instantly distinguishable by their different basic concerns: political, social, and ethical in “Confucian” interiorization, individual and microcosmic in “Daoist.” In his chapter, Csikszentmihàlyi suggests that self-cultivation in preimperial China took three forms: ethical, physical, and spiritual. Common to all three was the idea that desires need to be “dammed” and channeled by “training” and that the individual trained in sincerity (cheng 誠) and reverence ( jing 敬) would come to be in a beneficial relationship to the universe. Correct ritual attitudes of sincerity, reverence, and awe/fear (wei 威) enable the interiorization and transfer to daily activity of virtues that lead to success. Awe is appropriate with regard to Heaven because Heaven “rejects sacrifices done without that attitude.”7 “Reverence is a spiritual attitude that is optimal in ritual contexts” and is at the core of the moral distinction in Lunyu 2.7 between human filial devotion and the care of domestic animals. There, the “right action” of feeding one’s parents may or not be moral, and what determines its morality is the presence of reverence: “If it is not done reverently 不敬, what basis is there to distinguish them 何以別乎?”8

As Csikszentmihàlyi shows, the idea that the trained person could influence both his fellow man and Heaven relied on a new cosmology of Dao, Qi (vital energy), and Yin/Yang: as the entire universe was composed of Qi in its coarser (Yin, earth) and more refined (Yang, heaven) forms, “the human realm and the cosmic realm are connected through the resonating medium of qi.”9 While this new cosmology provides necessary background for understanding Confucian thought in the Warring States, it could be stripped out of Confucian texts without irremediable loss. This is not the case with Daoist 6 For Csikszentmihàlyi’s views, see his article written together with Nylan, “Constructing Lineages and Inventing Traditions.” 7 Csikszentmihàlyi, “Ethics and Self-Cultivation,” 527. 8 Ibid., 525. 9 Ibid., 538.

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texts, as any consultation of the Daoist self-cultivation texts first translated by Harold Roth shows: The Way is what the mouth cannot speak of The eyes cannot see And the ears cannot hear. It is that by which we cultivate the mind and rectify the body. It is what a person loses and thereby dies, or gains and is born. When undertakings lose it they fail; when they get it they succeed. The Way has neither root nor trunk, neither leaves nor flowers. That by which the myriad things are born and mature we call it the Way.10 Inner power 11 is the lodging place of the Way. When things get it, they are born; when human awareness gets it, it can direct the vital essence of the Way. Thus inner power means “to get,”12 that is, to get that which makes it what it is. What acts without effort we call the Way. What lodges it we call inner power. This means there is no gap between the Way and inner power, and to speak of them is not to differentiate them. Because there is no gap between them, the Way lodges in inner power.13 The Way has no fixed position; the good heart, in its tranquillity, is what it likes. Where the heart is calm and the vital energy ordered, the Way can stay. This Way is not distant: people are born when they receive it. This Way does not go away: by following it people gain knowledge.14

Thus, the Dao is so big as to embrace all, so small as to be found everywhere, at once All and Nothing. Romain Graziani therefore refers to “getting the Way” as “the interiorization of the principle of totality.”15 The Dao takes 10 Translation based on Roth, “The Inner Cultivation Tradition,” 130. 11 De 德 is frequently translated as “virtue.” Instead of “inner,” the word “spiritual” might also be used: spiritual power which, by definition, is inner. This power is how the Way, otherwise invisible, inaudible, and impossible to describe, makes itself manifest and palpably present. 12 This is a standard pun, as “to get” 得 and “inner power” 德 are homophones. 13 Roth, “Inner Cultivation,” 135, with minor modifications. 14 Ibid., 130, with modifications. 15 Graziani, “The Subject and the Sovereign,” 490.

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up residence in the “good heart,” def ined as a heart which is calm in a body whose vital energy is ordered. To understand Daoist self-cultivation, therefore, we must understand both the body and the heart. According to Graziani, The term xin 心 in Chinese designates a single organ for functions which are generally divided in Western culture between the heart and the mind. It refers to that organ, or rather that sense, through which we conceive and feel at the same time, and pertains as much to the realm of meaning as of emotion.16

The Daoist texts studied by Roth and Graziani state that “the heart in the body occupies the place of the ruler,” by contrast with the “nine apertures,” which has each its function like the officials in a state: When the heart dwells in the Dao, The nine apertures function correctly. But when desires fill the heart, The eyes cannot see colors nor the ears hear sounds. When the one above departs from the Way, The ones below fail to do their jobs.17

That these texts from the Guanzi are practical, “yogic” developments of the Daodejing seems so evident that one wonders why it need even be discussed, let alone argued.18 But I do not wish to get bogged down in a Confucian versus Daoist debate, at least not yet. To me more important is the fact that the f irst 16 Ibid., 475. Because the heart unifies both functions in the Hebraic tradition as well, the term “Western” here should be changed to read “Greek.” Cf. Gregory of Nyssa (ca. 335–95): “Like a piece of iron from which the rust has been removed shines in the sun, so does the inner person, that the Lord calls ‘heart’, recover the likeness of its model when the rust stains that degraded its beauty have been removed.” Taken from Homily 6 on the Beatitudes, seen on the “Évangile au quotidien” website for August 30, 2017. 17 Roth, “Inner Cultivation,” 135, with modifications. 18 It should be noted that I am not arguing that these yogic practices could not be engaged in by the same people as those interiorizing values linked to the performance of Confucian rituals, only that the clearly social values of reverence, sincerity, and awe are in a different class from the interiorized Dao and De: politics versus cosmos. That Daoist practices could also have a political dimension has long been clear from the Laozi, as it is in the last passage cited from the Guanzi. Only in the Zhuangzi do these cosmic religious practices combine with logic to produce a radically individualistic and resolutely anti-political form.

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“transcendents,” as Robert Campany calls them, are a new kind of god, and one for which I again adhere to tradition in calling them “Daoist.” There is, first, the fact that their stories appear initially in what have traditionally been considered Daoist texts, to wit, the Liexian and Shenxian zhuan. To make my point, I will begin with the case of Wangzi Qiao 王子喬. According to Marianne Bujard,19 in the year 136 CE the immortal Wangzi Qiao having made a “miraculous appearance,” the local magistrate built a temple which soon became the meeting place of Daoist followers. Masses of devotees would gather in search of healing or to practice meditation. The inscription notes that prayers that came from sincere hearts would be fulf illed, while hypocrites would suffer the opposite. “Good faith” qiancheng 虔 誠20 was always a prerequisite for those who wanted to be understood by the deity … Wangzi Qiao … also attracted devotees who gathered at his temple to sing hymns to the Great One and to meditate on the organs of their bodies, a practice linked, like the ingestion of drugs, to the quest for immortality.21

As Bujard shows elsewhere in the same chapter, it was in the year 113 BCE that, convinced by “recipe masters” ( fangshi 方士) from Shandong that worship of the Great One (Taiyi 太一) would enable him to become immortal, the Han emperor Wu (r. 141–87 BCE) sacrificed in person on an altar with Taiyi in its center. The offerings used were the same as for the sacrifice to the Five Emperors (Wudi 五帝), with the addition of the dates and dried meat that immortals liked.22 But what or who is Taiyi? Taiyi is compared to the Dao. It designates both the undifferentiated unity which precedes the individuation of beings, the separation of yin and yang, of Heaven and Earth, and the origin of creation, Chaos (hundun 混沌).23

Taiyi was, thus, “a kind of alter ego of the emperor in the divine world,”24 and this explains why he was described as dwelling in a constellation in the center of the heavens called the Purple Empyrean Palace 紫微宮. 19 20 21 22 23 24

Bujard, “State and Local Cults in Han Religion,” Early Chinese Religion I, 777–812. The phrase “good faith” could also be translated “utter sincerity.” Ibid., 808, 810. Ibid., 786–87. Ibid., 791. Ibid., 795.

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The Taiyi worshiped by Emperor Wu “was presented as the master of the Five Emperors, the deities that until then had been at the head of the imperial pantheon”:25 The ruler sacrificed to Taiyi in the center, the place originally occupied by the Yellow Emperor, who was now relegated to the southwest of the altar of three stories and eight entrances. Along with the Great One and the Five Emperors, a multitude of gods were honored, including the Sun, the Moon and the Big Dipper.26

Altar and rites for Taiyi later become the model for the sacrifice to Heaven done first by Wang Mang 王莽 (r. 9–23 CE) and then by the Eastern Han founder, the emperor Guangwu (r. 25–58 CE). In other words, in the case of Wangzi Qiao we have what would seem to be ordinary commoners practicing an interiorized version of an imperial sacrificial cult that was itself derived from fangshi self-cultivation practices. No better illustration could be found of the role of these practices in the eclipse of ancient shamanism: successful self-cultivators became local gods, recognized by the imperial administration. That this model carries on into the post-Han period, I can find no better example than the stories of Ge Xuan 葛玄 translated by Campany from the Shenxian zhuan:27 He was especially adept at curing illnesses. Ghosts and demons would all manifest their forms before him; some of these he would send off, others he would execute … Ge Xuan once stayed as a guest in someone’s home while passing through Wukang. The host was sick, and had commissioned a female spirit-medium to call down a god on his behalf, to whom he was making offerings. Through the medium, the god commanded Xuan to drink some ale, which Xuan refused to do, and otherwise spoke rudely to him. At this, Xuan grew angry and shouted, “How dare you, you perverse demon!” Xuan then commanded the Five Earls to apprehend the god [through the medium], take him out, tie him to a post, and whip him. The medium then seemed to be led outside by invisible beings. Upon reaching the courtyard, 25 Ibid., 794. 26 Ibid., 786. 27 These were first published in his To Live as Long as Heaven and Earth, but I use his chapter “Seekers of Transcendence.”

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the medium hugged a pillar as her gown was removed, then fell to the ground as a whipping sound was heard and blood was seen flowing from her back. Then, in a demonic voice, the god through the medium begged for its life. Xuan said, “If I pardon you of this capital offense, can you cure this living person’s illness?” “I can,” said the god through the medium. “Very well, I will give you three days’ time. If this sick man is not well by then, I will deal with you.” The medium was then released, and the host recovered from his illness.28

“Here,” concludes Campany, “the conflict between two modes of religious power is dramatized.” Among the techniques used by the adepts in this conflict are the quintessentially Daoist “talismans” 符 and “memorials” 章: Ge Xuan once passed by a temple, the god of which often forced travelers to dismount [and present offerings] when within a hundred paces [of the temple]. Inside the temple grounds were several dozen trees which were the home of many birds which no one dared molest. Xuan, riding a carriage, passed by without getting down. In a moment a great wind swirled up toward Xuan’s carriage from behind, scattering dust up into the sky. Those following him all scattered, but Xuan only became incensed and cried, “How dare you, you little demon!” He raised his hand as if to stop the wind, and it died down at once. Xuan then rode back and threw a talisman up into the temple treetops. The birds there all fell down dead, and within a few days, all the trees had withered even though it was the height of summer; and soon thereafter a fire broke out in one of the temple rooms and burned the temple completely to the ground.29 Later, Luan Ba was nominated as a Filial and Incorrupt, appointed a Gentleman of the Interior, and then promoted to the post of Governor of Yuzhang district. Before he was made Governor of Yuzhang, there had been a god in the temple at Mount Lu who would converse with people, drink liquor, and throw its cup in the air. The god could make the wind blow on Lake Dongting in two directions at once, so that travelers in either direction would have the wind in their sails. But, a couple of weeks before Ba arrived at his post, the god in the temple no longer made a sound, and no one knew where it had gone. When Ba arrived, he personally submitted a memorial saying that this “temple demon” had falsely arrogated the title 28 Ibid., 366. 29 Ibid., 372.

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of a celestial official and had been duping and depleting the common people for a long time. It was time for the demon to be punished for its crimes. The memorial asked that notice be given to the personnel evaluation sections [of all districts] that he was personally going to be pursuing and capturing this demon; for, if it were not controlled and punished, he feared it would continue to roam about the world, eating blood sacrifices wherever it went, visiting sickness on the good people without due cause in order to increase the offerings made to it.30

The centrality of the written is confirmed by one of the earliest references to Daoism in the official histories: “They invented talismans and documents and used them to deceive the people” 造作符書, 以惑百姓.31

The Oral and the Written Buddhism was the cause of the greatest cultural transformation of China before the arrival of the West. There is no aspect of Chinese life that was not radically changed by its “conquest.” One of the most—if not the most—important changes was the undermining of the hitherto almighty written character by the Indian oral cultural model. Some aspects of that impact are well-known, such as the emergence of the fanqie 反切 system of “spelling” and the discovery and exploitation in poetry of word tones. I know of no attempts other than my own to assess the oralizing effect of Buddhism on Lingbao Daoism. I first touched on the issue in “The Oral and the Written in Chinese and Western Religion”: Chinese characters may thus be seen as entities which occupy space, just as speech takes time. As entities which occupy space and whose first function is communication with the gods, it is hardly surprising that “real writing” is originally “sky writing” (t’ien-wen, celestial patterns, “constellations”; cf. Robinet, 29 ff.). Among the many texts in the Taoist Repository (Tao-tsang) which describe the origin and end of these patterns, an early fifth-century text called The Esoteric Sounds of the Heavens (Chu-t’ien nei-yin [TT 97]) is particularly interesting for our purposes. We read there how, after three days and three nights of total obscurity, “like that before the era Lung-han” (3.1a), that 30 Ibid., 372–73. 31 Hou Hanshu 75.2435.

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is, before the beginning of cosmic time, “celestial characters one meter square suddenly flared up in the five directions” (3.2a). These characters are described in the first place as “patterns of light” so brilliant they blind the eye. They are also sounds, whose commingling produces “stanzas of the grotto” 洞章; these verses give expression to the mysteries of the heavens and sing the praises of the illumination of the Great Whole on high; in the middle, they inform (li) all spontaneous energies and save all students of immortality; below, they save the living and wrest the souls of the dead from the Long Night. All hymns sung in Taoist ritual are, in essence, such “stanzas of the grotto”: they are audible signs which point ultimately back to their silent emergence as “celestial patterns” in the womb of space at the beginning of time.32

I treated the subject more extensively in an article devoted to early Daoist ritual, in a section entitled “The Lingbao Liturgical Reform.”33 After an introduction linking “the ideology of the esoteric commentaries on the Confucian classics” to the zhenxing tu 真形圖 and “celestial writs” 天書 of the early southern Daoist tradition,34 I suggest that the most important writs for the history of Daoist ritual were the “talismanic mandates” 符命 of the five directions to be found in a text of the third century, the Taishang lingbao wufu xu (Array of the Five Talismans of the Numinous Treasure of the Most High).35 These five drawings, which are made of multiple characters with curvilinear lines that look as though they have been infused with electric current, are described as having been “deployed by Yu of the Xia” … In the Array these talismanic drawings are configurations of the energies which created the world. Thus, of the first, that of the east, the commentary reads: “Yu of the Xia deployed the writ of the east, and the document of the thearch of the south emerged.”36 In its turn, the writ of the south engenders the document of the thearch of the center, and so on, according to the order of “mutual engendering” of the five phases: 32 Lagerwey, “The Oral and the Written, ” 303. Cf. n. 40 below, which refers to the same passage. Following Léon Vandermeersch, I go on to link this fundamental difference between Chinese and Western writing to our respective “morphological” and “teleological” modes of reasoning. The reference to Isabelle Robinet is to her Méditation taoïste. 33 Lagerwey, “Daoist Ritual from the Second through the Sixth Centuries,” 146–52. 34 For a full account of this subject, see Wang Chengwen, “The Revelation and Classification.” 35 See Raz, “Creation of Tradition.” 36 Taishang lingbao wufu xu 太上靈寶五符序 3.9b.

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east-south-center-west-north. The beginning of this part of the Array tells how Yu obtained these magic documents that enable the person who possesses them, after a “pure fast, to bring the Five Thearchs down from heaven and, thereby, live forever.” The text continues with the description of the offering of a crane or a goose, to be done in an oratory or on an open-air sacred space 壇 at midnight, in order that these meta-writings of eternal life be transmitted to the worshiper. The ritual consists in an invitation of the Five Thearchs, who represent the energies of their respective directions: nine for the east, three for the south, seven for the west, and five for the north, that is, the twenty-four energies which constitute the seasons (and the dioceses of the Heavenly Masters). Elsewhere in the Array, the central direction is said to be composed of either one or twelve energies, that is, the totality/unity of the energies which produce time in the course of a year.37

As Stephen Bokenkamp showed in his seminal article on the sources of the Lingbao scriptures, the five talismanic mandates of the Array reappear in fractured form in one of the key Lingbao scriptures, the Chishu wupian zhenwen 赤書五篇真文 (Five Perfect Scripts Written in Red): Close scrutiny of these talismans shows that, allowing for minor differences due to copyists’ stylizations, these are all merely variant versions of the Five Directional Ling-pao Talismans 五方靈寶符 found in the Preface.38

The splitting of the original talisman into two parts, “the first associated with one of the five mythical emperors of antiquity and the second with the appropriate one of the Five Ancient Lords,”39 together with their multiplication “is already the sign of the declining hold of the original ideology of writing.” One version was to be “used to create entry signs on an earthen ritual mound raised on a sacred mountain”; another, “written in red on bamboo slips, was used to ask the sovereigns of the five sacred peaks, the nine earths, and the waters (heaven-earth-water) for forgiveness of sins and immortality”; a third was the transcription as hymns referred to above: 37 For a fuller analysis of the ingestion of the five talismanic mandates, see my “Deux écrits taoïstes anciens.” 38 Bokenkamp, “Sources of the Ling-pao Scriptures,” 457. The translation of xu in the title of the Wufuxu—“array” or “preface”—remains a contested one. 39 Ibid.

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Moreover, the myth of the revelation of these talismanic writs is no longer that of Yu but of a certain Lord of Heavenly Authenticity 天真皇人 who, after the appearance of the writs in the heavens at the beginning of time, explains their power for salvation before he comments on the formation of the hymns “by the mixing of the five sounds.”40

Another aspect of the oralizing influence of Buddhism on Daoism may be seen in the description of scriptural revelations, as in the Jiuyou mengzhen ke 九幽明真科 (Code of the Ninefold Darkness of the Alliance with the Perfected). At the outset, the Daoist Buddha, the Heavenly Worthy of the Primordial Beginning, is teaching the Dharma to a huge audience of disciples in a celestial garden. He then “emits rays of five colors which illumine with a penetrating light” both paradise and hell, leading the Disciple of Superior Wisdom to ask for the revelation of rules of behavior for creating good karma. The Heavenly Worthy tells his assistants to open the Code and transmit it to the disciples. Once thus enlightened and converted, the heavenly crowd earns the right to rebirth by obeying the rules. Next the Lord of the Dao of the Most High asks for a ritual of merit to “ransom and save all souls” 拔贖 開死魂度. 41 This time the same assistants explain the ritual: “As they recounted the scripture the sun, the moon, and the stars of all the heavens illumined the myriad worlds of the nine earths,” bringing all souls to enlightenment, conversion, expression of the desire for a good rebirth, and liberation from hell. 42

The Lord of the Dao then asks for yet another method, to be used in time of catastrophe, war, or epidemic. This method involves writing in red the five perfect writs and placing them on tables in the courtyard of the house. At the end of the ritual, the perfect writs are burned. The Wulian shengshi jing 五煉生尸經 (Scripture of the Five Refinements for Vivifying the Cadaver) is produced in the same place, with the same protagonists and the same logic of revelation and light as the Code: Because the writs are the transcription of the “powerful notes” of the Esoteric Sounds of the Heavens (Zhutian neiyin 諸天內音), it is the lords of the 32 heavens—eight for each of the four directions—who, after 40 Lagerwey, Wu-shang pi-yao, 105, quotation of Zhutian neiyin DZ 97. 41 Mingzhen ke DZ 1411.16a. 42 Mingzhen ke DZ 1411.16b: 說經時諸天日月星宿朗曜普照九地.

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the initial revelation by the Heavenly Worthy, order the divine humans who fly in the skies to confide them to the officers of the earth of each direction. For the centre, which does not figure in the Esoteric Sounds, Five Refinements refers to the supreme heaven of the Great Net with its single energy, whose writ is communicated to the central office of the earth. Once this transmission to the Five Thearchs has been completed, the stars cease to turn, the universe is inundated with light, and the dead return to life. 43

The text goes on to describe how the “writs-turned-transcriptions” are in turn transmitted to the deceased by recitation of the incantation that now empowers the writs inscribed on stones of the five directional colors: Thus does the transmission of the celestial writs to the deceased become the prolongation, indeed the repetition, of the original revelation by the Heavenly Worthy described at the beginning of the scripture. 44

I go on to suggest that “the recitation of revealed books constitutes the most characteristic liturgical form of Buddhist orality in the canon of the Numinous Treasure,” and that it is in the Scripture of Salvation (Duren jing 度人經) that this mode of practice is best explained. The Scripture of Salvation opens with its own recitation in heaven. An initial sequence of ten recitations by the Heavenly Worthy serve to convoke a celestial assembly of all the gods. For seven days and seven nights, all the stars cease to turn and the earth, transformed into jade, becomes perfectly flat. Once all the Perfected have taken up their places, the Heavenly Worthy, seated on a lion of five colours suspended in space, begins to recite anew: After one recitation, the great saints of all the heavens, with one voice, said that it was good, and at that very moment, the deaf recovered perfect hearing. After the second recitation, the eyes of the blind were opened. After the third, the dumb could speak; after the fourth, the lame ceased to limp; after the fifth, the chronically ill recovered their health; after the sixth, white hairs became black again and fallen teeth grew back; after the seventh, the old were rejuvenated and the young renewed in their strength; after the eighth, women became pregnant, as did animals and birds, and births occurred everywhere; after the ninth, the earth revealed 43 Lagerwey, “Daoist Ritual,” 149. 44 Ibid., 150.

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what was hidden, and jade and gold became visible; after the tenth, dried bones returned to life, and all became humans. Then all men and women in the land opened their hearts, were saved, and obtained long life. 45 說經一徧, 諸天大聖同時稱善, 是時一國男女聾病耳皆開聦. 說經二 徧, 盲者目明. 說經三徧, 喑者能言. 說經四徧, 跛痾積逮皆能起行. 說 經五徧, 久病痼疾一時復形. 說經六徧, 髮白反黑, 齒落更生. 說經七 徧, 老者反壯少者皆強.說經八徧, 婦人懷姙, 鳥獸含胎已生未生皆得 生成. 說經九徧, 地藏發泄金玉露形. 說經十徧, 枯骨更生,皆起成人. 是時一國是男是女莫不傾心皆受護度咸得長生.

Thus, ears now take precedence over eyes, even if the supreme good is still wealth and long life. Farther on, the scripture explains that the effect of the recitation is to be explained by the fact the text is composed of “the sounds of the hidden rhymes of the esoteric names of the higher thearchs of the heavens, as well as of the taboo names of the demon kings and the secret names of the hundred powers”: it is a dharani-scripture. In the Taiji zhenren fu lingbao zhaijie 太極真人敷靈寶齋戒 (Explanation by the Perfected of the Great Culmen Concerning the Fasts and Rules of the Numinous Treasure), recitation is inserted at the end of a ritual of audience. After the Perfected explains to the assembled Daoists why fasting must be observed at regular times, he invites them to listen to the “oral instructions” he has received from the Most High. The Audience ritual now culminates in a recitation of a scripture, itself preceded by a circumambulation of the sacred area while singing the “Pacing the Void” 步虛 songs of another Lingbao scripture: The reason we go around the incense burner is that we are imitating the supreme Perfected who, when they fast, sing while going around the Terrace of the Seven Treasures of the Most High, that is, the terrace of the seven treasures of spontaneity governed by the Lord of the Great Tao of the Most High in the heaven of the supreme immaculate grotto of the root of mystery, the heaven of the Great Net. 46 所以旋繞香者, 上法玄根無上玉洞之天, 大羅天上太上大道君所治七 寶自然之臺無上諸真人, 持齋誦詠旋繞太上七寶之臺今法之焉.

The scripture to be recited is now placed on a high seat, and the priest, having paid homage to the Dao, the scriptures, and the Three Worthies, 45 Taishang lingbao duren jing DZ 1.1.1b. 46 Taiji zhenren fu lingbao zhaijie DZ 532.6b–7a.

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asks that the recitation enable the liberation of the ancestors, the emperor, the people, and of all beings from their sins … The heart of the ritual is the recitation and its (oral) explanation, “like the teaching of the Perfected of antiquity.” It is this method which “saves all beings.”47 太上濟度之恩乞七世父母以及帝王民人, 一切眾生臣等身及家門大 小, 願得赦除前世今世生死重罪惡過 … 轉經說法象古真人教化時也 … 此法橋普度一切人也.

The Explanation of Fasts calls for the recitation of the scriptures of the Numinous Treasure, “origin of all scriptures,” and also of the Text of Five Thousand Characters (the Laozi) and the Scripture of the Great Grotto in 39 Stanzas, this last being the central scripture of the Shangqing revelation. Only these three texts will survive the end of the world. Conclusion The oralization of Daoist ritual under Buddhist influence reaches an early medieval peak in the Shenzhou jing 神咒經 (Scripture of Divine Incantations). “Produced by a splinter group of the Heavenly Masters,” it is clearly inspired by the Lingbao tradition. Like it, it promotes the cult of a text revealed by celestial preaching and transmitted to adepts in accord with rules … In his home, the new initiate must build a platform on which to place the scripture and then burn incense before it and light lamps morning and evening, and prepare a larger offering on days of the new and full moon. If someone in the household falls ill, reciting the scripture six times per day and dispatching an oral petition will ensure healing. If the illness is more serious, acts of contrition are necessary, and the dispatch of a written petition. 48

Thus, although written petitions (and talismans) remain superior, it is the oral petition, together with preaching, recitation, and “divine incantation” that takes center stage: the exorcistic “mantra,” consisting of litanies not of heavenly worthies, as in the later Lingbao tradition, but of marauding demons becomes the cultic focus. I would suggest that it is this oralization of Daoist ritual that made it, like Buddhism, a religion of the people: Mahayana Daoism. 47 Taiji zhenren fu lingbao zhaijie DZ 532 8a–9b. 48 Lagerwey, “Daoist Ritual,” 155.

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Bibliography Primary Dongxuan lingbao changye zhifu jiuyou yugui mingzhen ke 洞玄靈寶長夜之府九 幽玉櫃明真 科, DZ 1411. Han shu 漢書. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1962. Laozi zhong jing老君中經, DZ 1168. Lingbao wuliang duren shangpin miaojing 靈寶無量度人上品妙經, DZ 1. Taiji zhenren fu lingbao zhaijie weiyi zhujing yaojue 太極真人敷靈寶齋戒威儀諸 經要訣, DZ 532. Taishang dongxuan lingbao miedu wulian miaojing 太上洞玄靈寶滅度五練生 尸妙經, DZ 369. Taishang lingbao wufu xu 太上靈寶五符序, DZ 388.

Secondary Bokenkamp, Stephen. “Sources of the Ling-pao Scriptures.” In Tantric and Taoist Studies, edited by Michel Strickmann, 2: 434–86. Mélanges chinois et bouddhiques 21. Brussels: Institut Belge des Hautes Études Chinoises, 1983. Bujard, Marianne. “State and Local Cults in Han Religion.” In Early Chinese Religion I: Shang through Han, edited by John Lagerwey and Mark Kalinowski, 777–812. Leiden: Brill, 2009. Campany, Robert. To Live as Long as Heaven and Earth: A Translation and Study of Ge Hong’s Traditions of Divine Transcendents. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002. Campany, Robert. “Seekers of Transcendence and their Communities in this World (pre-350 AD).” In Early Chinese Religion II: the Period of Division, edited by John Lagerwey and Lü Pengzhi, 345–94. Leiden: Brill, 2010. Csikszentmihàlyi, Mark. “Ethics and Self-Cultivation Practice in Early China.” Early Chinese Religion I: Shang through Han, edited by John Lagerwey and Mark Kalinowski, 519–42. Leiden: Brill, 2009. Csikszentmihàlyi, Mark, and Michael Nylan. “Constructing Lineages and Inventing Traditions in the Shiji.” T’oung Pao 89 (2003): 59–99. Graziani, Romain. “The Subject and the Sovereign: Exploring the Self in Early Chinese Self-cultivation.” In Early Chinese Religion I: Shang through Han, edited by John Lagerwey and Mark Kalinowski, 459–517. Leiden: Brill, 2009. Lagerwey, John. Wu-Shang Pi-Yao: Somme Taoïste du VIe Siècle. Paris: École française d’Extrême-Orient, 1981.

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Lagerwey, John. “The Oral and the Written in Chinese and Western Religion.” In Religion und Philosophie in Ostasien (Festschrift für Hans Steininger), edited by G. Naundorf, K. H. Pohl, H.-H. Schmidt, 301–22. Würzburg: Königshausen und Neumann, 1985. Lagerwey, John. Taoist Ritual in Chinese Society and History. New York, Macmillan, 1987. Lagerwey, John. “Deux écrits taoïstes anciens.” Cahiers d’Extrême-Asie 14 (2004): 139–71. Lagerwey, John. “Daoist Ritual from the Second through the Sixth Centuries.” In Foundations of Daoist Ritual: A Berlin Symposium, edited by Florian C. Reiter, 135–63. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2009. Lagerwey, John. “The Ming Dynasty Double Orthodoxy: Daoxue and Daojiao.” In “Daoist Lives: Lineage and Community,” special issue of Cahiers d’Extrême-Asie 25 (2017): 113–29. Lin, Fu-shih. “The Image and Status of Shamans in Ancient China.” In Early Chinese Religion I: Shang through Han, edited by John Lagerwey and Mark Kalinowski, 397–458. Leiden: Brill, 2009. Raz, Gil. “Creation of Tradition: The Five Talismans of the Numinous Treasure and the Formation of Early Daoism.” PhD diss., Indiana University, 2004. Robinet, Isabelle. Méditation taoïste. Paris : Fayard, 1979. Roth, Harold D., “The Inner Cultivation Tradition of Early Daoism.” In Religions of China in Practice, edited by Donald S. Lopez, 123–48. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1996. Wang, Chengwen. “The Revelation and Classification of Daoist Scriptures.” In Early Chinese Religion II: The Period of Division, edited by John Lagerwey and Lü Pengzhi, 775–890. Leiden: Brill, 2010.

About the Author John Lagerwey is Director of the Paris Ricci Institute and Retired Research Professor in Chinese Studies at the Centre for China Studies, Chinese University of Hong Kong. His numerous books, edited volumes, and articles explore various aspects of Daoism and Chinese popular religion from the medieval era to the present, including the multi-volume series Chinese Religions (Brill, 2009–2015).

Epilogue Traversing the Golden Porte—The Problem with Daoist Studies Stephen R. Bokenkamp Abstract As a response to the essays collected in the volume, Bokenkamp’s epilogue is both a reflection on the intersection of poetry and Daoism and a consideration of the state of Daoist Studies. Focusing on the Daoist term, “Golden Gatetowers,” (金闕), the chapter tracks its changing meanings across a variety of primary sources as well as various translations of the term by modern scholars. These (mis)translations reveal a lack of understanding of the shifting meanings of the term in its various contexts, which in turn reflects the current state of (mis)understanding of Daoism. Keywords: Daoism, translation, Daoist Studies, poetry

I am profoundly moved and concomitantly humbled by the care my students and colleagues—friends all—have devoted to producing this volume.1 It ranges from consideration of large historical and philosophical questions (the Way) to careful analyses of how we can know so much of the Chinese past (the Words) whether passed down on bamboo, silk, paper, or stone. But how to properly respond in a way that would both honor the contributors and (perhaps) interest the readers who will come to consult their contributions? At first, I contemplated composing what J. Z. Smith called “that awkwardly entitled genre,” the bio-bibliographical essay.2 But, after reading the lively and informative essays assembled here, I realized 1 In particular I wish to thank Professors Gil Raz and Anna M. Shields for their care and determination in bringing this volume to completion. 2 Smith, Relating Religion, 1.

Raz, Gil and Anna M. Shields (eds): Religion and Poetry in Medieval China. The Way and the Words. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2023 DOI: 10.5117/9789463721172_CH11

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that I wanted to play as well. That is, I wanted to contribute something from my recent scholarship. At the same time, I wanted to take this opportunity to share a bit of my long experience studying and writing about the organized Chinese religion we call Daoism. After all, it seems to me, we who are engaged in this study have not been doing a very effective job of communicating our findings. This is understandable, I think. It is an impossible job. Trying to comprehend Daoism is like being the blind persons who were set the task of describing the elephant—not just because the Daoist elephant is huge and formed quite differently from other, more familiar, quadrupeds, but because it keeps morphing.3 Sometimes it’s a Kirin, sometimes an Indian elephant, sometimes a Chinese dragon, and sometimes a more practical water buffalo. In an attempt, then, to accomplish these three missions—gratitude, scholarly report, field critique—at one and the same time, I decided to write about how English-language readers came to learn of a Daoist celestial locale, the jinque 金闕, variously translated as “Golden Porte,” “Golden Pylons,” and “Golden Gate” in the earliest translations. The jinque is an entrance way into the highest heavens. It was first explored in one textual tradition, that of the scriptures of Upper Clarity 上清, primarily those received by Yang Xi 楊羲 (330–ca. 386), but it finds mention in somewhat later traditions as well. The jinque complex of revealed information, if we can call it that, also has the advantage of including the deity Azure Lad 青童 who has the placename jinque in his exalted title and has incited a good deal of interest from Western scholars. New information about the Azure Lad appears in my most recent book, so the jinque complex is something I have spent a bit of time with recently. The introduction of jinque to certain English readers was through Michel Strickmann’s English draft of his Paris dissertation, Studies in Mao Shan Taoism, dated 1977. At the very end of the dissertation, Strickmann translates DZ 442上清後聖道君列紀, the Annals of the Lord of the Dao, Sage who is to Come of Shangqing (hereafter Annals). The photocopy of the typescript in my possession gives a short introduction preceding the translation announcing that “the fundamental text of those extracted from the archives of Shangqing was the biography of a ruler from that starry region. The master of Yang Xi’s celestial visitors was the Sovereign Lord, Sage who is to Come, of the Golden

3 The people I write about below might have approved this simile. They would have known the story of the blind seers and the elephant from Kang Senghui’s, Liudu jijing T. 152, 8.50c25–51a10.

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Porte of Shangqing.”4 Footnote numbers stud the text, but somehow I was not privileged to receive that part of the transmission.5 Following Strickmann’s translation, he announces a new section, “In Attendance on the Golden Porte,” and begins to tell the story of the Sage, Li Hong 李弘, who in the scripture is given the name Li Hongyuan 李弘元. Li Hong was a legendary figure “whose cult had crystalized one strain of eschatological thinking ever since the end of the Han,” and now is no longer “incarnate in a mortal, the leader of a politico-religious community,” but “ever-present in heaven as well as secretly immanent throughout the earth and its most secret recesses.” The Azure Lad is “Chief Minister” to this Sage, whose celestial home base is the Golden Porte.6 This section, which begins so promisingly, ends on the page that announces it and is not included in the final French edition. Whether because he was a perfectionist or for other psychological reasons, several of Strickmann’s most promising scholarly works remained uncompleted at his untimely death. Fortunately, Bernard Faure was able to track down and finish several of Strickmann’s incomplete manuscripts, but this one was not among them.7 Strickmann’s hesitancy had its causes. For a few decades, the field of Daoist Studies was highly competitive and appeared to those scholars foolhardy enough to use its findings, in the memorable words of Anna Seidel, “the inaccessible preserve of an uncommunicative cabal initiated into the secrets of the Taoist canon.” (In some respects, the field still suffers from these characteristics, which is why I write this.) Isabelle Robinet, whose own voluminous publications moved the study of Shangqing Daoism forward a great step, rightly if bluntly corrected Strickmann’s translation of housheng as the “Sage who is to come” to “Sage of the Latter [World Cycle].”8 She also modified our reference to the scriptural corpus itself to “Shangqing scriptures” on the grounds that Strickmann’s “Mao Shan revelations” might equally well refer to later scriptures composed on Mao Shan.9 4 Strickmann, Studies in Mao Shan Taoism, 160. 5 I resorted to photocopying the French version of the notes, (Strickmann, Le Taoïsme du Mao Chan), much to the dismay of a few new graduate students who met Strickmann through my photocopy of his dissertation. 6 Strickmann, Studies, 171. 7 See Strickmann, Chinese Magical Medicine and Chinese Poetry and Prophecy. 8 Robinet, La révélation, 2:107. Robinet mentions Strickmann’s error at least three times in various parts of the text. 9 Robinet, La révélation, 1:xi, n. 1. But Strickmann himself helped to shape the competitive tenor of the field. See in particular, his review of Michael Saso’s The Teachings of Taoist Master Chuang: Strickmann, “History, Anthropology, and Chinese Religion.”

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The next major advancement in our knowledge of these realms was to be had by any scholar in the habit of reading footnotes carefully, particularly the numerous notes found in Edward H. Schafer’s engaging translation of Wu Yün’s 吳筠 “Transcendent Roaming” 遊仙poems that appeared in 1981. Basing himself on the best information available at that time, Schafer explained the term jinque as it appeared in a stanza describing the poet’s self-cultivation practices which lead, in Schafer’s translation, to an unbidden apotheosis: “Unawares I follow the Jade Illustrious One; / With burning incense I attend the Jade Pylons” 不覺隨玉皇，焚香詣金闕. Schafer’s explanation of the term jinque reads: The Golden Pylons (chin ch’ueh 金闕) are the ceremonial gateway to the supreme celestial city, the Jade Capital (yu ching 玉京), for which see no. 20 below. Here the greatest deities assemble on the 20th day of each month to do homage. Such exalted personages enjoy titles distinguished by the phrase “golden pylons” in recognition of this privilege. Examples are Blue Lad (ch’ing t’ung青童), Lord of the Eastern Sea and the Rising Sun (WYT, p. 3b), the messianic “Later Paragon” (hou sheng 後聖) (WYT, p. 5a), and even, by decree of A.D. 754, Lord Lao himself (T’ang shu 唐書 [Szu pu pei yao 四部備要ed.] 5, 14a).10

Yujing 玉京, “Jade Capitoline [Mountain]” in my translation, site of the Mystic Metropolis 玄都 in the highest heavens, seems to be a coinage of the early fifth-century Lingbao scriptures and, if it appeared at all, was not prominent in the original Shangqing revelations. Schafer discusses the association of the Mystic Metropolis with the Jade Capitoline further on in the text. Given his source (a Song-period work compiled under Zhang Junfang 張君 房, fl. 1008–25) it is likely that Wu Yün might actually have meant to refer to this new location for the jinque in the higher celestial realms discovered in the Lingbao scriptures.11 But this Daoist failure to adhere to “sectarian” distinctions gives the lie to Schafer’s frequent assertation that Shangqing Daoism was the preeminent Tang version of the religion and the source of Wu Yün’s visions. (In fact, we all tended to make the mistake of imagining that scriptural corpora unproblematically replicated social groupings; witness the organization of my Early Daoist Scriptures by supposed tradition rather than by bibliographic classification.) We will come to the Lingbao version of 10 Schafer, “Wu Yün’s 吳筠 Stanzas,” 316–17n26. 11 In fact, recent work on the writings of Wu Yün make it almost certain that this location is what he had in mind. See de Meyer, Wu Yun’s Way, 250n63.

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the jinque below. Meanwhile, despite the fact that, from a later perspective, he gets some of his attributions tangled up, Schafer’s works on Daoism bear rereading for the writing alone. Few scholars can match the exotic attraction that Daoist poetry demonstrably had for contemporary readers, with its “rich vocabulary of vapors, hazes, twinkles, glints, unidentifiable essences, and impalpable emanations,” as could Schafer.12 Paul W. Kroll’s 1984 “In the Halls of the Azure Lad,” an article not widely enough consulted in Daoist Studies circles, provided further translations of the Shangqing scriptures related to the Azure Lad, the jinque, and the Sage Lord. 13 Following the lead of Isabelle Robinet, whose incredibly detailed work on all of the early Shangqing scriptures had just appeared, Kroll translated the Zhen’gao account of Fangzhu, together with the more detailed account found in DZ 1315, Purple Writings of Qingyao and Various Scriptures on the Golden Roots 洞真上清青要紫書金根眾經 (hereafter Purple Writings).14 While this work marked a huge advance in our understanding, when one reads it today there is a bit of dissonance between the texts presented. The Purple Writings seems not to have issued from the hand of Yang Xi or any of the earliest Shangqing writers.15 For one thing, the jinque is in this text is no longer a single gate with towers flanking it, but four gates, each flanked by two que (which seems to mean “tower” in this case), one of jade and one of gold (or metal 金). More interesting yet is the fact that the Purple Writings provides detailed instructions on how to visit the most prominent otherworldly locales of Yang Xi’s revelations through actualization. We are even given the precise wording of the calling cards, “jade billets” 玉 札, to be presented to the gate guards at each stop. Jade billets do indeed feature in early Shangqing writings, but there is nothing like this system of registration elsewhere. The point of traveling to the jinque is to confirm one’s inclusion among the electi who will be privileged to survive the fire, warfare, and flood of the final days to reemerge in the new world age. The selection of these “seed people” in early Shangqing writings tends to be based on sometimes invisible physical markings, perceived only by the gods through a kind 12 Schafer, “Wu Yün’s ‘Cantos,” 390. 13 Kroll, “In the Halls of the Azure Lad.” 14 Kroll, “Spreading Open the Barrier of Heaven.” 15 Isabelle Robinet dates the scripture to the Six Dynasties period, but provides information that it likely appeared in the sixth century. See TC S, 155, and, for more information, Robinet, La révélation, 2:119–25.

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of Daoist physiognomizing practice.16 The rather mechanical entrance requirements of the Purple Writings would seem to contradict this emphasis. But the author preemptively counters this objection by making proper marks of Perfection prerequisite for receiving and practicing his text: “The Lord Azure Lad said: “Those who have the bones and the physiognomy that corresponds with the Mysteries and thus is able to see this Dao and learns how to cast the slips will become a Perfected person” 青童君曰有骨相應 玄、得見此道、知有投簡之法、便成真人.17 What seems to have attracted Kroll to the Purple Writings are the more detailed descriptions of the celestial landscape it provides. He omits the description of the multidirectional jinque, but does provide close translations of the sections more closely associated with the Azure Lad. He begins with the few references in the Declarations and continues with the parts of the Purple Writings that deal with Fangzhu. Just as the jinque has become in this text a quartet of gates, so the Palace of Eastern Efflorescence boasts a hexad of entryways. Apparently, the greater number of passages, with their mandatory guards, were attractive to the author of this text as a way of adding layers to the ritual procedures it proposes. More important for the future of Daoist studies, however, is the brief coda that Kroll appended to this article discussing several references to the Azure Lad in the poetry of Li Bai 李白 (701–62). The most significant of these appears in Li Bai’s “Ascent of Mount Tai,” where the poet describes a vision he had on the summit of the mountain: By an odd chance then I beheld the Azure Lad. His virid hair done up in twin cloud-coils. He laughed at me for turning late to the study of transcendence: My unsteadiness and unsureness have brought the fading of ruddy features. 偶然值青童，緑髪雙雲鬟，笑我晩學仙，蹉跎凋朱顔.18

This attentiveness to the ways Daoist contributions to the mythosphere of Chinese culture led Kroll to produce a number of engaging articles on Daoist poetry and literature. Since the early 1980s, when Schafer and Kroll crafted these influential interventions, little progress has been made toward 16 For a study and translation of a text by Yang Xi revealing these matters, see Bokenkamp, Early Daoist Scriptures, 295–99 and 344–62. 17 DZ 1315, 2.21b. 18 Kroll, “Verses from on High,” 253.

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understanding the changes Daoists wrought on what I will call the jinque complex between the fourth and the eighth centuries. But though these works were composed almost forty years ago, the authors’ close attention to textual detail began to bring these changes into focus. Let us begin with the Lingbao scriptures, composed by unknown writers roughly thirty to fifty years after Yang Xi stopped writing and in the very same region of the realm. The very first of the Lingbao scriptures, the Perfected Text in Five Parts, describes its origin as a quest.19 The Most High Lord of the Dao 太上道君, together with a vast retinue that included the Five Ancient Lords 五老帝 君 of Han weft-text fame, set out to request the scripture from the highest deity of the Lingbao dispensation, the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Origins 元始天尊, who was seated “below the jinque.” The purpose of their quest is related both to where the Celestial Worthy sits and to what he is currently engaged in doing. As opening words of the Lord of the Dao’s polite request (“I have heard that the Celestial Worthy is opening a new cycle [of time]…” 伏 聞元始革運) makes clear, the Celestial Worthy is about to inaugurate a new world age, destroying first the old one. The Lord and his companions thus compassionately wish to spread the scripture to those mortals who have not yet heard of it that they might become “seed people” and avoid the coming catastrophe. Curiously, the Celestial Worthy for a long time pays no attention to their request 永無開聽於陳辭. He merely strokes his desk, lost in thought 遐想撫几. He is, it turns out, busy redrawing the world map, moving rivers and water sources, and selecting the fortunate “seed people” who will come to populate it. After just a moment of tension over the question of whether or not the universe might indeed be heartless, he agrees to the plan. Neither the Sage of the Latter Ages nor his Minister the Azure Lad are to be seen here. The messianic mantle has been silently passed on to the Most High Lord of the Dao and the mechanisms of cyclical change laid bare. We should, at this point, begin translating jinque as something like “Golden Gatetowers” and give some idea of the symbolism involved, symbolism that the Lingbao scriptures’ uses of the term help bring to the fore. Wu Hong has shown how the que 闕gate and guan 觀towers that flanked it were first part of palace architecture and then later became a separate structure, a monumental display of power.20 At least by the second century BCE the que began to appear in front of well-appointed tombs. The idea that que might lead to the dead and their world, reveals itself prominently 19 DZ 22, 1.5b–7a. The long title of this scriptures is 元始五老赤書玉篇真文天書經, with 玉 as a mistake for五, thus the Perfected Text in Five Parts. 20 Wu, Monumentality.

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in the gatetowers depicted on Han mortuary tiles, especially those of the less wealthy dead whose graves do not boast que.21 Both aspects of this complex of ideas—that the gatetowers display imperial might and that they represent an entry into the worlds of the dead—thus come into play in Daoist uses of the term. The Lingbao authors instituted further refinements into the Golden Gatetowers complex. Shangqing authors seem not to have imagined assemblies at the Golden Gatetowers, but Lingbao writers did. Replicating the initial scene of salvation, Lingbao gods circumambulated the Golden Gatetowers each month on days when their human followers to mimic them by circumambulating the scriptures.22 Thus Schafer’s reference in glossing Wu Yün’s poems to assemblies held there each month. Now, of course, the Golden Gatetowers were situated at the summit of Jade Capitoline Mountain, as Schafer noticed, but the Sovereign Lord and his Minister were in attendance to pay reverence to the Lingbao scriptures, not to count out the “seed people.” The Lingbao Scripture of Salvation even promises that those who recite it repeatedly might cause their ancestors to eventually traverse the Golden Gatetowers.23 We might even speculate that, in the Wu Yün poem Schafer translated, the poet was bringing incense to the Golden Gatetowers on a similar mission of salvation. Thus, it seems that soon after the release of the scripture that introduces the role of the Azure Lad and his overlord, the Sage Lord of the Golden Gatetowers, a number of Daoists began to devise ways to reassure practitioners that, no matter how bad the situation might appear, they could be assured of a place among the elect, the “seed people.” For these writers, the solution was ritual. Lingbao authors not only moved the Golden Gatetowers, from which the Sovereign Lord was about to issue forth if predictions held, they also provided humans with ways of mollifying him through imitations of celestial gatherings. I suspect that the Shangqing protocols of the Purple Writings, introduced in such detail by Kroll, whereby a practitioner might practice moving with correct passports through the very unseen realms where judgements were soon to occur, might have fulfilled the same reassuring function. And why would later Daoists have wanted to alter Yang Xi’s original vision of the Sovereign Lord, the Azure Lad, and others associated with the Golden Gatetowers? Returning to Yang Xi’s scriptures, we find that the Azure Lad is the “Upper Minister” of the Sage Lord, who will come forth 21 See Lin Jingyun, “Sichuan bowuguan,” 115–16 for eight fine examples of this. 22 See DZ 22, 3:2b–4b, for example. 23 Bokenkamp, Early Daoist Scriptures.

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from the Golden Gatetowers to select those who might live as “pestilence and flood wash over; weapons and fire circle below.” He is also the deity who, out of a different sort of compassion than that shown by the Lingbao Most High, implores the higher deity, the Sage Lord in this case, to release the scripture to certain mortals. At this particular moment, the Sage Lord of the Latter Ages had clasped to him his writing table and had transformed himself outwardly [so as to be visible to those around him]. Collecting from on high his far-ranging thoughts, he was composing with his brush a commentary to the Mysterious Scripture of the Grand Cavern to instruct the several hundreds of Higher Perfected, Exalted Chamberlains, holy lads and jade maidens.24 Not only did he not lend ear to the words proffered by the Azure Lad, he did not cease for even an instant his chanting to those who observed him. Then the Azure Lad crawled farther forward on his knees and implored him further, showing no signs of desisting. After a long time, the Sage Lord pushed his writing-desk away and stretched out in an attitude of repose. Suddenly, heaving a long sigh, he said: “Your bitter words are mysterious and exalted and your quintessential sincerity has awakened me. You have been extremely arduous in your pursuits.” At this, the Lord-Saint pointed beyond to the barren regions. On his face was an expression of compassion.25

This scene, astute readers will recognize immediately, is the direct source for the first pages of the Lingbao Perfected Scripture in Five Parts. The idea that a salvific hero would seek a scripture to save humanity was influential enough that it was repeated again in the opening of another Lingbao scripture that featured Ge Xuan as the high deity who had to be begged to release the Lingbao texts to the world. But the Lingbao scriptures have changed the nature of the game. The Shangqing prototype highlights the role of the Azure Youth as not only saviour but as judge of who deserves to be saved. According to Tao Hongjing, the Azure Youth is foremost among a total of thirty-six Directors of Destiny 司命, those who have since ancient times been responsible for determining the allotted lifespans of humans.26 And, 24 The Mysterious Scripture of the Grand Cavern, also called the Perfected Scripture of the Grand Cavern, is the most exalted of the Shangqing scriptures. The name sometimes stands for the Shangqing scriptures as a whole. See Robinet, La révélation, 2:29–44. 25 Bokenkamp, Early Daoist Scriptures, 309–10. 26 Zhen’gao DZ 1016, 9.21b–22a. For the early history of Directors of Destiny, see Riegel, “KouMang and Ju-Shou.”

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now that the end of the world-cycle looms, that role is highlighted. Thus, when Li Bai failed in his attempt to follow the Azure Lad on Mount Tai, the possible consequences were disconcerting. It is no wonder that he redoubled his efforts at self-cultivation. My intent in fleshing out these stories is not merely to highlight the difficulties early Western language scholars faced in disentangling the welter of unfamiliar names, imaginative topographies, fantastic cosmologies, and fine attention to sartorial detail of Daoist scriptures. And I certainly do not intend to belittle the pioneering efforts of those who shaped my scholarly career. When these articles containing the complex of god names and terms centered around the jinque were first composed, literally every line of text presented at least a dozen challenges to understanding. If my mentors, Schafer and Kroll, missed aspects of the relationship between Sovereign Lord Li Hong and his Minister, the Azure Lad, it is only because they were mesmerized by the exotic imagery of these texts, particularly that of celestial flight. But their fidelity to text mandated that they account even for parts of the texts that were not yet understood, leaving an evidential trail that can be followed. Reading back through the subsequent English-language publications that mention this complex of images, I am struck by how few make any productive use at all of this scholarship. Here are three examples. Five years after Kroll’s article appeared, Robert Henricks’ published his translation of the Buddhist “Han Shan” poems. Number 44 has the poet’s “soul” wandering off in dream to the jinque, which Henricks translates “Golden Gates.” He cites Strickmann’s French dissertation to the effect that the “gates “lead into the palaces of Shang-ch’ing” and “one of the names of the ruler expected to descend from the skies in the apocalyptic hopes of the Shang-ch’ing sect of Taoism was ‘The Sage Who is to Come of the Golden Gates of Shang-ch’ing.’”27 Paul Rouzer translates “golden towers” and leaves the term unexplicated.28 In neither case do the translators speculate as to why a Buddhist poet would dream that way. Ironically, Henricks is the one scholar I will consider in this section who mentions the apocalyptic overtones, though the poem he translates likely does not refer to this aspect of the image. Others are not so careful. Harry Rothschild has written of the deployment of this complex of images by Wu Zhao and the writers supporting her. He treats several of

27 Henricks, The Poetry of Han-Shan, 86–87. 28 Rouzer, The Poetry of Hanshan, 55. Unfortunately, Rouzer does not deal with this particular poem in his excellent study (Rouzer, On Cold Mountain).

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the references to the jinque and the Jade Capitoline.29 He cites Robinet to correctly characterize “Lord Goldtower” as “an intermediary between heaven and humanity, a latter-day sage, a messianic incarnation of Laozi known as Li Hong.” Rothschild does cite Schafer and Kroll in this regard, but not the articles I have surveyed above, which would have been much more pertinent to his subject. He provides no explanation as to why this complex of images might have been employed by the ruler beyond the by now common assertion that Wu Zhao favored Buddhism early in her career and Daoism later. In the case of Wu Zhao, the apocalyptic utility of the image is obvious and calls for attention. One would expect a survey of Roaming Transcendent poetry 遊仙詩 that touched upon these realms to make use of the findings of Strickmann, Schafer, and Kroll, but Zornica Kirkova’s does not. She uses a couplet from a rhapsody by Tao Hongjing that employs the term jinque to show only that “The late Six Dynasties poets not only increasingly referred to new paradise realms at the ends of the world and in the mountains but occasionally also offered a glance into the mystic regions of the highest heavens.”30 Given Tao Hongjing’s very special place in the development of Six Dynasties Daoism, his use of the terms jinque and Jade Clarity 玉清 heaven can prove nothing of the sort—especially since this is a rhapsody and not a Roaming Transcendent poem. But Tao’s rhapsody presents us with something so much more valuable than the “ceremonial visit” Kirkova finds there. It thoroughly explores wildly flooding waters, giving us terrifying glimpses of their threatening surfaces as well as the surging strength of the powerful deities who inhabit their depths. This resolves in a final section, echoing throughout with eschatological imagery, and finally suggesting that even higher gods might offer an escape from the imminent watery apocalypse. This is the section from which Kirkova selects her couplet, translating: Greet the Nine Mysteries at the Golden Pylons, Pay respect to the Three Immaculates in the Jade Purity.31

In her note to the passage, Kirkova disposes of these powerful images with a bland, Wikipedia-like concision that offers the reader nothing toward an understanding of this poem:

29 Rothschild, Emperor Wu Zhao, 90–92. 30 Kirkova, Roaming, 186. 31 Kirkova, Roaming, 186.

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Jade Purity (Yuqing 玉清) is the highest of the Three Pure Heavens (san qing 三清) known to the Maoshan Daoists. It is the ultimate celestial zone, inhabited by divine beings who never endured life on earth in a corruptible body. The Golden Pylons (Jinque 金闕) are the ceremonial gateway to the Jade Capital (Yujing 玉京), the supreme celestial city of the Shangqing gods. A ceremonial visit to the palace of the highest deities was an occasional perquisite for the True Ones.

I am preparing a full translation of Tao Hongjing’s “Rhapsody on the Water Spirits,” but would like to present a bit of my draft translation here. The rhapsody begins with a flood, but a strange one. Before we are given the names of any of the water gods, they are busy moving the massive waters where they should not be: 淼漫八海 汯汨九河 中天起浪 分地瀉波 … 潼關不壅 石門巳開 導江出漢 浮濟逹淮

Surging into the distances, the eight seas, Splashing, rippling, the nine rivers— The former raise billows into the heavens, The latter divide the earth with errant breakers … Tong Pass cannot block them; Stone Gate is already open—32 Leading the Yangzi so it issues from the Hanshui; Floating with the Ji River so it reaches the Huai.33

But then, like lifting a rock to watch the busy insect life beneath, Tao Hongjing reveals the activities of a panoply of water-related gods and culture heroes who are shown to be responsible for all this. This is the part of the rhapsody that most critics remark upon, beginning with Shen Yue 沈約 (441–513) and Ren Fang任昉 (460–508) who were present at the same poetry gathering. One of them is said to have remarked: “When one looks in clear autumn at the sea, one sees only its ample expanse—he would have us plumb its depths! “如清秋觀海、第見澶漫，寧測其深.”34 But I will here skip over the submarine spirits to the end of the rhapsody where the term jinque appears. 32 Tong Pass was in along the Yellow River in central Shaanxi Province. The site has now been submerged in the Three Gorges project. Of the many possible “Stone Gates,” I believe this one refers to a site on the Yunshui 溳水in modern Hubei Province, just north of Wuhan, since this is where the Hanshui meets the Yangzi and might become its source. 33 This actually happened in the great flood of 1852. 34 Huayang Tao yinju neizhuan DZ 300.1.6b–7a.

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逮乎璇綱運極 Coming to this Time when the Dipper points to the apex of its cycle 九六數翻 And the numerology of nine and six turns.35 少周姒後 A lesser cycle occurred after Yu In a conjunction right before the time of Shun,36 初會嬀前 平陰鉅鹿 So that Pingyin and Julu Both were transformed into fens;37 再化爲淵 清河渤海 Qing River and Bo sea 三成桑田 Thrice became mulberry fields.38 迎九玄於金闕 If we greet the spirits of the Nine Mysteries in the Golden Gatetowers39 謁三素於玉清 And pay a visit to the Three Simplicities in Jade Purity, 40 更天地而彌固 Then, when a changed heaven and earth are full and firm, 終逍遥以長生 We might finally roam freely in extended life!

Even from this draft translation, it is undeniable that Tao Hongjing’s “Rhapsody on the Water Spirits” takes as its theme the end of the world-age through flood and alludes to the possibility of being taken up to the Golden Gatetowers as a seed person to await the dawn of a new age. In tracing the metamorphoses in ideas regarding the jinque complex, I have accounted for only a portion of three works by pioneering scholars of Daoist Studies, using their work to reconsider transformations that occurred within this complex of ideas between roughly the late fourth and late sixth centuries CE. Within the growing corpus of Shangqing scriptures, 35 The “nine” and “six” refer to drought and flood years respectively, but the whole term is a general reference to disaster calendrics. See Bokenkamp, “Time After Time.” 36 This prediction is from the Annals, the Yang Xi text that Tao Hongjing used to predict that the final days would come in 512. (See Bokenkamp, Early Daoist Scriptures, 196–97.) 37 Julu Lake of modern Hebei, formed by Sage-king Yu when he tamed the floods, is also called Da Lu 大陸. See Shangshu, Yugong, 1.147a (SSJZS ed.). 38 This trope suggesting geological change comes from the story of Wang Yuan and the Hemp Maid. See Campany, To Live as Long as Heaven and Earth, 259–70. 39 “Nine Mysteries” is likely a kenning for the nine heavens and, given the context, the gods that inhabit them. See also DZ 1016, 1.10a5 and Yoshikawa and Mugitani, Shinkō Kenkyū, 27. 40 Given the present state of research into the Shangqing scriptures, it is impossible to know precisely which deity or deities Tao references here. Most likely they are related to what eventually took shape as the Primal Lords of the Three Simplicities, female deities who were seen as the mothers of the gods resident in the Cavern Chamber palace of the head. See Robinet, La révélation, 2:261–68.

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the Golden Gatetowers moved from the Upper Clarity Heavens to the Jade Clarity Heavens. Whereas in the earliest Shangqing scriptures, the Sage Lord commanded an examination of Transcendent markings on and in the bodies of humans to determine who might be saved from the coming apocalypse, in later scriptures of the same tradition, practitioners are instructed in the construction and use of passports to accomplish their salvation. Meanwhile, the Lingbao scriptures made the Golden Gatetowers the entry to their own highest heaven, positioning their highest deity there as architect of the endtimes in place of the Sage Lord. They also replicated the scene of a savior deity who obtained the scripture of salvation out of compassion for a threatened humanity. These stories, of course, are not as simple in the telling as the above paragraph might make it seem. They cover pages and pages of close-set text, studded with exotic place-names, fantastical beasts, and alluring celestials. But the overwhelming impression one gets from reading how our colleagues tend to deploy the information we are able to present is that they do not take it seriously, as if Daoism were not really a contributor to the Chinese worldview, not part of the habitus of any medieval Chinese person. Too often, information is dutifully copied onto the page and given no further thought. This is most apparent in the case of the jinque complex when scholars who repeat the information that the sage king is a messianic or apocalyptic figure then fail to consider what that means for the piece of literature they are studying. My mentors tended to scold their colleagues for this shameful neglect. But though Daoism is indeed part of the DNA of Chinese culture, as Kristofer Schipper long insisted, shame, cajoling, and scolding are not useful tools to convince others of this fact. And we need to recognize as well that we who are engaged in the Study are still in many ways “blindly” grappling with ways to explain the religion. 41 Some of my favorite passages in Schafer’s work can be found in a short book that he wrote toward the end of his life, Mirages on the Sea of Time: The Taoist Poetry of Ts’ao T’ang. 42 As he explores these Daoist fantasies, it seems to me that Schafer is often talking about his own attraction to the religion as he writes of the late Tang poet, who “after entering secular society, … still wished to believe in the Daoist cosmic order and the exalted place 41 This is at the heart of the Daoist view of language. As Chang and Pettit have recently reminded us, all Daoist scriptures exist only in the heavens. Their human versions are but approximation, subject to re-editing and revision though subsequent revelations. See Chang and Pettit, A Library of Clouds. 42 Schafer, Mirages.

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reserved in it for certain elect beings.”43 Schafer ends his foray into this bygone world in a land he never visited with lines from a Wallace Stevens poem “Extracts from Addresses to the Academy of Fine Ideas”:44 How much of it was light and how much thought, In these Elysia, these origins, This single place in which we are and stay, Except for the images we make of it, And for it, and by which we think the way, And being unhappy, talk of happiness.

But Daoism is not all happy fantasy. My own life experiences, particularly the recent appearance of Covid-19, have readied me to attend as well to some of the harsher manifestations of the religion—apocalypticism, misogyny, racism, systemic classism, and the like. Perhaps Wallace Stevens’s “Connoisseur of Chaos” would be a better poem for me, especially as “the squirming facts” tend to exceed my squamous mind. Schafer’s Daoism, and to a certain extent Kroll’s, has its eyes on the heavens, while Strickmann’s and mine tends to find its inspirations on (and under) the ground. But I still have faith that this elusive and ever-shifting Way, though it cannot be fully captured, might, through patient translation, yield up “one line in which / The vital music formulates the words” and we come face to face, if only by imagination, with those who lived long ago and far away. My thanks again to my friends and colleagues who have worked to make this volume happen.

Bibliography Primary Liudu jijing 六度集經 T. 152 by Kang Senghui 康僧會. Dongzhen shangqing Qingyao zishu jingen zhongjing 洞真上清青要紫書金根眾 經, DZ 1315. Huayang Tao yinju neizhuan 華陽陶隱居内傳, DZ 300. Shangqing housheng daojun lieji上清後聖道君列紀, DZ 442. 43 Schafer, Mirages, 47. 44 Schafer, Mirages, 127.

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Yuanshi wulao chishu yupian zhenwen tianshu jing元始五老赤書玉篇真文天書 經, DZ 22. Zhen’gao 真誥, DZ 1016.

Secondary Bokenkamp, Stephen R. “Time After Time: Taoist Apocalyptic History and the Founding of the T’ang Dynasty.” Asia Major 7, no. 1 (1994): 59–88. Bokenkamp, Stephen R. Early Daoist Scriptures. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997. Campany, Robert Ford. To Live as Long as Heaven and Earth: A Translation and Study of Ge Hong’s Traditions of Divine Transcendents. Daoist Classics 2. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002. Chang, Chao-Jan, and Jonathan E. E. Pettit. A Library of Clouds: The Scripture of the Immaculate Numen and the Rewriting of Daoist Texts. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2020. De Meyer, Jan. Wu Yun’s Way: Life and Works of an Eighth-Century Daoist Master. Sinica Leidensia 72. Leiden; Brill, 2006. Henricks, Robert G. The Poetry of Han-Shan: A Complete, Annotated Translation of Cold Mountain. SUNY Series in Buddhist Studies. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1990. Kirkova, Zornica. Roaming into the Beyond: Representations of Xian Immortality in Early Medieval Chinese Verse. Sinica Leidensia 129. Leiden: Brill, 2016. Kroll, Paul W. “Verses from on High: The Ascent of T’ai Shan.” T’oung Pao 69, nos. 4/5 (1983): 223–60. Kroll, Paul W. “In the Halls of the Azure Lad.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 105 (1985): 75–94. Kroll, Paul W. “Spreading Open the Barrier of Heaven.” Asiatische Studien/Études asiatiques 40 (1986): 22–39. Lin Jingyun 林淨韻, “Sichuan bowuguan handai huaxiangzhuan qi dazhuti zhanshi pinde zongli yu jieshao” 四川博物館漢代畫像磚七大主題展示品的綜理與介 述 [An In-depth Look at the Han Dynasty Seven-themed Portrait Brick Exhibits of the Sichuan Provincial Museum]. Zaoxing yishu xuekan造形藝術學刊 (2011). Riegel, Jeffrey. “Kou-Mang and Ju-Shou.” Cahiers d’Extrême-Asie 5, no. 1 (1989): 55–83. Robinet, Isabelle. La révélation du Shangqing dans l’histoire du taoïsme. 2 vols. Publications de l’École française d’Extrême-Orient 137. Paris: Dépositaire, Adrien-Maisonneuve, 1984. Rothschild, N. Harry. Emperor Wu Zhao and Her Pantheon of Devis, Divinities, and Dynastic Mothers. Sheng Yen Series in Chinese Buddhist Studies. New York: Columbia University Press, 2015.

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Rouzer, Paul F. On Cold Mountain: A Buddhist Reading of the Hanshan Poems. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2016. Rouzer, Paul F., trans. The Poetry of Hanshan (Cold Mountain), Shide, and Fenggan. Library of Chinese Humanities. Boston: De Gruyter, 2017. Schafer, Edward H. “Wu Yün’s ‘Cantos on Pacing The Void.’” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 41, no. 2 (1981): 377–415. Schafer, Edward H. “Wu Yün’s 吳筠 Stanzas on ‘Saunters in Sylphdom’ 遊仙詩.” Monumenta Serica 35, no. 1 (1981): 309–45. Schafer, Edward H. Mirages on the Sea of Time: The Taoist Poetry of Ts’ao T’ang. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985. Smith, Jonathan Z. Relating Religion: Essays in the Study of Religion. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2002. Strickmann, Michel. Studies in Mao Shan Taoism: Introduction. Privately published, 1977. Strickmann, Michel. “History, Anthropology, and Chinese Religion.” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 40, no. 1 (1980): 201–48. Strickmann, Michel. Le Taoïsme du Mao Chan: chronique d’une révélation. Mémoires de l’Institut des hautes études chinoises 17. Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1981. Strickmann, Michel. Chinese Magical Medicine, edited by Bernard Faure. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2002. Strickmann, Michel. Chinese Poetry and Prophecy: The Written Oracle in East Asia. ARC: Asian Religions and Cultures. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2005. Wu, Hong. Monumentality in Early Chinese Art and Architecture. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1995. Yoshikawa Tadao 吉川忠夫 and Mugitani Kunio, eds., Shinkō Kenkyū: Yakuchū Hen 真誥 研究: 譯注篇. Kyoto: Kyōto daigaku jinbun kagaku kenkyūjo, 2000.

About the Author Stephen R. Bokenkamp, Regents Professor at Arizona State University, specializes in the study of medieval Daoism and its relations with Buddhism. Among his numerous publications are the books Early Daoist Scriptures, Ancestors and Anxiety, and A Fourth-Century Daoist Family, The Zhen’gao, or Declarations of the Perfected (3 volumes).

Index Accompanying Perfection Lodge, constructed by Jiang Fuchu 33 actualization (cun) 187, 187–8, 189–91, 193 alphabet, vs Chinese characters 224 Anlu 42 Annals of the Lord of the Dao 242 Annan 63 App, Urs 203, 213 Array of the Five Talismans of the Numinous Treasure (Taishang linbgao wufu xu) 12 citations of Array 110–12 Taiping yulan 110–11, 111–12 Goumian variants 115–16 Gouwen (kudzu) 116–18 “Lingbao method for Ingesting the Essences of the Five Efficacious Herbs” 111 “Lord Lao Observes Heaven” 110 “Method for Expelling the Extraneous, Filling the Body, and Ingestion” 111 “Method of Fried Asparagus” 121 “Method for suppressing the corpses and worms” 120 “Recipe received by Yu of Xia from the True Man” 118 recipes 112, 114–15, 118–19 alcohol 122 holding date stones in mouth 126–7, 128 merged 125–9 saliva swallowing 126–7 “Spiritual Method of Ingestion” 121 talismanic drawings 233-5 textual criticism value of Yunji qiqian 118–20 textual sources 110–13 textual variants 109–10, 129 versions 115 “Xi Jian’s Method for Ingesting qi” 128 Yellow Essence 115, 116 “Yue Zichang’s Method of Ingesting Date Stones” 125–6 see also Methods for Abstaining from Grains from the Scripture of Great Purity Austin, J.L. 188 Azure Lad (qingtong) 242, 243, 246, 247, 248–9, 249, 250 “In the Halls of the Azure Lad” (Kroll) 245 Bai Juyi 74, 92, 94 Baolin zhuan Chan/Zen terminology 213, 214, 215 version of Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters 206–7, 211–13, 213–15, 215–16 Biographies of Eminent Monks (Gaoseng zhuan) 199

body/soul distinction, and qi 224 Bohai 66 Bokenkamp, Stephen R. 64, 88, 156, 178, 207, 208 A Fourth-Century Daoist Family: The Zhen’gao, or Declarations of the Perfected 15–16, 198 Ancestors and Anxiety: Daoism and the Birth of Rebirth in China 15 Early Daoist Scriptures 15 jinque, explanation 244 “Ledger on the Rhapsody” 14 scholarship 13–14 “Sources of the Ling-pao Scriptures” 14–15, 234 “The Peach Flower Font and the Grotto Passage” 14 “Time After Time: Taoist Apocalyptic History and the Founding of the T’ang Dynasty” 14 translations 15 Book of Changes 71 Buddha Maitreya statue 152–3 projections 148–9, 150, 151 replaced by Daoist Perfected in Zhen’gao 210 statues of 147 visualizations 149–50 zhenxing, as ultimate form of 148 Buddhism China arrival in 199–200 influence 232 Daoism, interaction 15, 109, 156, 235 de Guignes’ theories about 203–4 forms of 208 and images 208 inscriptions on statues 135 primordial form 208 Bujard, Marianne 229 Bumbacher, Stephan 207 Butler, Judith 188 buxu genre of poetry 70, 71 Campany, Robert Ford 12, 229 Cantong qi 222 Cao Tang 88 absence from Literature’s Finest 101 “Wandering in Transcendence” poems 101 Cao Xusheng, stele inscription 135–6 Cavern of Mystery see Lingbao corpus Celestial Master, Li Hanguang 52, 52fn55 Celestial Master church 162, 163, 165

260  Celestial Master Community 12, 134, 140, 141 five precepts 169–70 ritual items 153 Celestial Master Daoism 142, 161, 173 Celestial Worthy of Primordial Origins (Yuanshi tianzun) 247 inscription on statue 134–5 recitation 236-7 Central Harmony (zhonghe), need for 164–5 Central Scripture of Laozi (Laozi zhongjing) 153 Chan, Alan, Two Visions of the Way 225 Chang Jian, “Dreaming of the West Peak of Taibai” 97, 99 Chang’an 56, 133 Chart of Dark Vision of Manbird Mountain (Renniao shan xuanlan tu) 143 Chen Rongsheng 224 Chen Yinke 205 Chengdu 64, 76 Chinese characters Lagerwey on 232–3 vs. the alphabet 224 Ch’oe Ch’iwon 65 Poems Commemorating Virtue 68, 79 “Snow Poem” 68 Chongning monastery 72 Cinnabar Terrace 44 Cloister of Bitter Bamboo 51 Code of Teachings and Precepts (Tianshi jiaojie kejing) 162 Central Harmony (zhonghe) contents 163 how to live ethically 164 need for 164–5 origins 163 eschatology 172 essence 161 and the Great Peace 161, 162 growth 161 mutual aid 167 proper conduct 166–8 superiority of non-action 168 “Teaching of the Celestial Master” 163 vision of Celestial Master path 172 “Yangping Parish” (Yangping zhi) 162, 163 Code of the Ninefold Darkness of the Alliance with the Perfected (Jiuyou mengzhen ke) 235 Codes and Regulations for Revering the Dao of the Three Caverns (Sandong feng dao kejie) 138, 139, 140, 151, 156 Collected Music Bureau Poems (Yuefu shiji) 70–1 Commands and Precepts for the Great Daoist Family (Dadao jia lingjie) 162 Complete Poetry of the Tang (Quan Tang shi) 69–70 Confucianism, and Tang poetry 89–90

Religion and Poe try in Medieval China

Correct and Unitary Covenant with the Powers (zhengyi mengwei) 165–6 Csikszentmihàli, Mark 225, 226 The Dao deities, representation of 139 ineffability of 10, 12, 140, 141 Laozi as human form of 140 Lord of 235 meaning 9 as personified deity 165 power of 165 primordial manifestation 143 representations on stelae 134 True Form of 138 Xiang’er Commentary to the Laozi on 141 see also Laozi Daode jing 139, 238 Daoism Buddhism, interaction 15, 109, 156, 235 and Du Fu 104 early history 225–32 figural representations 134, 153–6 references to statues 134, 154 Shangqing 244 and Tang culture 88, 91 “true forms” (zhenxing) 143, 144, 152, 156 see also Celestial Master Daoism; Tang Daoism Daoist Perfected, replaces Buddha in Zhen’gao 210 Daoist poetry “Pacing the Void” 70 themes 70 Daoist ritual 224–5 Lagerwey on 233–4 oralization of 238 Daozang 48 de Guignes, Joseph theories about Buddhism 203–4 translation of Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters 202–3, 215 Declarations of the Perfected (Zhen’gao) 13, 15–16, 176, 207 See also zhen’gao Demon Statutes of Lady Blue (Nüqing guilü) 163, 165, 166, 168 anger 169, 170–1 desire for riches 170, 171 sexual misconduct 169, 170 sycophancy 169, 171 wine drinking 169–70, 171 Dhammapada 204 Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters, comparison 201 Dongfang Shuo 73 Dongting, Lake 75 Du Fu 93, 102 “Ballad: Do Not Suspect Me” 103 “Ballad of the Dappled Gray” 103

Index

“Ballad of the Old Cypress” 103 “Commander Wang’s Two Tufted Hawks” 103 and Daoism 104 “Dispelling Stirrings” 103 “Great Rituals” fu trilogy 103–4 “Jade Flowery Palace” 103 “Playfully Written Song for Lord Hua” 103 “Recruitment Officer of Shihao Village” 103 “Song of the Mysterious Capital Altar, Sent to Recluse Yuan” 97, 103 Du Guangting 65 Einstein, Albert 222 Ekottara Āgama, statue-making extract 148 eschatology, Code of Teachings and Precepts 172 The Esoteric Sounds of the Heavens (Zhutian neiyin) 232–3, 236 Explanation of Fasts (Taiji zhenren fu lingbao zhaijie) 238 Falin (572-640 CE) 22 false memories, Shangqing scriptures 189 Fasheng, monk 152 Faure, Bernard 243 Faxian 150, 151 Five Ancient Lords 234, 247 Five Thearchs 180, 234, 236 Floriate Solarity grotto 23 “Four Great Books of the Northern Song” Cefu yuangui 91 Taiping guangji 91 Taiping yulan 91 Wenyuan yinghua 91 Gai Huan, calligrapher 56 Gao Ang 66, 67 Gao Chongwen, distaste for paperwork 67 Gao Pian, General 11 accomplishments 64 alchemy, interest in 77 ancestry 66–7 assassination 82 birth 66 calligrapher 66, 79 Daoist poems 64 Daoist strategy 64, 82 demotion 80 edifices Emerald Bamboo Pavilion 80 Gallery of Lasting Peace 80 Tower for Welcoming Immortals 80 geomancy practitioner 65 Governor of North Vietnam 65 Hymn on Natural Acuity and Liquefied Gold (lost) 77 as man of action 64 military career 63–4

261 poems “Airing What Stirs Me” 70, 81, 82 “Calling on a Recluse and Not Meeting Him” 75 “Courting the Recluse” 72–3 “Matching ’Offered to Master Zhao of Dongting’ by Presented Scholar Wang Zhaofu” 76 “On the Cottage at Luofu” 73 “On Learning that Wang Duo of Hezhong was Promoted Commander-in-Chief” 77 “On Snow” 68, 69 “Pacing the Void” 70, 71–2, 96 “Receiving Guests on a Spring Day” 80 “Sending a Monk a Staff of Qiong Bamboo” 69 “Sending off Spring” 70 “Sent to the Scholar Living in Seclusion, Li Suiliang of Hudu” 74 “Summer Day at a Mountain Pavilion” 70 “The Temple of Taigong” 79 “Tidal Surge” 78 Poems of Gao Pian 69 prince of Bohai 80 “Proclamation of War against Huang Chao” 76 quatrain 67 religious aura 65 responsibility for fall of the Tang 64 satirical attacks by Luo Yin 65–6 sequestration 80 Tanguts, victories against 79 use of magic 64 Xie Panyin’s appraisal 69 Gao of the Qi, Emperor 33, 66 Gao Rugui 56 Ge Hong 15, 73 Baopuzi 142 “Charts of the True Forms of the Five Peaks” 142 on visualizing true form of Lord Lao 145 Ge Xuan 249 stories 230–2 Golden Gatetowers, see jinque Golden Platform palace 23, 23fn18 Graziani, Romain 225 on xin 228 Green Ravine, in “Pacing the Void” 71 Gu Huan 176 Gu Kuang, “Song of Golden Chimes and Jade Pendants” 98, 100 Guangwu, Emperor of Han 230 Guarding the One (shouyi) 166 Guo Pu, poem from “Wandering in Transcendency, Seven Poems” 71 guwen (“ancient-style prose”) movement 89, 90, 91

262  Hahn, Thomas 225 Hakuin Ekaku, Orategama 216 Han Yu 89, 92 Handong jun (formerly Suizhou) 42, 48 Harinanda 152–3 Harrist, Robert 20, 21, 30 Hawking, Stephen 222 Heng, Mount 50 Henricks, Robert, “Han Shan” poems, translation 250 Hong Mai, Ten Thousand Tang Quatrains 69 Hou Xudong 135, 136 Hu clan 49 Hu Qiwu 53 Hu Shih 207 “Tao Hongjing de Zhengao kao” 205 Hu Ziyang (Master Hu) 11, 42, 45, 46, 47 Canxia lou 44, 45 death 48 Li Bo’s memorial inscription about 47, 48 stele inscription for 47, 48–52 Huainan 63 Huan Wen 57, 57fn88 Huang Chao rebellion 63, 76 suppression 78 Huangfu Ran, “Song of the Ascent to Transcendence of Refined Daoist Master Wei of Shaoshi Mt.” 97, 99 Huangting jing 222, 223 Hudu region 74 Huichang period (841-46 CE) 72 Huineng, Chan/Zen master 213 Huiyuan 148 “Eulogy to the Buddha’s Shadow” 151–2, 155 Huizong, Emperor of Northern Song 90 Hyeonjong, King (r.1009-31 CE) 206 Ikehira Noriko 109, 113, 118 study of Dunhuang manuscript (S.2438) 112 Illustrated Album of Tang Poems 70 images, and Buddhism 208 imagination, and action 190 inscriptions, uses 21–2 see also Xu Mi Stele, inscription Ishii Masako 207 Jade Perfected Transcendent 99 Jiang Fuchu, builder Accompanying Perfection Lodge 33 Revered Solarity Lodge 33 Jiangxia 57 Jiankang 15, 153 jinque 242, 247 Bokenkamp’s explanation 244 Golden Gatetowers 247–8, 248, 254 Purple Writings of Qingyao and Various Scriptures on the Golden Roots (Dongzhen shanqing qingyao zishu jingen zhongjing) 245

Religion and Poe try in Medieval China

purpose of traveling to 245–6 Schafer’s explanation 244 Jiuyou mengzhen ke (Code of the Ninefold Darkness of the Alliance with the Perfected) 235 Junshan island 75, 76 Jurong 15 Kaibao Canon 205–6 Kirkova, Zornica, critique of 251–2 Klaproth, Julius 203, 204 Koeppen, Carl Friedrich 204 Kou Qianzhi revelations 163 Kroll, Paul W. 11, 88, 248 Daoist studies 246 “Heyue yingling ji and the Attributes of High Tang Poetry” 43fn8 “In the Halls of the Azure Lad” 245 Lady of the Supreme Primordial 99 Lady Ziyuan 210, 211 Lagerwey, John 13 on Chinese characters 232–3 on Daoist ritual 233–4 Taoist Ritual in Chinese Society and History 224 “The Lingbao Liturgical Reform” 233 “The Ming Dynasty Double Orthodoxy: Daoxue and Daojiao” 225 “The Oral and the Written in Chinese and Western Religion” 224, 232 Lao, Lord 12, 134, 137, 146, 162 creation of, on Yao Boduo stele 155 Ge Hong, on visualizing his true form 145 see also Laozi Laozi human form of Dao 140 as momentary coagulation of qi 142 non-action, ideal of 168 shapeshifter 140–1, 141 Laozi zhong jing 221–2, 223 and subjective/objective distinction 222–3 Leiping Peak 23, 26, 32–3 accessibility 33 building of sanctuary by Tao Hongjing 27–8, 31 leishu 94 Li Bo (Li Bai) 11, 88, 93, 94, 250 collected works 48 exile in Yelang 57 Hu Ziyang, memorial inscription 47, 48 poems 43, 44 “Ascent of Mount Tai” 246 “Calling on a Daoist Priest at Mount Daitian and Not Meeting Him” 75 “Lyric of the Jade Perfected Transcendent” 96

263

Index

“Mounting Taibai Peak” 102 “Poem on the Lady of the Supreme Primordial” 96, 101 prose pieces 45-7 references to Yuan Danqiu in works 41-2, 42-3, 45, 52-6 Zhenqian friendship 56 poem to 57-9 Li Chuo, calligrapher 47 Li He, “A Diaoxiao Ballad for Bitter Bamboo” 97, 99 Li Hong/Hongyuan 243, 250 Li Suiling 75 Liang Qichao, on the Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters 204–5, 205 Lingbao bifa 222 Lingbao corpus (Cavern of Mystery), reference to statues 154 Lingbao Scripture on Pacing the Void at Mount Jade-Capital (Dongzhen lingbao yujingshan buxu jing) 70 Literature’s Finest (Wen cui) 70, 89 authors represented 94 compiled by Yao Xuan 92 “Divine Transcendence” category of the “Songs of Ancient Tunes” 96–8, 100–1 innovations 92–104 intratextual references 102 music 101 phenomenal categories (lei) 93, 94 poems music as selection principle 95 numbers of 94, 95 subgenres of 95 preface, Confucian rhetoric 93 prose 102 selection criteria 95 shenxian set 98, 99 stylistic range 105 Tang Daoism in 92, 105 Liu Dabin, Maoshan zhi 47–8 Liu Pi rebellion 67 Liu Yuxi 94 Liu Zongyuan 89, 92 Lord of the Dao 235 Lu Guimeng 94 Lu, Mount 148, 151 Lu Xiujing (406-77 CE) on items permitted in the “silent chamber” 153 Transmission Rites of Lingbao (Lingbao shoudu yi) 154 Lü Yongzhi 80 “Bestowed by the Jade Emperor on Master White Cloud Gao Pian” 81 Luo Yin “Bewitched in Guangling” 65, 80, 81 satirical attacks on Gao Pian 65–6, 80

Luofu, Mount 73 Luoyang 42, 48 Maitreya statue (Buddha) 152–3 Manbird Mountain Chart of Dark Vision of Manbird Mountain (Renniao shan xuanlan tu) 143, 224 formation, qi 143–4, 224 Mao brothers, hymn about 26–7 Mao Gu 31–2, 33 Mao, Mount see Maoshan Maoshan 10, 15, 20, 22, 34–5 significance 23 Tao Hongjing on 24–5, 28–9, 153–4 Tao Hongjing’s poem on the gods of 26–7 Marx, Karl 204 Maspero, Henri 201 Master Hu see Hu Ziyang Master Shengxuan 51 Master Tixuan 51 Master Zhenyi 51 Meng Jiao 94 Merging the Pneumas sexual rite 164 Methods for Abstaining from Grains from the Scripture of Great Purity (Taiqing jing duangufa) 109 quotes from Array of the Five Talismans 113–15 recipes 113–14 Ming, Han Emperor 147 Mollier, Christine 216 Mu Xiu 89 music, in Literature’s Finest (Wen cui) 101 Mysterious Scripture of the Grand Cavern (Dadong zhenjing) 238, 249 non-action (wuwei) action of 64–6 Code of Teachings and Precepts 168, 173 Laozi’s ideal of 168 meaning 173 superiority of 168 having-action (youwei) Northern Song dynasty (960-1127 CE) 89 fall to Jurchens 90 Northern Wei (386-534 CE) 72 Okabe Kazuo 207, 213 Ouyang Xiu 66, 89 “Pacing the Void” (buxu) 237 Daoist poetry 70 Gao Pian 70, 71–2, 96 Green Ravine in 71 Lingbao scriptures 70 rite 11, 237 Wu Yun 93, 95 Pei Xing 65 Penglai 46

264  Perfected Ones 175 Perfected Scripture/Text in Five Parts (Wupian zhenwen) 247, 249 Pettit, Johanthan 11 Pi Rixiu 94 Pivot of the Dao (Daoshu) 127, 128 Platform Sūtra 186 Poems of a Thousand Masters 70 Prasenajit of Kosala, King 147, 148 Preface and Discourse on the True Forms of the Five Peaks (Wuyue zhenxing xulun) 142–3 Primal Sovereigness 99 Purple Tenuity 50 Purple Writings of Qingyao and Various Scriptures on the Golden Roots (Dongzhen shanqing qingyao zishu jingen zhongjing) jade billets 245, 248 jinque in 245 qi 226 and body/soul distinction 224 cloud 191 coagulated forms of 144–5 ingesting 128 Manbird Mountain formation 144 solar 179–80 Quan Deyu 102 Queen Mother of the West 99 Raz, Gil 12 recipes see under Array of the Five Talismans of the Numinous Treasure Ren Fang 252 Revered Solarity Lodge, construction by Jiang Fuchu 33 Roaming Transcendent poetry 251 Robinet, Isabelle 137, 176, 243, 245, 251 Robson, James 13 Roth, Harold Original Tao 225 translations 227, 228 Rothschild, Harry, critique of 250–1 Rouzer, Paul 250 Sage Lord of the Latter Ages 247, 249 Scarlet Solidarity Lodge 11, 20, 24, 30, 33 built by Tao Hongjing 25–6, 29, 32, 33, 34 Schafer, Edward 88, 98, 248 critique of 244–5 explanation of jinque 244 Mirages on the Sea of Time: The Taoist Poetry of Ts’ao T’ang 254 “Transcendent Roaming” (translation) 244 Schipper, Kristofer 221, 224, 254 Schopenhauer, Arthur 204 Scripture of the Celestial Master’s Code of Teachings and Precepts (Zhengyi fawen tianshi jiaojie kejing) 162

Religion and Poe try in Medieval China

Scripture of Central Harmony (Taishang dongxuan lingbao zhonghe jing) 165 Scripture of the Great Grotto (Dadong jing), see Mysterious Scripture of the Grand Cavern Scripture of the Inner Explanations of the Three Heavens (Santian neijie jing) 163 Scripture of the Jade Pendant and Gold Ring (Taishang yupei jindang taiji jinshu shangjing) 144 Scripture of the Rules (Zidu yanguang shen[xuan] bian jing) 187 Scripture of Salvation (Duren jing) 236, 248 Scripture of Transformations of Laozi (Laozi bianhua jing) 140 Scripture of the Yellow Court (Huangting jing) 153 Searle, John 188 See of Purity 50 Seidel, Anna 243 self-cultivation, China 226 Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove 82 sexual misconduct, Demon Statutes of Lady Blue (Nüqing guilü) 169, 170 Shaku Sōen 204, 215 shamanism 223 attack on 225 Shandong 56, 63, 229 Shangqing scriptures 12, 15, 134, 153 agency shift 191–2 alternate identity 192 deployment of talismans 187, 188–9 false memories 189 imaginative actualization (cun) 187, 187–8, 189–91, 193 ownership benefits 177 prescriptions and practice 176 pronouncement of invocations (zhu) 187 scripts for present performance 186, 189 Strickmann on 176–7 studies 245 Shangqing (Supreme Purity) 175 Shanxi province 161 Shatuo Turks 78 Shen Yue 252 Shennong (Divine Husbandman) 42, 44, 45, 46 Shenzhou jing 238 Shi Jie 89 Shun, Emperor (mythical) 75 Sichuan 63 Sima Tuizhi, “Cleansing the Mind” 97, 101 Song, Mount 52 Song Taizong, Emperor 90 Songjong, King (r.981-97 CE) 206 Sovereign Lord 248 statues of Buddha 147 Buddhist attitudes to 146–8 Buddhist inscriptions 135

Index

Celestial Worthy inscription 134–5 Daoist references 134, 154 in Lingbao corpus (Cavern of Mystery) 154 origins, stele inscription about 146–7 Statutes of the Mysterious Capital (Xuandu lüwen) 167 stele/ae Cao Xusheng inscription 135–6, 136 Dao representations 134 Daoist/Buddhist similarities 133, 136 zhenrong term 136–7 Jiang Zuan stele 146 Li Tanxin stele 137–8 and origins of statues 146–7 Wang Huilüe inscription 135 Yao Boduo stele 155 Stevens, Wallace “Connoisseur of Chaos” 255 “Extracts from Addresses to the Academy of Fine Ideas” 255 Strickmann, Michel 25 Annals of the Lord of the Dao (translation) 242 on Shangqing scriptures 176–7 Studies in Mao Shan Taoism 242 Sui state 42 Suizhou 42, 45 see also Handong jun Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters 13, 16 Baolin zhuan version 206–7, 211–13, 213–15, 215–16 Buddhist terminology 201 Chinese translation 197–8, 199 as compilation of passages 202, 215 contents 200–1, 215 dating of 202 de Guignes translation 202–3, 215 Dhammapada, comparison 201 editions 205, 216 influence among European Buddhist scholars 204 Ling Qichao on 204–5 moralistic parables 201 Preface 199, 201–2, 208 represented as derived from Christian gospels 203 Shousui edition 206, 213–14, 215, 216 significance 215 sources 199, 205–6 Taishō/Korean canon version 209–10, 210, 211, 213, 214, 216–17 transformations 215 Tripiṭaka version 205, 206 Zen teachings, source of 204 in Zhen’gao 207–13, 216 see also Baolin zhuan; Zhengao Sūtra for the Oceanic Samādhi of Buddha Visualization (Guanfo sanmei haijing) 149, 150, 151

265 Sūtra Spoken by the Buddha on Making Buddha Statues (Foshuo zuofo xingxiang jing) 147 Suzuki, D.T. 204 Sword Scripture 187 Taigong, military patron deity 78, 79 Taiji zhenren fu lingbao zhaijie 237 Taiping shenghuifang 112, 113 Taishang lingbao wufu xu, see Array of the Five Talismans Taishō/Korean canon version, of Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters 209–10, 210, 211, 213, 214, 216–17 Taiyi (Great One) Dao, comparison 229 master of the Five Emperors 230 Taizong, Tang Emperor 79 Taizu, Song Emperor 90 talismans deployment in Shangqing scriptures 187, 188–9 efficacy 144 in Array of the Five Talismans 233-5 Tang culture, and Daoism 88, 91 Tang Daoism, in Literature’s Finest (Wen cui) 92, 105 Tang Dynasty fall, Gao Pian’s responsibility 64 theological basis for establishment of 14 writers 89 Tang poems, anthologies 70 Tang poetry, and Confucianism 89–90 Tang Qinzhou 72 T’ang Yung-t’ung 201, 205, 206, 207 Tao Hongjing (456-536 CE) 11, 116, 117, 249 Buddhist vows 22 builder Leiping sanctuary 27–8, 31 Scarlet Solidarity Lodge 25–6, 29, 32, 33, 34 Xu Mi Stele 19 Daoist writings 22 finding of artefacts on Maoshan 27 on Maoshan 24–5, 28–9, 153–4 poem on the gods of Maoshan 26–7 “Rhapsody on the Water Spirits” 252–3 Six Dynasties Daoism, development 251 texts Fa jian lun 22 Li Fo wen 22 Yangxing yanming lu 126 Zhen’gao 176, 207–8 Zhoushi mingtong ji 30 see also Shangqing Scriptures; Xu Mi Stele Tao the Recluse 51 Tao Yuanming 73 Tianbao era 52 Traditions of Divine Transcendents (Shenxian zhuan) 126

266  Trifles from Beimeng (Beiming suoyan) anecdotes 67 “true faces” (zhenrong) 138 and “true form(s)” 139 “true form(s)” (zhenxing) of celestial deities 144, 145, 154 Daoism 143, 144, 152, 156 development 145 and efficacy of talismans 144 of the Five Peaks 142–3 Lord Lao’s 145 supreme attainment of adepts 145 and “true faces” (zhenrong) 139 variants 143 Udayana of Kausambi, King 147, 148 upaya 139 Upper Scripture of Purple Texts Inscribed by the Spirits (Huangtian shangqing jingque dijun lingshu ziwen) celestial origins 178–9, 191 cloudsouls 181–2 dietary restrictions 183–4 Peach Child 182–3 Perfected status promises 186, 186–7 rhetorical analysis 184–5 solar qi 179–80 synopsis 178–84 text and practices 184 text and reader-practitioner 185 text and surrounding environments 185 Three Primes 182 whitesouls 182 yin flower 180–1 Verellen, Franciscus 11, 88, 163 Vermilion Mound 52 Wagner, Richard 204 Wan Zhen of Wu 117 Wang Changling, “Fasting the Mind” 97 Wang Chong 49fn40 Wang Duo 77 death 78 Wang Huaiyin 112 Wang Hui 65 Wang Kangju, “Against Courting Recluses” 73–4 Wang Mang 230 Wang Qi 48 Wang Qiao, shrine 53 Wang Qinruo 90 Wang Renyu, Casual Talk from the Jade Hall 72 Wang Wei 94 Wang Zhen 126 Wang Zijin 77, 77–8 Wangzi Qiao, building of Daoist temple 229

Religion and Poe try in Medieval China

Warring States 225 types of thought 226 Wei Xiao 72 Wei Yingwu, “Sent to a Daoist in Quanjiao Mt.” 97, 100 Wen, King, founder of Zhou dynasty 79 wen vs. wu (civilian vs. military) culture 66 Wen xuan (Selections of Refined Literature), model of anthology 94 Wenyuan yinghua anthology 92, 94, 105 Western Jin dynasty (265-316 CE) 72 White Water 52 wine drinking, Demon Statutes of Lady Blue 169–70, 171 World Parliament of Religions (Chicago 1893) 204 Wu, Emperor of Han 25, 27, 29, 34, 229 kingdom 83 Wu Hong 247 wu vs. wen (military vs. civilian) culture 66 Wuwei, see Non-action Wu Yun 88, 94, 98, 99, 102 “Pacing the Void” 93, 95 “Transcendent Roaming” 244 “Wandering in Transcendence” 93, 96 Wu Zhao 250, 251 Wulian shengshi jing 235–6 Wushang biyao ritual system 154 Wuzhen pian 222 Xi Jian see Xi Menjie Xi Kang (Shuye) 81–2 poem 82 Xi Mengjie 126, 128 Xia Ji 124 Xiancheng, Mount 43, 45, 46, 47, 54 Xiang’er Commentary to the Laozi 165, 166 on the Dao 141, 142 Xiaoming, Emperor of Northern Wei 199 Xie An 57, 57fn87, 67–8 Xie Daoyun 68 Xie Lingyun 69 Xie Panyin appraisal of Gao Pian 69 Miscellany (lost) 66, 69 xin, Graziani on 228 Xinsong, Mount 54 Xu family 23 Xu Hui 26 Xu Mi 24, 25, 26 Xu Mi Stele 11, 22, 35 built by Tao Hongjing 19 inscription 19–20 prose introduction 23 as public text 34 style 22–3 transformative effects of 20 interpretation, external evidence 30–4 transcriptions 19fn1

Index

Xuanyuan (Yellow Emperor) 97, 99, 101 Xuanzong, Emperor of Tang 42 xuhuang, etymology 20fn3 Yampolsky, Philip 216 Yang Heng, “Spending the Night at the Transcendent Residence of Refined Daoist Master Liang of Black-ox Valley” 97, 99 Yang Xi 175, 179, 208, 242, 247 The Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters 16 Yang Xingmi 82–3 Yang Yi 90 Yangzhou 63, 76 Yao Boduo stele 155–6 Yao Xuan, compiler of Literature’s Finest 92, 99, 100 Ye county 53 Yelang, Li Bo’s exile in 57 Yellow Emperor see Xuanyuan (Yellow Emperor) yin/yang 226 Yin Fan, Heyue yingling ji anthology 43, 43fn8 Yoshioka Yoshitoyo 207 Yu Xianhao 42, 48 Yu Xin 71 Yuan Dan 45 Yuan Danqiu 47 burial 54 eulogy on 54 funeral 53–4 references to, in Li Bo’s works 41–2, 42–3, 45, 52–6 “Sacrifice for Himself” 53 transfiguration 53 Yuan Shenyin 135 Yuan Yan 42, 45, 47 Yuan Zhen 92, 94 “Dreaming of Mounting to Heaven” 96 Yudi jisheng 47 Yue Zichang 126, 127, 128, 129 Yunji qiqian (YJQQ) 90, 109, 110, 112, 119, 121, 127, 143

267 value in textual criticism of Array of the Five Talismans 118–20 Zang Wen 53 Zeng Zao 126 Zhan Ying 48 Zhang Hua, Bowuzhi 116 Zhang Ji 94 “Sending Sweet Flag” 97, 102 “Studying Transcendence” 101 Zhang Ling, Celestial Master 163 Zheng Daozhao, verse extract 21 Zhen’gao (Declarations of the Perfected) 15–16, 198, 205 studies on 207 Sūtra in Forty-Two Chapters in 207–13, 216 Tao Hongjing 176, 208 Zhenqian, monk 10, 48, 54 friendship with Li Bo 56 poem from Li Bo 57–9 zhenrong 136–7, 138 “true faces” 137 zhenxing 136, 138, 144 in biography of Baozhi, abbot of Daolin 153 Buddha, ultimate form 148 Buddhist uses 148–53 Daoist influence 152 meaning 137, 142 Zhenzong, Emperor 90 Zhi Dun 57, 5789 Zhou, Duke of 53, 53fn63 Zhou Ziliang 33 Records of Master Zhou’s Communications with the Unseen (Zhoushi mingtong ji) 30–1, 34, 35, 192 suicide 30, 31 Zhu Xi 205 Zhu Xiao, collator of Puji fang 112 Zuo Yuanfang 145 Zürcher, Erik 201, 216